Night Owling, Creativity Howling

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Writing. Music making. Video editing.

Art is an all consuming mistress. You simply must let her have her way with you, devotedly, or else she deserts you until you prioritize her and the value of the treasures she brings.

Everything is art. It has its own cycles, and its own Muses. It has its ebbs and its flows.

I have often found it a bit challenging to honor my path as an artist when I am around people who strongly assert that their schedule should be Mine. It has been an issue I’ve dealt with for over a decade, ever since i met my Muse.

At times, in order to not rock the boat, I have left her behind for periods of time, (despite walking on water as she does) …

The fact is, she is finicky. She comes when she wants, and she makes no apologies.

My Muse has always come somewhere between midnight and 1 AM. When at last the house is silent, and there are no distractions. When at last my fingers fly, and my heart gushes, and my spirit flies with wings into the great wide unknown of potential creation.

She is the ultimate mother. She births sonic sculptures. She births word clusters and constellations of imagery.

I love her so. I adore her like a devoted romantic, on my knees with worship at the sparkle of her eyes in the moonlight.

And occasionally, someone will come downstairs as i am passionately communing with her in the wee small hours of the morning, clucking about bedtimes and schedules and time.

Don’t they understand that for us, when we are together, there is no time? Don’t they understand that “bedtime” and “Should” mean nothing to me?? Time melts! And this is where the MAGIC rests!

I cannot apologize for being what I am. I cannot apologize for my priorities. I cannot apologize for honoring that which feeds my soul and makes me feel alive.

it is like having a secret lover. With whom you rendezvous when no prying eyes are around to query or question or be inquisitive about logic or reason or rhyme.

We must be what we are, and not question it. Ever. That is Self Love. That feeds the fires of Destiny.

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