| (no subject) |
[Nov. 13th, 2009|01:04 am] |
I knew the rain would stop, so I walked in it. Sun was coming from somewhere, though there was nowhere it could be coming from. Light seemed to be floating in patches, a mist that didn't begin or end anywhere in particular.
Warm and cold and wet and dry at once.
I float through it to my destination where I sit in the corner booth, contained in the bay windows. Cobwebs hang on the outside, everything feels old. I lift the blind further and recline, the big tree staring at me. Rain trickles; gutter remnants.
It's been a week of depression. At 9am Tuesday I'm sitting in the meeting room with a student who is convincing us with his tears that we shouldn't expel him, that he hasn't been attending because he's been struggling with low moods.
Back at my desk there's a guilt ridden email from a student who can't face a day here, or anywhere where there's people, that he's losing it, and sorry, so sorry. I read my boss's very considerate reply, him explaining to me, “...yeah, this kind of thing is not a joke -- my wife K....”. I don't tell him that he doesn't need to tell me.
Then a call out of the blue from a student who has deferred due to nervous breakdown. He's telling me he's “doing better”.
Today. Today I walk. The rain is on then off, off then on, to my telephone counselling shift.
I'm sitting by the bay window. A rat moves across the fence outside and I realise. Depression is always around, though sometimes it's behaviour has you believe it's not. It sniffs around, makes a dash for it, hides again. It doesn't lend to making itself seen, this is not the creature it is, though sometimes it has to. It makes itself small, it makes itself big, depending.
Sometimes quite the surprise, it's a Jack sprung from the Box, bobbing around, awkward.
Tonight, headset on, I'm pawing the laminated blue suicide flowchart - listening, responding, pawing again. The two other counsellors on shift are staring into their flowcharts too. Three suicide calls at once? We're a row of blue laminate, trying to make sense, trying to make good.
This week. Weeks like this I pray I'm just having a glitch, a pinball machine that needs a swift knock to get the ball rolling again. I pray I don't need resetting. I don't want to turn off because I'm not sure how long it'll require.
I fantasise sometimes about taking a mental vacation. Snapping the sticks and making it official – “I am not going to function in the world for a while”. Thing is, it never gets that bad. Which is fantastic. Or not. Depending on the view.
What else can I do? I come home, water the plants, pour myself a slow glass of red, and try not to spill it. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 24th, 2009|05:19 pm] |
By the by, do any of you have LastFm? :)
I'm whirring
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 3rd, 2009|08:33 am] |
This is the last post from this house that I will ever write. Ah the memories of listening to Modest Mouse and Sebadoh and staring out this window, watching my favourite gum tree dance and I tap into the winds passing through my head.
Now I'll have new music and new trees to bond with. : ) New winds. |
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| All |
[Apr. 21st, 2009|08:23 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Classical guitar (Tom Ward), Tool | ] |
I was dependant on MTV for English speaking sustenance while in Europe. “Paris Hilton’s Best Friend Forever” - I ain’t never going to get that shit off me. But somewhere in amongst the drivel and the same-song-merry-go-round, one night, there was something completely off. I think I actually said “How did that get there?”
The world stopped for a couple of minutes. Horrifying, mesmerising. Out of control.
I was listening to it again this morning, standing on the platform, and smiling. I imagine it as a buzzer for a game show, the rolled R – “wRRRong” – striking the contestants like lighting. Them smiling, trying to look humble, like good sports.
Anyway, I was feeling pretty wrong as I was listening to it. I got a handful of hours sleep, and I tired to get more, but I was starving so I ate, and I was tired so I popped a sleeping tablet, and then I was still tired and still awake so I had a couple of shots of vodka, and then I cried. I’m not sure why entirely. I think the pressure of coming home, and having the responsibility of choosing who I want to be.
I thought about that a lot while I was away – who do I want to be when I get back? What do I want to change? What’s going to nourish me?
The reality of travel is that you do. You go. In a series of countries where you don’t speak the language, you’re placed in that comfortable/uncomfortable outsider role. That’s me, always standing on the periphery and checking it out before jumping under the rope. I didn’t much like going back to that old comfort zone, but I didn’t want to learn four languages either. Ok I’m a liar – I liked the comfort zone a little, even in it's lonliness.
Returning from travel you step back into your “identity” and this is strange. Who am I when my task for six weeks has been more-or-less to sponge up the experiences that come my way? That’s an easy role while travelling, but back in “life” all the other yous come out. But what if you don’t want the same yous hanging around as much as they usually do? What if you were hoping the whole travel experience would wipe you clean so you could choose who you’d like to be?
Yet, I still get nervous and can’t sleep the day before starting work – and I’ve always been that way. I still get overwhelmingly overwhelmed with any situation where I have to handle more bags of marbles than I can account for. I still get filled with dread – the dread of “what if everything goes wrong? Oh my God, everything’s going to go wrong!!” – that highschool legacy. wRRRong!
But I’m not dwelling here, the tears lasted a couple of minutes, and they had no more focus than “God. What? Now? What? If?” All that slided by and was replaced with the question - “what if ‘what now?’ wasn’t dread-ridden, but a neutral openess to possibility?” Or simply - TAKE IT AS IT COMES, you bloody over-thinker/worrier/planner/catastophiser!
Turns out that intent is stronger than strategy. I’m used to strategy, it’s been a good tool/protector/friend, but here’s how it went today. I said “I’m just going to take everything as it comes” but it wasn’t even that really. It was a mental imagining, a drawing in, a deep breath and an understanding. Walk with care, walk at ones pace.
To my surprise I didn’t really give a shit about the mountains of stuff to do at work. The outcome of the “chaos” that I was pre-empted with, was, yes, a variation of turmoil, pandemonium, and shambles. But it’s just stuff. I’ll do what I can. Pick away, pluck away.
So my theory is this: that for all the reflection, for all the action-plans (that never get implemented because where there’s a “should” in my life, there’s a resistance with stronger arms) - instead I’m just going to just put the intent out there.
---
Sydney really just is the next adventure. The only difference is that I don’t have to pack and haul my bag every 2.5 days. Sydney is in fact the greatest adventure, because it’s where I make myself, and where I make home.
I was surprised when I got home, just how much home feels like home. I hadn’t missed my house or my room when I was gone. No, I missed things like yoga and understanding what people are saying and roasted pumpkin and loved ones and soy-sausages (hehehe). But when I got here, I was so so content to be here. When I awoke from sleep my room looked unfamiliar, more unfamiliar than all the hotel rooms, yet it felt warm and familiar. It was surreal, like I knew this place from some other time, or that I’d seen it as some other person.
Yesterday as I attempted to unjetlag myself, and as I walked the rooms of the house, I felt like the walls understand me somehow, they hold me. And as I was walking home from the station tonight, I felt that I could smell in these streets the same thing. But more than the streets too – something that I can’t see yet, that the future is opening it’s arms to hold me too, and Sydney is a part of this. I think it’s time I treated this town less as a tourist. Five years is too long to be a tourist. It feels like my landscape senses this in me. So there is another stone of intent, tossed out there without a target to bounce off. I want to be home / I am home here.
Take the wRRRongs with the rights – I just want to be all that I can be. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 19th, 2009|10:14 am] |
I'm this morning back from Europe and home really feels like... well... home. Whatdayaknow?
I hope to be getting some words up here again sooner or eventually.
xoxo |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 12th, 2008|07:28 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | PJ Harvey | ] |
All in a moment all the people in my life, vast and wide, merged into a kind of sense of something. I dunno, it's like I was hit with the understanding of all the people and their microcosms, and how they merge with mine, and the feeling of release in that. They each have their own lives and selves, and there's a natrual flow to our meetings and partings.
I think this year I've learned alot about control. Or releasing it. Part of this is with people, a lessening of expectations. I almost don't expect anything from anyone any more. This is good and bad.
But release too from the grip of the future and it's scaly arms, seeming to stick you a place before you've even got there. No, I let go a bit of that, and let myself go out with the tide, and hey, I was brought back in. That's nice.
So what's kicking around for me is release. I'm happy at my job - the pressure I feel is that which I put on myself. I know this now, and with that pressure realised, I realised too that I love my job. Wow, it feels almost dangerous to be writing that, but there it is.
I can't shake the feeling recently, the need to get my licence. I really want to jump in the car and drive to a beach somewhere, anywhere, and just glide my feet into the ocean. Feel the sand beneath and the water around me and just... breathe. Yeah, that'd be nice.
There's been things playing out in my mind, and I've lived very much in them. A step back and I see that there's things that I can own in myself but not quite accept. That's the harder part, acceptance.
Surely this sense of allowing leads to it eventually. Mmm. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 22nd, 2008|08:42 am] |
A hot day, I’m sitting at the station, sucking in coolness from a straw. A woman scuttles past, around, over to me, asks for a sip of my drink. I search her face for a clue. I’m sorry, I feel like saying, I’m not equipped to deal with this situation - I need more time. She seems happy to wait. Um, I say. Someone directs her to the top of the stairs where she will find a beverage. She stands a while longer, her eyes still asking the question. I look away and when I look back she’s gone.
Wow.
I feel like maybe it was a test of some sort. Maybe one that God conjured up for me.
Hmm.
I don’t think I passed.
I suppose not.
But then! Redeeming myself! There was a time when I was on the bus and a lady fainted on my feet. I gave her my bottle of water. The whole bottle!
That doesn’t count.
I evened the scales!
Nope.
Huh?
That was probably someone else’s test.
…
Through the entrance, past the bar, backwards, right, up the stairs. Swaying left to right, right to left, nodding the head. When the gig is done, down the stairs, back entrance, front entrance, seats on the street, people-watching in faux Paris.
…
Maybe I’ll be given another chance.
Nope. One chance. You failed.
…
The differences are discussed between angry-old-man-God, love-filled-forgiving-tucks-you-in-to-bed-God, The Universe, Lifeforce, Spirit – and the effectiveness of changing the word to suit ones situational needs.
A faux Parisian approaches, his lips are moving like under water. She says pardon? pardon? pardon? He’s looking for a Catherine, there’s no Catherine she says. Your last name is Healy? he asks. Not right now she thinks, no she says. A cigarette? Yes, she seems happy to be able to say it. When she hands it to him he examines it measuredly, and then her. She thinks maybe he’s going to ask for something else, or maybe he’s waiting for her to change her mind about being Healy. But they’re finished and he smiles and leaves.
Maybe that was my second chance.
Ah.
But have I passed this time?
I think so.
Though what if he gets cancer?
Well.
What if he burns down a school with it?
Um.
What if it wasn’t his brand?
I’m sure God would judge more on intention than outcome.
Surely!
I mean, I’m pretty sure.
Yeah, intention!
Though you never know. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 16th, 2008|09:25 pm] |
...My mind then wandered. I thought of this: I thought of how every day each of us expereinces a few little moments that have just a bit more resonance than other moments--we hear a word that sticks in our mind--or maybe we have a small experience that pulls us out of ourselves, if only briefly--we share a hotel elevator with a bride in her veils, say, or a stranger gives us a piece of bread to feed the mallard ducks in the lagoon; a small child starts a conversation with us in Dairy Queen--or we have an episode like the one I had with the M&M cars back at the Husky station.
And if we were to collect these small moments in a notebook and save them over a period of months we would see certain trends emerge from our collection--certain voices would emerge that have been trying to speak through us. We would realise that we have been having another life altogether, one we didn't even know was going on inside us. And maybe this other life is more important than the one we think of as being real--this clunky day-to-day world of furniture and noise and metal. So just maybe it is these small silent moments which are the true story-making events of our lives.
-- Life After God, pages 254-5
Douglas Coupland |
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| How it Goes |
[Sep. 21st, 2008|08:43 pm] |
It is our first night. We float down to the beach and along it. We sit in a clearing of sand, between the waves and the prickly grass. The waves breathe forward and we inch back. Soon we’re cornered.
M begins to dig a fortress, moat and all. A wave crashes over my legs and I build one too. Mine doesn’t have the psychical intelligence of M’s, and a wave creeps around the side wall and over my foot. We form an alliance and join fortresses.
We wait. The waves don’t make any effort now, now that they know what they’re up against.
Show us what you got!
The first one that tries is absorbed by the sand almost as soon as it climbs a wall. We shriek in delight.
Better luck next time!
The more powerful waves come in twos. Waves - they come in waves.
Come oooon. Bring it!
Still, they do not succeed.
That it?
We’ve built our fortress too well.
I thought you were all powerful!
Now we’re testing the waters. The heart of the ocean pumps. The waves surge. The fortress stands.
It’s not dissimilar to how man treats nature, I say. If it proves an inconvenience, it’s just channelled, built around, built against. All this predicated on the observations of nature's predictable patterns, seemingly predictable patterns. But how fragile it is, really.
We stare into the moon. We imagine we’re underwater like we were, like the whole earth was once. The moon warps through the water. We watch the volcanos shoot heat upwards. We feel the land form. We come back to ourselves.
Our fortress is still intact.
We have won. We tell the waves this.
It was the cold got us, eventually. |
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| Garbage truck horns / train line lyrics / a warning about sandwiches |
[Sep. 9th, 2008|04:06 pm] |
Yesterday, King St, Matt and I are heading to a movie. A garbage truck passes and HONKS the living shit out of us.
Sounds like they've got a Giant wedged inbetween the dash and the motor. I theorise: the horn actually attaches to a stick that pokes the Giant in the guts.
UUURRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!
"Make it convincing big boy. No scraps for you."
UUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!
"That's better".
NOM NOM NOM, SCRAPS!
...
"Did that garbage truck just say NOM NOM NOM, SCRAPS!"?
"I think it did".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
( And what I'm doing now ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 28th, 2008|01:43 pm] |
That day, I thought I had really got hold of something that my life would be changed. But nothing of that nature is irrevocably gained. Like water the world washes through you and lends you its colours for a time. Then it draws back and leaves you once again before the emptiness you bear within yourself, that central insufficiency of the soul you have to learn to live with, and which, paradoxically, may be our surest motivation.
--Nicholas Bouvier
The Way of the World |
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| 1.50pm |
[May. 23rd, 2008|04:45 pm] |
A steamroller, brakeless, the day rolls to an end.
It's dusty grey, 16°C, and in the building-free zone of Martin Place there is a crowd gathered. Two women in hot-red bikini tops and black short-shorts are crouched on the ground, entwining each other. Beneath their three-inch strapped shoes is a Twister mat; it's edges lifting with the occasional breeze. Another identically dressed woman is walking through the crowd with the Twister wheel, inviting gawkers to spin a more revealing move. The anticipation of the crowd is building like an itch. It can't be seen yet, but there's advertising fliers waiting somewhere to be distributed.
Off to the side, leaning against a building is a guy with a guitar and another with a voice. I mean, this guy has A Voice, hidden in the back of his mouth. They seem to have just set up and they look at each other, briefly, with tiny smiles. Should they move their gear further up the block? The guitar says No. The Voice says No Way.
I'm on a roll
I'm on a roll… this time
I feel my luck could change
Heads turn to the goosebumped-Twister-women; heads turn to the music rocking out over them. The harmony lifts and moves as the limbs around the Twister mat. The notes of the song brush against each other; and the wind around the women.
Nothing quite stops. Nothing quite starts. But there's movement.
A flow between things.
---
Pull me out of the air crash
Pull me out of the lake
'Cause I'm your superhero
And we are standing on the edge |
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| Party time |
[May. 17th, 2008|11:12 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | roon | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Pixies | ] |
Uruz ~ Ur ~ Strength ~ Manhood ~ Womanhood ~ The Wild Ox
The Rune of terminations and new beginnings, drawing Uruz indicates that the life you have been living has outgrown its form. That form must die so that new energy can be released in a new form. This is a Rune of passage and, as such, part of the Cycle of Initiation.
Positive growth and change, however, may involve a descent into darkness as part of the cycle of perpetual renewal. As in nature, this progression consists of five aspects: death, decay, fertilization, gestation, and rebirth. Events occurring now may well prompt you to undergo a death within yourself. Since self-change is never coerced, we are always free to resist, remain mindful that the new life is always greater than the old.
Prepare then, for opportunity disguised as loss. It could involve the loss of someone of something to which you have an intense emotional bond, and through which you are living a part of your life, a part that must now be retrieved so you can live it out for yourself. In some way, that bond is being severed, a relationship radically changed, a way of life coming to an end. Seek among the ashes and discover a new perspective and new strength.
The ancient symbol for Uruz was the aurochs, a wild ox. When the wild ox was domesticated, an incredibly difficult task, it could transport heavy loads. Learn to adapt yourself to the demands of such a creative time. Firm principles attach to this Rune. At the same time humility is called for, since in order to rule you must learn how to serve. Uruz puts you on notice that your souls and the Universe support the new growth.
Reversed: Without ears to hear and eyes to see, you may fail to take advantage of the moment. The result could well be an opportunity missed or the weakening of your position. I may seem that your own strength is being used against you.
For some, Uruz Reversed will serve to alert, offering clues in the form of minor failures and disappointments. For others, those more deeply unconscious or unaware, it may provide a hard jolt. Reversed, this Rune calls for serious thought about the quality of your relationship to your Self.
Take heart: Consider the constant cycling of death and rebirth, the endless going and return. Everything we experience has a beginning, middle and an end, and is followed by a new beginning. Therefore, do not draw back from the passage into darkness: When in deep water, become a diver. |
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| Growth |
[Apr. 20th, 2008|08:27 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  Profound | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | The Pixies | ] |
So I was going to write a funny account of how we came to have a mushroom growing on our lounge room wall. But when I questioned how creepy it is that I have a mushroom growing on my lounge room wall, I decided not to share. This is quite possibly something that people ostracise you about. The social stigma – it burns. I might have to then join a mushroom-on-wall-stigma-survival group. MOWSSG. And my condition- post traumatic mushroom on wall disorder - will need to be added to the DSMIV. So like I said, I decided to keep quiet about it.
But I had this cool thing I was going to write about how easy it would be to start an illegal magic mushroom growing lab in my house. There’d be a secret system involving the flashing of a torch at my back gate which would indicate to me that I had a customer. I could then either sell off some of the wall harvest, or, for a little extra, I’d let my clientele lick my lounge room wall. But like I said, I’m not going to talk about that now.
I might build up my client base first.
In the meantime, anyone got the number of a good exorcist? |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 13th, 2008|09:24 pm] |
What else went out with the baby and the bathwater? That drain has been making a funny sound; when was the last time someone looked at those pipes? No, not a plumber, this isn’t his type of job. Would you really want him looking around in there anyway?
I’d start with a plunger - suck up some of that sound and sludge. Well, all kinds of things live in drains, ya know. I found a handle and a medallion and a wire, once. I’ve heard some people find something much like… it sounds strange, I know… but it’s kind of like a golden oil. It’s what I’ve heard. So many are worried about getting gold all over the place though – that stuff really stains. So it’s usually just put back in the pipes. People push so much down there, hoping the pipes will take care of it all.
They could have cleared some space, dug some holes and planted a garden... but never mind. Out of sight is out of our heads. We wash our hands of it, and those suds get sent down there too, into that little metal eye-socket. How much it sees, really.
Ok, ok - if the plunger doesn’t work - turn the tap on, full pelt. Where the water travels will tell you much. Watch it, gauge it… no, don’t fix yourself a snack – you’ve got to watch. There’s no science to it, just look. It has a way of tempering, of releasing. Observe which way the water goes, feel what it flows through, what it pushes on, listen to where it stops.
Oh no, blockages aren’t all bad. They’re the best case scenario for some; when there’s nowhere for the water to go... and bam! Explosion. You put something in, you get something out! Space is cleared. It’s messier than that golden oil… but what you end up with can be just as good.
Come now, it’s not that much work! Alright, if it’s too much bother, just do what most others do – nothing. No, you don’t have to stop putting things in it, not at all. Just sit back and let the dust settle and the rust set. It won’t be long till the river solidifies and you can’t tell apart the pipes from the gunk from the water. Then you can snap pieces of it off, like squares of chocolate, and suckle them. But a pebble in our mouths grows to a brick in our stomachs, and it’s having none of that!
You can feel it a little more now though, can’t you? Inside you. Better sooner than later.
Now you’ll look for some of that golden elixir to wash down with your indigestion. It may take you a while to remember where you put it, and the recollection won’t bring you relief. But it’s ok, you’re ok. Well, ok enough. Almost the same thing.
Oh, I don’t know what the remedy is. Why are you looking at me like that? Hey, you’ve got a heads up – most don’t get even that. Whatever else went out with the baby and the bathwater is still floating around there, somewhere.
If you’re lucky, you might find it. If you’re luckier you might find some of that golden oil trickling around down there - gathering up all the lost parts of the puzzle in it’s stream.
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| The Teacher Whom Everybody Loved |
[Mar. 21st, 2008|12:59 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | King Crimson | ] |
A few modules back we were taught by a teacher whom everybody loved.
Apparently he had been loved by classes before us, and no doubt would be loved by classes after us.
Evidently he was doing the college a favour - he'd since retired as a teacher in order to pursue counselling full time. We didn't know much about him, and entered into the class unexpectant. But as he weaved the classes with silken thread, something emerged.
I kept my respect for him private, quietly gracious. What I thought touched me about him is that he was so unapologetic about his introverted tendencies, and so solid in who he was. I respected that he would take a minute to gather his thoughts if he needed to do so. The waiting was worth it.
I soon discovered that others had taken a liking to him too, for entirely different reasons - his sincerity, intelligence, strength, energy, and so on and forth they spilled.
I realised I appreciated these elements too. There was something more in the picture.
Yesterday I was reflecting on pride and stubbornness; the way we butt heads and can’t take the steps to meet middle ground, or to suck it up and step back, to take the higher ground, to admit we’re wrong. How wounded we are, and how our wounds can really navigate our lives.
In all this I realised what it was about The Teacher Whom Everybody Loved. He was egoless. Not that he didn't have a strong sense of who he was, he did. But he wasn't caught up in ego. He had no need to impress people. But at the same time he was sensitive and deeply thoughtful. He didn't need to be patted on the back. He met you on a level that circumvented all the social games we're wont to play. When he listened, he really listened, without agenda. He was intense and intensely real, and steady in that.
He approached me on the last day and said that he appreciated my reflectiveness. He didn't tell me this to make a friend, to extract a thank you, or to boost me - he told me because he believed it.
On the last of the four days, one of my classmates organised a thank you card. I’ve never seen someone accept a card quite the way he did. He didn't seem shocked, but he didn't expect it either. He said a quiet thank you, read it, and folded it in his lap, all quite matter of fact.
At the very end he said that he enjoyed teaching us. When asked if he would consider teaching us for another module, he said that he would consider it.
That was his appreciation. Simple. Matter of fact. Unadorned.
He didn’t need a showy display of gratitude. Because he was so genuine, each of his words held this weight that spoke so much stronger than volume or flash or platitude.
I think what we all loved when we looked at him was he presented possibility. |
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| Well is all very well, and, well -- well |
[Feb. 6th, 2008|10:50 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | Tim tams and the scent of rain | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Tool | ] |
Patterns.
When you think of the word “pattern” do you think of order or chaos? Logically to me the answer seems clear. But when I close my eyes, I get images of dense, interconnected grids of lines.
Sometimes we don’t know things until we speak them, and then we realise that we know a lot more than we thought we knew.
We = I. But because we’re all hooked into the same teleconference-of-life, it makes sense to you, to me, to he… at some point. I know me, so maybe I know bits of you. : ) Isn’t that how it works? (“We are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively”?)
Life has been coming in ebbs and flows, like rivers pushing on both sides of the bank, and somewhere inbetween, I’ve been, slivering through.
But emerging at the end and realising that it’s all pretty damn wonderful. When you take a moment. Also, life is funny.
Reminds me. I was speaking to a big wig manager yesterday, and he had a picture of a big bright section of our universe up on his wall. I looked at him and I said, “Is that to remind you….”
“Yes”.
Not sure we were headed in the same direction, I continued “…that life is so much bigger than…. than this… the microcosm of our lives? That there’s a lot more out there.”
“Yes”, he said, matter of fact. “Exactly”. As if I needn’t have explained.
I needed.
...
I quit my job yesterday. Kindof. Five minutes after the conversation above, actually, now that I think about it. First I lined up another job, a job like my old job, but paying less, and much less than I’m on now. … And the universe saaaaaaayys >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ???
Mmmyes, ok ok. Chasing the money and ego status = not what I’m about. And a ten grand a year paycut means more than the stress and sickness of being somewhere I’m not supposed to be. So, here here! Cheers universe. I owe you one.
What else you throwing at me? People leaving. Unknown territory. First-moved-to-Sydney-flashbacks. Belonging.
The realisation that when I go where I am supposed to be, belonging will follow, because authenicity breeds authenicity. Moving into myself, listening… really listening. Hello, welcome to 2008. Here’s your challenges for the year. !!! Oh, and reaching out, you’re getting better, but you got a ways missy! Catch!
Cheers to working your truth, living it, however it is. Don’t expect a silver platter, the voice can be quiet, but it’s there.
Ahhhhh, ride that whirlwind and come back along the same point of the spiral. Again and again and again. The dint in the wiring.
You shouldn’t get attached to things, a teacher said. Why? I guess because then you convince yourself that you need these things. I didn’t catch the exact point he was making, but my first thought was, no, no, that’s unrealistic. But. Does it not make a point? What we attach ourselves to spin our trajectories. They can keep us places, prevent us from moving. Imply need. Restrict freedom. It’s good to be aware of that. Why we stay places, what our routines avoid – the great chaos - in favour of the meek ordering, or the illusion of.
I’m full to the brim and on the other side of … the point between. Betweens are hard places to be, believe me.
Please excuse me while I connect with myself.
Ahhhhh, much better. |
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| Retro to go go |
[Sep. 12th, 2007|10:31 am] |
Today my partner shared with me his huntsman bite woes. "It bit me in the sleep" said he. Thinking a hunstman bite goggle worthy, I googled. He's going to make it! The spider however, he's in a better place now (underneath a shoe).
Last night I slept.. badly.
Yesterday I watched a person navigating a past life. I wondered how much wisdom we might be carrying around from yesteryear and prior… and how much baggage… and where we store it all… The Warehouse of Cosmical Storage?
The day before that I spent a good five minutes watching a (short?) film of a penis becoming erect. Did I mention it was a giant screen? Giant.
The day before that a magpie attacked my kite. Seems bright coloured polyester birds with tassels aren’t accepted in the bird ‘hood. Also, bought an industrial blender and made a strawberry daiquiri that had me drunk after two tablespoons. Mmm.
The day before that was day two of my vacation in bed. Estimated time breakdown: 73% staring out window, 8% walking, 4% eating, 1% listlessness, 2% brooding, 3% pure joy, 1.5% coffee and/or related beverage, 7.5% pure joy (with frolicking).
The day before that I gathered and stacked some pieces. I also cleaned. I also imprinted some horrifying images upon my grey matter. I also discovered that I don't much enjoy horror movies these days.
Some days before that I started losing my dreams.
Some days before that I joined the myspacealien army.
Some days before that I saw the white of the moon disappear like a giant ivory button pushed into a small dark hole. Then the button was reborn… orange! |
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| New phase |
[Aug. 9th, 2007|01:15 pm] |
Hi all.
I'm about to amend my friend's list.
I'm culling it down to those who I feel I know on a more personal level.
I will miss many of you. I intend to pop in intermittantly - I hope I still have journal visitation rights.
Peace and Moonbeams. |
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whirring_mind's journal
Tyred