It’s another day, the sun rises, birds sing, coffee awaits…
I used to dream about this time of my life, when I could enjoy mornings instead of running out the door to not rush in rush hour, to not be somebody somewhere.
I remember waking up at 3:30 to get into the studio to host my morning radio show, thinking that the world was magical at that hour, promising my self that when I didn’t have to get up that early, that I would, just because.
I never do, instead I succumb to the luxury of selfish moments of slumber, it feels decadent to take a cup of coffee to bed and actively do nothing. Some mornings, the muse shakes me into action, here I sit wandering in ponder, reaching into areas of my mind for something, “Here Something, wherefore art thou?” My cat seems to hear my silent calling, demanding my lap as her gentle purring reminds me of the simple pleasures of life.
It’s moments like these that pull me into the future and push me into the past, despite my attempt to reign myself into the present. “Breathe” I think to myself, come back to this moment, take stock of what you have, count the inventory of your life. What is taking up space and time that is needless? Let it go so that what is needed has space to take you to the place which awaits. How busy the Monkey Mind becomes with nonsense and noise, which distracts and derails our higher self.
I silently call out again, “Here Something…” She refuses, instead dances just out of reach, taunting, singing a song, too faint to hear, an image just out of focus.
What is it? Where are you wanting to take me this time, music, writing? This morning I feel compelled to draw. Yes, something new, something I don’t do, but she is so demanding that I’m thinking of my sketchbook, which she made me buy months ago and sits unopened in the corner. I think to my self, why bother, you’re no good at it, but then wonder, what if I am?
Perhaps this is why I don’t finish things, going in too many directions which circles me back to the beginning, frustrated without finish.
By now, I respect her illusiveness, the taunting of “something”, it’s reassuring to know that she’s still nearby, my Muse, what some would call imagination. If I reach for her, she shifts, but if silent, she sometimes, sits upon my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
So, here I sit, silently waiting…
Today’s Musing: “In Silence, secrets are revealed” ~ Katrina Curtiss