My Muse

As I sit down with my computer late at night with a glass of wine, the stillness of the house is amplified by the contrast of noise and bustle that filled this very room just an hour ago.  Finally, a quiet moment for the two of us- just me and my laptop.

It’s only been a few months that I realized the healing power of pulling the stories swirling around in my brain like bumper cars aimlessly driving in circles, colliding and making abrupt stops when I least expect them to.  By letting my fingertips organize my memories onto virtual paper, I’m guiding them out of the loud neon-lit ring one at a time, like a traffic controller waiving flashlights directing cars into  organized symmetrical rows, color coordinated blinking signs lighting the way.

So, like any “writer”, I sit staring at the blinking cursor on my screen bursting with stories to tell but not knowing where to start.  I can feel my bumper cars wanting to jump out of every opening  of my body.   How do I tell my story tonight?  Where do I begin?  Which car do I let out first and how?

I begin with where I found my authentic voice for the first time.  Those unedited words that came through my mouth from somewhere larger than me for the first time in my life almost thirteen years ago now.  I had never heard the real me until that destined unexpected day on the telephone when I said, “wait” to you.

I said, “wait” but I didn’t know what I was going to say next to keep you on the phone.  So, I stayed quiet, opened my mouth and let my higher self speak for the first time.  And then my words came.  And you stayed.  You stayed and on the phone and in my life.

Shortly before I became “Mrs. Spilsbury” and years before Connor and the girls came, I heard Toni speak from home for the first time. It was as if the universe brought you and I together for the sole purpose of me finding my authentic voice so that one day I could find the words I needed to write about things that although had nothing to do with you, could be told because of you.  I’m able to tell my story because meeting you in this lifetime taught me how to listen and speak from my heart.

Because of Connor I have a story to tell.  But because of you I have the voice to tell it.

So what better place do I begin to tell tonight’s story than by tapping into that authentic voice, and I do that by pretending that I’m speaking to you.  My authentic voice appears most when I’m talking with you so I ask myself, how would I begin to tell this story to you?  How do I get you to stay?

All I need is to begin and my fingers will do the rest.  I close my eyes and picture me talking to you- telling my story.

And then- I begin to write.

“Dusk I then realized is just an illusion,….”

More from “Because of Connor” here.