The Muse of Stream Consciousness...

When I meet someone who has lightening bolt thought processes to follow my natural visual stream consciousness - then, I take a deep breath and welcome the electrifying brainstorming sessions that will ensue!. I feel truly blessed! Those that can apply 'stream consciousness' , 'DO', those that can't, will insult, attack and insinuate that you are in some way wrong not to adopt their singular approaches, which may tend towards linear thinking lines, of shorter, direct, narrow-focussed, targeted dialogue, as if some 'modern bible' directed it as the ONLY means of communication. Yet if you read the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krsna's words to his intimate disciple Arjuna, it is fully engaged as a dialogue of explorative, vitality, supremely escalating each statement beyond it's initial step to elysian conciousness. Thoughts can be shared that have a purity at source but expand to a waterfall with power and excitement at their finish, and to me brainstorming is exactly that.

What is also amazing is that often I will be that waterfall to a friend who listens softly, with eyes that bore into my soul, or heart, and who are themselves entirely the opposite of me, the types, one would consider 'still waters run deep'...

I realise that my closest friends each are like this, and that I am whirlwind in their midst, whilst they tower like majestic everlasting pines around me, supporting the stir I make with kindness and comprehension. Their non-judgemental acceptance, encouragement and the joyful wave of mutual appreciation engaging a child-like balance of trust and adoration from me.

Those who have more expansive creativity, or appreciation whatever their outward appearance, (my closest Friends seem to be blessed with this or perhaps we attract, or are most attracted by those that mirror our inner gifts), seem to find a place with me that is more intimate and trusted.

It feels natural and I am at ease knowing that we are going to achieve beyond our own expectations and it will be like soaring kites, fearlessly into flight, without the 'fateful Icarus-tendency to burn-out', that is normal with linear dialogue. The sun cannot blaze too fiercely when your thinking has icy, quartz-clear crystallised ideas, and underpinning each is a level of capability and control.

The Muse of Stream Consciousness inspires us to Mambo cha-cha-cha…with the finesse of a Latin dancer, tort-wrenched to an incisive turn of the wrench. I can smell the dancer within the walker’s pace. It is Friday afternoon, and I am excited to meet someone I sense has the wisdom to read my own moves much as a choreographer who has directed the piece himself.

As I follow invisible steps that he left ahead of me, and for a moment turned his head to smile and ensure I was at ease with his pace.

I take a deep breath; this is one of those exciting coffee capsule moments where I am happy to play.

Actually, for me every dialogue is just playtime.

I am remembering something subtle about the way this lovely man smiled when he first greeted me, and how the sincerity radiated out and engulfed me with it’s charm.

Today, I just have this inner murmur, which intuitively inspires me to know that I can never be the same again as perhaps the person I was yesterday morning. His name is Matteo and he is to be my new Friend, and mentor, tall, elegant, conspicuously polished with the air of a model and as many of his countrymen pulsing with a quiet proud. rooted dignity that is disarmingly impressive.

I know that I am going to recall every inch of this journey with him and that in years to come I shall have a smile when scent and sound reminiscent of these moments bring them alive again!

He seemed to be touched by the Muse of Stream Consciousness. Not only was he able to dance like a hummingbird with me, but mentally challenge me to soar like an eagle with him flying ahead, mentoring from almost a kite-like mental dance.

It is Saturday afternoon, I usually launch into my Sundays with a gargantuan appetite to be productive and do ‘tons’ from a running board that I have landed on each Saturday evening…. I have the learned habit from my mother, and definitely my brother to be frenetically active. I am thinking ahead about what I can read, sort out, organise, study, or direct inwardly in terms of mentally preparing for my week ahead. I know when I visit either of them it is the same; there is no restful haven, or feelings of solitary alienation that I have felt at some of my Friends parents. I find myself smiling again, it is as if there is no time left to waste, and every second is being accounted for whilst we each hear an omnipresent clock ticking away in our heads. I have never experienced weekend with them where they are in a restful repose, watching television, just relaxing. There is constant energy and activity, so that you factor with increased stages of personal growth: learning, productivity, decision-making, chattering and most of all being fascinated with Life, and all that is science and knowledge within it.

My brother has his friend over, they share the same first name and I am waiting for him to compile a music compilation for a choreography exam practical I am soon to do, with the chameleon dancer/trainer/examiner athletic Steve Bold, at Premier Fitness.

They are watching Planet Earth, an amazing documentary series that is breathtaking, and a favourite of his, I look at his quick movements and then giggle at his latest gadget, something he is hooked to discovering throughout his Life exploration. For him as long as science and technology are creatively designing ‘toys’, he has passion for living, and breathing.

The Muse of Stream Consciousness, is comforting to those of us that have a need to be constantly active, although my brother is impatient in dialogue his brain is quicksilver mercury and I am aware of his vast expertise in his interests, he remains constantly at ease with his own playtime banter.

At my mothers later, as I am about to leave her home at 2.30 a.m. she is still awake, and on her laptop, studying some homoeopathic, aromatherapy oil blend, I have discovered through constantly being around such blasts of informational dialogue from her that I am bombarded with intellectual stimuli and practical applications of her theories and ideas such that I can often duplicate the very process she has just applied. This ranges from knowing how to massage correctly, as well as the techniques for reflexology and Swiss massage, through to Indian Head Massage and even Hopi candles. I realise that since I have always been her practice ‘body’, and the person who often dictated her notes into old-fashioned Dictaphone tapes, as well as being the person who she practices on. I have learnt subliminally just a child might following it’s father, such as a carpenter into the workshop. So, in the same way I have been submerged in so many different phases of her own learning and development.

She has a sense of child-like adventure and is fearless in her hunger of knowledge and learning and most of all her need to express herself in accordance with the practices of the Muse of Stream Consciousness...Although in her it is the Muse of Oceanic Consciousness...

I am astounded that I remember all those moments, only when a trigger cause and effect, suddenly jolts me like an electric current and I can see the solution or the condition that I need to recall her unconscious teachings.

I tell her about Matteo, in little bursts of excitement as I always have when I discover a new individual and I am finding myself observing the gifts bestowed by the Muse of Stream Consciousness and how adorable his nature is, and how easy he is to comprehend and befriend, but most of all that I was astounded at how quickly he shared his ideas, thoughts and the purity of his methodology. I am trying to recall the pages he showed me as for a moment I find myself drifting into a tired, sleepy foetus-shape on a stiff leather armchair.

My mom is half listening to my murmur of, “I just want a nap, and then I will get up and go”…. It is midnight and I haven’t yet the desire to leave. My handsome young nephew earlier agreed with natural gentle assent to follow me out to the front driveway, where we have about 5 meters square space to practice a routine and as a young teenager, he is extraordinarily beautiful – like a young Marlon Brando in his magnetic gaze and athletic prowess. He can ski, water ski, swim, do martial arts, play golf, cricket, skate, and develop strategies across any technological game that he is interested in.

The wind rustles as if the very Muse of Stream Consciousness...is igniting our senses to open our minds and allow her landscapes to widen our horizons.

It is already dark, and the streetlights and some neighbours houselights cast different spotlights across the front yard, making our trainers shine where their design markings shine like phosphorous are brighter than fireflies.
My nephew is beat counting and his preciseness is almost robotic, because he has yet to be comfortable with the beauty of his own body and it’s movements, and is learning to outgrow the teenage awkwardness that most individuals wrestle.

It is fun practising dance moves and I see that as our eyes are the same colour for brief seconds we focus eye-ball-to-eye-ball, and then we have the same intense expression as we mirror the movements three feet apart, in an athletic, controlled manner.

For about an hour before he goes to sleep he has commanded the room and shared his insights in the movie that we have selected to watch whilst we ate the food of the Gods, that each of us feels is our ‘Mother’s cooking’.

I drift into a nap and every so often I realise that I am being comforted in small doses of thoughtful tender nurturing, first I wake to the scent of my mother’s shawl across my curled form. Later a cushion seems to be under my head, and when I wake even later there is a warm drink, and I sit up and see that I slept for about twenty minutes. I can hear my mother suggesting I go up to bed, and stay over, but I am restless and have already made mental plans about how I can be really productive, Sundays bore me otherwise.

She asks why I was ‘napping’, and quickly before I can answer she is advising me of the best ways to maximise on my energy levels, the foodstuffs, the meditation techniques that she believes can help one to gravitate towards completion at the deepest intention of our spirit. She is telling me an anecdote and as she does, I am cat-like stretching and she comments on how she loves the internet and how much she enjoys reading and directing her energies towards enhancing her range of experience with greater knowledge. I stand up and do some pilates-style stretches to uncoil myself from having been so tightly wound in my armchair.

As I leave her, I see that she has bundled up her usual gifts of curries in Tupperware, little natural homemade soap concoctions she found me in a small gift shop, a cashmere pashmina, and a handmade poncho that she thought I might wear. I pause for a moment, and shout ‘Thank you’, knowing that she won’t be going to bed for at least another half an hour as she is excited talking to a relative who is awake the other side of the world, online.

I pile the gifts, into my car, and realise that no-one leaves her empty- handed. I take a deep breath and sigh, I love the freshness of Autumnal nights and the colours of the trees seem so haunting. I am wide awake and I realise that I am going to write this essay over the weekend, I can already feel the words forming within my head. I start to drive home, on empty highways, and motorways and it is as I am in a wakeful dream, because the words I have here are those that are dissecting inside my mind an d I can visualise the way that they will flow on paper, on my screen and from my fingertips as I type them several hours before I do.

It is like a mamba cha-cha-cha, and I can follow the lines of thoughts as if I am outside of the very same movements, not in the present but some place from another part of my own psyche, almost as if it is within the realms of my imagination with no language to describe fully the imagery before me.

I know all day that it is the moment that I cherish the most, despite having been busy from the second I wake up, I feel as if it is this moment that I hastened towards all day… now when it is late again and perhaps I should be settling into an armchair, something I never do, instead my energy pulses towards my keyboard and firing off the thoughts of the day. I know all over the world, this is exactly what others are doing with the same feeling of communion and simple instinct to express stream consciousness.

The Muse of Timely Nonchalance.

... As I foiled the traffic that trickled through the traffic lights, which seemed to change every 23 seconds... no more and no less... allowing only three at most vehicles across, whilst the rest of us waited - our time lives trickling away with each second. I thought to myself that this was quite probably the work of the Muse of Timely Nonchalance. When I arrived at the car park the Hotel seemed to be 'heaving'... the car park was full and I struggled to find even a miniscule spot... I caught a glimpse of Tarsem, who always reminds me of a teacher… he is in fact a Pharmaceutical Consultant, but when he sashays across the road, often in his corduroy (yep it looks like the kind of wardrobe you would expect an archaeologist to wear)… stop and stare. Cutting a dash he has an urbane charm, and his family is dear to him so he balances his time between my classes and his devotion to family-dom.

His aftershave is always subtle but clearly expressive of understated grooming.
He stoops slightly as he dips his head to pass under a lovely young silver birch tree. He looks up, and he waves, there it is that lovely warm smile of familiarity between friends, and he pushes long fingers through his inimitable long fringe so that for a moment he captures a mood from the twenties or a revived eighties hairdo, a coltish look that represents someone comfortable in his skin, and with others.

His favourite yellow tee shirt is loosely folded in the top of his bag, and he appears relaxed, and when I have parked and we meet at the reception desk, a quick courteous peck on the cheek and he is spurred to formalise his mental plan as to how focussed he is going to be in the class. He seems to be planning even a

s he is slipping out of his jacket and walking into the men’s changing room. ‘See you up there in a moment…’ he smiles.

No matter how hard to try no-one can avoid the Muse of Time Nonchalance. At first there is the anxiety of trying to beat the traffic no matter what time you set off, and then the moment when you look up and think well I have plenty of time, and then the moment when you are suddenly tortured knowing you have no time at all…


Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K

There he is; that Tarsem… making it look effortless… Yep, and then as I mount the stairs to the area where the bikes are positioned in a semi-circular formation to enable me to instruct the attendees, I am aware that David is perched on his corner seat… He is always on time, in fact I have only known him to be late once that was last week, and otherwise he has been on time, every time for the past 3-4 years… I can see his pert derriere perched on the bike seat as I climb up the seat; he looks great for a sprightly man in his early forties, if that. He appears shy and reserved, but his witty nature is one of practical, straightforwardness, no frills about David, he calls a spade a shovel. I look over to him and I usually have a quick word with him, he has a way of being able to assess the situation, he accepts rules and maintains a level headedness that appeals to those of us that like some order in our chaotic lives… If he ever comes out and admits he works for the CIA or something else I would not be surprised he certainly has that granite look about him and at the time of writing he reminds me of Robert D’Nero… he has a similar physical build and look. His moves are quite precise, always with the air of someone who has understood the mechanics of movement but without having to appear to have.

Is he guided by the Muse of Timely Nonchalance… perhaps… for like Tarsem, he never appears hurried, not for him frenetic activity driven by an inner gyro metre that pushes him beyond limits.

Yet he is somehow released once he is into his session, this is what is interesting. These guys that appear so easygoing are now demons of the flywheel, they race, they challenge and they push themselves.

Unlike mercurial Sandeep, whose instincts are those of military finesse; capturing environmental scans with penetrating acumen, to be a formidable force, they seem far too relaxed to care.

They do not look like men who are sauntering magestically through their universes with a visionary glimpse into a future where timeliness is of strategic effectiveness, in a journey that surpasses their mapping skills.

... Or unlike Richard, who us urging each of us to make the most of the ‘NOW’, because the future is always too quickly met, so tweaks every second out of his imaginery timeline so that he has wasted nothing.

These are men for whom time is a concept which only hinders them when their punctuality is compromised, otherwise their whole air is relaxed and forgiving. When they mention time or having to leave on time it is the only moment of urgency that is felt, otherwise they seem to be in a slow motion existence that is somehow alien to me.

I catch a glimpse of Tarsem, his counting of beats is like precise and he has a fine tonal quality to his voice.

Then arrives the baby of our current group, Amarjit… he is in his early twenties and a softly spoken teddy bear of man, he has an innocent, nature that plods along with a quiet sweetness, where he is unhurried and you can imagine that when he was a child he was the same, just affectionate, friendly and loveable. I always refer to him as my baby, and will ask him directly whose baby he is; he will blush, and lower his eyelashes and then shuffle a little and reply it is him. He is adorable, and I cannot imagine him being any different, in fact I think the group feel the same, we tease him but accept him as he is. If you catch him unawares, he appears woken up, and looks startled, ‘What?’ he asks us quizzically, as if he has been in a dream state, and deeply absorbed. He looks as if he is the proverbial day dreamer, and I see him in my minds eye as a child who may have often seemed dazed as he allowed the rest of the world’s winters go by as he remained in a summery haze of meditation.

Sipping his water, he drinks slowly, and looks around at the other cyclists, he seems to measure their form but retains his own sense of self esteem, not intimidated or concerned by how competitive others may be. Every so often I catch the boys in the group look affectionately over to him, he is in his own world, and despite his quiet softness, when he isn’t there, and his absence is felt by me.

I envy what seems to be to me his complete indifference to the city pulse.

His partner in crime is Sukh, an attractive young man in his late twenties, a Sikh, who arrived at my classes ‘tubby’, and transformed himself to a svelte leaner, swifter man. He like Amarjit is easy going, placid, gentle and able to appear relaxed when everyone else is sharpening their swords for the battle ahead, he is it seems to me, just swivelling the ‘dream-catcher’, and being absorbed by his own goals, private and personally held with pride. When he is questioned, his voice has a lovely pitch to it, and he reminds me of some of the adults I grew up around, everything about him suggests an affinity with people, without alienating or judging others… he is quick to offer humble responses to his self improvement, always the unfettered self developer, he has little idea that he is noticeable in a crowd because he has a warmth that instills confidence in others. Amarjit and Sukh, are of the same ilk, they are dependable, loyal and devoted, it goes without saying that despite few words, ones impression of them is consistently borne out by their actions, and year in year out of knowing them, I am never surprised to see that the pair of them are like pandas remote yet part of a dying breed.

No matter how much either of them is yelled at by some of the more formidable team players… the pair remains unhurried, the rhythm one of the giant panda sitting munching eucalyptus leaves savouring each one as a delicacy, and so it seams that each of these guys are also savouring the delicacies of life and allowing the despair the rest of us may feel with our wrestling with time and wilfully pushing aside the Muse of Timely Nonchalance whilst we try to push time to limits within ourselves, in a hope to squeeze each second with some sense of purpose. Often I turn to Amarjit, and after establishing the piece for our exercise, I say with a grin, ‘… that includes everyone… but Amarjit, you do your best, at your own beat…’ We all understand what this means… basically, that Amarjit will work at his own pace, one of almost timely nonchalance… and like an anchor to the rest of us punishing ourselves on a gruelling treadmill; he will bring to it a new momentum – one that dismisses urgency, and tireless endeavours… as being one of futility. Clearly, they are blessed by the Muse of Timely Nonchalence.

The Muse of eleventh-hour Miracles

Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K

The muse of 11th hour miracles… … You know the one; each of you has at some point discovered her over your shoulder, always in that moment when your prayers were answered, from standing at the shops counter, when you are a 7 year old and longing for an aniseed ball, and suddenly, albeit with empty pockets, some adult reaches up to the glass jar, and rattles it as he shakes one out into your sticky unwashed hand…

This Muse is one of my favourites, for the element of surprise; relief and expectancy each rise up inside me once she shows herself.. Oh the blissful serenity when chaos, or danger has been averted, and then of course her twin sister (oh, okay I forgot to mention her)… Acid drop twelve o’clock High Noon Muse? Well she is always unwelcome, for she turns the clock forward and after her everything returns to normal, and all miracles, and blessings cease to be so critically important, at any rate the surprise has been disposed of. If in this piece I was to draw inspiration from my friends at the gym, to whom I turn for the best and happiest impulses within me to write, then I can say that whilst there are many individuals who one meets some people stand out in your mind because they have their own mystical light and perhaps this is what is known as aura, for it draws me to them for the reasons I give below.

A silvery grey mist that seems to hang low and turns everything grey that is engulfed by it, it makes me shudder anticipated it’s coldness, icy dampness reminds me of Sherlock Holmes’ wintry London, or some moor in Yorkshire…. There is moodiness and dank melancholia that quizzes the mind, at the same time the cold sun seen through the mist is a reminder of how the miracle of light can sustain us through winter to know spring is but a breeze-kiss away. At some point I forget which one, I longed for the eleventh hour miracle Muse, perhaps it was on a regular basis, one that could have been mapped out in a diary, such that everyday at a particular time, I may have been wishing for a surprise, and lo and behold, there would be one…sometimes quite a revelation, at other times rather than any kind of epiphany, no startling mental fireworks just the kind of ‘North by North East’, Hitchcock type of ‘hey what is going to happen next?’ kind of emotional jolt at whatever had surprised me. Other times the miracle was not so much a miracle as a small hiccup on the fabric of the Universe burping, a small glitch in it’s very fabric that enabled each of us to blend our waves of activity into each other so that we could affect a small change, enough that some of benefited and others did not, and instead stubbed a toe, hopping about cussing at their own misfortune.



Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K


To me the Muse of 11th Hour Miracles, was there whenever I needed a new role, or a new intellectual connection, she was clearly absent when I was meeting someone that I would eventually find to be a challenging nutcase, or one of those individuals with such low self-esteem they made up characters in their lives to try to extract responses from me, believe me this happens more frequently than on ‘Fraser’ and ‘Friends’. Are lives so dull that a need to feel important in another’s life makes one need to craft illusions, or is that it is another way to shield the self from painfully discovering that insularity has left no openings for anyone to be let in.

Providence or merely co-incidences, I prefer the former, they allow for more resourceful thinking and creativity, for if I accept each prevailing good fortune as only a co-incidence well then why bother to try hard at anything, if co-incidence can always thwart, impede or spur you on? I would rather think it is something more preordained, there is a level of excitement that then builds, and allows for the ‘what ifs’, to creep into my reasoning, and then a wishing for miracles and okay okay, I know hard work, torments and suspicious urgings will convince me of alternative possibilities but if heaven sent ‘pennies’ are to fall my way? Well I want to feel the excitement of thinking they can. With such hopefulness, how each of us discovers and rediscovers the constant child within us, that finds itself through playful discovery of experiences that cannot be logically explained or rationalised. My Friend Phil, at the gym is a P.E instructor, a handsome young man, who has deep soulful eyes and despite his age, can follow any train of thought with a patient, quiet strength, he is a quixotic loner, my favorite type, an enigma. Each conversation with him always feels as if it has taken a new turn through some maze to a way out. As if he has a skeleton key to every door.

Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K

Just as I was excited by the last moment miracle of surprises and the excitement that such great news caused in my life, I was also despairing of the aftershock of the twelve o’clock, Cindrella’s carriage transforming into a pumpkin, so that what had appeared to be a surprise or miracle in my view was now quite simply a mundane co-incidence, and deflating….

Was it a case of expectations that were unrealistic on my part or merely hopefulness being a slave to reality and always being overshadowed by the harshness of the vicissitudes of Life and living? From the person who couldn’t say a simple ‘thank you, for your communication, hope you are doing great’… Instead had to ensure that their unhappiness was itself communicated through the sentence ‘, thanks but my life is too full to include you’. So that when my friend repeated this to me as the response she received, I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, for the speaker of the statement that their life was too full to include my friend, was clearly a slave to their own thinly disguised plot towards building walls around themselves and thereby refusing anyone who could expand their limited universe. There was the twelve o’clock Muse interfering again, guiding the poor man to put his hand up as a stop sign, to communication with someone who had no more demands on him other than to fill the hand with aniseed balls.

As I sip tea flavoured with bergamot oil, (Earl Grey) I hold the cup in my hand for a moment and pause to reflect on how seemingly real this moment appears to me, and I then also think how elusive this feeling I have is, I know I cannot capture it again, and I am already far away from the feeling someplace in a ‘now’, that is never a ‘now’. There is my friend Richard F, who has always attended my classes, a consultant in IT who water skis with a passion, and cannot be averted from his fitness classes by anything short of his itinerary not allowing him. Dialogues with are always humoured and full of expert witness type factual practicality. He responds with the knowledge of an expert, and I choose every opportunity to pick his brains. ‘What do you think of this?’ I ask, and then look forward to his thinking mechanism pulling out facts that he can link together in a wonderfully witty way. I look at the nail varnish that I decided to throw away today, it is the same colour as aniseed balls, those wonderfully pungent sweets that take forever to melt in your mouth no matter how much you try to dissolve them to the small seed within that is a pleasant surprise the first time you have one. Aniseed balls can always be tossed away, leaving little more than melted burgundy blood red sugar tint that lasts, only until it is wiped down the back of the trouser leg.

Supposed friends will discard each other with the same foresight, and treat a handshake in the same way, their palms sweaty because they lack fortitude of commitment.

The mist in some places is quite frankly a fog, I can barely see the washing I left on the line yesterday and I am now watching as it is covered in a silver dew, but looks like it will stay there for another day or two as I am reluctant to hang it indoors or see it shrink in the washer-drier. A part of me wishes I had magical powers or the eleventh hour miracle Muse would magically have wet laundry dance itself off the line and into my home without the aid of my warmed limbs having to make the least effort to aid them.

Some historic part of me enjoys however hanging out washing in winter; I think a response to my love of history and romancing it… I am always reminded of Dickensian Winter tales, and washerwomen in all parts of the world doing the same, in that moment as pegs are pinning up laundry, I am transported to each other person wherever they are in the world doing the same chore. Adults so often have predictable responses, to be quick to reject each other where reject was hardly the appropriate gesture, and good manners would have just required a simple handshake and courteous graciousness.

Was this something that came about in them as they grew into adults through their experiences and adversities, or were they as children so hopelessly un-giving, showing how needy they are as they reject those that hand one gives to them, with love?

Most children who have healthy upbringings whatever their circumstances or situations will respond to love, and surprises that have at their essence goodness. How trivial it may appear to some, but when a child calls it’s uncle or aunt, or it’s grandparent, with the blessings of it’s parents, to merely share some small incident that the child experienced that day, just to share the thought, the battle or the joy, I am certain that it has been often the most deeply felt emotional blessing, the adult could have experienced that entire day. My Friend Dino, an ex-Karate instructor, who is a welcome addition to any class I do, for his passionate fire power and boyish charms drive everyone to achieve levels they would not ordinarily succeed to. His ability to charismatically swerve each of us to collide with our weaknesses and then overcome them is simply an art form. Does he have any idea he has this influential power over others, I doubt it! It comes from the very fact that he has no idea and it is natural within him to nurture others and to be a kindly child at heart.

Of course, on the downside, he makes the rest of us look like we are flapping fowl, apes, and penguins, when we try to imitate his moves, and he ups the tempo each session by his enthusiasm. Each of his descriptive Karate moves are precision executed, power and sensuality - whip like that electrify the viewer.

Watching the mist that seemed to prevail all day today, I could only think how wonderful it would be to have encountered the eleventh hour miracle Muse….

Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K

How seemingly unimportant this day felt, without adversity or challenges that may have incited, or inspired prayer for those miracles that when they come are exquisite in their very welcome arrival. On the brink of disaster there it may be, that moment of reprieve… whether it is from the gallows… or that Friend who really is a Friend indeed… helping another in need, unconditionally without words having to be expressed to specify the need, My Friend Susana T is one of those…. A woman of great perspicuity and comprehension, her practical application is incomparable. Or with the graciousness of second sight, where the person lends themselves without fear of reprisals to be openly loyal despite the landscape of hostility or possible minefield, to your cause. I thankfully, and humbly await each and every moment of adversity that may arise in my life which allows me to engage with the Universe – and God, in prayer for those long awaited fervently prayed for eleventh hour miracles… for when the Muse is present each moment of hopelessness and concern, even fear is washed almost with the tears of humanity as the recipient of such a Muses gifts, is blessed, and honoured to have had another opportunity to delay the fate hounds for another moment, minute, hour or day.

I believe without condition that acute adversity builds astounding individuals, and that easy living, comfortable-couch like existence, that impenetrable security reaches into our very souls and leaves us wanting less of God and therefore demanding even less of ourselves to find a noble path, and therefore a deterioration of the spirit.

The Muse of eleventh hour miracles reminds us how we are only as real as the mist and that eventually we are all consumed by the same kind of spiritual vapour but those for whom adversity was the stimuli for reaching out the Muse, whether it was whilst we waited for a sick loved one to recover whilst we paced up and down a corridor where pain could not cry out, without disturbing another ill person, or where mortality was felt deeper than at any other time…. Or whether we felt a need to seek the hand of the Muse believing ourselves to be entirely alone, and unattended by God, even felt hated. I saw a docu-drama (one of many) on Elvis’s early years, where the actor said, ‘I have asked myself whether God hated me?’, supposedly the words of Elvis to a friend, at a moment of self doubt, and self examination.

When a small child told me that he did not believe in God, for as the child said, ‘Because I am a scientist’… I smiled, and replied, ‘Thank God, you are, and if you say that is the reason, than you spend your entire life proving there is no such thing as God, and I will absolutely respect your commitment, and scientific reasoning, and way of going about it (methodology)’… For what I cannot abide is the lazy man who denies what he is too lazy, and therefore limited to seek out and discover through true human endeavour. I suggested the first place the child ought to look is inside his own soul…. And when asked how does one go about doing that, I said, ‘Don’t ask me, you are the scientist, that is for you to discover, put it on your list of ‘to-do’s’.

Did the Muse differentiate between those who appeared to always discover opportunities to find their routes – somehow seemed destined towards success or was it that the Muse completed the journey of those individuals who embraced strife and complexities of human bondage, by helping others even as they themselves stooped with their own burdens? My friend Tara could be such a Muse, no matter what her personal adversities, she can stop and give you without any harshness about her, her complete attention to the question or issue or problem, at hand. She is a living breathing ‘Lara Croft’, an Amazon (an IT consultant who rides a sleek motorbike, in even slinkier leather and with a fantastic mind, always spearheading calamities by being able to foresee them, as she faces her own adventures she is helping you through your calamities).

The sunshine is cold and harsh as it changes the mist shades to almost a pinkish glow.

An inspiration to me is Sandeep. About three years or so ago, some of the men attending my classes decided to tighten up the wheels to allow themselves an advantage against two men, one of these was Sandeep. This act of clear undermining fellow class attendees was not out of spite or envy but to try and even out and create a level playing field, a kind of obtuse handicapping an opponent. Sandeep would arrive at the gym with his beautiful family, who were swimming, whilst he was in a one-piece flash-super hero suit. This man in his one-piece running suit, cut quite a dash as he prowled jaguar-like; with an evenly toned, muscular physique that showed self discipline, intelligence (since he had perfect form and focus), without either being too top heavy or distorted for example ‘popeye’ arms whilst having skinny ankles, which I am sure everyone has seen at the gym.

His attendance at classes was one of being at ease with himself, his masculinity and willingness to be equal the same task everyone had set themselves – basically to achieve consistently. He took criticism without any need to either back chat, or egoism, and when helped he was favourably disposed towards being directed, accepting coaching with complete humility. Behind his back, the boys alluded to him as one of the missing super heroes of DC comics….

Did I ever advise him that he was on the hardest bike, of course not (smile), did I mention he prowls around like a jaguar!

A Family man, highly successful in running his own blue-chip company, he had the same application of dedicated coolness in his fitness programme. His comprehension of problems and ability to define a solution is without reserve quite astounding, he simply takes my breath away, listening to his mercurial dialogue. What created this man, whose compassion is extraordinary as is his willingness to be the Champion of the Underdog, through empathy, and a visionary belief that those whom he takes under his wings deserve his commitment to them much the way that many a shepherd guides his sheep through dark valleys but will leave none behind nor discard any in Winter, as many supposed friends do.

How is it that he can multi-task his life so that he balances his time with his family, his company and his colleagues, whilst still maintaining his focus on the causes that he has taken up? Such individuals can only arise through being adventurers who are true soldiers, those who have taken up the sword for others in the same vein as their own battles each conducted with a desire to rely on themselves for their ability, and to achieve through their faith in the Universe, in God and in the Muse of the eleventh hour miracle to have aided their journey, their climb, even their fall. They never expected all the privileges nor did they regard themselves as anything more than part of the mist of humanity, but they engaged in the battle of adversity much the way the brave poppy lends its petals to torn by the storm… even when torn and shredded it retains it’s crimson shade, a colour that has come from within its cells.

So those that are gift givers of eleventh hour miracles for helping you, are they somehow imbued with the same crimson fire of courage and self sacrifice? It seems to me they are. My Friend Nigel is a giant teddy bear, but rather than Winnie the Pooh his energy is akin to Tigger! Upon arrival he always pays me the most courteous compliments, animated he shares some personal anecdote from his day to day experiences, and very often he makes some cryptic observation, being a people watcher he has shrewed acuity. With the air of large snow bear arriving at an ice rink, he bounds in, energetically, spontaneous, a large grin on his face and with clear eyes that seem filled with bright flares of light, showing him to be as mentally agile as an elk. Dialogue with him is almost too scintillating to be trivialised here, but he makes me laugh with his witty remarks, his quick mind that erases pain by a warm gregarious torch like personality.

Somewhere a stage is less bright for him being absent from it. Anyone would yield themselves to his affectionate protection, as he bounces through life winning the admiration of all those who he takes under his protective arm. He is quick to hug, quick to kiss affectionately and even more spontaneous as he appears to be at once both concerned and then uplifting and like the sunshine that seems now to finally break through the misty fog. Were I in prison, he would be someone I would love to see because his ebullient personality is not only engaging but like the others mentioned above, he shows himself to be one of those interesting Friends… who inspired others, to be like him and I guess what I like to consider to have the qualities of one of the disciples of the Muse of eleventh hour miracles.

The Muse of Perpetual Pouts...

... Talking to Honor, a Spanish friend of mine was always one of responding to eclectic mood swings. She and vitality were strangers, and exuberance was yet to be discovered within her. A rather bleak mercenary calm as she smoked ringlets of slowly drawn breaths of nicotine and menthol cigarettes,and dissected men as being little more than 'monsters, idiots and losers'. She was openly frank about her low regard for men generally, but more specifically she loved one man, and aside of him all others 'stunk'. This was her brother Julio, who she had soft and fond memories of but that was along time ago - one of innocence and infinity ... and he then had died unforgivingly of tuberculosis in '75, and that was that. With him died all respect for real living men. She dismissed any heroic characters such as Gandhi, or current living ones (Mandela... our beloved prisoner of Robin Island) with right shoulder shrug, and a single eyebrow raised as if they were unique.

Then there was her interesting face of illusions; makeup that was smudgedand smoky around the deep set bright eyes, quite a dark skin tone: reminiscent of Spanish war maidens keeping the armies passion at bay, and I often teased about this gypsy look that she wore so well that even Carmen might have envied her for pure raw appeal. Her lipstick always the darkest shades of bruised burgundy, wine or maroon.

She sighed before she would speak to me, she softly said my name and then (for this was the only time I heard her speak gently...) she seemed like a tese bullwhip, arched to electrify the air with her anger at the world at large.

The Muse of Perpetual Pouts kept faces like hers constantly frozen. It was a cold bleak canvass and any man with her might have wondered what kept him close to her for there was a chilly look about her as she wore black, and if not black then colours that may well have been black for the shades never lit the room with her entry the way that those with confidence and inner vitality might have expressed their inner growth with rainbow blends. Instead she followed the path of others who like her had a limited monochrome wardrobe of expression, safety amongst excuses.

When someone asked if she were a 'Goth'... she sneered and looked remarkably strained, possibly the nearest I had seen to her feeling insulted. Her lack of bonding with her father had created this dark bat of haunting gazes. As my remote seasonal friend, always late Winter... before the Spring lifted one's spirits and excitement stirred, so her calls to enlist comfort much as a small Christmas Cacti might require a small dose of icy rain.

I realised over time she was someone I only caught whisper hisses of dialogue from when things had really reached the pit of depression from which she would rise slowly and with hardly a struggle... Then nothing, no regular calls proclaiming wonderful news or mundane experiences... It was always 'All or Nothing'.
Photo Credit: Sean Cronin, Berkshire, U.K


The Muse of Perpetual Pouts, was kinder to others who she inspired to hold sphinx like mysterious gazes with shallow surfaces and little depth below the foggy artificial pose that was held to guard against any onslaught of intelligent repartee. Most of these superficial types lived forever in baby colour pinks, often with sugar daddy - illusions of being taken care of by someone, anyone, and with little morality whilst they cooed their infantile voices to achieving their main ends which were to use affection or rather withdraw it, for gifts, even those with education appeared as mercenary despite their pink tracksuits and designer white platforms, and (usually) bleached blonde hair extensions...Tireless in their fascination with pretences and their own garish parody of kindergarten self image.

Honor was something entirely different; one of the few who enjoyed her ownself inflicted tragedy, and was entirely unaware that she was a devotee tothis muse. Was she bright? who knew, for she never uttered any statement that was profound or unbiased.

My fascination with Honor's temperament was based on knowing I was watchinga creature who was timeless, that as this cactus was enfolding, would live and eventually die... Here was someone who was completely untouched by the sophistication of modern living or sciences, for had she walked barefoot amongst some village with the same desirability and fear of her that any woman with her looks, at any time during the centuries the only difference was the landscape behind her. I realised her smile was beyond comprehension for it could never exist in any lifetime that had passed her brother'sdeath. For once he was gone he took with him her laughter and only real care in the world.

The Muse of Perpetual Pouts... ensured that she protected others from connecting with her where they would be strangled by her demands, by ensuring that she always wore the same face, one of a perpetual pout.