Luis has come back to his favorite writing spot: the chair - next to the window which overlooks the big pine tree across the street. This is day three that Luis has attempted to write but the page continued to be blank.
“Today is the day”. Luis muttered.
He is experiencing writer’s block. The first writer’s block that he has suffered since a short story he has written about a boy and his dog was published in the local paper.
“Now that I am published. This should be easier, right?” He’s trying to convince himself that this statement is true.
Of course - he knows that is a lie. Being published - does not make writing easier.
“Maybe I should call on to my muse.”
He took the brass singing bowl that lies on the desk next to where he sat. He closed his eyes. He touched the wooden stick on the metal bowl and began to spin the stick around the bowl. The bowl began to sing.
Luis prayed, “Come my muse, I need inspiration. What should I write?”
Luis stopped spinning the stick - and the bowl went silent. He then grabbed the pen and held it next to the paper. He stared at the pen, he held his breath. He is trying to will the words to come out from the ink of his pen.
NOTHING.
Frustrated. Luis stood up. Slammed the pen on the white sheet of paper.
Luis yelled, “Why - Why - Gods of Writing? What have I done for you to abandon me?”
“Why did I ever think I will ever be able to write brilliant pieces?” He muttered to himself.
“I give up. I’m not a writer.”
And this is the truth. At this moment - Luis is not a writer. He is just another guy - experiencing the pain from being creatively impotent and detached from his divine inspiration.
Luis stared at the blank page. Once again, he picked up the pen and started writing:
I surrender. Thy will be done.
Then - like magic, the spark of inspiration came and Luis continued to write.
Like the many gifts of the divine - inspiration is not a slave that comes when we will it. No amount of previous success will assure that it will come back. No rituals and prayers will assure the answer from the gods of creativity. And when we rage on for being disappointed for being deprived of the gifts we think we are entitled to - we may actually have done nothing but scare the gifts from coming our away.
For the divine inspiration comes - not when we call. It comes when we feel defeated and finally surrender and acknowledge its power over us and say:
“Thy will be done and not mine”
