“…sometimes—rarely, but magnificently—there comes a day when you’re open and relaxed enough to…receive…Your defenses might slacken and your anxieties might ease, and then magic can slip through. The idea, sensing your openness, will start to do its work on you. It will send the universal physical and emotional signals of inspiration (the chills up the arms, the hair standing up on the back of the neck, the nervous stomach, the buzzy thoughts, that feeling of falling into love or obsession). The idea will organize coincidences and portents to tumble across your path, to keep your interest keen. You will start to notice all sorts of signs pointing you toward the idea. The idea will wake you up in the middle of the night and distract you from your everyday routine. The idea will not leave you alone until it has your fullest attention.
And then, in a quiet moment, it will ask, ‘Do you want to work with me?’”—Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic
She woke to sight of him in room, profiled silhouette at desk before banded fans of light through drawn, dark wooded blinds; expression illuminated in yellow glow of black iron lamp under flaxen shade resting beside him on desk, its glow leaving aura in reach and cast into the room.
She watched him at work within his mind and listened to the soft tap and scratch of his pen upon page, blank sheet filled by inspirations; forever changed, and never again its beginning state of emptiness. She watched and listened, resting in her own bareness beneath soft-warmth and wrap of covering sheet.
She stayed silent, observing his focus and sensing affection and understanding for his gift and ability—through touch and written word—to change spirit, raise dreams, and erase emptiness waiting to be filled and made into beauty. She rested silent, taking enjoyment in his focus and steady speak of pen until pen’s sound ceased and his attentions fixed on her; he discerning her wokenness in change to rhythmic breath and stilling of soft movements preceding body’s coming to.
She lain on her side, seeing through communicant eyes speaking from winter face framed in falling hair capturing soft lamp glow and angle light penetrating faint, but striking, into depth of room where she lain—shape of body showing but concealed—beneath veiling sheet.
“What are you writing?” she questioned, quiet.
“An inspiration,” he responded, smiling in the pleasantness of her presence and openness of waking expressions.
“Will I be able to read?” she asked.
“When ready—always,” he answered, smiling evermore in enjoyment at her affinity for his words. Smiling, too, he discerning a speaking in her eyes.
Discerning, he rose and moved for her—pen left to lie upon half-written dream over open page—drawn to hue and enchantment in communicant eyes.
She drew back veil of sheet in invitation and welcoming of his return; and he was affected in show and revelation of her as gift.
He returned to her veil, restored in warmth and embrace as they made love in low lamp glow and angle light through full drawn shades; spirits soft-illuminated as oneness in gifted offering, acceptance, and exchange of love spoken in act, sense, and silence save ambient sounds and affected change in breath and signs of love’s becoming—inspiration becoming beauty.