"Impulse, like improvisation, is not 'just anything'; it is not without structure but is the expression of organic, immanent, self-creating structure" (Nachmanovitch, Free Play, p. 29). The Muse's voice will be heard as meaning and experience become infinitesimally divergent, that is, as they converge. That's one outlook. It's taught as part of an approach to improvisation which asks for, not uncommonly, a relinquishment of self on the part of the improvisor. Nachmanovitch says that the "mysterious factor of surrender, the creative surprise that releases us and opens us up, spontaneously allows something to arise" (p. 30). Not just anything, apparently, but the voice of the Muse. The voice of the Muse, though, represents a tiny bit less of a surprise than just anything. We are in truth being asked to surrender a tiny bit less of ourselves than we pretend. Our supplication isn't as supple as it could be, our openness not completely open. Could this be the condition on which we hear the voice of the Muse? If we wanted to, how would we go about making supplications to openness?