Inspiration

Born anew, the phoenix rises like words from your trembling vocal cords that travel across the great divide, down the dark tunnels of my ears, before your wandering spark ignites the combustible liquids of my consciousness.  Smouldering embers rise into fires that refuse to die and soon the entire field of my vision is ablaze.

Your dancing form, your dancing words, basking in the heat of this inferno you have conjured continue to weave their enchantment.  My mind smarts with the knowledge that words can give life and hold power over life while my senses scream in exaltation of the obvious: inspiration is a lady.

In that moment, in one fiery glance I can see the entire universe unveiled before me.  The primal depths of the

Tao and all its mystery are suddenly illuminated in one blazing caress.  “See how it is all connected,” you whisper in a voice that resembles a volcanic eruption in slow motion.

With a roaring crash and a grinding splitting of rock my Gollum awakes to the tune of your ancient songs and gazes at the volatile vistas you have opened before its wondering eyes.

And just as quickly you are gone, your blazing features etched in my memory as I long for the enfolding splendour of your flaming red wings.  If I was a sculptor I would make a tastefully draped image of you playing a violin and label it “inspiration” in testimony of my affection but instead I am left with a blank page, sitting there before me - taunting my confused mind as it tries in vain to capture your glory.

I can only long for the day when you will smile in my presence again.