Muzu Creative

  I wonder what you would say, if I asked you for your definition of “Failure” The Oxford Online Dictionary defines FAILURE as… ·       Lack of success… an economic policy that is doomed to failure . ·       An unsuccessful person or thing… The lack of water resulted in crop failures. ·       The neglect or omission of expected or required action… failure to comply with the rules . ·       A lack or deficiency of a desirable quality… a failure of imagination. ·       The action or state of not functioning… heart failure, engine failure . ·       A sudden cessation of power… a sudden power failure . This word Failure and its myriad of definitions is responsible for many of us living unfulfilled, unhappy lives. Chained to inappropriate jobs, relationships and circumstances based on the belief that if we ever did anything other than what we are presently doing we will in fact have failed in our original plans. Are we failures if we choose a career path,

I found this piece of writing just now. I had completely forgotten that I had written it. It was quickly dashed out as I sat jammed into Virgin Flight VA something or rather...on my way to Bali.  I feel the pain in this writing, however that pain is no longer present. Something has changed. I left something behind in Bali. Whatever it was, I washed it away at the bottom of a thunderous waterfall, scrubbed it away in a ceremonial body scrub and massage, soothed it away with the sound of the ocean and the heart of friendship, breathed it away with pranayama and many, many, asanas. I wish to share that piece of writing with you. Un-edited, raw. For all of you who have felt this particular pain...I wanted to let you know...you can be free of it.  So here I am. Flying high. The earth is below. Clouds below. Nothing above. It was my choice. NO not even. I was compelled. There was no choosing. At the time of booking this trip, money was an issue. As aways. But I was always

    Petrol fumes, coal cooked corn and coconut oil. Sweat sodden bean bags, cheap sarongs and drunken Aussies. You guessed it…I have arrived in Bali. With a trickle of sweat running down my neck, I walk the streets of Legian. Careful not to trip over or into the broken pavements, I wander. Is this the Bali I dreamed of? I get a sinking feeling that I have missed the boat. I have arrived in Bali thirty years too late. Through the frenetic mayhem of this buzzing beachside town I dodge a thousand scooters and taxis to make my way to ocean. Sunset is almost upon us and I become part of the human surge toward the sea. We tourists love a good sunset over the ocean. What a shame it seems to go hand in hand with copious amounts of alcohol and drunkenness here.     I wonder what the beautiful Balinese people think of all this madness. There is money to be made of course and the constant pressure of commerce does my head in. I escape back to my hotel (one of literally

It is spring here in Australia and it is time to refresh, renew and repair. We have opened our windows for the first time since winter and felt the cool breeze ruffle the slow and steady winter energy. I am sure I speak for many Australians when I say, I am immediately inspired to Spring clean. With the windows open I can smell a hint of dry grass and hear a few members of the cricket and cicada orchestra warming up for their upcoming summer performance. Off come the extra blankets and doona’s ready for the wash, rubber gloves on, music pumped up and away I go. The outdoor areas and forgotten furniture are also welcomed into the fold after their cold and lonely winter hibernation. However, the house isn’t the only thing that calls for my attention. This Spring it is my heart and soul that speak the loudest. “Hey, down here! Look in this corner and at the back of this shelf” Memories, like layers of dust that I am just now noticing although they been present for years, g

This photo is the only photo I have of ‘me and my dad’. I don’t look at it very often, but when I do I am confronted with mixed emotions. At first I see the little girl I once was. Innocent. Pure. I then see this little girl safe in the arms her father.   Cradled, nurtured and protected from the elements. Then I remember that photographs can be deceiving. It was not long after this photo was taken that dad left us.   Perhaps he was already in love with the other woman. Perhaps he had made plans to see her later that night. Perhaps. I do not remember the day he left, my sisters do. I have no memories of feeling abandoned, rejected…that came later. I was very young. However, just because I do not remember does not mean I didn’t feel anything. I must have. Did I ask mum where he was? I don’t know what she must have said to this little blonde girl. Was I sad? Confused? There must have been an incredible amount of emotion around me at that time. My sister remembers mum thro

  My 75-year-old mother in-law takes cold showers. Every morning. Every day. I’m not talking about cool water, as in the hot water turned down low. I’m talking about NO hot water, the hot tap set to OFF! In she gets, all 45kilos of her, straight in to the icy water. Every morning, every day. It is winter here at the moment. The air is cold. I know for a fact that her home is freezing in the winter (Like mine) and as a pensioner I know she does not use a heater or air-conditioning to warm it. “Too expensive” she claims. However, in she steps to a wall of liquid ice, every morning, every day. Last week, over a cup of tea, we were talking about my health, her health and `feeling good’. I spoke of my usual aches and pains and of my unhappiness at the state of my physical being. I just don’t feel totally well anymore. I feel tired, stressed, overweight, achy and rigid.   “What you need is a cold shower” she calmly stated. I should have known this was coming, after all it

For the past couple of weeks, I have been bombarded with memories from the past. Not just the odd flash of recollection but vivid moments of “being back there”. A sensory assault of smells, touch and sight. I feel everything of those moments. I have been taken to some dark places and relived the feeling of those experiences, from so many years ago. 20, 30, 40 years ago, and I am right back there, fully in the moment. As you know, I have been slowly increasing my Iyengar yoga practice and this may be the cause of this re-hashing of the past. Yoga does unravel you, layer after layer. At the same time, I have also been trying to re-invent myself, or rather return to myself after years of just going through the motions of my life. In any case I seem to be clearing out my mind, just like the wardrobe I cleared out last week, only without any seemingly deliberate intention. Not all memories have been confronting, some have been joyous, all have been interesting. A couple of

For days now, weeks maybe, I have been slowing sinking. The soft slowly moving sands of doubt, fear and guilt have been pulling me silently into the abyss. Anger and frustration have given way to uncertainty and feelings of hopelessness. What is it you want me to do? I ask outwardly and inwardly.   I have sacrificed. I have committed myself to a life of authenticity. This meant giving away the props and curtains of the stage I had made for myself. No more costumes to hide behind, no pretending. I would follow my heart. Truthfully. I would not work at a job I hated, just because I happened to be good at it. I would not dress in clothes that hid my personality, even though the clothes I choose are not fashionable or new. I would not do for others, simply because I felt it was my job to do so, or because that is what you do if you love someone. I would love myself first. I would take care of me the way I took care of others…unconditionally. It felt good. No, not good…FANTAST

Tw elve months ago I decided to go to a yoga class. I had been to yoga before... every now and then... not consistently... just off and on, as you do. My previous experience with yoga had been ok, I guess. Hard. Frustrating. I remember the very first class I ever attended. I was surprised at just how difficult it was. I went looking for stretching and to increase my flexibility and found that there was more muscle work than I anticipated, awkward positioning and postures I simply could not achieve. I struggled for a couple of classes and then gave up, telling myself that Yoga wasn't for me. Years later I tried again. This time the yoga was in a gym. Upstairs away from the gym equipment but with huge glass windows that overlooked the intense exercise below. As we lay on our mats you felt the vibration and heard the doof doof of the music pulsing under us. The clang of dumbbells was ever present and the occasional groan of excessive force being thrust around below. On sta

  Do you remember the George Benson song “Greatest Love of All”?   The lyrics begin with “I believe the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way…….” Well, when my son was born I was determined to raise him to embody all that this song described. I would show him all the beauty he possessed inside, teach him to have a sense of pride and dignity. I would teach him to trust himself, his gut and his choices and to go forth in the world with kindness, strength and faith. Of course, that was all good in theory! My son is now in love and at eighteen it is an all-encompassing thing. I fear that any sense of pride and dignity he may have had, has flown out the window, as he pines away the hours that he is not at his love’s side. A recent conversation about their “sleeping over” and my opposition to the idea, led to a heated argument, resulting in my regurgitating reasoning from my grandmother’s era and him screaming that it was so unfair and that I wa

From the Travel Log     Destination: Mornington Peninsula. I had heard about the wineries in this region, the cheese and the wine. Did I say that already? Wine. There I go again. I had never been to a winery, have drank plenty of wine, but had never had the experience of wine tasting, the whole sniff, swirl, taste and spit process would be a first. Needless to say, I was excited. Needless to say, there would not be very much spitting…if any. I would be staying with my cousin and her partner at their home in Blairgowrie for a few days and I could hardly contain myself. Like a child in the back seat, ”Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Finally, we arrive.   Outside of the car a light breeze carries a salty signature that I am familiar with. The ocean?? I cannot see it, or even hear it, however I feel it’s presence. Don’t ask me why, I was never very good at geography, however, for some reason I never associated the Mornington Peninsula with the ocean. Slap me…

I made an angel. Created her out of clay. Painstakingly I sculpted and moulded her. I loved her. I loved her heavy wings, they way they sheltered her and protected her heart. I loved that tiny heart, the way she looked down on to it "I will always look after you" she whispered, "you are safe".  Until the day she broke.   My son rang me on my way home. His voice was shaky, apprehensive. "Something terrible has happened" he mumbled. Moving straight into mother mode, I panicked. "What is it?? Are you ok??" "I broke her...I didn't mean to... she fell...I tried to catch her...I wasn't quick enough"  Oh My god... who?, where? What the?????? "Your angel mum... she smashed!!" The poor boy. He knew I loved her, created her, protected her. But the sense of relief was instant. Just a sculpture, not a life, a girl or an animal. Just a sculpture. It wasn't long however that the realisation of what had just

Walking... breathing in, breathing out. Time passes, an hour or more. Walking. Steps taken? Not known. Distance travelled? Not known. Pace kept... not known and certainly not concerned about. The walking is not about exercise it is but a means to the peace, to the connection. When I walk my mind changes direction. Where it may have been going straight ahead North, it turns abruptly and heads out West. It takes the winding back roads and the dusty not so trodden paths. I sometimes walk the same route, but each time it is as if I have never wandered there before. Occasionally I look out from my minds eye and find that I have absolutely no idea where I am or which direction I have come from. I am only aware of the beauty surrounding me. I feel an almost out of body experience as I traverse through the neighbour hood. I could be anywhere in the world. I could be anybody, somebody, nobody. Although I feel I should be used to this beauty, the colours of our world still catch