So, for those of you that are wondering, my Muse is back. Apparently she fancied herself a little time down under, and showed up Monday morning wearing a Bush hat, which looked ridiculous, crocodile boots that were fake, and playing a Didgeridoo, very badly. She skipped back into my office as if she hadn’t left me to suffer for nearly a week, telling tales of how she wrangled wombats and learned to speak kangaroo. As if that would make me forgive her for leaving me alone, though I will say listening to her wail in what she believes is kangaroo is just plain hilarious. I’m trying not to fall out of my chair laughing when she launches into the most outlandish story about a kangaroo named Alfred (yes that was his name) that challenged her to a boxing match. Well, Taekwondo actually. According to my Muse she studied it in Korea, while on a trip there to master Gangnam Style. Yes, the dance (please don’t ask her to show you). Anyways, in the story of Muse vs. Alfred my Muse had no problem stating that the entire debacle could have been avoided if Alfred had just admitted that he’d cheated during their friendly game of rugby (if such a thing could exist). Apparently kangaroos are stubborn though. So are Muses, thankfully my Muse is practicing perfect love (and water walking, but that’s another story). She tries to see everyone she comes across as a brother or sister, friend never foe even when they are threatening to knock her eyes back into her skull. That kind of love is powerful, and a different kind of Taekwondo. Spiritual Taekwondo. So, against all the screams of her ego to show that arrogant kangaroo who’s boss, she instead forgave Alfred, offered him peace and a cookie (that I think she stole, also another story) and an amazing thing happened… He kicked her in the face. He didn’t really want her cookie. The point, she tells me as I’m clutching my sides that now ache from laughing, is that even though he wasn’t ready to accept her peace, she showed love in the face of anger. Sometimes people aren’t ready for the love you display, but eventually love and peace seem to work there way into the cracks of even the most stubborn kangaroos. Never stop loving your enemies she says. Never offer resistance, always offer the other cheek. As her tale ended, her cell phone rang. It was Alfred; he’s planning a visit and wants to set up a time for a friendly round of golf. They have made amends. Spiritual Taekwondo works in mysterious ways. Now I have to go. My Muse wants me to try on the Bush hat she bought me so we can take a selfie. Awesome.
Attention Facebook Community: My Muse has gone missing. She was last seen Friday October 24th, 2014 sitting in my office singing “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic while talking in a British accent and trying to sit in my cushion chair wearing a hoop skirt (I have no idea where she got that). Her inspiration techniques have become a bit eccentric, so I may have told her to get lost, which I’m afraid she took literally because, let’s face it, she is the definition of drama queen. I discovered a ransom note demanding some obscure things (large bottle of orange soda, Oreos, Saved by the Bell T.V. box set season 1… none of these things seem practical) but I’m nearly certain it was written in her handwriting. She has the tendency to disappear from time to time in order to prove a point, but usually by now she has returned, smiling from ear to ear and divulging happily about the great adventure she’s just been on, as if she didn’t purposely leave me alone to suffer through trying to write a scene in which her help would have been valuable. Although she does usually bring me souvenirs, a porcelain elephant from India where she battled a power hungry genie, a dried starfish she got from the island of Tahiti where she nursed dying mermaids back to health, the Frozen t-shirt she got from Florida when she went to Disneyland to… well ride roller coasters (she said it was necessary so she could better understand fear, but I think she just wanted to go to Disneyland). I’ve been trying to work all week without her, hoping that at any moment she would storm back into my office, voice ablaze with song and constant chatter about how exciting it is to be alive, but nothing. The silence has become deafening. Not to mention my writing productivity has slowed, or rather stopped. If you see her please tell her I’m sorry. As much as it pains me to say, I miss her unnecessary, extravagant, mostly-annoying antics and I promise to work on being nicer. Also mention that if she comes back I promise to finish building out the additional closet space so she can store her large wardrobe that could possibly clothe a small nation. Thanks.
So let me set the scene for you: I’m center stage, small and quiet, sitting in a single chair, my laptop perched on my knees, my eyes fixed on the screen. But I’m not writing, because I can’t hear myself think over the thundering voice of Mr. Commando behind me. He looks exactly as you’d assume; navy camo pants, tight V-neck, t-shirt that is designed to be too small so his muscles inspire proper terror. His eyes are mean, filled with hate and disapproval. His name: Doubt. He stormed in here ten minutes ago, pushing my poor muse off the stage (she is currently curled in a whimpering ball on the floor clutching her shoulder, which can not be good), and started filling my head with terrifying questions. What are you doing? You think you can make that jump? You’re pretty small and it’s pretty big, you actually think you would survive? Do you think you’re special? Powerful? A superhero? One after the other, falling from his mouth like grenades, and I’m desperately searching for the truth that I know is somewhere in my head, but in the moment I can’t remember any of it. Thankfully I have Spotify. And a song comes on by Colton Dixon, called Limitless. And through the pounding voice of doubt I hear the lyrics: We are limitless, limitless, the power of love alive in us is limitless, limitless, unstoppable and nothing less, nothing can hold us down, cause we are limitless. And suddenly I’m standing, a renewed sense of self, in a place of remembrance, a place that gives me the strength to turn around and clock Doubt with a wicked right hook, which knocks him with enough force to shut him up. Now he’s just staring at me in fear and then, of course, I stole his hat (because it’s really cool). The moral of my morning tale is that Monday’s (actually all days) can come with doubt, fear that you can’t change the world, or accomplish that dream, or fly. But you can, because we really are limitless. Filled with the power of love. Filled with faith, given to us by the one greater than any doubt. So while I go see to my muse (who claims her arm is broken, and that she’s dying, I mean really, you cannot die from a broken arm, but she insists I call her family so she can say her final goodbye… She is so dramatic) I challenge you to remember YOU ARE LIMITLESS. With that, conquering this week ahead should be nothing! Rachelle out (if I had a microphone I’d drop it for dramatic effect… I think my muse is starting to rub off on me).
t's 7:15pm where I am, and I've written a total of 7,000 words today. I know that may sound like a lot, but I was hoping for more. When you escape real life to lock yourself in a hotel room with the soul purpose of typing till your fingers fall off you hope the muse shows up. She did (dressed like a burlesques dancers, which would make sense if you could see the theme of this hotel I'm staying in) but she took several coffee breaks, and a very long lunch. I'm considering changing her rate to hourly because I'm just not sure I'm getting my moneys worth. Where is she now you ask? Probably having drinks with the group of business professionals that have invade the hotel for a public speaking convention. They're really loud and talkative... go figure. So I'm going to go try and find her, while avoiding direct eye contact with anyone that looks like they might want to talk to me, and maybe grab something to eat (she gets to eat, so should I). More to come later...