This is Homer's invocation of the Muse at the beginning of the Odyssey
“O divine poetry, goddess, daughter of Zeus, keep alive for me this song of the man of many interests who, after having plundered the heart of the citadel of sacred Troy, was led to wander painfully along the coasts of other peoples, living according to his customs, good or bad, while his heart, through all his sea voyages, suffered in agony to redeem himself and bring his men home safely. Vain hope — for them. The fools! Their own folly disgraced them. Destroy, by flesh, the cattle of the most exalted Sun, which is why the Sun-god darkened the day around him. Make this story live for us in all its multiple meanings, O Muse…”
And today I see myself looking out the window of a small town in Minas Gerais, those windows that bring a landscape that would certainly be an inspiring invitation to my past Self, the one who lived with a pen and a notebook, writing and poetizing without stop… I feel a shiver with the contemplation of the beauty of that setting sun and I even think of Homer in that Greek sea, invoking the Muse… but I haven’t heard anything for a while… silence…
But today I decide. I decide that I will once again invoke the Muses and Seraphim and Pierretes and Ballerinas and Butterflies and Fairies and Witches and all the Beings that mystically can help me play my role in this world, that is, say the word that is up to me... I was entrusted…
And I'm going to do it, because I decide not to shut up anymore. I decide to take care of the inner child that has been hiding in the midst of so much mental confusion all these years, mental confusion created because I decided to pay attention to the lack, the emotional hole, the abandonment and abuse... and this child hid because he was too afraid to show up. and again not to be looked at by me. So it is. I should have looked at her all along. It was no use blaming anyone for the pain I accepted to receive... Each one knows about themselves... Each one makes their own choices... even those who decided not to love that child... , protected and looked at... That she was very curious... that as she was always alone, she found a way to find out why things with Shakespeare, Gibran, with a bunch of Portuguese poets from an old book that she wouldn't put down for the world. She had a poem in particular, “Navio Negreiro”… and a passage that enchanted her:
“Who are these bastards?
that they don't find in you
More than the calm laughter of the mob
What excites the tormentor's fury?
Who are? If the star is silent,
If the hurried wave slips
Like a fleeting accomplice,
Facing the confused night...
Say it, severe Muse,
Free, daring muse!…
Who are they, Muse? And the Muse again?”
Today, as a mature woman, I realize that the whole time I was rocked by the Muse. That I was not abandoned. Muse played my mother and father. I had a magical, sublime, ineffably unique motherhood and fatherhood. The invisible one rocked my child while she slept… and walked with her during the readings… sat beside her when she swung her little legs to watch the moon and sing to her… and today I remember that she was talking to someone… It was with you, Muse? You who talked to her and said it would be okay?
Were you the one who took care of her while she needed to hide from the confusion of my mind?
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With lucidity, today I thank her and say that I can take care of her… Musa, who was always here… thank you! I revere Poetry. I bow to my hands that can go back to doing what must be done… being intermediaries of the Goddesses' intuition… I'm back. But now I'm whole. I look back and see that there was chaos. My life was not what I dreamed of at first. There was no prince charming, Musa. No one has ever loved me as I envisioned. No man has ever loved me as I thought possible. My dreams did not come true. I live the war every day. But now I know the war is mine. I must learn to love myself. I must learn to be my own "prince charming". I shouldn't expect anyone to fight my daily war and no one is to blame if I lose any battles. But I also learned that I must take ownership of my victories and not expect others to applaud my possible merits. We live personal journeys on this Earth. We were born alone. We go it alone.
As a pilgrim of my own journey, oh Muse of Homer, I invoke you. Use me, inspire me, take me where only Art can take me… I’m ready to move on without looking back…
