Last call

Spellbound by music I saw my life unfold in the lyrics of my favorite songs.
If I thought drugs or alcohol could enhance my emotional contact with the world then music was always part of the equation.

I never had the gift of a good voice or even a basic sense of rhythm, I didn't learn an instrument and couldn't dance but the feelings were intense and I committed totally to the experience... on the inside.

When I became acquainted with the Dire Straits song 'Your Latest Trick' in the late 80s, the lyrics 'It's past last call for alcohol', sent a chill down my spine, fear of running dry! The rush for last drinks was ingrained in my DNA. Threat of supply being cut off was a grim reality. The writing was well and truly on the wall for me for a long time before last call actually meant THE LAST CALL! 

I may have overshot my last call by a couple of years but, rock bottoms are like that, you get more chances to experience the worst, until the very end and there is nothing left but Korsakoff's or Death. 
I stepped off the train before it hit the wall.

On this day 24 years ago I was offered a second chance at life. I put my hand out and an opportunity was presented to me freely with a handshake. I was welcomed into an exclusive club and assured there are no fees! I'd already paid the price of admission!

Music was fundamental to my emotional survival as a drinker, it also created the matrix of my emotional vocabulary, how I related to the world was directly related to the music I listened to. Music was like a surrogate emotional coach. It was all highly emotive and lacked maturity, but the feels were strong.

In sobriety I found I could no longer listen to much of the music I related to and relied on for many years. New tunes had to move into the space that bands like Pink Floyd occupied. At least until I had some time under my belt. 

Someone introduced me to Ted Hawkins... Rough and Gritty in your face alcoholism and misery! As brutal as he was the music spoke to my sobriety. I got it. I discovered lots more music that related more to my recovery than to my addiction, music can be like that. You find meaning from listening, new connections are made, new understanding. A new reality.

Right around the corner tonight is a Latin band, with dancing girls... I may move that way some time. But tonight I am sitting in my own space, enjoying a healthy meal I made for myself. Sitting alone in my own space. Just feeling the simple joy of taking one sober breath after another and knowing that I could have missed the whole thing!

Grateful for the comfort, grateful for the pain.  

If we see each other in 2020, I'll save a smile for you, maybe we can play a new tune and with confidence take the next step that calls the living to dance.

Departed but not lost

Where do they go, the ones we loved?

The ones who passed from our sight but not our minds.

Why do we cling? 

To keep them near? 

Instinctive grasping, clutching, fearful of loss. 

Broken suffering hearts let go.

I don't know why I still mourn lost friends. If they have died they are not sad, or worried. They don't miss me, or air or ice cream. What's with this miserable need to keep them here? And the ones who still live let them go where they will. 

What fragments of regret would I keep for eternity or wear as a medal in honour of my pain.

Let them pass like water, or leaves falling touching my feeble skin as they go, the union of souls does not keep score.

I read a poem this morning that loosened my grip.

----------------------

 

Epitaph - By Merrit Malloy

 

When I die

Give what’s left of me away

To children

And old men that wait to die.

 

And if you need to cry,

Cry for your brother

Walking the street beside you.

And when you need me,

Put your arms

Around anyone

And give them

What you need to give to me.

 

I want to leave you something,

Something better

Than words

Or sounds.

 

Look for me

In the people I’ve known

Or loved,

And if you cannot give me away,

At least let me live on in your eyes

And not your mind.

 

You can love me most

By letting

Hands touch hands,

By letting bodies touch bodies,

And by letting go

Of children

That need to be free.

 

Love doesn’t die,

People do.

So, when all that’s left of me

Is love,

Give me away.

Immovable object

Banged head on a rock

Asked rock why are you so hard

The rock was silent

Thoughts on sex and peace

The inflammatory word that will cause division, confusion outrage and defensive overreaction. SEX!

That was the first word in the title of the book I carried from the opp shop. The book 2 of the 4 old ladies sitting around at the church cafe were curious about while I politely greeted them on my way out. 

"What's that book you've got there?" One asked.

I raised the cover for her to see.

SEX & World Peace

Silence.... 

The other two ladies looked up, they all looked at each other, then at me as if I were some kind of deviant pervert. Horror draining the colour from their faces.

"Oh" one said, while glaring at me in disbelief. 

I'd always enjoyed a pretty good rapport with two members of this little group. Chatted with them about making jam, poetry etc... I thought they might even have some of the bohemian spirit. Well I may have misjudged their open mindedness a tad. They were not impressed. 

It's funny the impact one little word can make.

They didn't ask any more questions, they'd already decided. And so the indoctrinated oppressed carry the banner of their masters. The patriarchy has many allies. 

Now I can't say for sure that this academic book that advocates for the emancipation and security of women isn't influenced by the social mindset (or the Metric as my mate James would call it) but the title got my attention and the content was far from advocating some kind of age of Aquarius love in. The book points out that there's a correlation between security and well-being of women as a direct contributing factor in the security and well-being of nation states, countries and regions. 

This is not a new theory but something I've been contemplating regularly in my daily life on a personal level. In our fight for refugee rights our local advocacy group has often used the phrase:
"Until we are all free

None of us are free"

I believe this is a universal statement it has influenced my thinking on all justice issues for a long time. 

Where my mind is at now though. As I do my shopping, when I watch a film or listen to the radio I wonder:

To what extent have we truly realized this principle when it comes to women in our society and the world in general?

How much of their natural power does society allow women?

How do we consciously or subconsciously try to inhibit women from realizing their potential, or their God given gifts?

How often do women self regulate to avoid harming the sensitive egos of Men? 

How are women complicit in the suppression of women? 

How complicit am I? 

How do I recognize my programming?

Does my ego feel threatened by the power of a truly liberated woman?

How does society ultimately deal with these questions?

The book doesn't answer these questions but it does provide some good suggestions on how gender imbalances develop and grow in western society with some interesting  observations about male bonding and exclusion, objectification and vilification of women.

The book contains statistical evidence to support the idea that by stifling women's natural strengths we strangle any hope of living in a truly enlightened and wonderful world.

It's funny how things will turn up when you are ready for them. My mind has been skirting this topic for some time. My disillusionment with society has often been confronted by the image of some woman who has put herself on the line to fight for what is right. It has happened time and time again. I see the enormous obstacles put in their way and they march straight through. I am in awe of this strength and know that if there is any hope for a future it can only come after the fall of a male dominated society.

Yoiking life

Last night I watched a Swedish film called Sami Blood.

The film is set in Sweden in the 1930s and tells the story of a 14-year-old Sami girl by the name of Elle-Marja. Sami are indigenous Laplander's who live in the northern parts of Scandinavia. I don't want to go into detail describing the film but I recommend watching it. 

Despite how uncomfortable I felt watching this film there was one aspect that brought great joy. Watching the girls Yoiking (or Joiking). Toiling is a form of singing that comes from deep within the spirit of the person, it can have words but not necessarily, its an expression of feeling and connection to another entity, person, place, animal, that is part of the Sami culture and deeply connects their identity and their relationship with the world around them. This is something I found really special and comforting. 

Lately I have been experiencing a lot of very powerful emotions, feelings of empathy and also pain. Personal pain from a sense of loss and brokenness but also relating to the loss of others. It's a bit of an ongoing battle I am having at the moment. Not something a man would willingly admit to but, why not? 

I recently received news of two suicides, I did not know the people but am affected by the frequency of suicide within my circle of friends and extended network. Lately I have been grieving close friends who I've recently lost and it seems the deaths just keep stacking up. Although this film was not about suicide, the cruelty of people and sense of alienation was overpowering for me. The strength of the lead female character moved me also. 

Suicide was not a theme but the pressures that often lead to that course of action were obvious. There were scenes in the film I just could not watch as I was trembling with rage and anguish. In one scene anthropologists were conducting eugenic studies and taking measurements of children's body dimensions that just left me wanting to howl.

I have no idea how this film will affect others. It's an interesting story with a very powerful  performance by Lene Cecilia Sparrok a Southern Sami actress from Norway who had me spellbound for the entire time.

I can't explain my sensitivity to these things at the moment, maybe I'm just thin skinned. Maybe I have not recovered from my own malady. I hope that I can come away from this with greater understanding and compassion for my fellow humans. In reality I am fluctuating between singing the great praises of God the universe and everything one minute and the next I just want to call it a day.

Flipping the chart

Last week I started jogging and attempted to swim a few laps at the pool. 

Realizing that I am grossly unfit I am just trying to build from a very low base. No major acts of bravery or bravado. The mission is to consistently have a go and trust that time and effort will result in improvement.

I had the boss's car all week so took advantage of the opportunity and drove to Nightcliff instead of riding my bike.

Each day from Monday to Friday I jogged very short circuit of about three or four kilometers which brought me back to the pool where I have begun the arduous mission of swimming laps. 

I haven't achieved anything miraculous but have managed to keep up the routine and have slightly increased my distance both on land and in the pool.

On Saturday I was caught out. The pool wasn't due to open until 8am! So I took that as a sign that I could goof off. I went straight to the shop and got myself a cup of coffee and a strawberry doughnut. Yum!

As I was enjoying my justified break, rather than journalling if flicked to my phone and the notorious facebook, where I saw that the Nightcliff Parkrun was scheduled to commence in half an hour... Normally this wouldn't bother me much but recently I've had a notion in my head to say yes to all reasonable propositions... This was within the boundary of 'reasonable'! (I've also made an agreement with myself to be rigorously honest!). There was nothing I could do to avoid the run. According to my new standards for living, the activity was locked in!

The run was scheduled to commence at 7:00am. I was there on time.

 I've never done a Parkrun but figured it would be a gentle way to ease into running with a group. I didn't really know what the deal was, how it was organized but I knew that it'd be easy to join in. It's just a bunch of people running together. So I jumped in somewhere toward the front of the mob and when they said go I followed the leaders.

I just tried to jog like I always do and stick with a group I could keep up with. Of course there were some super fit runners who took the lead and never dropped their pace, but most of the people running were doing a pace I could manage. I stuck with a group of guys who were pretty fit but not pushing too hard. 

As the crowd spread out I found that I was still relatively close to the front of the pack. (Bear in mind there were all kinds of people running, of all ages and abilities, there were several people pushing prams!) By the time we reached the first turn I was feeling pretty puffed, but I looked around and saw that most of the others were too. I decided to run behind a big guy, who looked like an add for the army hand to hand combat brigade. I chose him because I figured I could draft behind his mass and because he was wearing a vest full of weights... So it was kind of like he had a fair handicap. It gave me a psychological advantage over my desire to quit. Keeping pace with a fit young guy boosted my ego enough to keep me tagging along, knowing he was carrying a shit load of extra weight reassured me that he must be struggling nearly as much as me. (It worked!)

I thought I was coming to the finish line but saw the leaders heading over the Rapid Creek bridge... WTF! Do I have to keep going? I tried to stay cool as I passed the photographer and marshals, I even gave a bit of a grin and a skip but it was all bluff... as soon as I was out of their sight I walked! At this point I expected a bunch of people to come charging past me but when I looked around there was no one there. Everyone was flagging. (Except the serious joggers in front of me) I soon had my breath  back and decided to keep running. I made it to the  finish line in a reasonable state and was only passed by about three people. 

They gave me a tag that had No.00033. I had no idea what it was for so I took it to the marshal who was keeping notes. Apparently they have a way of timing everyone. I couldn't receive a time because I hadn't registered, didn't even know how. So the lady took my barcoded tag off me and told me I should register next time... "OK".

It took me a while to cool down and to regulate my breathing, I was absolutely covered in sweat but I felt awesome! After just one week of fairly mediocre attempts to go jogging, I had completed my first fun run!

I celebrated with a cold shower and a couple of laps of the pool! 

Before I turned 50 I was in a very low place. I was beginning to feel that my life was on the cusp of ending. I was not satisfied with that outcome so made a concerted effort to change, everything. Some of the changes have been very difficult, others are a mixture of bliss and agony. But bit by bit I am feeling life, and a lust for life return to my being that is craving more! I just have to say yes!

Mobile by degrees

My usual, and preferred mode of transport is the bicycle.

In a town as small and flat as Darwin I can get around pretty effectively on my bike. A bicycle requires a little effort, enough to keep my metabolism ticking over. Lately I haven't been riding fast so it's not exactly keeping me fit, but it does burn a few extra calories.

Other reasons I commute by bicycle are ethical, lower emissions, and financial.... do I need to explain? Not running a car makes my life much more manageable.

For the last two weeks while my boss has been away, I've had access to and have been using a luxury, large body, large engine sedan! Toyota Aurion. Front and rear air conditioning, awesome stereo with a lot of bass! (I have listened to Dire Straits 'Love Over Gold' on loop for two weeks solid pumped to the max and still not tired of it!).

Rear reverse camera, some weird key, that's not a key the car actually unlocks itself if you have the electro gizmo in your pocket. Completely adjustable seats... and so much more. A complete extravagance!

I know this may seem out of sync with my values... But I'm not here to be a model of strict adherence to an ideology. While my regular program of 30km pre dawn ride was interrupted by having the vehicle it also presented new opportunities. I have used the car to get down to Nightcliff foreshore for run, swim and a coffee before work. It's been awesome! But now it is over. The car has been returned.

Last night I plonked the folding bike into the boot, reality strikes. Of course I am a little relieved to be returning to my usual modes but I realize there are some odd benefits to having a car. Particularly a large one.

What I learned is that when you're cruising along in a fancy automobile, you can totally dissociate from the world outside. In a car like this you can really feel cocooned in an impenetrable fortress. Tinted windows protect you from prying eyes, soundproofing and good stereo Block all outside noises, air conditioner eliminates reality of climatic conditions outside the steel shell. Peace seems much easier to achieve when immersed in so much comfort. You can look outside and see people struggling to get on or off the bus with baby prams or shopping, in 35° heat and wonder how they manage to get so stressed out. Seriously, don't they appreciate how wonderful life is?

During a busy week at work I am usually stuck at my desk, if there's an event or if friends want to meet for lunch I am likely to decline because to ride my bike any distance at all results in complete saturation from sweat and usually I would have about 20 minutes of usable time between travelling to and from venue. It's just not practical to venture too far from the office with a bike. Having the car on the other hand, means I can blitz it and get back to work as fresh as a daisy.

There are plenty of other benefits too, like getting cold items from shop home before they melt, picking up the kids from friends or school, etc... people actually show respect on the road when you're in a bigger car. People generally pay more attention to you and hold you in higher regard when you step out of a luxury sedan as opposed to getting off a rusty old bike stinking like a cattle yard and sweating like a horse. People are shallow.

On the down side, this abomination of  machine sucks so much fuel it's embarrassing! As an office car these things are completely unjustifiable. The people I work for are not supposed to be in the business of big noting themselves. Yet they drive these abominable vehicles that absolutely scream excess! The car is a status symbol. But the status they symbolize is in complete contradiction of the values the organization claims. (Me too, yes I too am a bloody hypocrite)

So I gave the car back this morning, pulled my trusty folding bike out of the boot and proceeded to peddle home along the bike path, through the parks in the sun and covered in sweat. God bless the bicycle.

I will not be waiting for the next opportunity but I will take it when it comes. Gotta experience what I can. ;)

Great Quest

Liberty & Justice

Under the casuarina trees I breathe

Without pausing how do we know where we are at?

Full Moon at Dawn

I am now becoming established in a new routine, A ritual of self care.

It is good! I feel good! 

At dawn I write, I exercise I gaze at the sea and I listen to the sounds of the Black Cockatoos feeding their chicks on tiny Casuarina nuts. 

 I do not worry! 

Wheels keep rolling

Finding peace in the turmoil is a bit of a mission.

The circumstances of my life are changing quickly. Before going to Bali last month I was considering dropping nearly everything and walking away from life as I have come to know it.

If I hadn't booked that trip I don't know if I would have made it through another day of work! I have hit the wall, or rock bottom. The capacity to ignore core differences in values seems to have evaporated and my tolerance is low. 

Taking time off was a great boost to morale but the questions remained. I was about to turn fifty and was absolutely sure that my current circumstances were a death sentence to the spirit! Where spirit goes the body must follow.

In Bali and Yogyakarta I was able to take a deeper look at my life and see where particular qualities were lacking or just outright missing from my life. There were too many to mention! 

I found some peace in the spirituality of the place and some confronting meetings that I was determined to attend. Toward the end of my time in Ubud I realized that I had neglected too many elements that I consider essential to living a fulfilling life.

The sensation I had while there left me feeling as though I was sitting square in the palm of God's hand. 

Everything that happens on my journey is necessary for the unfolding of my life and each is an important part of the story that continues to be written. The experience of connection and belonging that I received was so intense I believed they would continue long after I left.

Now just over a week later and I realize I have much more learning and unpleasant experiences ahead of me. There have been some very low moments full of doubt, anxiety, and confusion. I have not slept more than a couple of hours each night and my compass is all messed up. But I now have a new kit of tools to get busy putting to use.

These feelings I have described are equally part of my necessary growth. I know that spiritual awakening is not about being happy or blissed out all the time. Sometimes it's difficult, confusing and very lonely. The journey must go on.

So what now? What is this little black duck to do? Back to the basics. I get on my bike early each morning, long before the sun rises, and I ride. I have introduced a ritual of light exercise, riding, brief meditation, a fair bit of music for distraction, writing in my journal and sitting in nature! When I am doing this my purpose and meaning of life is clear.

My ride takes to the beach for sunrise and meditation (not comfortable thanks to the sand flies)

When there is some light in the sky I travel the coastal trail through a tropical monsoon vine forest and cross the bridge over sandy creek where the mangroves grow. I see Nightjars, butterflies and sometimes the elusive Emerald dove or Rainbow pitta.

Follow the sandy paths up to Casuarina Cliffs where the view above the beach gives a clear 180 degree view of the horizon. 

I cruise along listening to my favorite music, by now I am in a heightened state of peace and unity.. Riding in a peacefull trance to a coffee vendor and get a takeaway in my reusable cup (if I remembered to bring it), maybe a doughnut and head back to my favorite bench at Nightcliff foreshore where, with the assistance of caffeine, sugar and fat, I commence the work of noting my thoughts, experiences, questions, challenges and plans. I write a five point gratitude list (haven't graduated to ten points yet) 

 

When I have completed this process and am ready to ride home I know I am on the right path. It doesn't solve my troubles for the rest of the day but I'm working on it.

In the mornings I am usually surrounded by birds of one kind or another. Lately there have been Red-tailed Black Cockatoos pulling Casuarina nuts off the trees directly above me. Scraps of husk fall to the ground all around me like confetti or snow... or rock hard hail. 

For these things I am grateful.

 

What creeps me out

Flamingos. There is something I find disturbing about the western cultural attachment to kitsch icons of the peculiar illogical pink bird. 

It's image appears nearly everywhere. What is it people associate with this bird. What does it mean? 

The gaudy obnoxious presence of flamingos haunt me, they appear on shirts and shop windows and adds for travel to exotic locations an actual flamingo has never been seen. There are ornaments and pool toys and erasers. Anything you can imagine. 

From a peculiar lawn ornament in the late 50s, they have sprouted. No sense to it at all.

I collect the damned things just to remind myself, life is absurd

Pro Life Rant

Mark Garlick / Science Photo Library/Getty Images

Yesterday at dawn while I was riding my bike and listening to Meatloaf on my headphones, a song came on I hadn't heard before it was called 'Is Nothing Sacred?'. Another pretty cool song by Mr Loaf.

So as I'm riding and bopping along past the Hospital in the cool morning air, thinking 'Oh what a grand life it is', I see a couple of people standing still on the side of the track ahead of me. Just standing there looking straight ahead. As I got closer I saw a box sitting in front of them and thought for a moment it might be a vigil for a road death or something sad like that. They looked so sad I thought it must have been someone they loved. I slowed down and looked at the poster they had on the box as I rolled by... The sign had an image of a human foetus with some words plastered across the image it said something like 'The beginning of life is sacred' or something very similar.

I kept rolling slowly letting the scene sink in. While the image was still in sight Meatloaf gave the chorus another blast 'Is Nothing Sacred anymore?'. Holy shit these crazy coincidences just hammer me sometimes... So it was with the sweet voice of Meatloaf singing a beautiful melody in the background that I considered the scene I had just passed.

I wondered about the sanctity and the very precarious nature of life, all life. The very existence of life itself in this infinite universe of seeming lifelessness. Yes! Life is sacred! The very existence of life at all is a miracle, so I reckon it can be considered sacred. If all life is sacred, so too is the unborn embryo or early stage foetus of an unborn human. I agree. But, on this earth the struggle for life and death is a daily battle. Life is sacred but it is also in a constant state of stress competing for the rare chance of existence. 

Human life, which is generally what concerns us the most, is valued not simply by it's existence but by the quality of it's existence. We apply certain criteria to determine quality, one key factor is cognition and awareness, another is the ability to experience and there are many others. You can test the quality of each to determine which takes priority, because sometimes, the life of one organism may be determined by the imperative of another to survive.

If life is a sacred thing, does that automatically mean that abortion is absolutely morally wrong? What about the impact on the mother? Etc... etc... Its just too big a topic for me here now. And who am I, an man to say what is right or wrong for a woman to choose. 

If it is what is it wrong in comparison to? Surely there are circumstances in life that would deem the termination of an unaware foetus favourable to the certainty brutality, pain and suffering if the child were born?

I continued to mull it over as I rode on. In the bushes not far from the dour couple I saw a pile of old clothes and blankets with a sleeping body tangled in amongst them. The dishevelled pile was surrounded by bottles and cans. “Is that life sacred?” I wondered. Surely that person was an embryo, then a foetus and eventually a baby born into the world, a miracle... sacred. What trauma lead that person to be sleeping drunk in the bushes like that? Who cared for and nurtured that sacred life when it was small? Who cares for them now?

The children born into abusive homes are their lives sacred? I thought again about the couple standing vigil for the sacred foetuses, I wanted to ask them will you provide care and love and nurturing to the unwanted birthed? Will you take care of the mothers who have nowhere to go and no help raising their sacred children? Will you provide them with shelter and counselling for the trauma they have suffered? Will you help them to honour the miracle of their precious existence? Would you help the drunk out of the gutter or rescue the girl from sex slavery, or stand between the violent drunken husband and the mother of his sacred 7 month old foetus?

Or will you stand there in judgement and pile shame on the heads of frightened brave women who pray for the sanctity of life and fret that they and their children will never come to know of it? Instead make decisions that prevent the desecration of the sanctity of the human spirit.

Meatloaf wasn't singing about the sacredness of the first sparks of human life, he was singing about marriage. I suppose that could trigger a whole other debate about the sacred bond of marriage... which I am happy to also acknowledge as a spiritual and sacred thing, until it ceases to be that, at which time the spiritual thing must surely be to recognize the sacredness of the human spirit and to protect that precious gem from elements of life that would destroy it, including even marriage... Damn Life is just so complicated Innit?

Chance and renewal in the Padi

A life force flows from the sacred mountain shrines in waters blessed by the Gods through ancient irrigation channels to the hilltop Padi where the quiet people live.

I arrived naive and willing many years ago wanting but not ready to receive. 

Bitten by an invisible viper, magic brew taken in willing desperation. Served with a grin from a wild beauty hag. A woman about 60 who laughed and never aged. She served a forbidden spirit only to the few and silently she hid it when strangers wandered by.

I was grateful for that venom and to see the other side, but if you falter you must fear it, it'll take your bloody life. At that time I found new life. At a warung near the edge. On the stairway to the quiet place. A palace where dreamers, hippies, the lost unloved and lonely go to find their soul. 

It was the place of great power where evil and good are one. 

The Quiet People, Clever men and warriors never gave an inch, if you messed with this village you'd fall down the hill. There would never be a whisper of what had happened there. The hilltop was safe from scoundrels and the snake blood flowed in the arak laden dusk.

 

The artists used to paint there and musicians would often play. Rapturous clamouring gamalon, frog calls and the sound of gecko fights. 

The padi was alive and at the heart of all that power, they protected it and tended it to keep the harvest strong. Hindu offerings were constant in temples in the field. And farmers worked hard to keep everything in order. Weeding, planting harvesting. Water flowing ducks foraging is all needed to keep the sacred balance.

This time when I visited I could see more bungalows, more tourist development, less rice. The fields seemed un-tended and full of weeds. No frog no fish no duck. New age hippies had set up camp but the life force is dwindling.

I cried for the padi and the magic and the witch. 

My life is out of balance, something has gone wrong, broken. I imagined my life as rice. Whatever the magic trance vision I was given years ago, it is connected to these fields.  They always draw me back. Maybe I owe a debt here. Maybe I am called.

Was there a sacred silent oath?

To return and pray and sweat for the rice with a hoe!

In the Ubud Padi on the hilltop ridges and in the valleys. I dream and wake in dreams to walk. Dream and reality blend and the the dream walkers meet with bliss.