Missing My Muse

Before I came to Houston for the SDI Conference I had spent several intense days writing, writing, and more writing and all through it Abbess Petunia was a quiet, faithful presence encouraging me on.

Who is the muse in your own life?

Make sure to stop by the Poetry Party — the random drawing for a prize is tomorrow!

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© Christine Valters Paintner at Abbey of the Arts:
Transformative Living through Contemplative & Expressive Arts

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I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Rosemary McMahan’s reflection “The Eyes of Wabi-Sabi”. I recently was introduced to the Japanese Buddhist tradition of Wabi-sabi.  According to Leonard Koren, “Wabi-sabi is

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3 Responses

  1. Thanks tinkerbell. What a lovely ode to your husband. My beloved is a wondrous muse as well, how blessed we are to have unconditional support to spread our creative wings!

    Richard, thanks for these reflections on the muse. I agree that more often the muse is an in-breathing of energy, a rush of creative possibility that comes unbidden. Sometimes the rituals we create — the cup of coffee, the discipline of showing up — help to invoke her, but I too have felt that worry of wondering if her visits will become less frequent. Blessings on the new rhythms you are living into!

  2. Funny, I was thinking about the muse today. Actually I think about the muse pretty often, today I worried about the the muse. It would be lovely, I guess, to have a person, place, or thing that moved me to create, but for me the muse is much more ephemeral. “She” really is the unhurried intake of breath and spirit that is literally inspiration. “She” comes when I court her, and I court her by waiting, being present, regularly, and at a specific time of day, usually after my second cuppa, pretty much pen in hand. And by waiting I could be walking, or reading, or sitting quietly, but I’m prepared for her arrival in a word, or phrase. A sight, sound, or bit of text may spark her; maybe nothing at all but a thought coming to mind. When she arrives I have to drop everything and attend to her. We’ve been on quite a run, because I’ve been unemployed, and able to keep almost every morning open for her. I’m recently re-employed, and busy, and unavailable. I’m worried because she doesn’t come knocking, she arrives, and if I’m not paying attention I won’t notice her. I’m going to see if it’s possible to be a weekend poet, maybe having projects will help, but I’m going to miss the more frequent assignations. And, I’m a little worried.

  3. What a lovely hound she is! My muse ~ my husband who patiently and lovingly tolerates all the time I spend composing written and visual works. He quietly and honestly encourages me, and does not see my immense creativity as a competing force, but rather he understands that this nurtures my spirit, and my Self, and of course, him by association. I also have a cat ~ and she, too, provides a patient presence.

    I do miss my Afghan Hound, though (he passed away almost 2 years ago). A canine spirit is truly a special gift, and rather than pine away for that which has gone, I treasure the moments and experience I had.

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