Unreasonable love

Love is not reasonable.
It doesn't follow any set of logic.
There are no timetables, no equations to fix it to any dimension.
It sits bleeding between duty and passion
between memory and hope
between loathing and longing
between clinging and surrender
between ego and spirit...
It is the binding
behind beauty and compassion
behind holding or letting go
behind solitude or belonging,
behind singing and celebration
behind sorrow and sweat.
Love is the pause between breaths
invisible fabric, a force beyond death
propulsion of the oversoul
sweeter than a doughnut hole...
it may have some rhyme,
but never ...never ever  has a reason.
love defies all explanation, all definition
love is not reasonable.

Sane, sober and single.

Are bachelorette pads supposed to be all full of white lace and iced pink gingham? Or are you supposed to go all cougar-ish with leopard print bedspreads and black vinyl throw cushions?
I'm not sure. I am still trying to get used to decorating a place without a partner involved. It seems I have spent half of my life doing "compromise" interior design; so much energy trying to work around bloody big stereo speakers and giant tv screens...football posters, cheesy girlie shots, or beer ads, and there's no way of feminising a porch wall full of proudly displayed hand saws (looked like a wall of death)....now it's all down to you, your bucket of paint and your divorced household leftovers to create a new environment. You begin to realize that everything around you is a little statement about you. I have my family photos. I have food in my cupboard. I have my paintings and sketches on my walls.

I have a single bed.

The return

Autobiographical blogging feels like going back to Catholic confessional.
You feel compelled to confess, feel cleansed for having done so, then later wonder if
that priest really is trustworthy. Cyberspace is no priest. (Maybe that's a good thing!)

I stand poised at mid life, looking back over the past and it is quite a spectacular litter
of intense fiery passions gone awry, misadventures in exotic locations, promises made and broken, spiritual highs, alcoholic actings out, parties with hellaciously funny people, quiet moments with inspirational surrounds, nutty workshops to improve my nutty self, social networking with some very anti social beings, showbizzy "look at what I can do" narcissistic gatherings. I've worn many masks, drunk many drinks, entertained many philosophies and had many lovers. I've been hurt and betrayed until I thought my heart would burst, and I have been hurtful and betrayed others.

I feel like I've been climbing a mountain these past few months and I am standing on the top looking out at the lifescape below. It hasn't all been bad. Memorable moments like questing (no food or water) for four days in midsummer in Michigan woods in Native American way.  There were sweat lodges, sings, pow wows and drumming- oh how I loved that drumming.  There is the time I camped out under a full moon with mates in the middle of a dry river bed in the Northern Territory on route to Roper river to spend time with the loving Aboriginal mob there. That was a life changing experience, a turning point in my life. I had yearly walks at Gwongerella taking in the eucalytpus soaked air as trod the circular path underneath the waterfalls to the rock pools below. In stand up and acting, there were moments of sheer perfection, when you just rode the energy of laughter and reaction from crowd/mass spiralling upward into happy happy...(and ofcourse the funnier but more humbling times when drunken mobs revealed their underbelly and sank their teeth into your act, tore it apart then ate up your ego!)

I had a solid family foundation. Childhood was happy with simple summers of pulling bindiis out of feet, hopping across hot sand dunes to get to a salt watered ocean of foaming fun, runs to the shop to buy hot fresh made sausage rolls...weekly picnics with family, usually with an ant bite drama, or some small mishap that had us irritated then laughing at the end of the day.

I'm standing on the mountain.

I'm looking forward. There is still life ahead. There are still adventures. I don't seek to repeat some of the old lessons. It is the quieter stretches full of spiritual promise and emotional maturity that beckons me now. It is time for me to be kind, to myself, and to others. It is time for me to listen more carefully, speak less, but more clearly, to put the passion in my creative works and not towards men and relationship. It is time for me to stop seeking a beloved and allow one -if out there- to present themselves. It is time for me to live in ease and peace. The wild ride of my youth has come to an end. It's time for me to let it go.

It is time for me to forgive old grievances, and let the bitterness melt butterlike into the
sweet past.

I am blessed. It is my family, it is my friends who have sustained me through this long journey. It is those bonds I treasure and want to nourish. In all journeys, eventually there is a return. It is time for me to return the love.

I had a dream

There is what you want, and then there is what is.

"What is" is the hardest thing to face for idealists
like myself.

I am not blessed with the noble dreams of
a Martin Luther King...

I had a dream recently where my subconcious
revealed so much ridiculous content.
My ex husband, and rebound boyfriend stood
together in a darkened room
lit overhead by a flood light. They both held
shotguns by their sides. It was
as if they were displays in a waxworks
museum.

I was crouched in a darkened corner viewing them.

I remember saying to myself in the dream,
"Is that was what I was afraid of?
Squiddly diddly and Jabba the hutt?"

And I then opened an escape hatch in
the corner of the room behind me
and crawled out.

The dream ended. (with no credits!!)

Who knew my subconcious could have held
onto such sarcasm? But in the dream it was the
sarcasm that led me to escape. Or maybe in the dream
I saw things as they really were. I had given away
such power, such love to characters who really
weren't worth that energy.

I had been intimidated by their threats: threats
of abandonment, physical threats, threats of
witholding love, threats to my emotional,
physical and spiritual wellbeing.

What was that? Love? Or a bizarre addiction to
pain that I have had? Why the need to prove myself
worthy of love to those incapable of giving it?

When I google searched for squiddly diddly,
I found a little smiley faced octopus creature
who tried in vain to get fame and recognition.
It fit the description of my ex husband quite well.
I was amazed to find that I had held onto the
memory of such a cartoon character. I had forgotten
it even existed.

The tricky part is acknowledging (as with all dreams)
that every character in your dream does represent
an aspect of yourself. So I have squiddly diddly
and jabba the hutt male energies.
I have people pleasers and people
consumer energies present. I have threatening
qualities that I have to work with. Where have
I hurt and/or threatened others? Where have I
behaved like a two dimensional cartoon?
Jung where are you when I need you?

I hope the escape hatch means I have removed
myself from these static energies. Now that I have
named them and observed them (still and waxlike)
I am capable of transforming them into
more nobler aspects.

Astro boy and Luke skywalker perhaps? Atom Ant and
Milton the Monster?

Who knew that my love life would have come to
have resembled a cartoon?

I'm still grieving over these energies too.
Ridiculous grief....Betty Boop in mourning.
Lots of listening to music, sexual naivety and
blinking. Innocent and imagined
powerlessness.

Bring on Roger Ramjet.

A Tree by any other name is still a tree

"Holiday tree!" Gasp! Shock! Horror! The latest facebook hoax states that the Whitehouse is now calling, what used to be called the Christmas tree "Holiday trees"! Some Christians are outraged. "They are taking the Christ out of Christmas" they claim. "Go home if you minorities don't like our American ways" shout others in facebook capitals. The debate rages on with people agreeing, liking, poking, and copying and repasting in fury and self righteous social networking reaction. No one has checked their facts. They sit on their chairs and tip tap on smoking keyboards creating a reactive hate movement, building collectives of Christian Christmas revolution.

Ah, that Americans could be so easily fooled and pushed to anger? Who knew?

Who knew the Christmas tree, whether plastic or real was considered to be a source of such nationalistic fervour? Who knew that American pride could be so badly damaged by the renaming of millions of Asian factory made plastic imitation conifers? Who knew that so many Christians could feel so wounded that they could turn to hatred and intolerance so quickly?
And who knew that such spiritual facism existed? Who knew so many wanted to occupy your chimney?

Shame on you you followers of Kwanza, Hanuka, yuletide soltice merry makers. Shame on you Buddhists, Jehovah's Witnesses, Hindus, Moslems, wiccans and sufi followers.

Shametide.

How dare these millions of people, "minorities" threaten the beloved naming of worldwide plastic.

We won't even mention the gay folks who might dare to do obscene things with tinsel at Christmas.

Um. Isn't it all a bit silly? Come on now America. It's a tree. I hate to tell you this, but trees grow all over the world, not just in your country. (Well admittedly you have chopped quite a bit down in other countries - perhaps that was so other people wouldn't have access to trees at Christmas so you wouldn't be threatened by other Christmas tree rivals?)

The origins of the tradition date back to Ancient Egypt, to Ancient Rome, to the Druids, the pagans and many many other religious traditions...OTHER than Christianity. I bet they were a bit upset when the Germans (and Martin Luther) pinched the idea. In fact Christ wasn't even born on the winter soltice.

As for the whole "if you don't like our Christmas tree and if you're from another country, go home" argument. Um...well there are some who might tell you to buggar off from their countries where you have gone in uninvited - the places you have sent your youth to die in the name of the "freedom" you now deny others to share.

If the naming of a plant has created such furor, but the naming of a war didn't, ("freedom") then the truth of the Ugly American mythology that has bullied and dominated our world for so very long has truly come to light. People are not outraged by a war? But they are outraged by the naming of a tree?

A belief system, so flimsy, so easily threatened can go against it's own major tenet "love thy neighbor as thyself" to hate, rage and complain about what they call a tree? Perhaps George Carlin's quote is apt here: "leave symbols, for the symbol minded." What kind of religion is this?

To be true to this belief, there ought to be a CHRIST mas tree that hangs on it's boughs, the dogtags of all they have killed in the name of freedom (their own and others who have been victimised in this latest atrocious war), there ought to be golden bullets and decorated oil wells adorning the branches, and then by the nativity scene of Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus, armed guards and soldiers outside the barn with the three wise prisoners. Instead of "Peace and goodwill to all men" please hang the words of truth that ring out loudly during this debate: "Peace and Goodwill to all, except for Moslems, Gays, Jehovah's Witnesses, Wiccans, Hindus, Jews, 'minorities' and anyone who doesn't think like me."

Jesus didn't have a Christmas tree.

I have learned something though, alot of American Christians are easy to piss off- they are ready to hate over a tree...just don't tell them their version of St Nicolas, was hijacked by coca cola. They might detonate the nuclear bomb if they find out Santa isn't real. Ssshhh.

This year, I am going to decorate a rock. I am calling it a Holiday rock and I'm going to honor what I have thrown.

how to tell if you have attention deficit disorder

You can tell if you have attention deficit disor...
if you have trouble thinking things through long enough to...
and if you find yourself jumping from subject to....
swans are nice aren't they?...

If you are a brilliant starter but lack the follow through to see the project
through to completi...

they mate for life did you know? swans I mean....but...

have trouble gettting organised with the small everyday tasks ....
it doesn't mean you are "hyper"...that's hyperactivity...

swans aren't hyperactive by the way...

but if you daydream alot...kind of zone out....this could be a sign of attention def...

more people should be like swans...sigh.

you can also hyperfocus....be very very very focussed on one single thing..(it often means
add folks get brilliant grades)....

consider the lily...

and add folks have brilliantly creative minds....

swans, lillies and glassy dreamscapes.

good girls and bad boys

There's the old cliche'd observation about "good girls" being attracted to "bad boys."

It's wrong. Again, a sexist observation.

It's the bad boys who are attracted to the good girls.

One thing I am thankful for and that is that I never really knew what a "good girl am I"
until I met the mother of all bad boys.

He's an ex gangster, and pimp.
He moved on (if not while with me) immediately to date a sex offender. EEEEEEk.

Yes, I am a "good girl"- it is through his moral insanity, and those who surround and enable him that I have learnt that I am wayyy more moral than I thought.

Being too trusting, too naive, and too gullible can take you into into dark dark territory.
I feel like Persephone who's just been dragged up out of the abyss.

Where's my pomegranate? I earned it!!