Audience seeked
Dear Reader:
Allow me to thank your blogging vices.
Not many people know, but I live with several sides of me, one which sits at the keyboard tonight is a natural born writer, and seldom has the opportunity to come out.
Usually I reside dormant inside, learning to one day come out, and take over. All sides agree.
Having a writer side also comes with a small draw back, several if I may add:
First of all, I am more sensitive to the world, to its colours, its stories and its flavours, and sometimes I simply must come out to write about what needs to be said.
Secondly, I have a big taste for drama. It’s like the spice melange for life and of course Love is a must have in every story.
Combine those and you can assume my love life has been a bit intense. That’s the way I like it.
Yet there is a final component as to having a writer side: I need a muse, a nymph to keep the water of words and stories flowing to my pages. Usually my Muse comes to me after love (emotionally and physically) and I find a bit of an addition to keeping her by my side.
Love is a zig-zagy game, hunting it has made several prey pass by my aim.
From time to time the hunter comes home with a price, just to muse it.
For this rare game, I have prepared a special place in my life, a place that is supposed to hold room for my other. My permanent muse if you may, thus having a place set in the table, in the bed, in the closet but especially in my heart. This way as several catches come and go, some wishing to stay some never stay long enough, I have always the right place to keep them, and to allow me to grow around the space I hold for. To this place-holder, I have given a name: My Poet.
I joke with the other sides about the role of My Poet in my life. Some think of her as an image to remain in touch with a sensitive side, some see it as a waste of energy. I simply have My Poet there because I love her.
The inside joke is that it’s My Poet’s job to send me girls, to stand in her place, so that they can train me to be able to handle her when she arrives.
With time, tears and experience, the picture in My Poet’s frame has become clearer and cleared and some details became an important clue as to how to find her. What she loves, the way she thinks, the way she fells in love… all clues of the not so perfect girl that fits perfectly My Poet’s space.
My Poet becomes my muse by definition. Every time that someone is crowned in my heart, I, the writer, come out and make words out of heartbeat.
Today, I cannot muse My Poet, for she does not proudly sit on her space.
Still I have crowned her in my heart and musing her could wake feelings that I much rather push away, wishing to dwell in the joy of being in love.
So I the writing side, have to keep still while she is not here adding to the anxiety of waiting for her. I also am aware of the fact that she might not choose me as hers.
musing her is not an option.
Said in other words, I have a muse, but no desire to muse her; and this is where your vices come in and why must I thank them.
Should you choose to become my audience, musing her will not be necessary to let the words be; for they would not be for her, but for my audience, allowing me to work and to take my hands, heart and head from her and to be placed in her story, (hopefully our story.)
Should you choose become so, I will, as time allows, write all about how my current situation came to pass, and maybe you can become audience and ally in this feat.
So, shall you? Be my audience?
Tuyo Isaza
Allow me to thank your blogging vices.
Not many people know, but I live with several sides of me, one which sits at the keyboard tonight is a natural born writer, and seldom has the opportunity to come out.
Usually I reside dormant inside, learning to one day come out, and take over. All sides agree.
Having a writer side also comes with a small draw back, several if I may add:
First of all, I am more sensitive to the world, to its colours, its stories and its flavours, and sometimes I simply must come out to write about what needs to be said.
Secondly, I have a big taste for drama. It’s like the spice melange for life and of course Love is a must have in every story.
Combine those and you can assume my love life has been a bit intense. That’s the way I like it.
Yet there is a final component as to having a writer side: I need a muse, a nymph to keep the water of words and stories flowing to my pages. Usually my Muse comes to me after love (emotionally and physically) and I find a bit of an addition to keeping her by my side.
Love is a zig-zagy game, hunting it has made several prey pass by my aim.
From time to time the hunter comes home with a price, just to muse it.
For this rare game, I have prepared a special place in my life, a place that is supposed to hold room for my other. My permanent muse if you may, thus having a place set in the table, in the bed, in the closet but especially in my heart. This way as several catches come and go, some wishing to stay some never stay long enough, I have always the right place to keep them, and to allow me to grow around the space I hold for. To this place-holder, I have given a name: My Poet.
I joke with the other sides about the role of My Poet in my life. Some think of her as an image to remain in touch with a sensitive side, some see it as a waste of energy. I simply have My Poet there because I love her.
The inside joke is that it’s My Poet’s job to send me girls, to stand in her place, so that they can train me to be able to handle her when she arrives.
With time, tears and experience, the picture in My Poet’s frame has become clearer and cleared and some details became an important clue as to how to find her. What she loves, the way she thinks, the way she fells in love… all clues of the not so perfect girl that fits perfectly My Poet’s space.
My Poet becomes my muse by definition. Every time that someone is crowned in my heart, I, the writer, come out and make words out of heartbeat.
Today, I cannot muse My Poet, for she does not proudly sit on her space.
Still I have crowned her in my heart and musing her could wake feelings that I much rather push away, wishing to dwell in the joy of being in love.
So I the writing side, have to keep still while she is not here adding to the anxiety of waiting for her. I also am aware of the fact that she might not choose me as hers.
musing her is not an option.
Said in other words, I have a muse, but no desire to muse her; and this is where your vices come in and why must I thank them.
Should you choose to become my audience, musing her will not be necessary to let the words be; for they would not be for her, but for my audience, allowing me to work and to take my hands, heart and head from her and to be placed in her story, (hopefully our story.)
Should you choose become so, I will, as time allows, write all about how my current situation came to pass, and maybe you can become audience and ally in this feat.
So, shall you? Be my audience?
Tuyo Isaza
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