I had that breakthrough moment last night with the concept of The Great Indifference. A short stretch of time when I was able to put down in words, the few rough principles which form the concept’s skeletal foundation and structure. The words came easy, and naturally, like the flowing of water across a sudden breach, where gravity takes over and hastens the spill until all current capacity is spent. That was the experience last night; when I typed out a hesitant first few words, which came easy, and seemed right, and which beckoned more words to follow, forming first sentences, and then paragraphs, complete and final in first draft as any concerted effort of editing might hope to achieve. This was no natural talent of mine, but the fortuitous grace which comes by happenstance, when the muse’s sweet, soft whisper is heeded, and all else put aside until the creative  deed is done. The experience reminds me of the admonition of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who once cautioned his readers to “…shun father and mother and wife and brother, when genius calls.” Such wise words from one who has certainly known the pain of loss when the muse takes leave before we’d readied our body into the composing pose, prepared the pen, or found clean, ample paper upon which to scribble. Better to have spake aloud the words into memory, though all about us might think us mad, than to let the fading gift go unreceived, and the opportunity of comprehension become lost forever to our finite mortality.


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