Happiness is a foul companion when it comes to inspiration. At night you sink into a silky sleep bereft of dreams, and a couple of blank hours later you wake up out in the open. Overhead a cloudless sky and the sun in full bloom. But still no shadows to be found.
You think of the old times when you flitted about on a narrow ridge between vigil and swoon. Not black, not white, not on, not off, always somewhere between here and there. Inspired ad nauseam, pouring words onto paper, screens, keys, walls, windows, streets, people. Absorbing the waywardness of life with all your senses and spitting it out again in form of creative vigour. Ups and downs in a continuous stream with poems and stories intruding upon you without your wilful involvement, consuming the arts like a voracious beast. Fast, wuthering, always in motion, washing down smiles with tears and tears with a smile.
Today your tears never meet your smiles, they co-exist separated by a thick wall of steadiness. Happiness weighs heavy on your shoulders and satiates you to the core. Your muse couldn't thrive in that culture of continuity and left the ship. So you will have to challenge yourself now and tap into that bliss to create breeding grounds for a new muse, a muse without airs and graces, a muse that will be your faithful partner in good times and in better.
"The man who arrives at the doors of artistic creation with none of the madness of Muses, would be convinced that technical ability alone was enough to make an artist. What that man creates by means of reason will pale before the art of inspired beings." ~ Plato
