Muse to me is more like a spirit force. Spirits speak in a language that is felt, not heard; shown, not told. Sometimes I don't know where the words come from, because I haven't heard them. It's spirit working through me. The voice of the soul. Sometimes it's in pain, sometimes it's in love, but mostly, it just wants to be free. Even in language, spirit is confined, bound by lines, dots, dashes, punctuation. Pen to paper or words on a screen, they are little packages for feelings, ideas, and spirit. Always full to the brim, no matter how small the word, or how unimportant the phrase. Font, bold, chicken scratch, morse code. Language is a vessel for spirit, though a confining one. Words are letter packets, put together to send out to the universe.