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!!

good grief or bad?

Grieving is a serious business, it's been over a year since my
ex husband ran off with his ex wife. (And it's humiliating
to mourn a such a cliched scenario.)

It's been a short while since my rebounder relationship went bung.
(Another womanizer- another cliched con).

The whole year has been marked with betrayals and losses.
You can tell when you've got it bad when you're reading the book
of Job thinkin' "what's he complainin about....?"

But there comes the time when you can't help but think,
"when am I going to get over this?" You want to be able to
let mates and family know: "scuse me but I am temporarily
insane while I am in mourning"...

You can tell your friends and those who love you are worried about
you too. So you try to do the smiley Walmart greeting face...but..
it's fake. It's dishonest. You end up feeling like a kid at a sports event
who fumbles the ball while his family are watching.

It's a self centered damned business too. I keep trying to pop
the balloons at my own pity party, my thoughts become environmentally
unfriendly recyclers, and my heart feels like a cheese grater- riddled with
holes and crumbs of old crusty love.

I keep stepping on my own self esteem.

I understand that grief is necessary. I am allowing myself
to fully feel, (without the numbing agents I used to employ:
vodka and red wine), but just when does bad grief become good?

Where are the jokes in all of this???

Breaking the cycle.

Ever looked back on your dating/romantic partner pattern?
I keep dating the same person wearing a different mask.

Often I am attracted to what appears to be kindly, spiritual,
intelligent and charming. Take off the differnt masks and
there is bluebeard, ready to attack me for having gotten
hold of his key to his forbidden cupboard (full of the bones
of ex lovers.)

Sigh.

And I have a new personal red flag. Whatever they say they
are, (often emphatically) it's usually proven they turn out
to be the very opposite. If they tell you they are 'honest' - they
generally turn out to be the worst liars possible. If they
pride themselves on being able to "understand women" - watch
for the misogyny to peek out.  If they tell you they value fidelity
more than any other quality, you can be sure you are about
to deal with a sex addict. Self confessed rich men borrow money
off you, and "romantics" will do no more than a quick run
at a burger joint drive through for dinner.

It always turns out to be the opposite of what they promote themselves
to be. I should do the same.

I've decided to tell 'em I am a proper bitch....

Getting over heartbreak, 101.

How to Get over a heartbreak.

1. Cry alot.
2. Eat comfort foods.
3. Don't remember any good times, that will
keep you stuck. Try to remember all the horrible things
so that you can remember why you broke up in the first
place.
4. Cry some more.
5. Eat some more.
6. Use the anger to clean up your living space.
7. Only hang around friends who tell you how his eyes
were too close together anyway. At this stage,
you need emotional enablers.
8. Cry some more.
9. Eat some more
10. By now you should have eaten so much
you should be puking.
11. By now your body should have run out
of snot and salt and grief like liquids, so that
it is not possible to cry or eat. You should be looking
in the mirror saying "holy crap I got to do
something about this."

Keep repeating this process until the ex is fully out of
your psyche.
12. When you start to notice the sun is shining, and
that there are some cute men out there..you are over it.

The fall

I fell down. When you fall down sometimes you scrape your knees, get bruised, or break bones.
My friend Simon falls alot. It's part of his physical condition, he knows it, expects it to happen and has prepared himself by knowing what moves to make to help prevent damage. He has learnt how to protect himself for falls. I admire my friend. He has taught me alot.

My falls aren't the physical kind. I fall emotionally. I try to think of why I fall. Maybe it was because I wasn't looking where I was going? Maybe it was because I wore the wrong kind of footwear? (Shouldn't wear high heels while mountain climbing). Maybe it was because I wasn't really sure of my footing in the first place? Maybe I was pushed?

I've learned that the reason doesn't really matter. "Who dunnits" don't always address the solutions- the future personal "to do" lists necessary for healing.

Life is full of falls. I have fallen down alot in my life. It's just annoying that I keep falling in the same way and in the same place.

I wasn't prepared for the last fall and I hadn't learned to protect myself, to fall in a way that would cause me the least amount of damage. There was nothing to cushion the blow.

Obviously I fell from a great height..because I really fell such a long way, screamed a long time, and landed very heavily. I tried to use alcohol to ease the pain. It didn't really work, just gave me a headache and dragged out the hurt. The drunken broken hearted only end up validating the heartbreaker- "that's why I left" they say, pointing self righteously toward the mascara smeared in the tequila soaked puddle at their feet. (Ofcourse it had nothing to do with their stone cold sober lies and carefully planned betrayals.) I forgive myself my heartbroken
reactions. I understand why I fell.

Where I landed was great pit full of muddy anger and slimy self pity. There were tears of loves gone by, floating timbers of former relation-shipwrecks, ripples of "who done me wrong" resentments bubbling with "if only's"...

It's a slippery mix and hard to climb out of. At least it's warm. Climbing out of it means facing the cold brisk air, shivering as you dry off.

You have to be careful as you pull yourself out of this slow-sanded pool. Don't be reaching
out your hand for help.

Caped crusaders who need "damsel's in distress" appear wearing hero masks. They hold out a hand to help you up and out, only to backhand you with the other and push even deeper into the pit. Spider man turns out to be sticky boy, superman turns out to be mega pimp, and batman turns out to be a blood sucking dracula. Behind every hero mask hides a bluebeard.

I've been such a sucker for superheros. My first love was astro boy. I guess that was an early indication that I would be bound to find two dimensional lovers in my future. My romantic life has the storyboard of a cartoon.

In the pit of the broken hearted you need to be still. Others may call out to you, encouraging
things like "get over it" and "do you need a wahmbulance" and "you wet your bed, now lie in it"...and "get off the pity pot" -you can't always heal the way others insist you heal.

I tried it. I tried faking happiness. "Look at me, I have moved on! Ta da, I am
so looking for a bonk right now and I am sooo big and stwong!" Nah.
That have a nice day shit is for the shallow, the narcissistic and the
hollow hearted. I just have to wait. I have to wait for time to do it's thing-
put a bit of gaffa tape around my soul, stay honest about how I feel and rest.

You have to be still. If you thrash around the wounds open, they bleed.
Then those pesky vampires appear. They come to feed off that energy..
the blood. Your misery simply becomes a feeding sanctuary for fang wearing
love vultures.

Good grief or bad... it cuccoons you in a salty blanket. I guess that helps you heal. If the grief wasn't there when you came crashing down you might smash into a million fragments. At least it softens the fall.

Life is full of falls. I fell without a parachute and as I hurtled towards the earth I really thought someone would save me. I really thought leaving myself so unprotected was a brave proof of my love and courage. It was just stupid.

I am not guilty of faithlessness, I am however, guilty of stupidity.

I know though, that if stupidity was a crime I would be in a very crowded jail. I've not been the only fool in love. I just want to stop being a repeat offender.

I have had the kind of blind trust and naivety that a telemarketer prays for. I walked with a bullseye on my heart, and my heart was on my sleeve, not a safe place to wear it.
My pain isn't private either. As a child I was a better seeker than a hider. I would make
a terrible poker player. Because of this I don't fit in well with this mechanical reasonable
time. I love therefore I am. I wonder how Mrs. Descartes ever coped with Rene? All that amming and thinking- no room for soul in that "reasonable" world.

Mastering emotions is one thing, denying them another. Making "reason" the ruling
way of being seems to be like pimping out your own humanity to please an automative
society. Surely that time is at an end.

This last year I found out my husband was having an affair, I lost my house, my dog and all I knew to be love, stability, home and belonging here in this foreign land. It was like being
in a bad country song. It hurt - and to be hurt by such a cliche brought me to
my knees. Ugh...to be left for the "other woman" is utterly devastating. No need to
go to an ashram to get your ego broken, just date my ex.

No amount of pleading, crying, screaming and praying changes anything. It
did help me move through things faster though. Slowly I began rebuilding...
I began to try to renovate myself...self examination followed by action to
be sure I took responsiblity for those areas within myself that may have
been non relationship friendly. I began climbing out of the pit.

then ..someone gave me a hand..and offered me a comforting heart...

and words. Words words and words. Such beautiful words. "You're beautiful" and
"I love you" and "I love the 'essence' of you." When did that change into "you're an asswipe
and a simple bitch", and "you are replaceable" and "you've got to change"?
How do "I love you notes" scattered around a room become "an irritation and indication
of 'excessive behavior traits'? Drawers full of porn are okay? "I love you notes' are
sick? And so I fall again...

He wore a superhero mask and Michael Jordan shoes. He spoke in 12 step cliches and prayed in the warm limelight of grateful sponsees. He was more X than Malcolm, more talk than
walk and put the ass in Onestas.

When his mask slipped, there stood the familiar grinning bluebeard.
Turned out all he ever wanted was a temporary tooth fairy. I was just a
replaceable vagina, an exotic trophy to wear on his arm at various occasions,
and back up mature aged booty for in between his affairs with barely legals
and crack ho cinderellas.

His serenity nearly killed me. He has groomed his enablers to disregard
the fourth step. He is part of a group conscience that seems to have no conscience,
their silence a mere tacit agreement that this outdated sexism and predatory behavior is acceptable. Kelly's bar becomes Killers bar. How can there be principles before personalities
when the group is ran by the unprincipled?

My love and trust in others has cost me. I am four thousand dollars in debt. I
ended up in a hospital three times this last year. I am exhausted. I am pissed off, and hurt.
I can't heal wearing someone else's band aids.


I won't lie about it. I will try
not to lie in it. But I don't want to reach out to be hurt again.

I am going to climb out of the pit.

I am going to make my own way.

I am going to be like my friend Simon, and
learn how to protect myself for life's inevitable falls.

There will be no more "falling in love."

I intend to rise in love- along with the like hearted.

I love therefore I am.

The River

I am at the time spoken of
when the river flows very fast.
And so, it's better to go with the rushing waters
not hang on to shores past...
past sands
past lands
past flanks of roads once travelled
past broken levees
and shifted ground
past dreams unravelled
and rusted crowns.

Did you ever see the clouds spirit sigh
as it drifed overhead?
And know it's calling?-the glow of promised water
a song sung to your last
last lie
last chant of your goodbye
last cry
last flighte of holds once tight held
last song by unheard angels
and redman sky?
-last sunrays faded
and darkened waterfalls?

I am at the time they had foretold of
when water rise rushes down
and I go with the rapids
floating so I won't drown
go down with what needs to be submerged
down in the levles deep dark below
down in crumbling caverns
and abandoned caves
down beneath the overflow
and racing waves.

how to tell if you are dating a control freak

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