The Muse of the Kingdom of Academia

And then she returned in full grandeur:

For a while I wondered of the Muse's whereabouts. I wrote off her return, as I was stationary and busy with school work. I didn't know where to look for her, but should have known that she would find me on a day of respite. I should have known that even her still water runs infinitely deep.

Crowned in resplendent glory, behold the Muse of the Kingdom of Academia. She looks out from above a white ivory tower, and bears a ball-point scepter. Rivers of black ink rush below, and lap up against the ivy-covered walls of her castle.

She comes to me in fits and starts, her white-paper wings envelop me and as she fills my dreams with ink. Her diction is unrivaled and her linguistic glory infinite, but she clouds my head with ideas. Then she leaves me adrift as a lonely fisherman in a vast sea of ink, trying to fish out the ideas with nary a net. Or perhaps I am gaining the net with my education, and learning to fish with the tools of public diplomacy- a fisher of ideas.

I realize it will be years before I am offered entry into her divine kingdom, but I will proceed down the long, winding path, for it is a pilgrimage I must take.

The Muse of the Ivory Tower

She returns to me, but in a different form. She has changed, she has been refined. Our angelic Muse of thought and inspiration still is with a gentle touch of soft, supple ideas; the effulgent glow of new thoughts; of paradigm shifts. Yet with her gentle contours gone, she comes in greater fury and with greater purpose. She has a harder edge that comes with knowledge gained and perspectives broadened. The lattice gold armor that adorns her has sharpness that cuts and barbs of creativity that pierce the touch. She is mounting up for new pursuits across new horizons. She is being reborn under the weight of borne ideas. She is still so mercurial, so hard to hold onto. I feel her come, and her warmth envelopes me. I feel her go, as I struggle to get her on my page. As always, she leaves me staring into the oblivion of a blank, pallid page. She wrestles herself away from me, leaving me with something that barely reflects her initial splendor, yet leaves me satisfied nonetheless.