(here you go, Bruce)
Celebrating my birthday in Minnesota is generally time to hunker down with shoulders shrugged to ears. This mid January has brought a blessed respite of temps rising to 40 degrees. Collar bones can soften down the back and possibly some creative juice can flow. my heart picks its way around the house
my mouth proceeds the white cane blindly
tapping bumping bruising smarting
I understand that the muse
often becomes the doormat
I've been in up in the rafters
and under the rug
what's a body to do
in order to live in the center -
where blind desire is shown to the door
and kindness and gratitude
given the best seats in the house?
If you have wondered about the how the muse inspires contemporary writers as well as how the ancients viewed genius vs inspiration check out Elizabeth Gilbert's TED TALK here.
