Once, way up on a time beast, with gleaming jowls and a cheap gold Rolex, became a little girl.
With wide gleaming blue eyes and no hint of sadness she wandered through the passages of the time beast, exploring every corner and stopping to wonder at the marvelousness of it all. All who knew her were mesmerised by her, she seemed ageless, serene and held a light that drew others to her.
And they came, for healing, for music, for laughter and silliness for some of them carried such burden that the eyes of this girl were like elixir. And she loved them anyway.
Inside the heart of this spirit-light was a small, soft and comfortable town. The streets and alleys brimmed with organic life; moss and lichen splashed across the bricks of older-time buildings with terraces and corridors decorated with spiderwebs dripping with dew. The town, the forests and sunlit fields smelled like jasmine blossoms for most of the year, and in the cooler months and those strange summer showers brought to life fragrances of earthen eucalypt, gum-nuts and worms, fresh mulch and steaming asphalt.
There were parks woven within haphazard streets of rickety wooden houses which never leaked and were always the right temperature, with a faint balmy spring breeze. Even in the winter days (and i say days because winter only ever lasted that long) the air was cool and refreshing.
The whole town was alive, doorways of homes yawned and called out the varied echoes of living - sound slid down the alleyways and through the pockets of forest gatherings and picnics. Laughter from children, friends, lovers, parties and gatherings. A woman-child laughing at her reflection in the mirror with surprise and delight, another swinging from a lazy hammock lets out a giggle at an idea shared with a novel, another dancing to music, jumping off furniture, spinning and swaying.
They share a secret language, the women-children of this town. It is a voice of idealism, hope, delight, purity, of innocence and wonder. The boarders are strong and no thing can tarnish the wings of this town, this heart, this girl.
Eventually, she comes to know that there are other towns like hers out there, ever hopeful that she will meet one so that the borders may full open and the two towns may become one city of sustainable energy, life and joy. Of course members of the other town must know how to tend the gardens, know when it is time to turn the mulch, know what it means when the ants scurry and gather, how long it takes to bake an apple pie. These are the sacred knowings of this town.
Occasionally a town would breeze by, and permitted access beyond her borders via serenade, by mystic words or no words at all. And the visitors would be welcomed, stay a while. They would stay and work in the gardens, some lay on the grass, some bewitched the girl-women of this town with words, mesmerising and lyrical.
But none of the visitors knew how long to cook an apple pie, and eventually, they were all asked to leave (or packed up and left town of their own accord, never in the night in slippers, but on motorcycles, in fanfares). Not one of them left without leaving a mark, hence not one of them left entirely. New pathways were etched where once there stood an ancient Marri and the women-child were left wondering how the tree was felled without ever any one of them noticing.
They stood, mouths open, agape at the mound of flakes and scraps where once there stood life, and as their tears rolled, the sprouts of fresh life poked out from beneath a branch, a log, a shard. The village was eventually full of these scars, although healed partially, the previous face of the town would never be restored.
The changes of the village through the ages concerned the elder woman-child and a fold in her brow formed. Concerned they would be losing the innocence of the town and its women-children, she vowed that she would see to it that the borders of the town would not fall so easily in the future, she would not be tricked. And she sighed, "Ah, it is all part of the plan of the spirit girl. How is she to experience her life, if not through each of us and the towns we meet. Although our guests can leave an awful mess, they bring tools and language and recipes that would never have had otherwise. No one can truly hurt us for no-one is truly bad."
**
One day, out of the blue sky, came a swooping magpie with giant wings and talons enough to pluck and carry the sleepy village to the edge of existence. The magpie swooped several times and came to land before some of the women-children who had gathered to marvel at the strength and beauty of such a creature.
"I have come to tell you that the Druid is dead. Find your mother-selves and father-selves and other kindred beings and be with them now, for the Druid is dead."
Screeching its piercing call of attack the feathered beast swooped its winged arms with such force that much of the village was swept into a deep canyon beyond the village walls.
In the years past the Elder had come to know this canyon was close by, but beyond the village walls. For some time now they had worked to make the walls higher and stronger, to protect the innocence and light of the beings within. But now, it was upon them to come to know this canyon and know it well.
In the water they were soothed and healed but they would never revisit the surface. They learned to breathe the amber liquid into their clear fresh lungs and survive beneath the water's surface with no sense of anything above. Absolute surrender, laced.
A hush fell on the crowd, as they gripped and lent on each other. Doors of homes tightened to to size that only a child may pass inside, the breeze fell silent and nobody noticed the Jasmine. No body noticed it for a long time, so long in fact that it simply stopped growing, like the love and adoration the women once gave the plants fed their enjoyment of living and without it, they ceased to exist.
The spirit girl, her head spun and her body swayed. The time beast turned at her, drooling a grin-like snarl. Her breath rushed from her chest and her skin ice-white. Inside her, a dam broke and the ocean within her heart poured salty tears into the canyon. The villagers, harbours for peace and hope, were left crushed and bleeding.
As if entranced, the remaining village inhabitants turned silently and marched toward the canyon. Falling in effortlessly as if under hypnosis they stayed there beneath the salty amber-ness without thought or feeling.
The town's flowers fell like leaves and leaves fell into the dust - the earth no longer lush and fertile, but readily becoming stone, rock, dirt. The borders of the town forced themselves higher and higher and more resilient than ever before. The buildings stayed, but only just, for the lichen and moss that rested between their bricks and awnings had dissolved and the buildings swayed in the rancid heat of day and froze solid in the desert winter-nights.
Not a soul to be seen for three months.
Eventually, a weary woman with the vague memories of freedom and a heart of a warrior urged herself from the Amber slumber to man the border. She had heard stories of the Spirit-girl's demise into madness and her loyalty to the Spirit-girl finding breath again made her begin and end her climb out of the canyon.
There was no way that anything was ever going to get past those gates again. No one was to be trusted, unless given a special pass and only on the condition that they would help to repair the damaged caused by the news of the Druid's death.
Hope and innocence, joy and laughter, faith and trust were abandoned, for these things did not exist if the Master Druid did not make them so.
To be continued...
December 16, 2009
December 15, 2009
And so it was ...
12/25/08
And so it was ..
that the elders, still dripping acrid sweat, made their way out of the Amber Canyon. Dry eyes and bleary minds, the taste in their mouths made them nauseous which many stopped to purge - a belated conscious eviction. Their nails tore from their beds and arms strained from their own weight as they clambered to the walls of the canyon. Time in the canyon was like a superficial conversation, like a day in front of the television, like morphine, like that moment of sleep when the body is heavy and the mind is soft. Slowly, their tiny frames, bloated from toxicity, groaned and screamed from the movement as if they might break.
But when their faces emerged and touched true sunlight, the air was light and sweet.
And so it was ...
that they made their way to the village border. Slowly at first, but with each step the toxins drained from their blood, their skin, their lungs. The numbess of Amber dripped away and evaporated like sweat, their muscles nourished by the solar energy and prana in the dry air.
They made their way to where they had heard she lay and they didnt find her there. She found them.
She looked somewhat like them - but there was difference, wrong-ness, damage. Her frame was wirey and skin dry, hair, long dark and knotted. She wore a a gun holster around her shoulders and a knife on her thigh. Her boots were warn and dusty - seen a few k's, kick a few arses. And, most perculiarly, something gleamed in her eye foreign to them. Distrust. Rage.
She saw them first, from behind a boulder. Such a rounded mass had once had been considered a powerful gateway, a conduate to the energies of the universe... but she had forgotten the old time and she felt that she had only ever seen it, and others like it, as a boulder.
She watched them for a moment. They seemed strangely familiar. They must have done, otherwise she would have shot them dead in an instant. Unfamiliar things were dangerous, left the borders vulnerable to disorder, disease.
Standing directly in their path, she stood in plain sight by the full light of day. The small band of newcomers spent some time examining her, and likewise. Both were familiar to the other and by dusk they were sharing a silent campfire. Sherrif (as this is what she considered herself) told the women-girls of the state of the village since the death of the Druid and the discent of the village's women into the Amber Canyon.
"The boundaries had began to crumble and fall, while in other parts it had thickened and stretched itself almost to the sky. Dark beings were welcomed into the village grounds and set up camp, sometimes for weeks, and made fire, tore out new saplings and brought their empty stories of hope from the outside - but they never came to anything. They came, took what they wanted and left mess before leaving the boundaries.
Sometimes I would sit and watch them, scattering bread around them at night so they would be covered by bugs by morning and consider this, our home, too hostile a place to live or to love. 'Uninhabitable, and hostile to life - rehabilitation impossible'. I have believed this myself more than once."
The elder started "We have heard the cries of the spirit-girl, we have heard of her pain and confused by her actions, but I see that these are actions of spiritual self defense, however ugly."
In the light of the fire the elder could see the face of the Sherrif girl, tired, worn and aged far beyond her years with a spiteful look of disgust across her brow, a tear on her cheek and her finger on the trigger of the pistol now by her side.
They shared a moment of shame for all that had happened and in the sharing remembered that they were one being.
"You weren't here. No one was...
You weren't here after the fall, after the Magpie left and the towns-women were, all but a few, washed into the Canyon. When the darkness covered the village and the trees, keepers of life and guardians of soul, they began to die. Once the trees began to die, the animals, the smaller plants, the tiny-folk and the birds and insects all left too. It was remarkable how quickly it happened. Now, without the rain and the trees, we have a lot of dust, boulders and some of the old buildings from The Before Time."
With these words, memory of The Before Time carried the Sherrif-girl to the boundary wall, transported instantaneously. She found herself before a being who called himself Idealism, her companion Opitmism and their dog Innocence...
and, without a flinch she shot a silver bullett into the chests of all three. Not out of anything more than habit, for she had become trigger happy these past few years. But she knew better by now; that slander comes of Innocence, Naievity is beneath the cloak of Idealism and Innocence was a mirage having beem killed by the news of the passing of the Druid.
Back to face the elders, those from the time when the three departed supposed strangers goverened the village, to explain, to beg forgiveness. IN desperation she yelled: "You would have done the same. I couldnt stop them. It got so lonely, sometimes I wanted them to come, I actually invited them in." She was standing by this time with a wild look of desperation - a plea for forgiveness.
Another elder stood. She sensed the confusion, she felt her pain. This woman had spent so long alone, so afraid, so angry she had forgotten for whom she was fighting - the survival of the Spirit-girl. "The boundaries of the village have been maintained, for this we are eternally grateful, but now you can sleep. Sleep for as long as you need to regain your Self and then join us again. We need you to remember, but the Long Sleep will help us to forgive."
As they sat, the lights of the fire flickered off the buckles on her life-worn boots, the handle of the pistol still in the holster and lit up the creases around her eyes and mouth. The women could see they would come to know her over time but the air of Distrust was continuous and habitual. So they sat a while longer, just watching each other and the women wondered if they would ever know their new sister as they knew themselves.
Hope was resurrected that night and the sleeping Sherrif-girl allowed them to pass as she was finally drifting to sleep and knew that, finally, someone was watching her back.
And so it was...
And so it was ..
that the elders, still dripping acrid sweat, made their way out of the Amber Canyon. Dry eyes and bleary minds, the taste in their mouths made them nauseous which many stopped to purge - a belated conscious eviction. Their nails tore from their beds and arms strained from their own weight as they clambered to the walls of the canyon. Time in the canyon was like a superficial conversation, like a day in front of the television, like morphine, like that moment of sleep when the body is heavy and the mind is soft. Slowly, their tiny frames, bloated from toxicity, groaned and screamed from the movement as if they might break.
But when their faces emerged and touched true sunlight, the air was light and sweet.
And so it was ...
that they made their way to the village border. Slowly at first, but with each step the toxins drained from their blood, their skin, their lungs. The numbess of Amber dripped away and evaporated like sweat, their muscles nourished by the solar energy and prana in the dry air.
They made their way to where they had heard she lay and they didnt find her there. She found them.
She looked somewhat like them - but there was difference, wrong-ness, damage. Her frame was wirey and skin dry, hair, long dark and knotted. She wore a a gun holster around her shoulders and a knife on her thigh. Her boots were warn and dusty - seen a few k's, kick a few arses. And, most perculiarly, something gleamed in her eye foreign to them. Distrust. Rage.
She saw them first, from behind a boulder. Such a rounded mass had once had been considered a powerful gateway, a conduate to the energies of the universe... but she had forgotten the old time and she felt that she had only ever seen it, and others like it, as a boulder.
She watched them for a moment. They seemed strangely familiar. They must have done, otherwise she would have shot them dead in an instant. Unfamiliar things were dangerous, left the borders vulnerable to disorder, disease.
Standing directly in their path, she stood in plain sight by the full light of day. The small band of newcomers spent some time examining her, and likewise. Both were familiar to the other and by dusk they were sharing a silent campfire. Sherrif (as this is what she considered herself) told the women-girls of the state of the village since the death of the Druid and the discent of the village's women into the Amber Canyon.
"The boundaries had began to crumble and fall, while in other parts it had thickened and stretched itself almost to the sky. Dark beings were welcomed into the village grounds and set up camp, sometimes for weeks, and made fire, tore out new saplings and brought their empty stories of hope from the outside - but they never came to anything. They came, took what they wanted and left mess before leaving the boundaries.
Sometimes I would sit and watch them, scattering bread around them at night so they would be covered by bugs by morning and consider this, our home, too hostile a place to live or to love. 'Uninhabitable, and hostile to life - rehabilitation impossible'. I have believed this myself more than once."
The elder started "We have heard the cries of the spirit-girl, we have heard of her pain and confused by her actions, but I see that these are actions of spiritual self defense, however ugly."
In the light of the fire the elder could see the face of the Sherrif girl, tired, worn and aged far beyond her years with a spiteful look of disgust across her brow, a tear on her cheek and her finger on the trigger of the pistol now by her side.
They shared a moment of shame for all that had happened and in the sharing remembered that they were one being.
"You weren't here. No one was...
You weren't here after the fall, after the Magpie left and the towns-women were, all but a few, washed into the Canyon. When the darkness covered the village and the trees, keepers of life and guardians of soul, they began to die. Once the trees began to die, the animals, the smaller plants, the tiny-folk and the birds and insects all left too. It was remarkable how quickly it happened. Now, without the rain and the trees, we have a lot of dust, boulders and some of the old buildings from The Before Time."
With these words, memory of The Before Time carried the Sherrif-girl to the boundary wall, transported instantaneously. She found herself before a being who called himself Idealism, her companion Opitmism and their dog Innocence...
and, without a flinch she shot a silver bullett into the chests of all three. Not out of anything more than habit, for she had become trigger happy these past few years. But she knew better by now; that slander comes of Innocence, Naievity is beneath the cloak of Idealism and Innocence was a mirage having beem killed by the news of the passing of the Druid.
Back to face the elders, those from the time when the three departed supposed strangers goverened the village, to explain, to beg forgiveness. IN desperation she yelled: "You would have done the same. I couldnt stop them. It got so lonely, sometimes I wanted them to come, I actually invited them in." She was standing by this time with a wild look of desperation - a plea for forgiveness.
Another elder stood. She sensed the confusion, she felt her pain. This woman had spent so long alone, so afraid, so angry she had forgotten for whom she was fighting - the survival of the Spirit-girl. "The boundaries of the village have been maintained, for this we are eternally grateful, but now you can sleep. Sleep for as long as you need to regain your Self and then join us again. We need you to remember, but the Long Sleep will help us to forgive."
As they sat, the lights of the fire flickered off the buckles on her life-worn boots, the handle of the pistol still in the holster and lit up the creases around her eyes and mouth. The women could see they would come to know her over time but the air of Distrust was continuous and habitual. So they sat a while longer, just watching each other and the women wondered if they would ever know their new sister as they knew themselves.
Hope was resurrected that night and the sleeping Sherrif-girl allowed them to pass as she was finally drifting to sleep and knew that, finally, someone was watching her back.
And so it was...
December 14, 2009
Dishes and Stardust
30/01/09
What she saw pleased her. And while she wiped and scrubbed she noticed each crust was softened by the warm soapy water and they fell away as if without aid, alone ... given time. She came to think, as she looked out at the view before her how these dishes were much like the past few years, since the passing of the Druid and the chaos which followed. Crusts had formed over the years in the confusion and neglect, but now, with a little warmth and encouragement they were slowly falling away leaving pink skin and a few scars.
Standing at the sink, deep in meditation, the setting sun streamed through the window before her. The golden light the sun's last effort for the day, as the dishes were hers. The synchronicity brought a smile to her lips and warmed her. She marvelled at the contrast with darkness such light could bring, making evening shadows cool and dark.
In these days the lichen had begun to form again, binding the awnings of buildings becoming homes again. The people within them gathered to strategise, to earnestly discuss... they were more like a band of warriors than ever before, training to defend the boundaries, strategising movements and decisions, debating which experiences to allow through the gates and when. How different things were to the Before times. Such love for the Spirit-woman was never so fierce, so unwavering.
The boundary walls had grown thick and firm, but, unlike years passed, were able to be penetrated if reason presented to the governing townsfolk seemed worthy. The process of decision, now matured, had become fair and just in the name of the Spirit-woman and for her life itself.
The sun glistened off her wet hands and a bubble, breaking loose from its bonds with the familiar, drifted up, up, up and danced silently. A perfect rainbow shimmering sphere in the setting sunlight. Pop! It burst just in front of her nose and its inner essence released, its skin amalgamating and falling back to the sink-water awaiting re-formation.
"And such is our life" she said to her gold-lit reflection. She marvelled at her features for a moment befriending another wrinkle. She gathered them like momentos in braille telling their story thus far - the before time, the devestation after the Druid's death, the trance in the Amber Canyon and the journey from its depths, up its walls and back to the village. The re-membering of the village itself.
Lanterns lit through the garden marked the end of work, the time for sharing and frivolity had come. A chorus of laughter from the people, men women and children chorused and echoed the song of the night - crickets, frogs and a young family of owls stayed in their aria long into each night, so when they fell into sleep they were rested.
There was much work to be done and adjustments made in the management of her interaction with the outside world. Breathing the essence of the Old Way into the spine of the Spirit-woman who through grief and misguidance, had somewhat wilted. Upholding the essence of the Druid and his ways, his truth. Our truth.
The Elder knew that the compass was well aligned. Now the trees were sprouting and growing through the dust, the days had become cooler and refreshing, seedlings sprouted out of the earth where once there had been mulch, the river ran clear. The birds and critters, once scattered, were returning. The scent of pie decorated the senses and on some evenings, one can even catch the vaguest scent of Jasmine...
What she saw pleased her. And while she wiped and scrubbed she noticed each crust was softened by the warm soapy water and they fell away as if without aid, alone ... given time. She came to think, as she looked out at the view before her how these dishes were much like the past few years, since the passing of the Druid and the chaos which followed. Crusts had formed over the years in the confusion and neglect, but now, with a little warmth and encouragement they were slowly falling away leaving pink skin and a few scars.
Standing at the sink, deep in meditation, the setting sun streamed through the window before her. The golden light the sun's last effort for the day, as the dishes were hers. The synchronicity brought a smile to her lips and warmed her. She marvelled at the contrast with darkness such light could bring, making evening shadows cool and dark.
In these days the lichen had begun to form again, binding the awnings of buildings becoming homes again. The people within them gathered to strategise, to earnestly discuss... they were more like a band of warriors than ever before, training to defend the boundaries, strategising movements and decisions, debating which experiences to allow through the gates and when. How different things were to the Before times. Such love for the Spirit-woman was never so fierce, so unwavering.
The boundary walls had grown thick and firm, but, unlike years passed, were able to be penetrated if reason presented to the governing townsfolk seemed worthy. The process of decision, now matured, had become fair and just in the name of the Spirit-woman and for her life itself.
The sun glistened off her wet hands and a bubble, breaking loose from its bonds with the familiar, drifted up, up, up and danced silently. A perfect rainbow shimmering sphere in the setting sunlight. Pop! It burst just in front of her nose and its inner essence released, its skin amalgamating and falling back to the sink-water awaiting re-formation.
"And such is our life" she said to her gold-lit reflection. She marvelled at her features for a moment befriending another wrinkle. She gathered them like momentos in braille telling their story thus far - the before time, the devestation after the Druid's death, the trance in the Amber Canyon and the journey from its depths, up its walls and back to the village. The re-membering of the village itself.
Lanterns lit through the garden marked the end of work, the time for sharing and frivolity had come. A chorus of laughter from the people, men women and children chorused and echoed the song of the night - crickets, frogs and a young family of owls stayed in their aria long into each night, so when they fell into sleep they were rested.
There was much work to be done and adjustments made in the management of her interaction with the outside world. Breathing the essence of the Old Way into the spine of the Spirit-woman who through grief and misguidance, had somewhat wilted. Upholding the essence of the Druid and his ways, his truth. Our truth.
The Elder knew that the compass was well aligned. Now the trees were sprouting and growing through the dust, the days had become cooler and refreshing, seedlings sprouted out of the earth where once there had been mulch, the river ran clear. The birds and critters, once scattered, were returning. The scent of pie decorated the senses and on some evenings, one can even catch the vaguest scent of Jasmine...
August 4, 2009
The Best Thing I Saw Today...
05/08/09
The fog sleeping on the river bed and mud-land around Thornlie, pink clouds of the sunrise and a flock of red-tailed black cockatoos overhead... one swooping back - being chased by a magpie made just enough to show me that my disbelief was true - red tailed indeed. What a delight.
The fog sleeping on the river bed and mud-land around Thornlie, pink clouds of the sunrise and a flock of red-tailed black cockatoos overhead... one swooping back - being chased by a magpie made just enough to show me that my disbelief was true - red tailed indeed. What a delight.
July 29, 2009
Ignore me and I will go away.
28/07/09
Like a tight rope walker
a line has been drawn
and with each step,
carefully and surely planted
but this time
there is a safe and familiar net
just beneath your toes.
Familiar security
Security in fimiliarity
familiarity in family
a single ring
a single line
infinite
and the walker places his feet carefully
but walks in circles
playing the game
"i have gills and golden scales
and my bowl aint so bad
and if i concentrate really hard
one step at a time
just dont look up,
just dont look up
never look up"
Like a tight rope walker
a line has been drawn
and with each step,
carefully and surely planted
but this time
there is a safe and familiar net
just beneath your toes.
Familiar security
Security in fimiliarity
familiarity in family
a single ring
a single line
infinite
and the walker places his feet carefully
but walks in circles
playing the game
"i have gills and golden scales
and my bowl aint so bad
and if i concentrate really hard
one step at a time
just dont look up,
just dont look up
never look up"
July 17, 2009
Freak
Tonight, as I left the shopping centre I passed a family. The father caught a glimpse of me – I must have look a sight: rainbow leggings, bright green riding jacket, helmet on already. I dashed past and allowed them enough of my attention to catch Father giving Son the eye and nodding in my direction – a look of disbelief on his face... "what a freak".
Son, turning to what I can only assume was little sister and not daughter (but you can never tell in these parts) and said so clearly within my earshot:
“See Millie… that’s how you get bashed”
All the way home, furious, I screamed retorts in my mind and watched my words blow him apart…
“See Millie… That’s a boy with a small penis.”
“That’s right Millie, never dare to be different or people with little minds will try to hurt you”
“That’s right Millie, the world punishes those who expresses who they are. You should always conform… ALWAYS”
What is this pocket of the world I live in? I want to be seen on dark roads for Fuck’s sake. And even if I did want to dress like this every day… what is it to you? Do my brightly coloured socks offend you? Challenge you? Blow your mind?
Try opening your mind, asshole.
Son, turning to what I can only assume was little sister and not daughter (but you can never tell in these parts) and said so clearly within my earshot:
“See Millie… that’s how you get bashed”
All the way home, furious, I screamed retorts in my mind and watched my words blow him apart…
“See Millie… That’s a boy with a small penis.”
“That’s right Millie, never dare to be different or people with little minds will try to hurt you”
“That’s right Millie, the world punishes those who expresses who they are. You should always conform… ALWAYS”
What is this pocket of the world I live in? I want to be seen on dark roads for Fuck’s sake. And even if I did want to dress like this every day… what is it to you? Do my brightly coloured socks offend you? Challenge you? Blow your mind?
Try opening your mind, asshole.
June 2, 2009
Muggers and Mishaps
02/06/09
Sheesh. Dive out into the limelight. Surrender expectation. Drop it, sweep it under the rug. Hide the broom and forget it ever happened.
Wash your face, take a breath. New day, new experience - recite a new mantra.
New face, new scenes. Roll with the punches. Run, skip jump and play - be light.
Be lightness, be still, take it as it comes. Forgive. Watching, playing, be myself.
10 planes, 22 days, too many k's to count. Plane in France has disappeared, goddess watch over me. Muggers, mishaps taken in stride. Jump, laugh and play. Let it go. Be free.
Home again, start again. Fresh, new. Let it be. Quietness, stillness, watch the time, protect your heart without closing it. Learn how.
x
Sheesh. Dive out into the limelight. Surrender expectation. Drop it, sweep it under the rug. Hide the broom and forget it ever happened.
Wash your face, take a breath. New day, new experience - recite a new mantra.
New face, new scenes. Roll with the punches. Run, skip jump and play - be light.
Be lightness, be still, take it as it comes. Forgive. Watching, playing, be myself.
10 planes, 22 days, too many k's to count. Plane in France has disappeared, goddess watch over me. Muggers, mishaps taken in stride. Jump, laugh and play. Let it go. Be free.
Home again, start again. Fresh, new. Let it be. Quietness, stillness, watch the time, protect your heart without closing it. Learn how.
x
March 16, 2009
Pancake with Apricot Jam
16/03/09
Its quiet in here.
Occasional rumble of anxiety
Concern that it is
I am
indeed
so quiet.
Words come heavy
and slow
and i let them
roll from me
meandering ponderment
wonderment
like cement
a burnt fuse
on the mend
a candle smashed and broken
how can others still see the light
when it is
so dark
in here?
silent heart craves to merge with sleep
then craves nothing
except
maybe one of mum's pancakes will fix it
but only if there's apricot jam
and yoghurt involved.
Yeah!
Its quiet in here.
Occasional rumble of anxiety
Concern that it is
I am
indeed
so quiet.
Words come heavy
and slow
and i let them
roll from me
meandering ponderment
wonderment
like cement
a burnt fuse
on the mend
a candle smashed and broken
how can others still see the light
when it is
so dark
in here?
silent heart craves to merge with sleep
then craves nothing
except
maybe one of mum's pancakes will fix it
but only if there's apricot jam
and yoghurt involved.
Yeah!
February 9, 2009
Sparkley stuff
Feb 26th 2009
The human creatures of this planet are ambling, stupid, giant-children wooed by waste and junk.
I cant change anything.
I cant do anything about this. And maybe, just maybe, this self torture, this rage I have will subside when I come to believe this. Give up. To know it in my being , to surrender to the hopelessness, to renounce my faith.
I cant change anything.
My mantra.
I Cant change anything.
THEN WHY DO I SEE IT? I ask God, the universe, whatever. Its like screaming up a well.
SURELY I SEE IT BECAUSE I AM MEANT TO DO SOMETHING?
My journey would be much easier if i didnt care, if i thought global warming was a farce, environmental disaster a conspiracy and sparkley things the best stuff ever...
Just look at the sparkley stuff...
Look how it sparkles ...
Yeah... pretty sparkles....
THEN WHY DO I SEE IT SO CLEARLY? WHY DO I FEEL IT SO INTENSELY? WHY DO I CARE IF I AM NOT TO BE PROPELLED INTO ACTION, TO DO SOMETHING? WHY DO I WANT TO KNOW WHY?
Throat hoarse, confused and bewildered at the state of it. Let it go, just journey along, go with the flow.
But those of us without roots fall in the wind.
It is time to BE the wind. I see it, because my heart knows it, because it is real, because it is who i am. This is who i am. I barely recognise her, but she is who i am.
And slowly, gradually, i re-member my self-ness. and hope that it serves the giant-child to rest.
The human creatures of this planet are ambling, stupid, giant-children wooed by waste and junk.
I cant change anything.
I cant do anything about this. And maybe, just maybe, this self torture, this rage I have will subside when I come to believe this. Give up. To know it in my being , to surrender to the hopelessness, to renounce my faith.
I cant change anything.
My mantra.
I Cant change anything.
THEN WHY DO I SEE IT? I ask God, the universe, whatever. Its like screaming up a well.
SURELY I SEE IT BECAUSE I AM MEANT TO DO SOMETHING?
My journey would be much easier if i didnt care, if i thought global warming was a farce, environmental disaster a conspiracy and sparkley things the best stuff ever...
Just look at the sparkley stuff...
Look how it sparkles ...
Yeah... pretty sparkles....
THEN WHY DO I SEE IT SO CLEARLY? WHY DO I FEEL IT SO INTENSELY? WHY DO I CARE IF I AM NOT TO BE PROPELLED INTO ACTION, TO DO SOMETHING? WHY DO I WANT TO KNOW WHY?
Throat hoarse, confused and bewildered at the state of it. Let it go, just journey along, go with the flow.
But those of us without roots fall in the wind.
It is time to BE the wind. I see it, because my heart knows it, because it is real, because it is who i am. This is who i am. I barely recognise her, but she is who i am.
And slowly, gradually, i re-member my self-ness. and hope that it serves the giant-child to rest.
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