THE MUSE

The term muse is a term that implies someone, or something, acts upon a person to allow or aid them in creating something.

Victoria is a muse.

She resides at a small retreat for authors, artists, and poets located in Wyoming, making the rounds of the rooms and the inspirational locations around the property. As she approaches a living artist, she passes through them, giving a little of herself to the person. For her, it appears some of her energy is transferred to the artist, but to the artist, all they feel is inspiration.

One artist, an author, was having a particularly rough time on this retreat. She needed to complete a novel by a deadline set by her publisher. They needed time to create the cover design, format, and edit the interior so publication would be just before Thanksgiving, making her newest book a Christmas/Holiday must-have.

That deadline is fast approaching. Victoria knows what that is like. When she was alive, she produced wonderful stories. Most of these became standards in her community and were passed down as folklore by her ancestors and their descendants. She had heard some as she walked where she once walked in life.

Victoria was born and died a century ago, and she lived on the Shoshone Reservation in the Wind River Basin, close to where the artist’s foundation is located. Application for residency is iffy, and Vikkie Markz was ecstatic when she was approved.

For the past few days, Vikky has barely eaten, barely slept, and barely talked to another living soul. She finds herself in the darkness, and after sunset, she is at her best in this place. This retreat.

She was writing like the wind. The words effortlessly flowed from her mind to her fingers, to the screen. She barely took breaks, and the staff understood. Periodically, they would walk into her room and put food, coffee, water, and snacks on the table next to her, and she barely noticed.

Around 2 in the morning, Ruth brought her a cup of coffee and a piece of cake from dinner and planned to remove any dishes that may be around the room. She knocked on the door and waited a moment, but nothing. No response. She tried the handle, and it was unlocked. Opening the door slightly, she peeked in through the crack and saw Vikkie typing like she was possessed. The single desk lamp provides the entirety of the light in the room. Minimal, but enough.

She placed the coffee, making it just how Vikkie liked it, and put the cake on the desk next to her. Then, she picked up the dinner plate that was mostly cleared and a few empty glasses partially filled with soda or water.

Ruth walked toward the door and stopped in her tracks.

“Thank you.”

She heard from behind her. As she turned, expecting to see Vikkie looking in her direction, she saw an apparition standing directly behind her. Vikkie was still typing as if she was in a trance. She was oblivious to any and all life or circumstances happening around her.

Ruth saw Victoria. She was beautiful, and the smile on her face brought a calming peace over Ruth like she had not felt in a long time. Victoria nodded to Ruth, and in that briefest of moments, volumes transferred between them.

There were rumors that a muse inhabited this land, but no one has ever confirmed or, for that matter, seen this mysterious muse. Ruth has, now. She will not mention it to anyone. She understands why artists come here blocked. Unable to paint, unable to create, unable to write, but once they are here a few days, Something happens.

Victoria visits them and opens their mind. She gives of herself so these artists can pursue their goals. For Vikkie, this week is the completion of a book, a story, and a novel that has a deadline of a month. Her agent and her publisher threatened to drop her if the deadline was not met. She is nearly completed.

A story hundreds of years old about people who are long gone. The names changed, and the place is different, but the story is the same. Victoria gave her stories from her youth, and Vikkie incorporated those stories into her life and experiences to create this amazing work of the written word.

Other artists in residence worked during daylight hours. In the sun-filled days, painting the landscapes. Jotting lines of a poem into a notebook, sitting in a huge field, looking at the mountains for inspiration. But Vikkie was unique. She is a night writer. Victoria created her best stories at night. Kindred spirits. Ruth is also a sister in that respect, and her artistic talent at the moment is catering to the needs of those residing in the facility.

Victoria saw this in Ruth and allowed her Something she had never permitted in the years she had been on this land. She permitted Ruth to see her, hear her, and understand her through a glance in a way no one has ever understood her in history.

Ruth thanked Victoria and quietly left the room. Leaving the two women, on differing planes of existence, alone together to complete a work of art.

A short time later, Victoria relaxed, and the electricity dancing between them stopped. She needed to recharge if she was going to make her rounds to the others on the campus in the daylight. A few hours later, Vikkie stopped writing and looked at her word count. More than 82,000 words.

“WOW! I love this place. I have never experienced the ability to write like that before.” She paused a moment, beginning to understand, “Something is here. Someone? I can feel it.”

She looked around the room, “I cannot see you, but thank you. This is the best work of my life, thanks to you.”

Victoria touched Vikkie on the cheek, and Vikkie felt it. Tingling, softness, compassion, empathy. That is what she felt.

“I wish I knew your name!” Vikkie said, “I shall call you my muse. Peace bringer.”

Victoria smiled and left the room, floating through the wall to the outside, where she stood facing East as the sun appeared majestically over the trees. As the sun popped up over the tops of the trees, Victoria got down on one knee, showing reverence to the Great Spirit.

“Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds and whose breath gives to all the world, hear me. I come before you, one of your many children still roaming this land, helping as I am able to bring beauty to the world. I am small and weak; I need your strength and wisdom. Allow me another day on this land to aid those I seek to help.”

Victoria sat a moment as the sunlight draped over her, making her vanish. Ruth was standing on the porch watching the same sunrise and saw and heard Victoria as she spoke to the Great Spirit.

Ruth understood now. This was her mission. To aid those seeking to bring beauty to the world. Ruth smiled and returned to her duties. She had breakfast to prep and coffee to make. The other guests would begin rising soon.

Before she went inside, Victoria stood and turned to Ruth. She waved in her direction. Ruth waved back, and the sun draped over her, and she vanished completely. Would they meet again? Perhaps. Ruth would like that. But if not, Ruth now carried a part of Victoria within her. She felt as if. She cherished it.

Everyone here is an artist. Artistry, in its own right, is beauty and perfection. Ruth prepared a beautiful breakfast spread, providing a perfect start to the new day.

Ruth spoke to the rising sun, “Thank you, Great Spirit, for giving me another day to do what I love.”