Prospectors
Prospectors of yesteryear scaled the craggy cliffs with their mules, sifting pans, picks, blankets, rifles, food, whiskey, and enough supplies to last as long as it took to find the gold. They battled the elements; the weather, snakes, wild animals, and everything else that obstructed their quest.
Some prospectors are poets equipped with pen, an empty parchment, and a clear mind to find the mother lode. They find the soothing music and listen for the peace that flows through it so they can write about it. Its simplicity soothes the nerves and opens up the corridors to the heart. Its slow-moving melodies pull back the swift moving words that clog the mind and massages them with the oils of the ambrosia fields.
The sweet, lazy ambiance of the music lies upon the jagged edges of anxiety that festers in the busy mind as it soothes them with its silky fingers. It teaches patience to the poets with their swirling words that long to be released to fill up the paper. Perseverance lies in the easy-going mood of the prose. It sits still and waits for the words to come to the surface to be written down, glorified, and refined.
Now that the busyness of the mind has been subdued by the pulse of the slow-moving music, it gave the words time to rise and open up the path to the mother lode so he can find the words that lay deep inside the jagged cliffs. At last, the poem can be written.
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