There is that thing within us; our soulful calling. It is that strange and wonderful feeling we get when engaging in the writing of poetry, or singing, or even perhaps rebuilding a carburetor (if that is your thing). A calling not only because it makes us happy, but a calling because it nourishes our souls, and a nourished, whole and joyful soul, nourishes all. One could suggest, if the Universe had any agenda, it would be that humans listen to and be present with their soulful callings, that all beings; winged, four-legged, creeper, swimmer, standing, stone or elemental should benefit. Perhaps this is the essence of what it truly is to be a steward of the Earth.
But it is not that thing we do which is our calling. Our calling is the flame of it which lights our souls. Where the wood in the fire is not the flame, but the means to the flame, so too is poetry kindling. We gather inspiration like deadfall on the trail. Sometimes finding a perfect armload on our own, and at other times a branch will fall before us, nudged by forces unseen; an encouragement of the Divine to create that if it is passed by it will be offered to another.
The Creator gave us the tools to access the gift of fire, and the intellect to stack our twigs and logs in a shape which pleases the wind. By our willingness to create, and to nourish and warm and enlighten our souls, we take up the tools and enact the spark. If we have built well, chosen safe and solid ground, and bent down humbly on our knees, what we have gathered will catch. The pleased breath of God that is Love will rush to the flame, low and steady, never hurried or out of control, sustaining our creation.
The lighted life is inspired by the twig and branch it gathers from the path. Inspiration is the suddenness; the spark as yet unset to kindlings gathered. It is invisible, even as it is seen. It is formless until it is placed to the tinder. Then and only then to be fueled into being by the pleased breath of God and the poet together.