What is the function of “the muse”?
Is it to amuse, confuse,
use, or abuse?
Or perhaps to discover what might be true or new?
The word muse
is implicit in words like “museum” (a house of knowledge), “music” and to
“muse” or to ponder.
Historically, the Greeks and Romans referred to “Muses,”
originally the nine daughters of mythological Zeus who were thought of as
goddesses of the inspiration of literature, sciences and the arts.
The Romans believed that six were particularly pertinent to poetry: Calliope
(epic poetry), Euterpe (flute and lyric poetry), Thalia (comedy and
pastoral poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), Erato (love poetry), Polymnia
(sacred poetry. Today we think of the muses as being three embodiments of grace
and inspiration.
How curious that the muse of creativity is often referred to
as external to oneself, and poets have often used personification in their
conception of the Muse.
In “Three Small Songs for the Muse,” Kathleen Norris calls
the Muse her oldest friend:
My
oldest friend looks for me
on
a dark road.
Nights
I can’t sleep
we
are lonely together
(Cries
of the Spirit, pp. 292-293)
In her poem, “I Said to Poetry,” Alice Walker confronts a
contentious Muse who tries to convince her to move beyond her resistance, and
asks, “When you pray, what do you think you’ll see?”
Poetry had me
There’s
no paper in this room, I said.
And
that new pen I bough
Makes
a funny noise.
She concludes:
“Bullshit,”
said Poetry.
“Bullshit”
said I.
(Her Blue Body Everything We
Know. New York: A Harvest Book, 1993)
Denise Levertov imagines her muse as a dashing, gallant hero
on a horse.
He turns in his saddle waving a plumed hat
Indecipherable
clues to destiny.
Writers have imagined the muse as a rambunctious biker, a
goddess, a hero, and have written interesting dialogues with the Muse (See
Exercise #1). The here-now-gone-tomorrow
quality of creativity has fascinated and vexed artists through the ages.
Where does our creativity come from? Perhaps it comes from
within. It is as though some dormant part of ourselves claims a voices, grabs a
pen and delivers a product. We are filled with awe. Where did that poem or that
story come from?
According to Jung, “The creative urge lives and grows in him (a person) like a tree
in the earth from which it draws its nourishment. We would do well, therefore,
to think of the creative process as a living thing implanted in the human
psyche. In the language of analytical psychology this living thing is an autonomous complex. It is a split-off
portion of the psyche, which leads a life of its own outside the hierarchy of
consciousness.”
No wonder we sometimes reel in amazement after producing a
writing!
Poet Gary Snyder
refers to a great force field, when he writes about the indigenous people who
invest great spiritual vitality in their surrounding landscapes. “Like inside a
big mind, the animals and humans can all talk, and those who pass through here
get power to heal and help” (Snyder, l990, p. 93). The encounter with this “big
mind” harvests spirituality, and is a
creative gold mine.
While some of us
claim writing is Divine inspiration, others lay claim to the creative power
that lies within. Writing is an act of declaration, and insecurities only add
to our resistance. As Sylvia Plath once said, “And by the way, everything in
life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the
imagination to improvise. The worst enemy of creativity is self doubt.”
Poet
Barbara McEnerney writes a brilliant poem that starts
And what if my words,
My fledgling poems,
Were children, were
toddlers
Trying first steps …
As
children do, they skin their knees, squeal, splash mud, and “make a mess while discovering
themselves.” McEnerney’s apt metaphor is provocative and rings true. Would we
hold our children at arm’s length, disown them, or hide them? She asks if we
would habitually say of our poems “that after all, they really aren’t very
good?”
In her
last verse, she suggests that we permit our children free reign, to ramble
along weedy paths and whisper their secrets and learn what it is they need from
their parent. She concludes by asking if we can love our offspring just
as they are
give them room
to grow, a chance
to shine?
Ah! If
we could do this for our written offspring! They could play and tumble, fall
and right themselves. We cannot protect our children or ourselves if we do not
respect their abilities and choices to become who they evolve into, and to say
what needs saying.
Poet
Charles Olsen, in his poem, “These Days”, tells us that whatever we do, we must
leave the roots on and permit them to dangle, Claim your authentic voice and
let it ring out with its own truth:
and leave the dirt
Just to make clear
Where they come from.
(Collected
Poetry of Charles Olsen)
Ed. George Butterick, University of CA Press,
1987.
As a
wise woman once said to me, “To know more is to be more.”
To write is to muse,
reflect, and inspire oneself with the consciousness of being fully alive. Writing
enhances the connections between thoughts and feelings, external reality and
internal world, body, mind, and soul. Write and celebrate you inky heart!
Blessings,
Dr. Sherry
Exercises for Growth and
Healing
1.
Muses have been envisioned as goddesses, heroes, tricksters, and even as a
disheveled biker crashing at someone’s pad for the night. If you were to
personify the muse, what character and qualities would this person take on?
What form? Write a dialogue that takes place between you and your Muse.
2. See
“Write Your Own Life” by David Berman at
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/2001/12/Write-Your-Own-Life.aspx
Write
about your response to this evocative poem.
3.
Langston Hughes wrote a poem about his early experience in writing class at
college called “Theme From English B”. The teacher gave the instruction:
Go home and write
a page tonight
And let that page come out of
you—
That way it will be true.
See the full poem at http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~keith/poems/English_B.html
Follow
the teacher’s instruction and write a page that comes out of you and that will
be true.
Now,
using this poem as a template, write your own poem, starting with the first
line of the second verse:
“What
I’m writing now is not the great poem.” Later in the poem, Raab says, “the
great poem will happen when I no longer care.” What will happen if you write as
though you don’t care?
5.
After reading my seven principles of Creative Truths, create a mantra that will
inspire you to be your most creative self:
Principles of Creative and
Curative Power by Dr. Sherry Reiter
1. Remember what the great
psychologist, Abraham Maslow said:
"Creativity is essential for psychological
health."
2. "All of life is
interconnected."
That means you are never completely alone. There is always a
tree, a pet,
the sky at midnight.
3. "Creativity is innate."
We are
created in God’s image, and the Divine is a Creator. So are we.
4. "Every moment is potentially
creative and we are always in the process of becoming, falling apart, and
re-creating ourselves."
5. "When you connect your
thoughts and emotions, there are times when sparks will go off."
Note the
energy. Celebrate the light!
6. "When we open ourselves to be
creative, we also open toward order, beauty, and a force that is greater than
ourselves."
7. "Creativity helps us to
balance ourselves."
Because change is a constant in life, creativity is a tool
to establish equilibrium. Creative “righting” occurs through writing, art, and
every creative act.
Depression sits with me in her chair.
What a sanctuary of sorrow I lie on each night!
With the sincerity of children
