When your muse is dead

Muses are fairly known to most people, as inspiration. In ancient times they were considered as being divine deities in human shapes, women mostly. Whispering inspiration to you in the form of music, literature, art.

I had a muse like that. She didn't know, because I never told her. She was the reason I began blogging in the first place. The reason I kept going. We barely talked, but I had a sense that she was important to me spiritually. I didn't know what, how or why. But there was no accident that I found her.

It began a couple years ago when we both were members of the same wiccan web forum. I'd never noticed her before, and never talked to her. But she posted something and got pecked on immediately. She fought back for a while, but gave up reasoning with them, as she was used to people not treat her in a right manner and thus had began an apathetic way of life. I couldn't stand for it and meddled in. Defending her right to believe what ever, trying to make them see that no one can say they hold the truth in their minds. That our word merely is a product of our mind, and thus we all live in different worlds, different realities with different truths.
And I'm pretty stubborn with this, so even though they started to peck on me instead, trying to bring me down, I couldn't care. That is what's so great about realising all this. Even though someone tries to bring you down by telling you that what you believe is wrong, you know that it's just their reality. Not the truth. Not my truth. And therefore I cannot blame them for thinking I'm wrong or for defending their belief. But as our discussion went on and on, she had deleted her membership. I thought of it as sad that they got to her and that she didn't feel welcome, but that's life and I didn't know her, so life just went on.

After a few months I was browsing google for some good exercising tips, and by coincidence, or not, I landed on a blog I later found was hers. I read a few posts and found that despite her young age she was quite intelligent and interesting. So I kept on reading till I'd read it all. And so I found a link to an even older blog of hers and read the whole thing too. I was fascinated by this girl. By her insight and her well expressed thoughts, She was really a writer. And should've gotten something published.

But there was more than her insight that caught my interest. She was incredibly like me. Much more outrageous though, but still very much the same. And I mean very concrete things as well. Like that she was pretty obsessed with the moon, and had moonlike nicknames, as I. But that could fit many. Not many also have a friend called Sun. Not many have both these thing and in the same time think like I, like the things I like, believe the way I do, have experienced the same thing in life. She put words on so many thoughts I haven't even realised I was thinking.

But she was still a bit outrageous. And sometimes too outrageous that I dared befriend her. And then she started using drugs. Heavily. And she openly shared this on her blog. Still as insightful as always, but slowly rot away, both in mind and body. It was hard watching this amazing creature destroy herself this way, but she had already lost her interest in life. I, as so many others, wanted to help her out, and many tried. But I didn't. I was afraid I would do as I always do. Go in to save this girl, get too emotionally attached and devastated when I failed. I always do that. I just hoped she could get through this herself or that someone would manage to help her. But she didn't. And no one else did. And during the Easter holiday this year she died.

She died in a middle of a very tough time of my life, as one of the most important persons in my life had too attempted suicide, leaving me to wreck, in an ocean of self destructive thoughts. And losing my muse didn't make it any better. And I never got to process any of it, as I suddenly found myself between hectic exams and boyfriend quarrels. And suddenly I had neither exams or boyfriend. I had the time and the freedom to do what ever. I never ment for my blog to get neglected. I've tried many times to come up with something to write about, and I do have a lot to write about. I just haven't found the words. I haven't had my inspiration. My muse is dead.

I think I'm still in shock. I'm just still waiting for that new blog entry of hers. But perhaps writing all of this will provide realisation and closure. That awful period of mine is over. I don't need to run from it anymore. I don't need to hide. I don't need to avoid the reminders. Life moves on. And hopefully, so will my blog. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm sorry I haven't blogged in a while. And I'm back.