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Inspiration from a Muse

Post Independent Writer

The other morning – early in the day or late in the night, I’m not sure exactly which – I dialed up my Muse. I’m allowed one call a year.There’s no phone or anything, just pure faith … belief in Santa Claus basically.”Yes?” the cosmic voice was silent for a very long time before speaking. “What do you want this time?””A simple request, really. Could you inspire me this final time in 2004 and let flow through me your precious gift of words? Allow me to write as if this column was my last. Let me say things that make a difference.”There was silence. The fear that my Muse would leave me engulfed me as if life in jail or walking the plank were my fate.It is my belief that we are all given special gifts throughout our lives. If these gifts of grace are not honored and we do not do our best to fulfill our destiny, then they will leave us … forever at our own great peril.So, though I felt alone, the words came. Only then, as the pen touched the paper through an act of faith, did the Muse speak.”Write about one of those weird and unwanted people who have entered your life this past year.””Oh great. Thanks! As if people don’t think I’m weird, now you want me to …” “Don’t ask questions if you don’t want answers,” the Muse interrupted before I could continue.Humbled, I put the pen back to the paper and started writing.My daughter Amber and I were walking back to our car across a large, almost vacant parking lot. The corner of my vision caught this image of an old man with a white beard on a bicycle.To my chagrin the little old man began riding his bike around Amber and me. He looked like the Santa Claus my mind’s eye has imagined since childhood.Except for a big basket full of stuff the old man’s bike looked like a classic Schwinn I had owned as a kid. Greatest bike on earth. The car seemed a mile away and though walking as fast as we could, the old man effortlessly pulled alongside us and with a widening mischievous smile said, “It’s good to see you again,” then rode off.Relieved when we finally got to the car, Amber spoke jokingly, “Another weirdo attracted to you Dad.”To me these encounters are more than that. They are like the voice of God speaking through society’s castaways.The word angel comes to mind. After all, aren’t angels messengers? We want real angels to be dressed in white with wings. Cute cherubs posing no threat to our psyches.The message for me was not to let a day go by without telling someone how much they truly mean to you. And without them life would be sadder, less rich and fulfilling.Find someone today and say, “It’s so good to see you again. Thanks for being in my life.”Happy Holidays.Bill Kight, of Glenwood Springs, shares his stories with readers every other week. Bill Kight, of Glenwood Springs, shares his stories with readers every other week.


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