Dearest Joyce

It has being a while we bridge these vast ocean of nothingness that separates our minds. It’s being a long time we sat at meat to ponder about the events of life and the ways of the scholars. Then I remembered the idle chatter that occurred some days past between me and some acquaintance which I seize the opportunity to report to you my Beloved.

They criticized the philosophy and the principled that I’ve courted over the years. They scorned the tenets that fashioned my lifestyle. In their opinion, life is a waste if one doesn’t get the opportunity to sow his royal oats in his favorite field. Then I asked them, which of the above is a waste? Is it the inability to sow your royal oats or not spending precious time meditating in your favorite fields? But none of them could give me an answer even after much thought…. They concluded that a man’s mind would be robbed of ideas when he abstains from the pleasures of exploring Eve’s estate for a long period. Nay! I refused to concur with them because I believed in the contrary.

Dearest, this subject that borders on exploring the anatomy of Eve had led to my explorations in the laboratory of my mind. It has led me to the birth of such wonderful discovery that I’m about to share with you.

Permit me to bore you once more with my thoughts on the subject vis-à-vis the concept of creativity and inspiration.  I’d chewed over this nut times and times again and have discovered the nature and source of these gifts.

Inspiration and creativity are both positively charged current that flows from the spring of our being while the other current that flows from the same spring is the forces with which we plow the pink depth, then sowing our royal oats in the midst of her.

To me, creativity only makes her lodgings with me when I eschew the exploration of Eve’s anatomy for a lengthy period.  When, with much fervor I had exhausted my Juice into her till I’m milked dry will inspiration shun my abode and ideas won’t creep into my temple. Isn’t it strange? i wondered!  a thing so wonderful that it fashions a new life could also birth a magnificent work of art? Doesn’t it amaze you? Yet a man goes about squandering these precious seeds in a moment of ecstasy.

The same could be said of the martyrs and great minds of old, from Socrates to Shakespeare, Apostle Paul to Saint Thomas, Da Vinci to Einstein. All this men devoted themselves to great pursuit; their discoveries shaped the way we live.

Whatever the sphere of their engagement, a great mind must renounce his vows to women then the forces of his loins will accumulate in his mind as ideas to birth a great invention. Only through this medium can the forces of his loins be saddled to his mind for creativity.

Pause for a moment and ponder…. Erotic lure and yearning can be conveyed into inspiration! Yes but only those who possessed a gifted mind I mean. A fool living without exercising his loins will merely be driven insane by his prevention; he can’t create anything worthy of man or glory.

In contrast, unreciprocated love and inhibited passion fueled by the thought of one’s beloved and ignited by excruciating starvation can spawn creativity. I’ve observed this in many a poet, scholars, scientist and my dearest self.

What about the “Bard of Avon” poor Anne became for him a sour meal and Einstein, Da Vinci, Galileo, Newton and the saints? They tamed the forces of their loins which diverged and converged in their brains. They were able to fashion a great deal of inventions than their fellow-men

Sweet Joyce….How much of that precious juice, how many of those seeds have I sowed into your field yet I remain unknown. God only knows how many creative ideas, how many literary works had gone to ruin!

My dearest, who knows what poetry, what human developmental idea perhaps volumes of literature, have being forever drowned in your little pink pleasure, thou had being filled with so much precious seeds of creativity…

What can I say! Should I mourn the many times our souls were fused together in the fiery furnace of passion? Should I lament the exploration of your estate that sail us beyond the skies into ecstasy’s court? Should I bemoan your soothing moans or the seductive ways you say my name when entwined in the embrace of Eros? Should I curse your comforting company or the fore games in your chambers? What about our secret tryst?…… Nothing created couldn’t be compared to these but creativity is nurture that flows from the divine irrigation yet I choose to nurture the seeds therein…..

To hell with creativity and ideas, to hell with whatever the world hold dears, gladly I surrender all to spend eternity in your sweet embrace my Dear Joyce…. If the destiny of men are forged by the law or sword, mine is wrought to love thee and when I look into those big brown eyes of your, i know beyond doubt that i was born to look into them and see myself….. Like Shakespeare, can i compare thee to a summer’s day?  or the golden spring? what of the freezing winter or the autumn? Nature with all her beauties can’t be compared to thee……