The road less travelled by

Writers, artists, often talk about the muse in their lives. Others dismiss the idea as some kind of shape-shifting or mental displacement. I’ve always been open to the idea. I’m not superstitious, but I prefer to protect my muse while at the same time publicly recognising her and the role she plays in my life. Last night I dreamt about my muse. She’d just had a baby and needed to get back from work to attend to its needs. We were at our place of work together, a large corporate entity, trying not to let it dominate our intended activity – which was, at last, after a very long time apart, to spend some time together. I won’t deny that there was an element of sexual anticipation. Yet, as ever, tenderness was the most important expression of our relationship – a soft understanding of mutual need. As I helped her with some household tasks while she attended to her baby’s needs, I ran the back of my hand down her cheek and said, ‘It’s good to spend some time together.’ Then I awoke, with an unusually full reflection of the dream. My muse only appears at times of my life when there is a fork in the path. It’s as if she’s there to remind me that there is an important choice to be made. In guiding me, she is ever herself – a calm combination of a will to love, with a quiet, unshakable, inner confidence about who she is and what she stands for. I’ll be watching and listening closely to see what this means.

markgriffiths@idealconsulting.co.uk