The Muse has always had your back.
But you haven’t always had its.
And though it won’t hold a grudge, it’s likely hidden itself away.
For it was banished from your false kingdom long ago.
It sits now — buried, suffocating, and in terminal condition — at the bottom of the landfill your mind has spent so many years creating.
And it patiently awaits your return.
But the truth is you were never interested in The Muse. You never looked its way.
You were too busy acting as a gatherer of knowledge, worshiping the false god of intelligence.
You were too busy seeking surrogates for the feeling only It has the power to provide.
Indeed, that which you thought would become your saving grace, became the bane of your existence.
It would be pointless for you to go chasing after it now.
For you know not where it has gone, nor where to start looking.
The truth is, The Muse is looking over your shoulder at this very moment.
But the second you turn to look, with the selfish intent to capture it within your gaze, it will be immediately repelled by your hostile act of need.
No, it will return home once your desire is pure — once you are worthy, and not a minute sooner.
And when it does, it would be wise to resist the feral urge to seal it away in your ivory tower, only to remain for your selfish amusement.
Because even if such a thing were possible, it would vanish as soon as you closed the door.
And this, my friend, will only serve to anger your mind, sending it into a violent chase with no end.
The Muse must be respected.
It must be understood.
It cannot be scribbled upon.
It cannot be altered.
It cannot be guided.
For It has a will of Its own.
And It does as It pleases.
This is the way it was always meant to be.
The Muse goes by another name, and that name is Perfection.
Perfection is always a possibility.
But it remains just that, until the mist which gives its form reaches a certain threshold of density, such that condensation begins to form.
And once it does . . .
Once it’s dripping with sincerity . . .
It will walk Itself out of the fog, painted with a great big smile, to Say Hello.
This, is where the world drops off.
This, is where the immortals roam.
This, is where you’ll come to learn what you’re truly capable of.
Because it’s the Only Way.
And your Muse is the Only One.
Best you stop trying to force a shapeless, amorphous peg into a round hole, friend.
You’re not the one calling the shots here.
The most you can do is become worthy enough to join It on Its magnificent journey throughout time and space.
And once you have, make no mistake: It will deliver strokes of insight and genius to you.
It will deliver them to you from the heavens above like a lightning bolt.
You see, Creation wasn’t something God did.
Creation is something God does.
As for me, I only seek to be part of this.
For the honor of such is all I truly need in this life.
To be a vessel — a lightning rod of His creation. To access the infinite intelligence of the universe.
Is that too much to ask?