Dear Ms. Muse, a.k.a. Word Woman,
You attempted to get my attention:
At 6, when I learned two words, The Boat, from a poster in my first grade classroom and I was off and running with “Dick and Jane”.
At 8, when I received an illustrated book of children’s poetry, “The Child’s Garden of Verses”.
At 12, when I discovered the magic of the “spell’ of words with my junior high English lessons.
At 16, writing my first poems inspired by my teacher, Mr. Ellenson.
At 18, when I discovered that movement, pacing then and driving later, encouraged the words and phrases in my essays.
At 20, at UCLA in my poetry class with Jack Hirschman and my friends, especially Jim Morrison who encouraged me to write words that he would put to music and I would become rich and famous. I turned and ran.
I ignored these messages; then life and love came calling and I was off on adventures for years until I came to a screeching halt in an operating room.
Coincidentally, I was born 50 years before in this hospital. I lost sound in my right ear but began to hear my inner voice and your message, loud and clear.
You told me to write poems about my life.
I began with some flowers and fluff, but the down-and-dirty stories intervened.
I listened once again to you, and here is the emergence of our relationship.
At 54, during a Dream Quest trip to Guatemala, you sashayed into my subconscious in a hotel casita built on stilts over the river, Rio Dulce.
You spoke, and once again, your instructions were loud and clear,”D you hear me now?” And here is the emergence of my relationship with you.
Forgive me for sometimes listening to that pesky pixie, Perfectionism, perched on my left shoulder, chattering in my ear, casting doubt about my choice of words and phrases, causing procrastination and sometimes poetic paralysis. However, with your assistance and encouragement, my faithful companion, I prevail and continue to Write On.
