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How I'm Wired

Robin Rice

The moment I have a moment

The moment a moment opens

The moment there is space

I fill it with a creative idea or process.

I’m hopeless, helpless that way

Now that Creativity Herself, a.k.a SHE, is my muse.

 

Before it was a hand-me-down goddessish muse 

(No offense, I love them, but they were all named

By someone else, and conjured times and cultures that are not mine)

Or a mythological creature or a spirit from another realm

That anyone might bump into along the Creative Way.

Powerful, to be sure, but not like this.

That was before SHE took hold,

SHE Herself, and let me tell you

SHE didn’t ask, SHE just came

Took me on, took me over

Takes me now, this very moment, as I write and speak to you

SHE takes me all the way to my limits

And then, probably grinning (how would I know?) pushes more.

Can you feel HER, inside these fingers typing, these vocal chords humming

Inside these words your eyes and ears behold

Can you feel HER connecting us, right here, right now?

It used to be I’d have ten creative ideas, vying to be my personal selection

Hard to choose. Not anymore.

SHE knows what SHE wants, single minded

Relentless, pointed, direct

The way bullet trains are built to fly.

There’s no wondering what’s being called for

No mistaking HER intent.

I have learned to appreciate that.

SHE ignores me, the small me, mostly

Unless, like today, I look directly at HER

Talk about HER, yes, by god, right out loud.

Now SHE is looking back at me

Even as SHE is writing as me

Talking to you.

I half-wonder why SHE lets me, but actually, I know.

You see, SHE wants you, too.

Wants your warm body, your fluid mind

Wants your life force and your best time of the day

And your dedication to wherever the path takes you

Wants that small you out of the way.

And maybe that’s too much for you.

Maybe the small you thinks, but I might die

Or do something I would never do

Or, well, who knows what could happen?

And I assure you that you are thinking along the right lines

Because you will

Yes, for sure, your tiny, little

One-in-7-billion-people-on-the-planet self will die.

Get over it.

I’d tell you why it’s worth it, this dying

But it’s not like that, not like there are words you can say

Not like I could convince anyone

Who wasn’t already ravenous to meet HER

Dying of anticipation for a visit from HER.

Like I was, like I always am.

I’d tell you more about it all, the whole rapturous ordeal

But I can’t.

SHE defies words (of course)

But I can say this:

Somewhere within, you already know HER

Already know what it’s like to forget

Everything and find everything.

Like the batter who desperately needed a home run

To save his career… and got one.

Like a mother desperate for her missing child…

Finally found alive.

Like someone who knows she is going to live forever

And is terrified of the boredom that will always come

Without… Something… More…

Best I can do, all I’ve got to offer

Are these words, this page, our moment here.

Thirsty yet?