When The Muse Arrives…

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TheBreakaway | BreakawayConciousness
Zy Marquiez
May 11, 2017

It matters not whether it is morning, afternoon, evening, midnight, or the tail-end of a 48-hour session, when the muse arrives, she must be served on the spot. 

It just so happens than my Muse, my oh so dearly beloved, insists on knocking on the door at the most unexpected of times – when I need sleep!  We have a long history of this, and I’ve gotten used to it, but still.  I mean, really, who loves to lie in bed spellbounded by insomnia as The Muse casts her spell?

Those that know their muses, and know them rather well, know that when the modern descendents of daughters of Zeus arrive in all their profound, stylistic and amazing glory, you better get to work!  Thou shalt not anger the Goddesses.

It just so happens that when my muse arrives, she means business.  The woman knows her stuff, and knows it well.  Some days she blows by the door barkinig orders of many types (some in languages I don’t even know or have ever heard of, but I don’t tell her that) while other days she’s a bit more laid back having been aptly served.  Tonight, it was just my luck that the last idiot that talked to her said he was “Too tired“ to work at the moment. SERIOUSLY!?  The poor soul undoubtedly now shares a chamber in Hell in the Idiot’s Inn next.  Of course, given how quickly muses dispose of unworthy souls, my Muse still had a lot of anger to displace.  Gee, lucky me.

I learned very early, and very quickly, that no matter what, you better be serious if you dare summon her or she will call upon her lovely long lost uncle, Hades himself, for wasting her time.

Given all that, when The Muse does show up, there’s always a lot of work to be had – all creative types know this.  Some muses require the occasional sacrifice, you know, a sheet of paper, a candle, a few pencils.  Mine, however, takes her job seriously and merely to walk through the door requires a metric ton of graphite, you know, for those things lovingly called pencils, a veritable forest for the endless stream paper to sacrifice to the Fire Gods, as well as crates of candles of all types – ALL TYPES!  And all these things better be natural, she doesn’t do fake ANYTHING.  This wicked wondrous woman even likes, especially, wait for it…ESSENTIAL OILS!  SERIOUSLY!?  [note: remind me to erase the word wicked from the final draft, as she caught me writing it…it’s just too early to get into a fight.  Plus, my soul is worth a lot more than one word, you know.]

I’m just a regular guy – I can do pencils, paper, a computer, heck even some music – BUT FRIGGING ESSENTIAL OILS!  Next thing you know she’s going to want her own symphony!  (Thankfully Symphonies in MP4 format and such are much simpler to find than a veritable orchestra – I feel sorry for the Greeks!)

Don’t tell her I said that last part, or I will be cleaning the catacombs of hell from here henceforth with bones and blood (don’t look at me like that, It’s called HELL for a reason!).  She loves her varying delights to be unknown and for others to figure it out for themselves, which is why she loves the self-sufficient creative types.  Muses are private individuals you know, which is why we don’t see them often.

In any case, after sauntering through the door minutes ago, and waiting – with her hands on her hip, head tilted slightly and one eyebrow raised – for my sorry ass to get to work, she realized I was still groggy as all hell.  SHE WASN’T HAVING IT!  She dared cross her arms gave me the look, in my house!  MY HOUSE!  And don’t you dare ask me what the look is – YOU ALL KNOW WHAT THE LOOK IMPLIES!  It’s the Muses’ version of the Death Stare that instantly levels worlds like wrecking balls level buildings.

That meant it was double-time for me!  After promptly rolling my eyes – making suure she didn’t see that – I intimated Greaaaat!  (You don’t mouth off to the Muse, or you’re in the slammer, sometimes for life!  Such as been the unfortunate end of many the fool who messed with the Goddess’ power.  Poor, ignorant souls who dared venture on such a wicked and death-ridden road.  Such has been the journey of many one-hit wonders, as we have come to learn.)

Here goes, my first piece, in a night, a long long time, which will soon follow with sacrificial offerings of myriad types.  If you think essential oils are weird, you DON’T EVEN KNOW what she requires of other individuals who mouth of to her!  May the Gods have mercy on their souls skills.

I, uh, gotta go.  The point of her heel just started tapping rhythmically by my side, as she stands slanted looking at me wondering why it’s taking me so long to compose this piece.  Speaking of piece, PEACE!

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About The Author:

Zy Marquiez is an avid book reviewer, researcher, an open-minded skeptic, yogi, humanitarian, and freelance writer who studies and mirrors regularly subjects like Consciousness, Education, Creativity, The Individual, Ancient History & Ancient Civilizations, Forbidden Archaeology, Big Pharma, Alternative Health, Space, Geoengineering, Social Engineering, Propaganda, and much more.

His other blog, BreakawayConsciousnessBlog.wordpress.com features mainly his personal work, while TheBreakaway.wordpress.com serves as a media portal which mirrors vital information nigh always ignored by mainstream press, but still highly crucial to our individual understanding of various facets of the world.

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