Is that enough, muse? Am I finished writing for this morning? Say it ain’t so; say I can keep writing as long as I wish, say I can sing all day. Say I can stay in this chair and shape words and music and life into being and immerse myself in uncanny universes and special moments.
Out there is unknown something-or-other, out there is — but hang on, out there is out there, filled with other universes with stories to tell, people for whom something-or-other is not unknown and understand how to overcome it. And if I get up from the chair and walk among them, they can teach me or show me or — oh, my stars and garters, a whole world awaits behind these four walls and what am I waiting for?
Just a few more moments of writing and an answer came out through my fingers. Thank you, muse; thank you, universe. I don’t always have this much time to seek answers.
“You always have the time,” the universe said quietly — not snapping impatiently, just firmly murmuring. “You simply give the time to another purpose. You can always take it back. Go ahead — take your time.”
Take — my — time? Time is mine to take?
“Come on. You remember. You’ve even written it down more than once and shared the thought with the world more than once.”
I know. It just surprises me and delights me every time. Time is mine to take, and I shall take my time and do what I’ve always known must be done to fulfill my destiny.
“Good. Good. But now there’s a cat crawling over your stuff and purring to remind you she would like to eat sometime this year.”