Okay, you’re waiting for the joke - if the Muse won’t come how is it that I am writing an essay and you are reading it? It’s an enigma. An oxymoron. A mystery to be solved. A “WTF” are you talking about? Complaining about? Whining about?
I’ve been here before you know, when the Muse is silent, when he – yes, my Muse presents as a man and I have named him “Richard” – when he is stubbornly silent no matter how much I entreat him otherwise. When I yearn to hear the voices of my various characters in the mystery series I write, when I need the excitement and exhilaration that pours through my body as I sit at my laptop and the words spill onto the page.
When I need an escape from the reality of life.
The reality of life. Four words that I would like to strangle. Four words that require me to be present, to accept what I can’t change, to – sometimes – just grit my teeth and bear it. I fucking hate the reality of life right now.
The Buddha said “Life is difficult.” He said that our pain comes from “attachment,” and if we are able to relinquish that to which we are attached, our lives will not be difficult, or at least not as difficult. Personally, I think a pain-free life is impossible, but I’m willing to believe that there are ways to minimize the unavoidable.
Is it attachment that is keeping my Muse away? And if so, to what am I attached? Perhaps I am attached to the need to know the future, to predict the outcome, to control the uncontrollable. Perhaps I am attached to being sad and depressed over the reality of my current life. I do try to put on happiness, to replace what seems more and more to be an ever-present sadness. Some days it is easier to do that than others. Some days the tears are barely kept at bay.
And I know as I sit here writing this essay, that while Richard may still be on a walk-about, there is a Muse sitting with me now. This Muse is female, and she understands the pain of one’s heart and soul much better than her male counterpart. It is she who is helping me reach deep inside to write these words, to look at the attachments, to release the anguish, to accept the reality of life. She hasn’t told me her name, but I can feel her gentle spirit and I can see her in my mind’s eye. She will help me find my way back, and when the time is right, she will call to Richard and tell him it’s time to get back to work.