A slow start to the day. Some very peculiar symptoms…an otherworldliness that I choose to attribute to clocking myself with the car’s hatchback the day before. Not sure which thoughts were real and which belonged to dreams—a situation not far from normal in this odd, lovely life.

The requisite preparations for the day. Sheers drawn against the brightest of the daylight. A couple of quick catnaps with cats.

And then something very strange.

At around 2:30, the room suddenly felt as if the room were superoxygenated. And my head danced in it. A door had opened.

The Muses I had been waiting a week to arrive were here. They sat on my shoulder. They made me tea. They waited in other rooms for me, proffering words when I went there. There was no place where they were not.

I still feel an odd distance from the story, standing to one side of it rather than feeling it from the inside. But yesterday the created place filled my sight. Its air, its light and darkness, were my air, my light and darkness. Three hours went away from me. Their minutes transformed into the words.

Last night, a night with the tape recorder in my hand.

Today, tonight, more of the same. Notes transcribed first…then I will turn my palms up and ask the universe in. What is not right today will be right tomorrow. What does not let me in will admit me when I least expect it.

This is what’s important. This is what I need. This is who I am.

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