-My own muse-
muse
/mjuːz/
noun
1.
(in Greek and Roman mythology) each of nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences.
2.
a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.
For a significant amount of time, I’d been searching for my muse…
I see myself in a light that is different from the light the world provides us with. Being your own person is a tough job – you’re usually giving yourself the shorter end of the stick regardless of how important you may seem.
Being a writer does not mean there are always poems coming out of your ears & novels waiting on you hand & foot to be written- being a writer simply means you are a different caliber of artist.
& being an artist? Oh boy…
Being an artist is smelling the rain before it arrives and rushing to your porch or to your window just so you can catch the first raindrop,
Being an artist is looking into the waves of the ocean & seeking the answers you so fiercely demand from mother nature,
Being an artist is looking at an old couple being affectionate & you feel a tiny part of your torn heart whisper “maybe there is a such thing”,
Being an artist is reading an old newspaper article over again just because the feel of the paper makes you happier than usual,
Being an artist is being able to find beauty in things the world has gifted us with but we lack the time to appreciate it as we should.
The nights that I spend trying to put words on paper are the nights that I find myself most vulnerable to my emotions. I’d once thought upon seeing the beauty of life would be my muse. I believed that when I see the ocean, I would write my finest decastich. I believed that when I smelt the rain, my chapter 2 would finally become chapter 3. I believed my muse lay within the walls of these worldly things.
I believed this world is my muse.
A week ago, I sat in front of my mirror and looked at my bare self for a while.
My tangled hair sat upon my shrugged shoulders; my droopy eyes set sight on my silent lips & my freckled cheeks & my curves which expressed themselves fairly through my tattered towel…
“why are you, you?”
With this question, my muse had been found.
Realization, acceptance & worthiness - these are words that escaped my lips.
Fierce, bold & witty – these are words that my eyes screamed out.
Brave, scared & beautiful - & these are the words the curves of my body spelt out.
My muse had been within me the entire time. The very thing I had spent all my years searching for, had been just one careful look into a piece of glass.
Straightening out my shoulders & wiping a tear or two away, I stood up gloriously and smirked. I knew it all along, all that was needed – had been one look.
To every person who reads this – near or far, known or unknown – may you find your muse in yourself as I have within me. The worlds beauty will forever amaze us but the beauty that lies within our being is one that will never frail out or spark off.
