Have you ever awakened in the middle of the night, dreaming words, hearing a muse voice demanding you write it all down - and it won't leave you alone until you do?

Most artists, writers and poets wax romantic when they start talking about their muses. Well, mine is a tough guy who isn't sweet. No flapping ethereal wings, no flowing robes, no sweet talk of encouragement. He's a warrior angel for sure. How do I know that? He exists in the dimension of time but is not in my physical space. That translates as his communication is far more intimate as it is on a spiritual level.

What that also means is that this strong-willed mentor comes crashing in on my sleep time, visiting on a regular basis. I used to think I could outsmart the guy and catch some “zzz’s” in the afternoon by deep meditation. Warrior boy showed up anyway. The message was clear: I’m your creative angel and we are partners for eternity. Well, at least the guy is handsome.

Don't get me wrong; he's a great guy. He is incredibly perceptive about just the right moment when I’ve been meditating, gathering creative energy, and exploring the conceptual, deciding how to bring it down out of the atmosphere and help it land on Earth in a tangible way so people can relate.

He prods me when I’m just about to cross over from meditation and dreaming into total forgetfulness and sleep time. I guess only a warrior angel is strong enough to steer a creative consciousness back up through the dreaming waters to break surface and bring it home. Like a lot of writers I keep a notebook and pen by my bed to capture those perfect moments of intuitive sudden awareness, a few conceptual words to flesh out later or an almost complete write.

How about your muse? Have you written about them today, paying tribute as your partner in writing? Creativity Warrior Angel (CWA) gave me a thumbs up on this one - with a wink and a grin.

 

Dreaming Words

 

Warm comfortable drifting

Toggling between this waking world

And the world of dreams symbolic

Sheets, those delicious summer skimmers

Glide as bodies turn side to side in repose

 

Gently

 

Quietly

 

Softly the growing silence

Easily falling down to fade

 

*Wake up!*

Comes an unwelcome startling voice

Eyes closed

Face grimaces a frown

*Wake up!* voice insistent, repeats

 

Ascending the dark stairway of knowledge

Rubbing my inner mind's eye

Flinging open the huge door to light

Asking *What?!*

About to fall teetering backward Into the comforting quiet dark

 

*What?!*

 

*Write it down*

 

*Now? It's the middle of the night!*

 

Aware it's a losing battle

Dutifully returning to the waking world of dark

Reaching out, fingers fumbling for bedside notebook and pen

Scribbling on lines overrun from hands half asleep

Too large is the messy handwriting

Next morning tough to decipher

 

Words tumble down onto paper out of the inner dark

That vast library of knowledge, universal to all

Opening the heavy tall thick door

Written words enter, marching out onto now

The waking world bathed still in eerie moonlight

 

Fulfilled the bleary-eyed scribe's task

Tumble backward to welcoming sleep

Covers pulled high over weary, oh, so tired, body

Descending the long narrow stairway

 

Down

 

 

Deeper

 

 

 

Arrived

 

 

The loving library of inner knowledge

Infinity to yet explore

Artifacts of knowing to drag home

And leave quietly on some welcoming doorstep

Denny Lyon

Copyright 2008

All Rights Reserved

*****

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