It is my firm belief that every artist, whatever their medium, truly possesses very little control over his or her prospective muse. Some describe their own fickle inspiration as maddeningly vague or impossibly unpredictable. Others hold to ritual, specific atmospheres, and/or practices that might lure the muse or bring it closer to themselves. Impatience drives our sputtering cars, constantly begging for a better engine.
I find this similar fever within myself. One that desires answers above questions, haste over delay, and career-building success more than heart-transforming failure. Will I ever learn? I suppose remaining in the moment by moment beauty of the here and now will suffice to quench my thirst for a thought-provoking and stimulating muse. For now.
Sincerely, RR
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