Musing on Muses

Last night I was on a writing frenzy, I managed to set down a plot for Uta Tulu, began to develop my setting, begin character sketching in addition to a whack of quick research. Refreshers mainly on the precipitation cycle, and geological history of the planet. I continued working an hour or so past the time I could clearly see my screen and knowing I had a big day of painting ahead of me I literally had to force myself to bed.

As I hit the sheets, so many images, idea's and sentences swirled around in my head it became worrisome. Worrisome that I would forget these great things before having a chance to record them, worrisome that I was heading into an insomniac state, worrisome I would be useless tomorrow, and be responsible for screwing up our our deadlines. I begged myself to, "Wait! Wait! Wait!" I wasn't able to process all this great stuff, "Give me some time tomorrow, please!"

Things inside settled down very quickly, I began feeling the tell tale downward fall into sleep, when so gently I clearly heard a voice whisper in my ear. "I am so sorry."

Neither male, nor female, the voice was low and rumbling. So gentle. The voice sounded familiar, but recollection was just out of reach. I wanted to reach out and throw my arms around it. Four little words that never sounded more sincere or heart felt. I slipped into sleep content and happy.

I mentioned this to someone today, another creative type. They pin pointed it immediately, they simply said, "Of course! That was your Muse." It was so sorry to have worked you harder than you could take."

And Snap, I remembered the voice, the voice of rain and poetry of my dream.

I've pulled together a few of my recent entries that seem to be related to my emerging creative consciousness, or relationship to the Muse.

Something New

A River Flows Through Me

A Muse Herself - A Poem

Rising on the Horizon

Cyclical Nature

Moonthly Magic