The muse, according to Burroughs, is something that “inhabits” us. –– When we’re inspired, we see ourselves as possessed by “the nagual: the uncontrollable —unknown and so unpredictable— spontaneous and alive. You could say the magical”. In turn, Nabokov describes the muse as “a prefatory glow”. And the truly singular aspect of these adjectives is that they come from the realm of the ghosts, the boreal winds.

This relation between phantoms and inspiration says a lot about their nature. Ghosts, just like muses, recur. They are condemned to repeat themselves. In the same manner, it is possible that the muse will visit those who are more open to their subtle movements. Most of the time we are deaf and unable to hear these voices, these songs –– But no poet is alone while writing. And the muse, full of feminine vanity, yearns to be named, to make herself present through a word or a phrase, or perhaps merely to cross through us and raise our hair. Because she knows that being is being perceived. And in this very manner, ghosts exist only when we are aware of their presence.

995487_4571375783064_2090125993_n

A muse is the ghost that becomes a creative impulse. The specter that makes us delineate a narrative from nonsensical images and “freeze” the already agitated phantasmagoria of our experience. This is the vibrating moment in which everything makes sense. And it is only for a moment.

“The ray of inspiration that will inevitably fall”, Nabokov continues, which may refer to how beyond moving like ghosts, muses pay men sudden “visits”, the phantasmagoria in which we exist is the muse. We must simply confer presence to her. Let her in. We must allow the lightning to fall while being ourselves the conductors of electricity.

The simple act of stopping for a moment and perceiving the translucent river that flows through the city streets, the halls of a house, the body’s limbs; or the mere fact of questioning the vibrant movement that crosses through us, means we are already in the realm of phenomena. Means that we have never been alone, and that the creative impulse swims in that river, whether it goes by the name of muse or apparition.

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The muse, according to Burroughs, is something that “inhabits” us. –– When we’re inspired, we see ourselves as possessed by “the nagual: the uncontrollable —unknown and so unpredictable— spontaneous and alive. You could say the magical”. In turn, Nabokov describes the muse as “a prefatory glow”. And the truly singular aspect of these adjectives is that they come from the realm of the ghosts, the boreal winds.

This relation between phantoms and inspiration says a lot about their nature. Ghosts, just like muses, recur. They are condemned to repeat themselves. In the same manner, it is possible that the muse will visit those who are more open to their subtle movements. Most of the time we are deaf and unable to hear these voices, these songs –– But no poet is alone while writing. And the muse, full of feminine vanity, yearns to be named, to make herself present through a word or a phrase, or perhaps merely to cross through us and raise our hair. Because she knows that being is being perceived. And in this very manner, ghosts exist only when we are aware of their presence.

995487_4571375783064_2090125993_n

A muse is the ghost that becomes a creative impulse. The specter that makes us delineate a narrative from nonsensical images and “freeze” the already agitated phantasmagoria of our experience. This is the vibrating moment in which everything makes sense. And it is only for a moment.

“The ray of inspiration that will inevitably fall”, Nabokov continues, which may refer to how beyond moving like ghosts, muses pay men sudden “visits”, the phantasmagoria in which we exist is the muse. We must simply confer presence to her. Let her in. We must allow the lightning to fall while being ourselves the conductors of electricity.

The simple act of stopping for a moment and perceiving the translucent river that flows through the city streets, the halls of a house, the body’s limbs; or the mere fact of questioning the vibrant movement that crosses through us, means we are already in the realm of phenomena. Means that we have never been alone, and that the creative impulse swims in that river, whether it goes by the name of muse or apparition.

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