I am lost when you flow into me,
Gently moving my soul to one side,
So my voice can speak your words,
And my eyes can watch you dance us
Through one eternal moment.
Lost, I am here, but not here,
More than a shadow, and yet
When you step into me, my life falls away.
Lost, I float nearby, nearly gone,
Almost forgotten, then always found,
As you gently kiss me good-bye
Until next time.
I had a long conversation with my daughter the other night about writing and the creative process and how sometimes it really does feel like you’re channelling. There are times when words just flow through you, without any effort on your part to capture them, or mold them, or work them. Those times, I often look back on what I’ve written with surprise at what came through me. Usually, those pieces end up my favorites. Other times, I enjoy wrestling with words and crafting a piece (especially if I can make it feel less crafted than it actually is…I don’t always succeed.)
Since I started writing again, I feel as though I’m working with a different energy than I had with me when I was younger. Even if this energy isn’t separate from me (a muse), it makes sense that at this point in my life, my own energy would feel different. Still, I like to think I have a muse working with me when I get into a good writing flow. After writing LOST, the name Sam popped into my head. I don’t have any friends or relatives named Sam, so I thought for a moment about making that the title of the poem. Nope. That didn’t feel quite right, so instead, I’ve decided that’s what I’ll call my alter-ego-poetry-slinging-muse. That appeals to my Dr. Seuss-loving inner child (and outer adult), as well as my woogy mystical-loving spiritual seeker Believer, while still appeasing the ever-present Skeptic. I am Sam. Sam I am. Maybe.