Sometime's you just have to get down on your knees and pray to the muse. And I did. Literally. But it didn't quite work. So I toted my typewriter out into the garden and filled a salsa jar with buttecups, made myself a cup of chai and poured my words out into the landscape. It was as if they were waiting for me to bring them out into the garden. How beautifully they broke with the wind flowing like a river over stones. The muse had returned.
I am working on the chapter of my book that is the most personal, mysterious, and holy to the birth of my inner artist ~ my pilgrimage/quest to India five years ago with my son Noah. I didn't know it was a quest at the time in the mystical way (that would have felt too cliche)~ I simply could not ignore my soul's wild cry to imagine and express something different any longer. But if you think about it, cliche or quest or pilgrimage, it's all the same ~ a cliche is a cliche because it is true. But a pilgrimage sounds far more romantic and epic and I always tilt towards romantic and epic:)
For the most part I have been writing my book on the computer but it felt so intimate and sacred to unsilt my words on my father's typewriter for this particular chapter. Soulful, sheltering, deep and fierce these words emerged into the absinthe green of the garden all the while drowning gold in the afternoon light.
Whilst writing this chapter it occurred to me that I used to have all these questions and these days, not so much. I am home. Perhaps that is the best part of a pilgrimage. It can't be a pilgrimage unless you come home. The great circle of life!
By the way, see that gorgeous tablecloth in the photo above? It is an Indian sari. They make such glorious curtains and tablecloths with those magnificent jewel tones.
This afternoon I am painting my bicycle ~ Her name is Buttercup so I am thinking a pale, pretty buttermilk yellow. I will share a photo with you hopefully on Sunday. Aaaaaaaaand I am making jam. Strawberry champagne!. Then Irish scones and tea. With clotted cream of course. And then I might write a poem with my fridge poetry.
wishing you bursts of magic and tidal waves of the muse washing over you
and strawberry champagne jam with Irish tea
one more thing! 74 lovelies have signed up thus far for 'My Sweet Muse ~ thank you thank you! dearly, muchly, enthusiastically!