Twice last week my Muse let herself be known to me. The first time I could feel what I thought was her initially but it was actually her boyfriend, Philippe. I sensed him stirring.
Here’s what happened:
When I visualize the flat Marie-Josee lives in I see a cot on one side of the kitchen-living room hard by the wall. Philippe is sleeping. He is on his right side with his back to us. He snores gently on occasion and he sighs. He is wearing Kahki shorts and nothing else. He is lithe, well-built, perhaps 30 though hard to tell from the back, with a thatch of dark, recalcitrant straight hair. Even though I don’t see it I know the dark hair on his chest has a touch of early grey in it.
Marie-Josee looks at him hungrily.
“Philippe will soon be awake.”
It sounds like a warning.
"You have much work to do,” Marie-Josee tells me. “You should go and get to work. I will attend to Philippe.”
My Muse is kicking me out?
“I need to re-juice,” she said. “You should not be here when I absorb energy. You will not know what to do. It will be too much for you. It must be filtered through me.”
“Why else would you have a Muse?”
“Go now.” She kisses me on the cheek and turns away toward Philippe.
I am bemused. I trust my Muse. She needs to recharge. Philippe is her energy source.
I leave her be. In the distance I hear the sharp crack of a whip.
The next day we had this exchange:
My Muse is staring at me. Large, limpid pools of soft velvet. Love, understanding and more than a touch of exasperation.
“Why aren’t you having more sex?” she demands. “Are you trying to forget how?”
What an odd thing to say, and no.
“You aren’t connected to the physical world and that’s why your energy isn’t traveling right. It’s trapped in the lowest chakra. Sex is the most efficient way to release it.”
“You should do it. Soon and often.”
“See Philippe? He is smiling the delicious half-smile. You are not.
He rests and sighs until I need him again. I can’t do this for you. Not really. Help yourself in this, Leah.”
Marie-Josee has a dynamic, crackling energy about her, electric and snapping.
The snapping energy that I need she has. How to get it from Muse to me?
She is exasperated. She’s just told me how and it seems I’m not believing her. I do. I need other ways tho-
“No, you don’t” she shouts, cutting me off.
Her arms raise as she implores the heavens and then she flashes her velvet brown eyes on me. Sparks jump and race through them. The brown eyes are on fire.
I can see the conflagration in her mind. She is beyond exasperation. She is angry with me and wants me to respond in kind.
“Stop watching ABBA videos and get to work!”
“Lovemaking and writing. I’ve spelled it out for you. There’s a point where I… well, I won’t give up but I will ignore you for a time. I don’t know how long. Until you learn. Or beg. Or… I don’t know… until you tell me the truth of your life and why you write.”
“Have you told yourself why you write? I believe you have not.”
Philippe has rustled a bit under the sheets.
“He is fine,” said Marie-Josee. “He must rest, and he will.”
“Do you know what you want? You say guidance from the Universe, guidance from the Higher Self and me – The screech and clanging of a train covers the rest of what she said.
She smiles. “You don’t want to know, do you?”
She leans over and kisses me on the cheek, quick and dry.
She always kisses me good-bye to signal our time is over.
“I must rest now, she said. “Phillipe.”
I don't quite know what to make of some of the things she tells me, but I have a Muse for a reason. It is best to heed her.
Tell me, do you obey your Muse?
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