He put the Belt around my life—
I heard the Buckle snap—
And turned away, imperial,
My Lifetime folding up—
Deliberate, as a Duke would do
A Kingdom's Title Deed—
Henceforth—a Dedicated sort—
A Member of the Cloud—

Yet not too far to come at call—
And do the little Toils
That make the Circuit of the Rest—
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that stoop to notice mine—
And kindly ask it in—
Whose invitation, know you not
For Whom I must decline?

- Emily Dickinson



The supreme giver of the creative powers gives me my purpose, and he holds me to it. He holds me in my place as if it were belt with its buckle snapped. I am such enslaved by the master. The activities of my life are constrained to my gift. Even though I might appear near these earthly beings, I have become a dedicated member of a higher realm, an ethereal member of the cloud. 

When the giver of the creative power remains imperial and turns away, why do other people care what I do with them. These other people do their little toils and want me to be a part of their circuit. They invite me into their realms. But all I have for them is a non-committal smile. 

Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for their kindness. For allegedly stooping down to notice my lowly existence. But they don't know me. They don't know my stratospheric flight of creativity. And they don't know wherefrom this comes from. I must decline their invitations.

The world wants to force their circuits upon me. But I must resist. I must realize that I am a member of the cloud. And I must realize that I am entitled to be there from the imperial creator. I am entitled to write my poems, to sing my songs. I am not to be the slave of any one else. It is absolutely OK for me to remain a member of the cloud.

The purpose of life is to sing!