Invoking the Muse
Some of the classical works I most enjoy (The Iliad, The Aeneid, Paradise Lost) do what some call “invoking the muse” at the beginning of their work, i.e., they call on a spiritual power to help them craft their epics.
Milton, in Paradise Lost, is explicit that his “muse” is the Holy Spirit, and for those of us who know the Spirit firsthand, the pages of Paradise Lost undoubtedly radiate His light. It’s a profound experience, basking in that light. It strengthens you to the very core.
Because I live in the Spirit, my work is all influenced by Him, but Hanielle (my little Christmas fairy tale) is, to my shame, the only story I’ve ever explicitly offered to His persuasion from the outset. Now, I’m working on another epic fantasy project, one I’ve been working on since the Spring of 2020, but it has proven far too ambitious for my ability. I’ve written and discarded three prior versions as of today, hundreds of thousands of words.
Before starting the fourth version, I’ve written the poem below, which will go in the front matter of the book. This ambitious project, if done right, will carry the themes that have come to define my life and the lives of many I know and love. Done right, it will change the reader deeply. I believe in this story and will take the time to get it right.
But first, I’m doing what I should have done a long time ago. I’m “invoking the Muse,” offering my work to the Spirt. He’ll do what I never could, and I sense even in the poem that He is at work in this:
1.
Chaotic, formless depths comprised
The Earth before the Father spoke,
Before His timeless Wisdom moved
To pour His Spirit on the globe.
That Fire, that Wind sent from the Lord
Blew wild and mighty on the deep:
Chaotic formless depths became
A garden where His creatures sleep
And run and swim and climb and fly.
Then rising tall and leafy green
Grew trees that shelter flying things
And bees that furnish honey sweet.
2.
Chaotic, formless depths comprised
My spirit till His Spirit came:
Blew wild and mighty on the deep,
And made His home in me to reign.
Chaotic formless depths became
A garden where His child can sleep—
Still and cool, His rippling pools,
Refresh me in His calm and peace.
Not only peace but wisdom too,
And power and love now bloom in me.
He’s living water, breath of life;
He’s daily bread from Heaven sweet.
3.
And now I ask for help from Him,
The One christened the Helper by
The King of Heaven who poured Him
Into His friends by sacrifice.
Chaotic, formless depths comprise
This story I have yet to write.
And so I offer it to Him
Who transforms chaos into life…
