Finding the Internal Muse
Internal seeking of my muse through word vomit—what to do passion and intrigue seem long lost.
It’s taken me months to draft and refine this article. It’s open and raw and exploratory. With that, I was in different headspaces and energies throughout the authoring, which I’m no longer in, but they feel authentic to include. I feel more grounded and excited by life once again (probably why I’ve been able to bring more writing to fruition).
It is most evident that I haven’t been writing recently (the last year or so). I could claim that I was intentionally taking a break, but the truth is, I’ve been uninspired. Even my morning journals have taken a hit. For a lot of 2025, I was not as consistent, and what I wrote about is honestly utter bullshit. I may as well be giving a play by play of my life slowly passing by.
Gone are the days of philosophical thought first thing in the morning. Even questioning existential dread with a piping hot mug of over-creamed joe are musings few and far between. Instead, I question if this is the life of a boring person. Is finding emotional stability once again a pathway to dull mundane-ity? I didn’t know I was buying a one-way ticket to this borefest. And yet, that has been my life. Quiet. Sleepy. Uninspired.
Of course, there are always things going on. Like general disinterest in life and health stuff that led to incredible fatigue. The kind where I only had energy for one thing a day… I actually spent months laying around. But I found solace in an old friend—books. In 2025, my love for reading became the main character once more. And maybe I was using my love of fantasy as escapism—wishing I was trouncing around a far-off land, wielding unspeakable power and magical prowess. Forgetting that the magic is all around me in the sunshine and flowing water and sensations on my skin.
But in recent months, even the pull of alternate realms has lost its luster. And I am once again bored and discontent. Seeking what, I don’t know. Like any good cycle, I’m back at the start… if I can’t stand to be alone in my head, I may as well offer my words like the flicker of a candle flame on a dark altar. It’s not the guiding light needed to make it out of this mess, but at least its a start.
As I reflect on 2025, this was my “normal.” And coming into 2026, a slow shifting from this place occurred; for the first time in years the new year has felt like a new year. Something substantial is taking place one again, and the fire within is burning. And that awareness has made me realize how discontent I’ve been with my own life. Sigh.
Maybe the ashes were still settling from the last fire that lit my life. Maybe the ground was barren, needing time to heal before reseeding could take place. Maybe it was just an endless night, in which the proverbial sun wasn’t missing, but it just hadn’t risen on my side of the globe. Whatever.
Back to the drawing board, seeking purpose and fulfillment when it feels like I am just getting by.
But enough about me… Let’s talk about the elusive muse all creatives desire to keep as a permanent bedfellow. Inspiration.
Where do we come from, who are we, and where are we going. Eternal questions never answered.
Turning the spiritual testament to exploring the cycle of life and human condition (to be creative and make a mark), posing fundamental questions about our origins (of art), our present existence (of lacking or having inspiration), and our ultimate destiny (to create in our image). It’s Paul Gauguin in a post-modern lens of look at me now doing cool shit and making meaning out of everything and nothing.
At its most root emanation, inspiration stems from these questions.
Where Do We Come From?
Where do I come from? My mom… who comes from her mom, her mom’s mom, mom’s mom, mom’s mom, etc., going all the way back to the first mom. Is the story of your mom worth telling? Is the way of life from generation to generation a constant march forward in time and evolution? Did we get lost somewhere along the way?
It’s clear that we have left behind the days of honoring lineage. Whether it was a slow erasure through colonization (and yes, we have all been colonized, even the colonizers were asked to acquiesce heritage and culture in the name of fitting “whiteness”) or sacrifice at seeking a better life (whether we go back to a more stable food supply that enabled population boom or emigrating to another country for more opportunity), we trade again and again that which connects us to the deeper story of where we come from.
Modern times have created modern problems. We’ve traded heritage for fitting in, culture for consumerism, community for the nuclear family, support for self sufficiency.
And it’s tiring. When we’re faced with doing everything alone, we take on a burden we were never meant to carry.
In a sense, we are all islands living in an ever shrinking world. Demanding more space, more connection… not realizing that the path is one that has always been well traversed. We’ve forgotten and let ourselves be distracted by the shiny new thing. We’ve let the truest aspects of who we are (remembering, honoring, and continuing the legacy of ours who walked before us) fade with time, distance, and separation from land. In a sense, we’ve allowed ourselves to be conquered.
Is conquering the human condition? Maybe there is always a part of self that desires to conquer and a part of self that desires to be conquered. Another energetic interplay that never considered consent and thrives on force. Power. Unchecked ego. Autonomy and lack thereof.
Once you see the dynamic, you can’t unsee it. And maybe I’ve been seeing for too long, worn down by a past that’s still playing at the future, of time already given or taken, yet we’re still paying the price. And like an unpaid debt, the interest costs continue to grow—something I never consented to, never wanted for my lived experience, not to the fault of my parents or my parents’ parents, but going all the way back to the first time a human decided there was more to gain through taking vs. collaborating.
I could just blame patriarchy, yet that too feels like a scapegoat. For it was many many individuals deciding to make this the norm, and we desensitize the truth through the blaming of one system or another, essentially offsetting accountability and authority, throwing our proverbial hands up at it is what it is. A system will never change without the individual becoming self accountable first. And the tricky part is, we need many many many individuals to become accountable to create the change—its both individual and systemic, and we can’t operate in silos.
Maybe disconnection from past, self, and lineage is the first break in the roots of inspiration. Hand in hand with the freedom from the weight of our history, we’ve hog tied ourselves into the burden of doing it all. I think we experience most if not all modern problems because we’ve deviated from our ancestors and their way of life.
There is beauty to be found in the modern age, growth in new technology, ease of access, widespread information… I’m grateful to be alive today and have access to the opportunities I have. I know being in the here and now is intentional and there is deeper alignment calling to me everywhere I look, and in a sense, I feel that we’ve given up one of the truest aspects of self, our roots, solid foundation to build from, support to rely on, in an acquiescence to modern convenience.
And maybe that was all a rant on both my dissatisfaction and need for the modern world.
In the sense of truth and inspiration, is the story of your lineage worth telling? It is worth sitting with these aspects of self, the sides that didn’t consent, the sides that stole power and demanded pacification, the sides that were alienated, the sides that would do anything to fit in… All of these are part of us. We have played every role in the story, whether we want to admit it or not.
We can’t change the past, but we can consciously and unconsciously choose to ignore it. Without integration, this side of the human experience will always cast a dark shadow on the light of momentum. All this creates a deviation from connection, creativity, and inspiration. If we don’t know the fullness of who we are and where we come from, how can we share the fullness of our story?
Story Telling
To live is to be a creative being. While most of us may not consider ourselves creative, in the traditional sense, everything about life is a play at creation. The way you enter a room tells a story, what you wear is just as creative as a painting hanging in a gallery.
You may not see yourself as art, but you are both the creation and creator. All art tells a story, and life is but a story, on the individual level and grand scheme.
If life begets death and death leads to a new cycle of life, one thought bleeds to another, passing as clouds through a blue sky… does anything ever begin or end? One continuity stretching to infinite possibility.
When the internal psyche no longer feels eternal, where does external come into play? Do limitations of the mind and imagination create the grasping of external experience seeking to inspire?
Or do we create a chain reaction of new infinity of thought, and thus, inspiration is never externally derived. Outside experience ignites internal thoughts, feelings, and emotions that lead to the desire to share—to pull people into your experience, make your story believable and desirable. Isn’t this just another shared worldview? Inviting someone in to see things from a different perspective, your perspective.
Is anything under the sun actually new or just a regurgitation? “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery… that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” And somehow, the often forgotten second half of the quote becomes all the more potent.
If I lack inspiration, when did I become so disconnected from myself? If I can’t find inspiration in my daily, lived experience, when did my life become so boring? And why do I need an excitable existence to enjoy existing?
The first story all of us tell it the story of me. It’s innocent, through the way we dress, the friends we connect with, the interests we have… all unintentional, me just being me, you just being you, engaging in the things that match our energy, our likeness. Then somewhere along the way, we start to forego those aspects of self, trading in genuine authenticity to be more accepted or liked or beautiful. It’s small at first, but over time, snowballs into a facade, a mask, a performance at life. Suddenly, we are no longer living for ourselves, but for the accolades and success and influence and monetary gain. And thus, the more genuine aspects of self expression were conquered by the way we should be.
Somewhere along the way, we lost the little girl who loves provocative language and the little boy who loves capturing unique perspective. Now, we have cogs in the corporate machine, creating more marketing material to sell more things that no one really needs.
And maybe this is modern day expression of creativity. The need to foster monetary gain a ball and chain to the corporate structure, locking creativity down to be used in a productive manner. Because why create art when you could put your talents to good use and sell mattresses… and with this comes a deep dissatisfaction, a loss of time and attention, given for a paycheck. The kicker is, we need the paycheck to survive. And so the cycle continues and corporations suck us dry until there is nothing left to give, passion gone, outlook bleak.
Yet the desire to create and use our voice and perspective for whatever we deeply believe in is always there. But we’ve been stripped of opportunity by necessity. And when we take the chance on ourself to live our art, our systems of stability come crashing down.
This is the conundrum that many creatives face (at least, I question this for myself all the time).
Was it the right move to leave the system? Personally yes, I now have the capacity to write about whatever the fuck I want. I’m also living my dharma through teaching yoga… yet, I’ve given up so much financial stability. I’ve had to make different sacrifices with my time, like going back to working part time in a restaurant just to pay bills. It sucks. I don’t want to be doing what I must be doing to just get by…
I know people look at me and believe I live an inspired life. In a sense, I do, I took the chance on myself and haven’t doubted my ability to accomplish what I dream, yet I doubt the action I took. I’m certainly not thriving as I desire to be. I’m still in survival because I can’t get my financial shit together because I desire the space and capacity to create authentically. And even though I’m struggling, I’m not yet ready to make another trade off. It’s been an interesting conundrum that many people face, to an extent, when they choose to exit the system and follow their passion. And I don’t have the answers. But I do have the courage to trust myself to see it through and trust that whatever is meant to happen, will happen.
This trust, unfortunately, doesn’t soften the dirt on the road to forging my own path. I’m dusty and caked in mud, but I have vision of the meadows to come. And it’s kind of fun to be a lil dirty, maybe that’s my chaotic side thriving in my own instability. Stardust is where we come from, and dirt is where we’ll return to. Maybe I’m just speeding up the process—accepting that I’ve died to myself over and over again to get to where I am today. And I’ll probably die a hundred times more before I’m finally put in the ground.
Origin of Life
Broadening the question from where do I personally come from to the origin of life, the origin of consciousness, the origin of all things physically manifest… what is this long game that we are all chess and checker pieces in?
I’ve said many times (mostly IRL) that I believe the purpose of our physical existence is to experience living life. Our five sense construct is incredibly intentional to physically experience reality. I believe it is the way we experience Samadhi (total absorption, the summit of the eight-fold path to enlightenment), through the senses and through the experience. There is so much indulgence and enlightenment to be found through the senses. I think we like to cerebrally explain enlightenment, but really, its just accessing a bliss state, which is the glamorous version of saying total surrender and acceptance. Through tapping into the oneness of everything, we lessen the burden of the individuated path to experience something more than self.
On Samadhi, I think it’s propositioned to be a state of being that is the end all be all, but when we are honest in the pursuit of this deeper understanding, we start to see it as a part of the journey. It’s a state that we’re constantly and consciously touching. We flow in and out of it just as we do intrigue and sadness and love and grief. It’s simply another state of being. And while it may be on top of the pyramid (if we’re studying the Eight Limbs), it really is just another state of consciousness—to be experienced, to touch and hold and eventually let go again, to forget and then experience again, to remember how to access through trial and error and ease. All of it is a part of the experience—none “better than” or more appropriate than another, all are valid in the experience of existence.
It is an escapism narrative that we’re indoctrinated into to believe that we are meant to ascend the physical body to reach enlightenment. That is a way, a path (if we are ascetics or renunciants, which news flash, most of us are not). And yet, I think it’s much more fulfilling when we experience Samadhi through the body and indulging (total absorption) in the senses, because it’s grounded in reality and the acceptance of what is.
I think that physical incarnation is a slow march forward in the evolution of consciousness. You know, we dream the mortal dream, we forget… so that we can be challenged, so that we can remember, so that we can grow and evolve. For if we never individuated, we would never experience something different. And consciousness craves expansion. Maybe it happens at the universal level first—the universe physically expanding through time and space. Maybe it’s a holographic representation of something more, just out of our grasp of scientific understanding.
The axiom as above, so below has meant something through the ages for a reason. We are a cosmic reflection, our internal experience as vast as the ever expanding universe. Any limitation we perceive is through the limiting factors of cerebral understanding and dampening of imagination through prioritizing the logical mind. These are learned states of being. When we let go of perceived control and instead face ourselves with open curiosity, the psyche is a limitless playground for creation.
Maybe it happens with us first, maybe it is a pulse through the ethers that we pick up on and choose that individuated spark of change. Maybe it’s a merging of all and it’s just destiny—no matter the path or the way, we were meant to get here eventually. Maybe everything is pointless and we just like making meaning out of everything. And maybe that is the impact that we’re meant to experience.
And here, JAY-Z’s “No Church in the Wild” offers the perfect lyric, “Human beings in a mob / What’s a mob to a king? / What’s a king to a god? What’s a god to a non-believer? / Who don’t believe in anything?” We are it all—the mob, the king, the god, and the non believer. Yet we trap ourselves into a single persona and way of being.
Whether you believe in everything or nothing, life is happening. And I’d rather trust and believe and be the experiencer and observer and awareness behind the observation and the one who laughs and plays at life.
The Power of Unlimited Imagination
The following wisdom is gleaned from a book, The Power of Unlimited Imagination by Neville Goddard.
I’ve read many books on consciousness, philosophy, human thought and behavior, occult wisdom, and more. While The Power of Unlimited Imagination isn’t on my list of top recommendations, I still got a lot out of it when I read it years ago. And its framework happens to fit perfectly with the exploration of consciousness and creativity, through the lens of embodying the great “I am.”
Anyone who is Christian would greatly benefit from reading this book, as it will break open new perspectives on the faux pas that is organized religion, purely because it offers the bible through the “I am” lens. This book is in pursuit of the ultimate truth of god within. Anyone who is spiritual would benefit from reading this book for its ability to dissect the true meaning of passages within the bible and decloak written words from “modern” religious meaning.
“Consciousness, whose origin is in eternity, provides the power for your experiences in time.” In alignment with my beliefs, consciousness is the great everything, the emanating awareness that powers experience. Brahman, as a concept, is the best way this has been described IMO. Isolated consciousness (our individuated experience) is simply experienced through the construct of time—we believe and feel separate because our experience is felt as limited, linear time.
Consciousness emanates through everything. Bits of consciousness are encapsulated within physicality, i.e., individual bodies. This lends to the understanding that everything is conscious to varying degrees of animation and experience. In this, I logically equate consciousness to energy.
We like to experience the hierarchy of human conscious as “special,” as in others, whether it be animals or nature or even inanimate objects, as not conscious in the way we are. I think we confuse consciousness with thoughts and cerebral-focused cognition. The ability to think and reason and use language offers us a different type of experiencing consciousness, but it is not all that is.
Ask any artist, the urge to create is outside of normal “limitations” of consciousness, often profound in its inability to be reasoned with or ignored. The creation must happen, the energy is all consuming until it burns out or another spark captures attention, energy, effort. Often referred to as the flow state, this is active Samadhi. And during the creation process, the flow state is king—if you know you know, we always want to be there.
As always, the words used greatly limit the ability to explain what is, because it is removed from language alone, it’s also feeling and intuitive knowing and certainty in the uncertainty.
Want a deep dive on consciousness? Here’s my limited take Energy & Consciousness = Oneness.
According to Goddard, the arc of life can be understood on three levels: literal (physical), psychological (mental + emotional), and spiritual (spiritual). Understanding is cerebral cognition—innately bringing up (or down) all experiencing to the mental plane, but this too is a very limited expression of experience. The drive to make things mentally known and understood is another disconnection from the roots of being. Often, if we can’t cerebrally understand it, we write it off as invalid, closing ourselves off to some of the juiciest and most inspirational aspects of life. I think this is where active embodiment can start to close the gap to create more cohesion in life. Inspiration, in its purity, is derived from the fulfillment of the differing arcs.
Carrying on, he states, “Man is the external world, the natural man. Imagination is the internal world, the man of spirit. God, imagination, became the natural man so that man of nature could become god, who is spirit.”
This is a play at duality—the necessary distinction between external and internal, the one experiencing and the one observing the experience. Through this lens, imagination creates your reality. This is a wider take, as in reality matches our imagination for what our existence is—if we imagine it, it is a part of our experience (and we’re back to the internal journey of merging back with our maker).
The caveat that I’m trying to speak to here is if I find my life uninspiring, I’m lacking imagination in the creation and curation of my experience. There seems to be a blurring of lines between the external experience and the internal word. One always affecting the other.
“The one who is bearing witness to your thoughts is the bearer of misfortune.” For the narrative is often misfortunate. It keeps us safe in our normal, but it also keeps us stuck. Thinking the same old thing, taking the same old actions, or inactions in most cases.
I think many of us desire metacognition, to truly be the observer of the thoughts and over time create the ability to direct the thoughts, direct the direction of life. It’s often easier said than done, the thoughts like to create narratives and we like to become attached, to get involved, to drag it out. And thus we are in the loop, the melodrama, the Samsara of life.
And here, the study of the Eight Limbs is ever relevant, specifically, Pratyhara (the fifth limb, sense withdrawal), Dharana (the sixth limb, one pointed concentration), and Dhyana (the seventh limb, meditation), which create the internal atmosphere for becoming the observer.
As we steadily march forward in consciousness, we are given the framework over and over again. Call it different things, commune with the worldview that resonates… regardless of the framework, if we desire being the creator, we must create the internal atmosphere in which creation can flourish. We are both it.
And the last bits of wisdom from Goddard:
“When truth comes, it sets a man at war with himself, for he will discover that he can no longer consent to what he formerly believed in.”
“No one can grow without outgrowing.”
Ooof.
Life is a cycle—we are born, we live, we die. And so on and so forth for all of time as we know it. And if not us, then everything about us, from the smallest plants to the largest stars. Physical manifestation is predictable. Despite efforts, all life leads to death.
Art reflects this. The creative process is birthed with a new idea, the creation and curation of something, and when it is ready to be shared, the process ends, a little death in its own right, for the creator becomes removed from the creation given for consumption.
Is art born from the desire to be seen? The desire to create? The desire to leave a mark? The desire to become known for something?
Can’t this all also be said for the process of creating life and extending a lineage? Isn’t that artistic in a sense? Less control of the creation, yet an enmeshment of DNA and genes that create certain characteristics and features and eventually learned mannerisms and worldviews.
I don’t think life can be separated from art and art from life, as they are a constant influence on the other. It’s only through a limited worldview that we see art as one thing. But art is in everything—the way people become themselves and the weeds growing through the cracks in pavement. It can be totally intentional and subversively fundamental.
My original intent with this musing was to methodically explore where and how to find my own inspiration, yet as I write, it has been a creative process to see all that is art and break the barriers of what is understood to be creative. I really started this article with an apprehensive nature, hating on how uninspired my life has currently been, yet as I dig my heels in deeper, it’s clear that everything can be an inspiration with the right mind and desire to ponder.
Regardless of if we want to or not, we leave a mark—wherever we go and with whatever we say. Maybe my mark is a bit snarky—pushing you to discover your own depth and beauty as I have discovered my own. But I know that whatever I find inspiration in, or am interested in writing about, it’s just another point of consumption for you—as your creation is to me. Isn’t the game we’re playing funny? Who am I to determine what is art to you, and you what is inspiration to me.
Another human condition that we can’t help but to play a part in. How tedious.
Who Are We?
I think human existence is innately divine. In that we are incarnated for the soul purpose of experience. Physical manifestation is a way for one thing to experience everything and everything to experience one thing. This isn’t a new concept in my little corner of the internet, nor is it derived from me alone—many of the great spiritual thinkers through the ages have contemplated this as well.
And maybe a lot of this conversation blends with what I’ve already lamented. Who are we if not who/where we come from?
Is this a reliable source to draw inspiration from? If everything we create is an extension of self, or maybe I should say, we create in our image—our worldview and beliefs and experiences and traumas and everything about us is a portal to pull from in our creation.
Back to experiencing the one, isn’t this in part the desire to share whatever our creation is? Whether it is writing or photography or painting or a really cool outfit, all of it is a bid for someone to see something different through the lens of your perspective. This is a one to one, human to human merging of consciousness and creation. An invitation to see the world from your eyes…
Which leads me to present existence (of lacking or having inspiration).
Frustrations with the Modern World
I feel lost in this too modern world, where words have been cheapened by ease of access. Is what I say less potent because AI can tell you the same thing with less flourish and better punctuation?
In the age of information, craft has lost its luster through mass production and ease of effort. Why try when it’s more efficient to have a program do it for you? And in a way, it’s still your thoughts that provoked a response. Without your input, there would be no response. Why build arches when straight lines are easier to manufacture?
And that’s all art is—a personal manufacturing of thoughts and ideas put into a medium to express self with the world.
All craft is art when honed with skill and intention. Yet, in the modern world we can create art with no skill and no intention. Is this a generational loss of craft? Is there still value in consuming this art too?
Where Are We Going?
I fear where we are headed. By giving over to machines, we’ve lost the craftsmanship, the honing of excellence. What will life be like when it doesn’t personally make sense to continue to create? I sense that we’re on the precipice of this shift. It’s been happening for decades with architecture and furniture and clothes, cookie cutter track homes and mass produced interiors and fast fashion, why whittle a chair when you can order it online and have it shipped same day? I guess this conversation also comes down to the bottom line, because realistically everything must be made cheap and fast to keep up with demand.
Or maybe it is another status symbol, when everyone has ease of access to everything, we now need new hierarchy to define class. Maybe we’ll never get away from external validation of wealth. Maybe the new game is to outsource everything, leaving us totally sufficient on the system.
And it gets deeper than this. Think of the way AI is replacing the opportunity to deeply think about things. Why ponder when something concise can be instantly produced… why question the way things are written or the way information is shared and perceived. With the slow erasure of discernment and validating information sources, we are slowly losing the ability to question and think for ourselves.
But we are the most educated generation of humans! Are we? We have more systemized and structured schooling with more people achieving higher degrees of education. The kids are only learning to take the test and achieve the next accolade. There may be more opportunity for higher paying jobs, and yet, white collar is still working class. Maybe we are experiencing the influx of a new class distinction between book smart training for the job and true contemplation of the arts, humanities, and philosophy… Thinking for ourselves, developing observations, and questioning are slowly eroding skills. Of which, I’d argue are innately creative.
And if I’m being honest, innately creative people are harder to control. They see things differently and question when information isn’t adding up. One of the greatest higher purposes in life is the path to true sovereignty, and indulging in creative pursuits are a fast tracked path to touch aspects of that within self. All this leads me to believe that our ultimate destiny is to create in our image, with whatever means necessary. Whether it be physical life, deep pondering posed as silly musings, or the next Monet. Yet, this drive is redirected to “productive” means, like ad campaigns and 2.5 children raised by the public school system.
While the drive to create will always be there, society has a way of subduing it to conformity. If we follow the rules, we’re given just enough space to share our expression, yet, we aren’t tapping into the full potential within. Because that is dangerous for all parties involved. When we decide to take the path less traveled, we realized that it’s not so scary and offers internally-derived fulfillment, to the disappointment of societal structures and mass population control. Sigh. Wake up sheeple.
Inspiration
As I write this, I’m sitting in the rain. The air is crisp and fresh, reminding me of places I haven’t been and a different life I still desire. Goosebumps form on my skin and I’m reminded that I’m not a cold and empty corpse. My lack of feeling and lack of interest begetting the better parts of my experience. If I don’t feel at all, at least I am accustomed to feeling discomfort. It’s not the big all consuming loss of love and life… and this moment of peace is punctuated by the loss of heat I’m used to baking in.
The above was written months ago, maybe in September or October of 2025. Not that that really matters in the grand scheme of time. But it is now 2026 spring, and I’m picking up the proverbial pen again. I’m sitting in a coffee shop for the first time in too long. Trying to bring to words a fleeting experience and still searching for the ephemeral muse.
I know it’s in me, yet my mind is parched like an Arizona summer begging for a little rain to release the omnipresent heat. And I’m once again using pretty words and analogy to sugarcoat the experience. Because it’s not fun being here, but I too can make it sound inspiring. Because the very human side of me wants to be the aspiration, to be witnessed in my disheveled human state, somehow lacking inspiration but still sharing beautiful words spoken from the heart and soul.
And maybe the more I write, the more my muse will appear.
I think inspiration stems from living life—fully. The messy is a menagerie of emotional expression.
I’ve been meeting a lot of edges lately. In a way that makes me feel excited again. Yes, a lover has to do with this, and yes, he’s probably reading this. How typical and boring and human of me. Yet, in all this time—the years that I’ve now been sharing my writing publicly—it’s become a clear thread that weaves through my expression. Inspiration comes from a place of love. The bliss and the mess make a cathartic playground from which words can’t help but to jump and play.
It’s funny, when I started sharing my writing, I thought to myself that I didn’t want to write about love. Because how boring and typical. Yet, love is the spring from which my well fills with both tears and the juiciness of life. I want to write about the human experience, about consciousness and the journey of knowing thyself, and it seems that relationships are central to all this. How annoyingly human. And for me to be inspired by this? I’m humbled.
And I’m just like the other girls. Apparently, I can be a great deep thinker and not absolve my humanness, the desire to be loved and chosen. And maybe we just need the reminder that there is nothing wrong being like everybody else. Fighting the driving force, the muse, in the face of desiring to be different is like chopping off your foot and then entering a race. Look at me, I can run different… Look at me, I am special because I mutilate myself for the show of experience. How silly.
I’ve been questioning my state of being. Am I an eternal yearner? Always wanting for a little more juiciness and intrigue. The state of yearning feeds the tension before the action—like the yearning between characters if often one of the best parts of a book, the missed connection that’s so convoluted it keeps you reading until 3am with bleary eyes. And when he finally touches her shoulder or lands a timid kiss, I giggle and kick my feet.
And maybe this too is a representation of the tension between the artist and the art. The sly smiles when something finally comes out right, the question that creates deeper thoughts that just flow, the appreciation when despairing worldviews finally come together in a way that makes sense…
Yeah, I yearn so good… yet, I still really want the experience.
I started this thought piece with the desire to explore my own muse, what I find inspiring and how I can bring those thoughts to fruition to create… something. I don’t think I accomplished that in this article. Instead, I explored eternal questions that don’t have clear answers as a source of my own inspiration. Because why not think about it all and minimize it to how I experience great emanation through my own creation. And that’s a part of the beauty of this experience.
In the end, I don’t feel like I made a point to any of this. All pondering naturally leads to more questions. And I am left questioning everything. At least questioning invites in curiosity and reflection. It might be tedious, but it takes an edge of the boringness of it all.
With love,
Madison