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If you’ve worked with me or followed my blog for some time, you’ve probably heard me talk about the muse—an archetype for our creative source.
You may have also experienced the guided visualization I sometimes take writers through to receive clarity about their writing and creativity, experience a creative breakthrough or determine their next step. I call the exercise, “Meet Your Muse.”
I often ask my writing coach to take me through my Meet Your Muse exercise so I can easily access my deeper answers about my work. A recent example came just days after leading Leadership Coach Amanda Madorno in this exercise and meeting her creative muse—the ancestor horses. And so, before we go any further, I want to acknowledge Amanda and the horses for inspiring my most recent “Meet Your Muse” journey.
We begin the journey in a snow-covered meadow, a cold landscape, a warm sun.
This is the first time I can remember traveling to meet my muse in snow. In the distance, I see a man wearing a fur cap traveling on a horse. The man’s breath and the horse’s breath fog as they near me. With a pat of his hand behind him, the man invites me to hop on the back of the horse and ride with him.
We ride with great speed. The man and horse perform all the work. I am literally going along for the ride, which feels exhilarating. And easy.
And then I realize: I want to take the reins.
The man and I switch places. This feels like an important shift.
I sense the vitality and power of the horse, feel the sleek, dark coat of this muscular being.
And a conversation with Amanda comes back to me. “Horses teach us to be fully embodied. To fully integrate body, heart and soul.”
I sense that this is part of the teaching of the horse that shows up in today’s journey—how to embody my writing, my creative work; how to integrate mind, body, heart and spirit in the work.
Because I had been feeling self-doubt and judgment about the book I’ve been working on, I ask my creative Muse, “Is my book good? Does it have worth? Value?”
You’re in the wrong question.
The right question feels nonverbal. It is more an openness to receive. The right question is a space in the heart that has no words. A space for the answers to bubble up, arise and inform, help me embody the work.
This answer is beyond words.
The words (of the book) will come. But first is the space for the words. Walk the talk. Embody your book all the time. Be the Book.
The book is the horse, is the snow, is the warm sun.
The book is the ground upon which you gallop.
I ask my muse, “Tell me what the horse is.”
The horse is the soul of the book.
And so, dear reader, I invite you to imagine yourself as the soul of your book (or poem or essay or blog post or other creative project).
What is it like to be the book (or poem or essay or whatever)?
What do you learn from being it?