“See the nowhere crowd cry the nowhere tears of honour
Like twisted vines that grow
Hide and swallow mansions whole…”
— James Hetfield, The Memory Remains
He came from nowhere and he didn’t know where he was headed. He seemed lost, confused, a paper boat caught in a hurricane, with turmoil eroding the last traces of sanity and reason in his head. He was escaping, hopefully to a better tomorrow, but he didn’t know for sure. He wanted a fresh start, desperately. He didn’t know how he was going to achieve it – his bad luck seemed to have followed him here as well. Everything he tried seemed to fail, and fail miserably. He caught himself searching for straws to clutch at.
He vowed to find a muse, an inspiration, a candle in the whirlwind of his bad luck. He wanted to find the elusive abundance of good luck that had deserted him for so long. He yearned for the peace and tranquility that had been hiding from him. It was not a search in vain.
He met her on a hot, sunny afternoon and they regarded each other cautiously, unsure of just how much attention the other person warranted. She seemed harmless enough, but he was expecting his seemingly unlimited quota of bad luck to step in again.
“Been a while,” he said. Cautiously. Two tigers, one paranoid and the other indifferent, circling each other.
“Yes. How have you been?” she asked.
“Good,” he replied and they went on to talk about other things mundane.
Time flew by and a pact was etched in stone between them, unwritten yet indelible. It took time, obviously. It did not happen overnight. He began to experience her presence more and more in his life until it almost became an addiction. Over time, he started craving for her company. She became the beacon of light in the darkness that had clouded him. She forced him to embrace good luck again, though he never knew how she managed to do that.
He still had no destination in mind, but he knew that his journey wouldn’t be lonely anymore; the journey that he had started from nowhere and had seemed to head nowhere; the journey that she had spectacularly derailed and made more bearable. He had a lot of things to be thankful for. And for a million things more.
He had found his muse. He had found his share of good fortune. The man from nowhere was finally home.
8 thoughts on “The Man From Nowhere”
im touched in the purest of ways.. Will it do any justice if i say thank you?? It is true when they say some things are priceless.. May this bond remain forever.
Sealed with a kiss..
Lovely is just a plain word to describe this, but due to lack of anything better.. just that.. lovely.. and happy that you finally found your muse.. I know how it feels to have one…
What you was going through, and what you found means that the muse you found will be ever so more appreciated. Some things happen for the best – although at the time they don’t seem to be. It’s on of those weird life lessons which we all have to go through. Good luck for the future on this path.
You have been tagged – please see the link below or visit my blog:
This is a concept I routinely struggle with – is it fair to depend so much on a ‘muse’? If creation (and life) is ultimately a one-man enterprise from birth to death, is latching on to another a kind of desperation, a fear to face the unknown?
You seem to think not; more power to you! I would of course also prefer for that to be the case. And anything that references Metallica is extra ace in my book. Thoroughly enjoyed reading this, good job.
sometimes meaning of finding a muse can very well be understood by someone who is searching one and have not found one……
congrats on finding your muse and being home….!!!