If you listen, you may hear the muses sing. If not, the muses may shout. They may whisper in your ear, or they may wind their fingers around your wrist, and make you write like the wind. They may drum in the dark distance, they may dance like light upon the water — or writhe in the dirt, wrestle you to the ground, and make you weep at their sight.
The muse can be heard in an encouraging word from a friend, or in the kindness of a stranger. The muse can speak quietly in the patience of a teacher, or softly echo the wise advice of a long-ago mentor. The muse can arise in the blink of an eye, come to you late at night with scenes and scenery, stage notes and new lines in hand — or suddenly pop up, unannounced, between the lines: Surprise!
If need be, the muse will slyly wink at you, lurking in the mystery of a curious coincidence. Or lure you in slowly, with little seeds, left along time’s long trail.
On the other hand, ignoring the muse can lead to a hard lesson — from a polite kick in the pants, to a plunge that takes you right to rock bottom.
Whether it’s in a lesson learned, or an epiphany embraced, it’s best to listen to the muse.
Listening to your muse will alter your view, help you change your course, and take you on a new path that serves you — and the world — well.