Without the cock, the hen will die.
No one bestows gifts.
I would also like to explore the idea of the Muse as lover:
As I have said before, during part of my life I was not willing to risk letting myself get hurt by giving myself completely to a human lover. Before that time I had had many crushes on women projecting my ideal form of woman (the Muse) on them and then feeling very disappointed when they turned out to be human after all. Later I invested most of my spiritual love towards Krishna, but there always seemed to be something lacking in my relationships with human lovers. I did not seek God in them, but only the God in myself. I told myself that I did this for my lovers' sakes, giving them space to be completely human and, therefore, flawed. Lately, I seem to be finding a balance from going to the other extreme. When I wrote Novena for the Order of Euphonius Monks, I had been like the ascetic, Kardama, who prayed to Vishnu that he be relieved of his loneliness and be allowed to have a mate. Krishna flew over him on the back of the giant king of birds, Garuda, and cried. His tears formed the magical lake Bindu Sarovara.1 The following is the first poem that I wrote my beloved after writing Novena for the Order of Euphonius Monks:
Confessions of a Fallen Brother
by Br. Euphonius, 13th century
I've been commissioned by my Lady
(Should I dare call her mine?)
To write of my sinful feelings,
So I will attempt it in rhyme.
In my clearer moments
(So seldom in Love's haze)
I realize that I'm no different
From lovers of ancient days.
Perhaps we have done this all before
(Even before we began)
And God is having us do it over again
With, hopefully, a less tragic end.
You were once a Queen
And I was once your knight,
And for our sins before God and men,
I was forced to fight.
But love is not wrong because,
If it were a crime,
God would never have used love
To bind even the divine.
God, Himself, knows how I tried
To love the Perfection Spiritual,
But now all my Gods have suddenly died
When you came to me, Perfection Physical.
Yet, all I know of your body
Are the impressions made from light
Which emanates from those features
That are form-fitted to my imagined delight.
How I long to feel your warmth.
I just tasted it with my hand
When I shyly brushed against your skin
Foreshadowing the predestined plan.
And then I burned (God, how I burned!)
From inside through my eyes to your two,
And then we did part and you took my heart.
I was left consumed by you.
Now I'm in you as you were in me,
(How I long to be physically so!)
For where I end and you begin,
I may not ever again know.
If this love be a sin then Satan will win
And he would be stronger than God or men.
But Love is God, and God is Love
So, before you, I could not know Him.
Now that I've finished my rhyme,
The question concerning my commission is this:
Would it really be such a crime
For you to give me a nice deep long kiss?
I wrote this poem in the style of a song of courtly love from the 13th century because my feelings were bringing up all these ideas that would be too cliche for modern poetry. My love, so far, seemed to be unrequited and somewhat forbidden since my beloved was married to another at the time. The poem shows that my beloved had become the Muse for me.
1 Srimad Bagavadtam; translated by A.C. Bhaktvedanta Swami Prabhupada; ISKCON; 1978.