As a storyteller, a writer, and a Priestess, I’ve nurtured and honed my relationship with my muse. She inspires me endlessly in return for my presence and devotion.
My muse?
Nature.
And nature doesn’t rush. She unfolds, meandering along the paths less travelled, and she blossoms in her own time.
I let the rhythms speak to me- the seasons as they shift and change into one another, each carrying its own magic and enchantment. I’ve journeyed with these cycles for over two decades now, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as I feel called. I spiral back to the start, the beginning, each Winter, finding new ways to explore, new invitations and whispers. What spoke to me last year may not speak to me this year, and that’s part of the magic.
This is reflected in my writing; in the landscapes I explore with ink and page, screens and keyboards. Nature is a sacred mirror of my inner world, and writing is the bridge that connects the two.
Practices to Awaken your Muse.
Take a journal with you into nature.
Walk slowly. Meander. Record what you see, hear and feel. What catches your eye? What brings a smile to your lips or steals your breath away? There’s medicine and magic in these moments, so stay present and grounded in nature, but let it speak to you-let the landscape become your prompt.
Work with the elements.
Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Choose one at a time and listen for how it moves through you and how it makes you feel. Each carries a unique essence. If one calls to you-or even repels you-lean into that. Especially the one that calls you least. Personally, I find both water and fire deeply meditative, and many of my poems have been born beside the flames or watching the tides roll in.
Honour the silence.
If nothing comes to you, that’s okay. Sometimes, the greatest offering we can make is simply our presence. I once went nearly a year without writing. At first, I panicked. The words that once flowed so freely now didn’t flow, or felt hollow. I was trying to force words into a rhythm that I couldn’t hold.
But it became my greatest lesson in surrender. I had to trust the process. I had to listen to-and trust- the silence.
Almost a year later, during the very last journey I did before my initiation as a Priestess, I sat quietly in nature and released all expectation. I accepted that silence and expected nothing in return.
That was when the floodgates opened and the words poured from my pen to paper, my tears of emotion intermingling on my journal as I wrote.
Now, I know.
I trust in my creativity, and honour the ebb and flow of it.
I pay attention to when I should nurture my muse, and when to let her speak.