I work alone, and have worked alone for most of my life. Other than being a lighthouse keeper, there is almost no one who is alone more than a writer. Beyond that, I was even more alone. Two things have altered that somewhat for me, my life with Maria – I am not alone any longer – and technology, which connects me to many people in many different places, often in a very personal way.

But still, when I sit down with my computer and blow a kiss to my muse – she is sniffing the flowers today, Maria bought them for me yesterday and put them on my desk.

“So,” I asked the muse as I settled into my chair, lit my scented soy candles – Red asleep under my chair – “do you believe in God”

She said it was a personal question.  She said an impoverished person thinks that God  is an old white man with long white hair, he sits on a wondrous throne of fire that glitters with countless sparks, as the Bible states: “The Ancient-of-Days sits, the hair on his head like clean fleece, his throne – flames of fire.”

That, she said, is one of the traps that destroy faith. Awe of God limits our individual imaginations.

And this is the job of the muse, to be a source of creative inspiration, mine has been with me a long time, and I’ve written 29 books, she is a pro, I trust her and love her. She loves the smell of flowers, that is my fee to her.

Everyone is different, she said, and owns their own faith. There is no one path to God, no matter what the priests and rabbis say.

For you, God is when your awe and imagination are invigorated and ignited, when the love and compassion in you soul expands. You have come far, she said, you have a ways to go.

Then she focused on her flowers, and left me to my work.