Muzu Creative

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

  I walk the beach as often as I can. I am lucky in that it is only a five-minute drive from where I live.   The beach I walk is fairly remote. Once you pass the car park area, the caravan park and the few homes on that stretch, what lays before you are sand, sea and dunes. Bliss.   My husband asked if he could join me on my walk. This is not something he usually does. He prefers to smash punching bags and huff and puff his way through extreme workouts!   Nevertheless, here he was, on my beach…walking. As soon as we hit the sand, he starts to jog toward the water’s edge, calling to me to get my heart rate up. Funny man. My heart is singing the moment I smell the ocean. I attempt a half arsed shuffle in the soft sand, my ankles screaming at me, knees buckling, my heart demanding “what the fuck?” Laughing at myself and the look of horror on his face, I cease this ridiculous pantomime and apologise profusely to the various parts of my body which had suffered and

Like  most people, when I make my bed I shove my pyjamas under my pillow. This morning I smile as I observe the unevenness of the bed pillows. On my husbands side two pillows sit straight and to attention, on my side the pillows balance precariously, on my stack of pyjamas, threatening to topple off at any moment. What can I say, I like my Jammies. To me my Jim Jams are part of my emotional and physical support team. They offer me comfort when I need nurturing, they enable me to be free thinking and unobstructed, they say "AAAaaahhhhhh time to let go, relaaaaax!" or "You are free to create!" It is not uncommon for me to be in my PJ's by 4pm. Sometimes with wine in hand. Not always, but sometimes. PJ's signal letting go. To me they represent true authenticity. Completely unguarded and open. No holding on or digging in. Loose, soft, free. It is not uncommon for me to stay in my Jam Jams until midday. I love to write in my pyjamas. I love to cook in my