The music which flows through me is the true voice of Spirit whispering magic in my ear... hidden melodies, long-ago forgotten tunes, secret harmonies and counterpoints.  The muse of my inspiration is a flighty creature, often disappearing for long periods of time, no matter how much I will her to return.  She speaks to me in her own time; she cannot be coerced, only welcomed.  Often she sings to me in the voice of a little girl, a breathy, whispery kind of song, usually starting as a humming inside my head, sometimes comes out through my voice without my being aware that I’m humming or singing.  Every so often, the words flow out, fully prepared, completely written, already rhyming and grammatically correct.  The finest music doesn’t have to be a long, drawn-out process in which I endlessly try to find the rhyme and rhythm and timing and motion. When I slow down and open consciously to the beauty and the sacred around me, my muse feels more at home. When the singer completely becomes the song, there is no difference between spirit and matter.  When the voice of the fountain and the murmur of the mountain align in total harmony, the music flows out like a river towards the ocean and I simply float along on the surface, easily carried on the current.