Something to Crow about

There are two crows I often come across on my morning walk, and I think it would be safe to say they’re the same pair every time. Parked in front of the glass double doors to the golf club, well not exactly parked, for they are always screeching and squawking, hopping up and down in a mad frenzy battering at the doors with their beaks. Not sure if they’re really that keen on getting in, think it’s more to do with standing their ground against the two crows on the inside and staking out their territory.

They’re obviously not too bright, seeing as all they’re doing is getting uptight with their own reflections, and they remind me of the two crows from the movie Charlotte’s Web. Perched up on the telegraph pole, looking out over the vast field of corn, they grumble and groan about their hunger, egg each other on, attempt to rustle up some bravado, and plan strategies for the attack that will reap them the reward they so desire.

But one thing stands in their way. The scarecrow.

There he stands, every day, a barrier to their prize. Their forays into the field are quickly aborted each time the scarecrow does his job, but it is only when they eventually face the scarecrow and discover their fears were unfounded do they get the opportunity to finally take their fill.

While Christmas shopping I found this note book, and the timing couldn’t have been better, so bought it for myself. With my writing seemingly going nowhere it was a reminder that although the scarecrow is there, every day, wanting to foil my attempts however feeble, I can stare him in the face if I want and take away the intimidation he wields.

So, if I find something to crow about this year, it’ll begin here, in this note book.

Watering Hole

The song Watering Hole on Missy Higgins’ album the ol’ razzle dazzle has had me thinking over the last few days. The image of a watering hole is a simple enough one to conjure up, but a watering hole in my head, well that takes a little more thought.

A watering hole, an oasis in the wilderness, a place to quench your thirst, rest in the shade, find shelter and refreshment. If dependent on sporadic rainfall, in good times the water is plentiful, a resource for many, but in bad times the water recedes until the ground is parched and cracks appear. Where there is a constant source feeding a waterhole, incredible pools of water can be found in the most unlikely desert places. You only need visit Uluru to see the wonder such an underground source can bring, and tapping into that life giving source on a spiritual or emotional level is just as crucial for survival and growth.

The watering hole in my head is not a void, it’s actually a source of great nourishment and rich with resources. Will I take the time to sit by its edge, draw from its depths what I need, or will I gaze into it as if into a deep well, and it can be pretty dark down there, and fear what might be brought to the surface. Self doubt, fear, criticism, apathy, whatever it is can all suck the life out of us and leave us parched. Led me into some waterhole thoughts of my own.

Respite from the scorching heat

A place to dabble weary feet

In waters cool and calm.

The shade of sturdy eucalypt

Protecting from the rays

Dappled on the surface

Through the gum’s outstretched limbs.

Drink it all in

In the daylight hours

Quench the craving thirst

And feel the restless spirit

Quietly come to rest.

Lay down by the water’s edge

As the sun sinks slowly down

See if sleep will come

For the noises of the night

Travel far.

Those who hide out

Through the day

Venture out at night

And come to take their fill

Just a stone’s throw from your feet

Dark shadows scraping on the ground

Furtive glances all around

Waiting for the enemy to strike.

Slither back, lean on the tree

Draw your knees up to your chest

Feel the pounding of your heart

As you search the water’s edge

And will the sun

To rise up from the east.

Sleep comes but oh so fleeting

Filled with images

Of dread and fright

But as the dawn sheds light

A morning breeze stirs gently

On the surface of the water

And the eucalypt whispers out a sigh.

All is calm

All is right.

Finding my Voice

I’ve never been much of a talker, not a great conversationalist, not well versed in the intricacies of world politics or economics or philosophies to the extent I could hold my own in any sort of intelligent debate or more light hearted repartee. The past week though has brought home that I would also not feel comfortable cloistering myself away under a vow of silence.

I’ve had no voice, literally. My allergy cum throat infection whatever it was and still is, resulted in my voice being reduced to a whisper and an occasional croak if I tried any harder, and it’s amazing how when you have no voice, you actually feel compelled to talk. I’m not one to pick up the phone and engage in long conversations, text constantly on the mobile, or send copious emails, but when you lose your basic means of communication, you feel like you start to lose touch.

Spending the Christmas period resting my body as well as my voice to try to recover has been an interesting experience. Reading, watching movies and the cricket, playing my new Missy Higgins CD the ol’ razzle dazzle…really loud, that was actually the most fun. Couldn’t help but get out of the chair, even danced around the room, once I’d pulled down the blind so the neighbours didn’t think I’d gone nuts. Even wrote a four page dissertation on some of the songs. Wonderful album, potent songs, reflecting something of Missy’s return from her own exile from the music scene, and what could be described as her personal wilderness experience.

The journey back which produced this album begins with..

I got a lot to say I just don’t know how to say it

I know all the rules I just can’t seem to play it

…..all I want is to remember

What came before this winter (Set Me on Fire)

I know all the lines to say

The part I’m expected to play

But in the reflection I am worlds away (Everyone’s Waiting)

Hello hello, is anybody there?

This disappearing act is getting harder to bear (Hello Hello)

Then you sense a gentle shift as she reflects on her self imposed exile, and responds to the stirrings in her own heart as she discovers again the source of the creative process.

I woke

to the sound

of a single note

ringing out. (All in my Head)

He told her when she played

Wings sprouted from her shoulder blades

And every bone inside her seemed to change (Sweet Arms of a Tune)

What an exquisite image, the witnessing of a re-birth, and I think for Missy judging from what interviews I’ve seen this is what this album has become for her. To bring the album to birth though would have been no simple journey. She had to believe she still had something to offer in terms of her music before the process could even begin, no doubt a lonely time, then to actually create the lyrics and music and bring the whole undertaking to completion, nothing short of amazing.

We all need to feel like we have something worth saying, even if it’s not in such an eloquent form. Or maybe just the need to be worth something to someone else, no matter what we say or how small our lives might seem. So how do we find our voice? How do I find my voice?

I imagine Missy Higgins spent a lot of time in quiet reflection before the words came again. The experiences which shape us can either be locked away, repressed to dull the pain or seen so insignificant as not to matter, or they can become a wellspring of resource from which to draw to express who we are.

I’m reading The Lost Threads by Tess Evans at the moment, and one of the characters, Finn, retreats to a Benedictine monastery following a traumatic experience. Though a foreign environment to what he is used to with the monks’ observance of times of silence, Finn’s healing begins, and he finds comfort from his times with Father Boniface.

…we all have to find redemption in our own way…The answer is in your heart and you will only hear the voice of your heart when all other thoughts are silent.

…the Silence isn’t designed to let you brood. It’s to give you space to listen.

For some that might be somewhat confronting, but to block out the distractions, retreat from the busy routines if only for a short while, allow ourselves time and space to reflect on who we are, who we could be, what makes us come alive.

What a gift.

New York for Christmas?

If I were to believe my email inbox at work, come Christmas Eve I’ll be landing at JFK airport for a northern hemisphere Christmas in one of the great tourist destinations of the world. All I had to do was click on the link to download my ticket and itinerary. Yeah, as if...oh well, I can always dream of such a trip!

Thankfully I never receive on my home computer the daily inducements to store someone else’s millions in my bank account from scam artists in some far flung corner of the globe, or the dubious pharmaceutical enhancement products for body parts I don’t even have, introductions to non existent people who are going to transform my life, and other assorted spam ad infinitum, all of which are designed to exploit in some form or other, as well as introduce nasty little viruses to your computer system.

I don’t spend a great deal of time pondering the antics of such perpetrators, but wonder if they have the time to devise such plans why they don’t put the same amount of effort into devising something constructive which will earn them actual income instead of ripping everyone off and showing complete disregard for the consequences lying in wait for their victims. That’s probably my naivety talking, have never really understood the criminal mind. Ah, maybe that’s why I haven’t finished a novel yet, not enough skullduggery going on.

So, no New York this year, and I’m not sure what it is about the lead up to Christmas, but once again I’m crook. In 2009 I had the flu, in 2010 I did my back in, I seemed to survive last year unscathed, but for the past week I’ve had and it still seems to be getting worse, a bad case of hay fever type allergy. Started with an innocent enough tickle in the throat, but has progressed to drowning in my sinuses, coughing, sore itchy eyes, generally feeling crap. Apparently this is the worst year for some time for such allergies, and seeing as I’ve never had hay fever before I’m not amused. The only up side is my deep sexy voice, that is, when I can manage to talk at all.

But, despite all that, I’m actually ready for Christmas on time. Cards and annual catch up letter sent in timely fashion, almost unheard of, gifts purchased with the minimum of fuss seeing as I couldn’t bear to spend too long in the milling crowds, groceries all done. Only the gifts to wrap now.

No last minute rush needed on Christmas Eve, what a blessing. How did I do it? I made a list, I checked it twice.

What a Difference a Day makes

Well…in this case a couple of days. On the weekend we were witnessing the immense pall of smoke from the bushfire on the central plateau of the Great Western Tiers, fanned by a strong westerly wind in inaccessible terrain for firefighters. The worst of it was on Saturday but the constant wind has kept it creeping along ever since, burning out around 8000 hectares of alpine bush and scrub, so all firefighters could do was to keep monitoring it, back burn if appropriate, and tackle it when it reached areas where it could actually be fought.

Today though is a different scenario altogether, and so typical of Tassie weather. Instead of fire on the mountain, we had pretty much a blizzard instead, so hopefully any little pockets of fire or smouldering embers have been well and truly taken care of with this summertime wintery cold snap.

Funny how things can turn our lives upside down in such a short space of time. When the good surprises come we welcome them with open arms and take great delight in celebrating special occasions or achievements, repaired relationships, new opportunities, recognition of your efforts, the generosity of others, and for some fame and fortune.

When the not so good surprises come, that’s when the challenge arises. None of us can see round the corner and prepare for what’s coming, simply because we don’t know what’s coming. Things come out of left field, and often at a time when it’s most inconvenient or we feel ill equipped to deal with it. Accidents resulting in serious injury or death, the onset of sudden or terminal illness, the loss of employment and the snowball effect that can have on your whole world, marriage breakdown, broken family relationships, losing your home through flood or fire or other natural disaster, being bullied at school or work, all these things and more can occur at a moment’s notice when we’re least expecting it.

So how do we prepare for such events? For some you can obviously take out insurance, but that still doesn’t belittle the emotional impact these events can have on our lives. All you need to do is read the stories of those caught up in the Black Saturday fires in Victoria to know some people will understandably never be the same again. Tragic events can leave a legacy. There is no single or simple way to tackle the journey, and there is certainly no time limit on the healing process.

None of us like chaos. When so much in the world around us seems fragmented and totally dysfunctional, we like to think we at least have the power to control our private little world, but then discover that’s not always the case. What we can control though, is how we face the challenges which threaten to throw us off the rails. Will we shrivel inside, withdraw in defeat, or will we rise to the occasion, pin our colours to the mast, and engage in whatever battle needs to be waged to achieve a good outcome.

I’m not wanting to sound simplistic, but it’s amazing how when we’re actually thrust into a situation not of our own making, another part of us can rise, enabling us to face the challenge. It is in such hard times that our true character is revealed.

All the plans we are in the business of making are continually being upset by both disaster and delight. Life throws things at us that we cannot predict and cannot control. What we can control is who we are along the way…how much energy, compassion, and integrity we bring to our journey.

                                     

From Learning to Fall by Philip Simmons

Don't quote me

Writing a regular personal journal has never been easy for me, recording my thoughts, feelings, responses or reactions to the world around me, including the multi layered network of relationships from family to friends and work colleagues. Chronicling my inner journey has long been a hit and miss affair, somewhat due to the fact the exercise felt too much like belly button gazing with little progress, a kind of wallowing in a foggy swamp where there were no firm footholds. I was much more comfortable simply ‘doing’ rather than thinking about doing, planning what needed doing, or reflecting on what had actually been done.

Flicking back through entries from past years I found one from September 2004 which I could’ve easily written yesterday, pondering on my present situation and what the future might have in store for me. Makes me wonder how predictable my life has become, how for many of us the dreams and bravado of our more youthful years can go missing as we hang on to the rhythms of life which bring a sense of safety and security.

What has become more prevalent in my journals though is the inclusion of quotes. Not those from world leaders or pearls of wisdom from philosophers either ancient or modern, but snippets from whatever I’m currently reading. Phrases, sentences and paragraphs have a habit of jumping out at me from novels, poems, biographies, all manner of resources. In those moments I have to stop and write them down before I can continue, lest the words which resonated for me are lost and the idea which caused me to reflect recedes.

I have much to be thankful for, and I certainly am that, but there are times when an infernal itch starts up inside, a restlessness, but finding the right way to scratch it is not always simple, let alone locating the source of the irritation. The quotes which usually burn themselves into my brain are probably the ones which feed the itch, causing me to question yet again what I’m doing on this little island on this part of the planet.

From Sue Monk Kidd - The Mermaid Chair

My life seemed sweet and dull and small and repellent. So much of it unused.

At the end of our lives, none of us will wish we’d spent more time working so we could simply survive. The only regrets we will have are those moments, those relationships, those ventures which carried a risk but also held a promise that if we pursued them we would connect more deeply with our true nature. Most of us get to use such a small portion of our potential. I would hate to be filled with regret when it comes my time to check out, with a withered spirit to match my withered body.

Last week we made a wish list as part of the Artist’s Way course I’m doing, and it was more than a little interesting what turned up on mine. Things I’ve enjoyed in the past which I no longer do, things I’ve never dared to do, unfulfilled dreams, as well as many wishes beyond my own little world. I know I too easily give up on the possibility of what might be. As in the movie Sliding Doors, decisions at any given moment have the capability of leading our lives in very diverse directions.

We have abandoned an infinite number and variety of pure possibilities, and perhaps they live alongside the choices we did make……Perhaps there are unknown lives walking alongside ours, those paths we didn’t take, and we reach for them, we ache for them, and don’t know why. We have, none of us, lived our lives as we ought to……..what agony, to know our better selves, the life we might have lived is there, just out of reach.

Haven Kimmel – The Solace of Leaving Early

Time to make some choices, choose the path we want to take, the one I want to take, otherwise someone else will make the choice for us.

Spring Show

Well, my blue wren is keeping up her regular morning visitations, this morning just after 6.30, and again this afternoon, and I’ve finally discovered it’s a she. I could hear the fluttering carry on from the next room, crept in with the camera, and there she was showing off on the bedroom window sill with her fella sporting the gorgeous blue markings distinctive of the male Superb Blue Wren. I think they were doing more than snuggling up in the tea tree in between their window display, so not wanting to be a perv and disturb their little tryst I left them to it.

With her morning visit waking me up enough not to be able to go back to sleep, I ended up grateful for the early morning call, for the mountain bathed in sunshine reflecting off the snow beckoned me as soon as I put up the blinds. Driving up the mountain as far as I dared I was treated with what should have been a winter spectacle until my frozen fingers and the wind threatening to bowl me over forced me back into the car.

Springtime in Tassie more often than not is the one time of year when four seasons in one day is not uncommon. Having been up the mountain on a previous occasion when the car decided to steer itself in a direction I wasn’t heading, I wasn’t game to go further and risk getting myself into a situation I couldn’t get out of.

I was well and truly rewarded though for my pre breakfast 
jaunt.


The purity of freshly fallen snow is something I find really special. It covers what we normally see, but in doing so helps us to see the landscape in a new way. 





It highlights things we often pass without even so much as a glance, the contrast of pink heath or new shoots or jutting rocks against their bright white blanket.

And if you stand still long enough you sense the mantle of snow blanketing sounds as well. There’s a silence in such a pristine environment that speaks volumes if you care to take time to listen.