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Kate Denson: Back to Zero

Hitting zero. That's why she returns to the forest time and time again. To let go of her anxieties. To let go of her problems. To take in the scent of fresh pine and let go of her conscious self. To let go of everything and listen to her muse. She's been out of touch with herself for a while, lost in a game to please everyone else except herself, playing songs that don't come from her but are sure to please the masses. Music that doesn't even resonate with her. Playing songs for money despite the warning: play one song for money and kill your muse. She laughed when her mother first told her this. It's seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. Her muse didn't seem to be going anywhere. She was hearing more songs in her head than she could play in a lifetime. Now... now...she's not laughing anymore. She's never felt so false and uninspired in her life, and more than ever she wants to reconnect with her music... her muse... herself. She closes her eyes and peels away the layers until her mind is empty and open to the great unknown.

Kate strums her guitar freely but nothing's coming to her. Just a dark, disturbing melody that's been returning to her every time she hits zero. A melody so unlike anything she's ever played that she doesn't know where the inspiration comes from. She's never played a tune so dark and yet... so catchy. The harder she tries to push the ominous melody out of her mind the stronger it gets. The more it demands to be written down. She wants the melody to stop and yet it's all she hears around her. Above her. Below her. Beside her. Within her. One endless foreboding melody. A melody that just isn't her. Or... maybe it is her... Maybe the show-pony routine has changed her, corrupted her... perhaps even crushed her. And if not her... the best part of her... her muse. She stops strumming, closes her eyes, pushes everything out of her mind and begins a slow and patient countdown back to zero.

She waits for an inspiration that never comes. Nothing except that lonely, ominous melody. The more she tries to strum something else... the louder it echoes in her mind. She stops for a long silent moment. But... the tune doesn't. She closes her eyes and tries to force it out of her mind but... it's not in her mind. It's coming from the cave. It can't be. She shakes her head. The tune fades as she returns to zero and tries one last time to connect with her muse. Her real muse, regretting all the paid gigs that drove her further and further from who she was... who she really was. She closes her eyes and counts down. Five. She relaxes her toes. Four. She relaxes her legs. Three. She relaxes her torso. Two. Her hands. One. Her lips, her nose, her face. Zero. She silences her thoughts.

Three hours and still nothing but that foreboding melody. More than anything she wishes she had taken some time to realign herself and make sure she was spending her life's energy on something real and true to who she was. Instead she squandered her life's energy on... acts and routines and her piggy bank. That wasn't supposed to happened. Not to her. One of her inspirations was the great Woody Guthrie. Everything he wrote was true to who he was. Everything he did came from him. Came from a real and pure place. She was like that at some point in her life. But now... now she's performed more fluff than substance and the guilt alone may have crushed her muse. Her real muse. Not this perverted version of a thing that has her strumming the loneliest and darkest tune she ever conceived. She prepares to countdown but sees... a symbol on the ground before her... glowing and pulsing with the tune... pulsing like the heartbeat of some primordial, ancient thing. She closes her eyes and opens them again and the symbol is gone.

Kate screams in the lonely, desolate forest! She wants that tune out of her head. It's annoying her. Frustrating her. Blocking her. Even when she stops strumming her guitar the melody continues as though with a life of its own coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She focuses for a moment and realises the melody is echoing out from the cave. She surrenders to her dark muse. She stands and stares at the cave and sees... a pulsing light. She closes her eyes and feels that her mind's playing tricks on her. But she knows better. She knows she's always sensed and felt things others couldn't. She once heard someone say that today's shamans are our artists, authors and musicians... that unlike other people they are capable of accessing other thoughts, worlds and ideas from otherworldly realms. She always had that ability... but never like this... never so dark... it's as if the universe is punishing her for squandering her gifts. She approaches the deep and ominous cave wondering who or what is calling her. A vague memory tugs at her... tells her she's done this before. She has a sense that she knows what she's going to find but somehow has forgotten...