Point of Origin: The Muse

The Muse awaits at the point of Origin, patiently going through the usual ritual. She extends her hands in invitation. My hands are unfortunately full of the inhibitions and doubts I carry so carefully. Should I let my doubts go, or let her go? I drop my burdens, and shyly reach out, we touch and sparks fly. A creative energy moves through me and I lose myself. I see my fingers (her fingers?) dance out new patterns on a screen that glows with an otherworldly hue. I hear voices chant inside me, I feel the warmth of half-memories, and I smell the fragrance of fulfillment. Then, sudden darkness. She is gone. I stare at what we have wrought together in surprise, as if for the first time.