Harnessing Pegasus: Inspiration and Meditation

What, exactly, is inspiration? There is no uniformity of definition among the dictionaries. Webster’s Dictionary of Synonyms offers the most satisfactory statement for my purpose here: “the seemingly involuntary element in the arts of expression for which the artist holds a power outside himself responsible.” It is assumed, then, to come from outside, like the wind blowing where it listeth. Randall Jarrell, the poet and essayist, compared it to a stroke of lightning. The critic Elizabeth Drew, in her delightful and persuasive book, Poetry: A Modern Guide to its Understanding and Enjoyment, wrote: “The poets do seem to agree, in spite of their very different terminology, that the origin of their art lies outside their purely conscious faculties. It is an energy that cannot be commanded. It comes and goes. All artists are familiar with the capriciousness of its visitations, and with the frustrations that attend its withdrawal, leaving only the impotent will.”

Inspiration, the “involuntary element” outside the purely conscious faculties, the energy both capricious and powerful, the divine visitant: can it be summoned at will? Can Pegasus, the fiery steed of the Muses, be harnessed? What bag of oats can you offer him that will coax him to draw near enough to slip the bridle over his head?