At this very moment, as I am sitting here staring at this computer screen, I have another tab opened up with Netflix on, listening to the Borgia show play. Besides that, I have one of my journals that is now completely filled to the brim with the poems that I have written placed before me on the desk. My mind is wandering off, wandering off to a place that has it has ventured several times before. To a place that not necessarily haunts me, but it sends me to a place where I can find comfort inside my own mind. To a place where I can see the sun shining brightly over a brick wall, with orange trees lining up and down the hills, with homes that are covered with red rooftops and the smell of spring lingers in the morning air. This place tends to linger in the back of my mind, as if it has become a setting for something of my own life. That may sound odd, but to me it is nothing new. Ever since I was a child, I have always had “backgrounds” per se in my mind. To say such a thing, may make your mind run a thousand miles and wonder how is this possible. In all honesty, it is something that I am well accustomed to. I have had misty morning lakes as the background of my mind. I have had snow covered French convents as the background of my mind. And I have had the deep dark ocean water as the background of my mind. To have such a place of orange trees, brick walls, and red rooftops is something that I am delighted to have. It gives me hope, serenity, calmness, inspiration, mysticism, and love. It has become the muse of many of my recent poems and I am thrilled to have such a background to inspire me. Although this scenery is in my mind, I do not know where this place truly is. I can sense a Spanish influence on the area. I can almost smell the breeze of the ocean waves roll in the wind, filling my mind, heart and soul with it; as if I am there physically. Trust me, it is a beautiful feeling to have, and the sensation can send goosebumps up a persons arms. Right now, as I think about it, I can see the goosebumps up and down my arms and can feel my heart beating in rhythm of the wind that flows through my mind. As I write this, I can see how a normal person would think of this as odd or even eccentric thinking. But it is something that fills me. It is something inspires me.
To me, inspiration is a major thing in my poems and stories. It is what helps me create words of love, sensuality, war, spirituality inside each poem that pours out of me. For me, inspiration can come in many forms. I do not have a specific muse, in fact, my muse is everyone and everything. The nape of a woman’s neck can make me write poems of a woman finding herself. The way a fish swims can make me write poems of spirituality. The way a chair or armoire or even a box looks can influence me to write a story or poem of a historical time. It is everything and everyone who makes me write these things. Although that scenery that continues to play over and over in my head is a major influence, it is everything in the real world that inspires me and it is everything in mythology, philosophy and love that inspires me.
Inspiration is something that comes to everyone. It may come differently to one person than to another. It is entirely impossible for two people to be inspired by the same thing to write, paint, sing or create the same thing. For you, the reader of this post…what is it that inspires you? What inspires you to sing? What inspires you to sculpt? What inspires you to create your own masterpiece? Do you have a muse? Is there more than one muse that inspires you? I guarantee that anyone who reads this and comments this will be completely different from one person to the next.
Let the world inspire you, let your muse guide you. Let everything you touch, smell, taste, hear inspire you and take you to levels you’ve never been to before. You can and you will create new pieces that no one has ever seen you before.