I can't get no sleep.
I'd blame it on the mosquitos spawned by the torrential not-supposed-to-be-tropical-around-here downpour that left a small flood outside our first story window.
I got caught in it unexpectedly. The heavens were that quick to open. A thick blanket of rain. Two steps into it, running towards the car of a stranger I'd just bummed a lift from, and I was soaked from head to waist. So immediately that it seemed pointless to run anyway.
Kinda like the way you've taken over my thoughts without warning.
Everywhere all of a sudden all at once.
I wanted to stop and dance in it the way I did way back then in Bali. When I handed a stranger my backpack without thinking, just because he saw me trying to put it down and smiled and reached out a hand. He carried on smiling while I danced barefoot in puddles. It was as heavy and warm today. The thunderstorm, I mean.
But you as well.
Later on now and I lie in the restless dark. A single mosquito buzzing as I blindly try to snatch it from flight. Uncomfortable. My whole body hot and itching even though I’ve been under cover. I eventually get up in frustration, deciding to try and cool down outside. I grab the room key to lock the door behind me on my way out.
The torchlight is weak and only half lights the hallway.
The guest house mostly still empty as season approaches and asleep now. I should probably be scared and it sure looks like something from The Shining in the dim light. Shadows reach out to me, like once too familiar old friends, but I hardly notice them anymore.
The narrow passage all empty but for closed dark wooden doors with old school, round brass handles all the way down on either side. It took me more than a few days to figure out how to lock and unlock them using the little button on the inside. Is it left or is it right?
I've been around here for a while and I still get confused.
I wander past the shadowed empty dining room, hardly noticing it either.
I'm distracted, but beyond my stubborn ignoring the emptiness there's a glimmer of long forgotten nervousness. It's the incongruity of the size of all the spaces around here and the resoundingly hollow silence within them. Especially after sunset. And how you've made me remember as well. Right now my restlessness outweighs my rampant imagination and I keep going.
Am I angry? I don't even know right now.
I get to the front door and the lock doesn't release as I press the button. "Fucking loadshedding." I mutter, as I try it again knowing full well I'm stuck inside for the next while. I hear a noise somewhere beyond the closed kitchen door and turn around to head back to my room, not determined enough to bother anyone so late.
I know it's not the mosquito, even though it returns with its more than annoying sound as soon as I lay back down. Almost as though it's taunting me. It could be. I've missed every shot for almost an hour and it's definitely grown more brazen.
But it's not the mosquito and I know it.
I know this because I've been unable to create anything for the last while as well. Not one thing. I've gone totally silent again and even discussing the small things has been an effort and an intrusion.
Something has been rising. Bubbling away secretly beneath the surface while I thought I was only a bit burnt out and taking a break. You sneaky fucker. You had me at hello.
I have found a muse.
I had a muse a while back and I lost them.
A muse, to an arty type, is a very valuable thing.
I lost them nonetheless.
I got on with making anyway. Mostly sharing knowledge and experience, connecting and all those other good things. That has little to do with what a muse brings to the table though. You find a muse and things shift in all sorts of uncomfortable and magnificent ways.
A creative spark. A burst of flame.
The world suddenly seems like a totally different place.
Where Art becomes Life again.
And Life becomes Art.
Everything heightened and you just wanna make love and beauty and wonder. All that light you spent so long trying to stuff so far down deep, that you thought it was done with forever. Yeah... that's what a good muse can do.
They fuel a mind. They soften a heart again. They resuscitate a soul.
They put a smile on your dial and a spring in your step. They put a glint back in your eye. They turn up the volume and they switch the lights back on without even being in the fuckin' room.
They turn you on as well.
They make it hard to sleep and staying up way past midnight banging away on a barely working laptop suddenly seems inevitable and even a great idea. They make it hard to concentrate on being a responsible adult because play seems more important when you’re fully aware of how miraculous it is to even be alive.
And it’s not about romance or sex or let’s settle down, baby.
That’s not what a muse brings to the table at all.
No.
A muse makes you believe again.
A muse reminds you that anything is possible and they make you curious enough to see how far you can go to find out more.
It can make you restless though. And edgy. That's the creativity and life right there. Wanting to be let out and lived. So nah... I'm not angry. I'm not even frustrated.
But I'm definitely restless for the Now New.
I think I may have crawled back out of the final bit of the rabbit hole at last and I'll share something with you...
People seem to believe there’s no end to recovery and personal growth. And I'm talking about personal growth here. Not conscious relating or anything to do with other humans. That kinda learning will take a lifetime for sure. I mean self knowledge and healing.
“There's no end to the journey.” they say.
Fuck yeah there is.
Because now I’ve found a muse.
And life and art and fully living again.
And now I know full well what's mine to carry.
And now... after putting everything down that never was mine to carry anyway...
I can really travel light!
Hardened Dreamer
Mother
Warrior
Determined Dancer
and Stargazer
still...
Beyond fear is freedom
And there is nothing to be afraid of.
To Life, with Love... and always for Truth!
Nicky Dee
Edited using GIMP.
Mandala HR's created with Mandalagaba
