Museflash

My first Muse was probably Enid Blyton, luring my stumbling early reader to get lost in the surreal realms of The Faraway Tree. Next was the brusque and tweedy Mrs White, who doggedly prodded my moody teenager out of literary complacency.

Long ago, the nine Muses were a talented  band of maidens that accompanied the Egyptian gods, Isis and Osiris, on their extensive travels across Earth to teach mankind the arts of civilisation and agriculture.

Later on, they were hijacked by the Greeks, who transplanted them to Mount Parnassus to live with Apollo, who would teach them the essences of human creativity to help them forget the evils and the sorrows of the world. They were rewarded for their sterling performances by the status of goddess - effectively the first Academy Awards. Thereafter, with household names like Melpomene, Terpsichore, Polyhymnia and Euterpe, they would forever drift through the ethers seeking to inspire mere mortals and fire up their creativity via intuitive and visceral triggers.

I having been adrift for some months in the hazy realms of the gods Chaos, Melancholia and Arthriticus,  Apollo’s Muses have failed to secure my attention. But as the days grow shorter, I feel more inclined to tune in to the finer wavelengths of my two favourite Egyptian Muses: Hathor - goddess of rejuvenation, inspiration and light; and Seshat, the inventor and goddess of writing (captured in stone above) - main squeeze of Thoth, invariably dressed head-to-toe in leopardskin, and always sporting the intriguing leafy headpiece.

To them I shall light a candle and raise a goblet as I await a cosmic nudge to rekindle my enthusiasm for arranging words - watch this space ….