At times it would seems that there is something beyond human to inspiration and creativity: a wind or a presence that makes sense of our creations, but above all, it makes us realise that artistic endeavours are never created while being alone.
Phantasmagoria as a muse /
A muse, according to Burroughs, is something that “inhabits” within 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”. These adjectives’ truly singular aspect is that like a boreal wind, they come from the realm of phantasmagoria.
This relation between ghosts and inspiration says a lot about both their nature. Ghosts, just like muses, are recurring. They are condemned to repeat. In the same manner, it is possible that a muse will visit those who are more open to the experience. Most of the time we are deaf, unable to hear these voices, these songs; insensitive, unable to feel their soft touch, blind to these flashes. 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 leave our skin covered in goose-bumps. Because she knows that being is being perceived. And in this very manner, ghosts exist also, only when we are aware of their presence.
A muse is the ghost that becomes an impulse, which will move hands and make them create. The spectrum makes us delineate a narrative from nonsensical images, and makes us “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”, as Nabokov used to say, may refer to, how beyond moving like ghosts, muses pay men sudden “visits”, the phantasmagoria in which we exist is the muse. Me must simply bestow it with presence, let her in. Allow the ray to fall, making us 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. Making us aware 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.Tagged: inspiration, muses, literature, writers, Eccentricity