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Daydreaming, Muses and Wild Women

From my chair to yours…

"In the Universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in-between them, there are doors.”
-William Blake

The creative process moves in limitless ways for me. It may stick around for only moments as a mischievous sprite, teasing me to take part. She may hang out longer. I do my best to listen to her. I refer to this spirit as my muse. A few muses hang around most days. Sometimes I liken my muses to a rabbit hoping along inviting me to follow down that proverbial rabbit hole (remember my restless mind). It’s a process that I trust, at least to start and see where it goes. If I am in the flow, it may lead to a next step. The well-known author, Elizabeth Gilbert, says this of an idea, “Ideas are driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest. And the only way an idea can be made manifest in our world is through collaboration with a human partner. It is only through a human’s efforts that an idea can be escorted out of the ether and into the realm of the actual. Ideas are the stuff exquisite greatness is made up of. A waking dream is an idea. Regardless of how large, small, or insignificant, it leads to another stage of an idea. I took a trip to Portugal years ago. This little tale is a tribute to daydreaming and where it can lead to.

The Wild Woman and the Teddy Bear

As the story goes, she was coming back from her walk through the forest. Her feet were toughened by the many surfaces she has walked on throughout the years. Some have been spongy moss beds, others hot and hard. At times, the ground so dry and cracked it appeared lifeless, but this is not true. The woman always saw aliveness wherever she was. She had satisfied her thirst with water through the day. Now she was looking forward to a glass of excellent local red wine.

Her walk continued towards her temporary home in this cozy retreat. Images of soaking in a scented bubble bath quickened her steps. The moon had risen recently, and she had howled in honor of her animal within. This was a ritual she had learned long ago, to give thanks, grateful for being alive. The woman bayed mindfully, so as not to bring any attention to this personal moment between herself and Grandmother moon.

This evening she had felt the rhythm moving, inviting her to dance. Her body swirling and almost primal in the movements. She felt her feet skip and stamp the earth, grounding her. This dance of gratefulness to Mother Gaia, to divine Universe. But for all that, the story I am sharing is a kind of love story. A unique love story. Continuing her walk back, she spotted a bundle on the ground in the bright moonlight. The woman picked it up. It was a teddy bear. Looking at it, she saw it had been in the forest for a while. She brought it tenderly to her breast and kept walking towards her destination.

The forest she was in was a cork forest in Portugal. One promise to herself was to travel to many forests and woods throughout the world. Some were well known and some not.

Opening the door to her room, she put her precious bundle on the small bar. Looking at the little eyes of the teddy bear, the eyes seemed so alive. There was no doubt someone had dropped it. Some child? The bears eyes spoke to the woman of affection, love, and a loneliness. It had been several years since her pets had passed. The pain still echoed deep within her. She carried the little bear over to the couch, once again holding it to her chest. “Silly,” she thought. But believe it or don’t as you hear this story. A feeling of protective love opened in the woman’s heart.

To this day, she has shared with me that “bear” always travels with her. She often laughs and says, “It was a gift from the night she had howled at the moon in the cork forest. I look at stuffed animals differently now. Wondering at the feelings they can evoke. Are these feelings exchangeable?

In the woman’s case, there is not a doubt in my mind.

(From Tiny Stories, Diminutive tales from the Tip of my Imagination)

Be well!
Kas

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