It was by no means a planned thing, in the way that most of the good things that happen to you are not.

I was living in Byron Bay. My first place was a share with my best friend (from Sydney) and her new husband (a monk from Queensland) and their new baby (my dearly loved godson). We hung out for a few years and then the house got sold. They found a cool spot pretty quickly but it was a smaller place (as in no room for me), so I had to find a share elsewhere. It came as a surprise and I had to scramble. I found a place in Lilli Pilli. The bedroom was tiny but I got full use of the garage and made it my den, workspace, think space, man cave. The woman I was sharing with was a published, celebrated writer and a member of Mensa (IQ around 140). It was her place and her rules but we got along just fine. Two quirky people, each into their own thing, their own worlds, making light contact on the reality plane every once in a while. There was mutual respect and appreciation with the tiniest hint of attraction. But we both knew the consequences of letting that grow, so we kept the space between us steady. I mean, she was in Mensa, she could work that much out. Sleeping with a flatmate. Er, no. She was too big a personality, too grand and refined a mind, too much someone who is the master of her own universe, I believed, to entertain the notion of a intimate union. It would have been gloriously wonderful. Until the first disagreement. You know? One of those kinds of chemistries. So, after a year or so, I moved out. Again, the place got sold. I enjoyed the time there, made the best of an unusual arrangement and dynamic and I think she did, too. If we had been ten years younger (we were early forties) or perhaps had gotten really drunk one night, things may likely have been different. And not better. So leaving with respect and a mild affection for each other was the optimum result. But I wasn't sure where to go next. 

My friend, the monk, told me there was a small room - a bit like a cabin - attached to the main residence. It had jsut enough space for my bed and my desk. It was vacant at the time and was offered to me as a temporary solution. It was part of a Buddhist temple and Zen Do (pronounced 'doe'). The head monk, from Japan, lived in the main house. There was also a room in there for a monk in training/his assistant and a meditation hall that was used by the monks twice a day as well as occasional visiting practitioners. 

I fit in easily. I grew up in Japan and speak Japanese and, more importantly, know how the Japanese behave. It's all about respect, politeness, deferment, consideration. And from my experience, this is true on every level in Japanese life. Their society is highly evolved and their social behaviour is elegant and refined. Much of my connection with the head monk was on this unspoken level. It's a way of being that is deeply ingrained in the Japanese and it makes for fluid interaction. Of course, on top of that, the master was a man of highly evolved consciousness. I was very much aware that I was in the presence of a special person. What was so special? Nothing out of the ordinary. But after time and observation it became clear that his very ordinariness, his humility, his love for humour and levity, his dedication to his practice... all these added up to a being who had successfully transcended most of the trappings, the entanglements of 'normal' life and was someone to truly admire and learn from. 

I met and spent time with many of the monks. Some would stay for a few days, others weeks, a few for months. I got to know them all. All very different, different backgrounds, different stories, ways of being, reasons for practicing Zen. I got on well with almost all of them, became close with a few. 

Because I remained an outsider - I was the only one there not in training or already ordained - I was able to benefit from their teachings, their learnings and their struggles without being fully immersed or attached. This also allowed them to enjoy my company in a fresh way; I was just a long haired, mellow, artist dude hanging out there for an unspecified time (and reason). 

I have always enjoyed this role. Being part of something but at the same time, not. Being just on the outside of the circle. A free agent. 

Yes, it does mean that the final commitment is not there - which, in many cases - means that full integration, absolute engagement is not possible, which is sometimes risky and potentially unfulfilling - but it's a position I am comfortable with. In some funky, personal way, I find it fits. I like to go 98% there, then stop. It can be excruciating, infuriating (for others), frustrating, limiting. But at the same time, it can be highly rewarding. And in this case, my time at the Zen Do, it was. 

I did sit sometimes, I did consider becoming a monk, I did study and learn some of the ways. But, I knew, it wasn't my path. And beautifully, wonderfully, so did the master and most of the other monks. And still, they allowed me to live with them, eat with them, come and go as I pleased. It was truly a position of honour. 

Eventually, after three years, quite out of the blue, I was offered a chance to travel to the US to create and perform a comedic monologue in a festival in New York. My flight over was covered and a months accommodation. It was an invitation to change tack, a new path to follow. I decided to move over there, do the performance, then go and live in LA and follow one of my dreams and work as a screenwriter. It seemed right.

For the last two years while living at the Zen Do, I had my own comedy radio show at the local station. It involved twenty hours of writing per week for each show. Then, practice with a band of voice actors and ten or more original skits performed live each week. I was into developing and presenting comedic scenes and characters. My time at the Zen Do had given me peace and a place to focus on one of my passions. This gave me the confidence to accept the new challenge of America and to pack up (what little I had) and head West, er, Northeast. 

So, what did I learn there? What gems can I share, nuggets of wisdom that were garnered from living in such a special place as a lucky guest?

I learnt about simplicity, respect, humility, patience and focus. I learnt from watching, listening and thinking. Many of the monks, no, all of the monks, were flawed characters. But what set them apart was their dedication and devotion to something greater than themselves. A kind of reverence for life itself. Manifested in a practice of stillness and acceptance. 

Of course, you never 'get there'. Nobody was anything other than a humble being, struggling and suffering in their own way, with their own destiny. But, at times, there was great reward to be found in scuttling around the peripheries of nothingness. There was a quiet, delightful salvation within sight on a few occasions while sitting silently with these most admirable practitioners, these dignified, humble and humbling beings. 

As I have mentioned before in these posts, I grew up reading copious amounts of comics in the 70's. My brothers and I sought them out and collected them - reading every imaginable title from the DCs and Marvels to the obscure scary comics, war comics and romance comics. 

Sometimes, if I had read every available comic, I would take to reading the letter pages (not that interesting) or other bits and pieces of text - the small print at the bottom of page one for example - or some kind of short story thing - never that interesting, really. Just to pass the time. But if I was passing the time, one way I really enjoyed was gazing at advertisements for posters, stickers or patches - like the one above. 

The tiny artworks were like portals. Each had a message and a sentiment. Spoke of an ideology. Stood for a cause. Symbolised an attitude. I was a kid, I was forming my identity. Solidifying my beliefs. Anything was possible and although I couldn't click on these icons and open them up with a computer, I could with my mind.

When I stumbled across this page on the net this morning, it brought back all kinds of memories. Just like you would learn every song on a favourite album, I recognised ever patch from this advertisement. I had stared at it and studied it so many hundreds of times - selecting my favourites and choosing my top five, top ten, etc. A few times I even thought of sending in for them - but we lived in Tokyo and it seemed too difficult. I did have a favourite jacket at around the age of thirteen that was adorned with some of the patches above and others - most memorably the peace sign and smiley.

There are quite a few good ones out of the thirty six pictured. And they have stood up well with the test of time. Very much a sixties/seventies vibe - but, hey, those were the decades that formed me.

Peace, love, ecology, equality.... all my bag. I grew up listening (over and over) to Sgt Peppers (from the age of six or seven) as well as Cat Stevens, Joan Baez and The Mammas and the Pappas. I revered the peace symbol. I believed in love - loving everyone. I believed in humanity and goodness and compassion. My vision for the world was aligned with the hippies and the revolutionists of the time.

Sadly, it didn't come about. In fact, in many ways the planet is in much, much worse shape now than it was then. At least there was simplicity then. And integrity. The shinning glow and warmth of the candle lit by activists and creatives of the time was not bright enough to illuminate the majority towards enlightenment. Cut to: today's world. Hmmm...
Peace? Love? Soul? More like... Money. Power. Glory.

Being young, too, and impressionable and with a big imagination - I created a vision of a future full of all the good stuff. I had absolutely no idea of the adult world, really, but I believed that surely, people would want to encourage harmony and justice and strive for unity and compassion.

In some ways, I am extremely disappointed. But I can't complain. I have a life. I am here to witness what is unfolding. It was never going to turn out the way I envisioned in my naive and hopeful state. I was a dreamer. And I still am. As are many. It's what keeps us sane. And in attendance. Dreams and hope. 

Never lose hope. We could just be going through a rough patch, after all. In fact, I do believe this to be true. There will be tipping point and higher consciousness will permeate through humanity. Eventually.

Until then, let's stay true to our better selves, our good intentions and our aspirations for creating a world of love and peace. 

I get into my room and close the door and the world is mine. I am away. I am detached. Flying free.

It's not a very big room, or glamourous. Say three metres square - enough room for my bed, my desk, two bookshelves and a small space to stand up in in the middle. The floor is wooden and I've placed a fuzzy black bathmat beside the bed for when I step out of bed. Bit of luxury for the feet, you know.

The walls are covered with my paintings of various sizes and using removable hooks I've hung a few dozen nicknacks. A little Mexican skeleton, a smiling heart, a poker medallion, Indian dream catcher. The ceiling is high; which I like and appreciate. I've covered the window pane - comprised of three single, metre long, opening-out windows (always open) - with a mesh I found in a cupboard to keep out creepy crawlies. There are, however, spider webs in every upper corner. I don't mind them. Sometimes I see a spider and once I saw a tiny mouse.

When I come in here, I almost always close the door. It's my retreat. I eat my breakfast (sliced fruit in bowl - watermelon, papaya, kiwi, banana, passionfruit), in here every morning. When I say morning, I mean my morning; it's actually closer to lunch time more often than not. On the rare night that I am not out at a poker tournament, I will eat my dinner in here (salad or scrambled eggs), too. 

After I have done all my net surfing, research, writing and creative stuff of an evening, say around midnight or one, I will drag the small folding desk away from the wall and closer to my bed. There I have set up some pillows and cushions in the corner against the wall. Instant lounge room. I plug in my TDK cordless headphone jack into the back of the Mac and click open the orange cone logo for the VLC player. From my hard drive I select an episode of my latest favourite series. Could be anything ranging from a Canadian cooking contest (Chopped Canada) to the latest UFC bouts to comedy like Portlandia or Parks & Recreation. If I want a snack, I'll have those rice disks that everyone loves with some hummus. I've been meaning to make my own, but I usually buy it. Sometimes, I'll add a dollop of sweet chilli sauce to customise it. If I am still watching something around two am, I'll make a coffee with one of those Robert Timms coffee bags. It doesn't stop me from sleeping when I am ready. 

I share the house with two others; a girl and a guy, both around my age. We are all peaceful, quiet, creative. Karen designs and makes unique, luxurious garments and Mikey is a substitute highschool teacher and a high ranking chess player. There's a herb and vege garden outside and a roving chicken. There's a caravan up the back and Scotty visits a few times a year. He makes a living on the stock market. We are all single and OK with it. You get to a certain age and realise that being in a relationship is not the redemption, the reward, the necessity that you used to believe. I feel lucky to be in a household with two other decent and compassionate, respectful people.

But I still close my door. I like being alone. Withdrawing. Letting time float by. I like the night. I like silence. I like the feeling of being mildly stoned that comes from just being really mellow and peaceful, solitary. Sometimes I just lie on my bed and think about things. Sometimes I drift into slumber and dream magnificently. Days and nights can blur and blend, weeks can go by without a ripple. I don't mind. I know the path leads nowhere/never ends. I am in no hurry. My needs and desires are minimal these days. It's easier. Nothing to prove, nothing to lose. I appreciate nature, children, humour from any source... I appreciate still being around to see and experience whatever happens. I delight in my own limitations and insignificance. 

In my lifelong struggle for liberation, I have found it in a little box. Alone at my desk or prone on my old bed. Soulful, serene and satiated by simplicity.

This is today. New Brighton beach in Northern New South Wales. I snapped this shot before an afternoon walk and swim. While I was immersed in the ocean I thought about what it is that drives me to enter the sea on a daily basis, what the reward is. I actually started speaking out loud about it, free versing while being lapped by the waves, expressing the moment to myself and the omniscient planet soul. I used a retarded Jerry Lewis voice for our amusement. 

What I came up with is this:

You enter the ocean. It is a massive body of energy, the biggest on the planet. You connect with it. You give yourself to it. You become one with it. It is soothing, embracing, invigorating. It is a pure force of nature. You commune with it. Float, frolic, flap around. Play.

Then, above you - the sky. It is majestic and limitless. I looked up and realised that there is no end to where I am gazing. It goes on and on. And on and on. The sky is infinity. It is a window to eternity. Timelessness, a universe. A galaxy. All right there. Up there, above.

So, the ocean comforts and the sky humbles. I am comforted and humbled. This is a good combination. I feel surrender and awe. Giddy with the realisation that life itself is beyond comprehension. But that doesn't matter. All I have to do is splash around. A teeny, tiny little human. Living in the moment. One with the sea and and the sky. One with everything.

I was walking along the beach this afternoon, thinking. Thinking, as I always do. I try to trudge out any noisy, annoying, negative thoughts within the first kilometre or less, so that I can get to some useful cogitation, some thoughts of substance; elevated mindfulness. 

The early part of the walk, the downer thoughts usually have to do with the sadness I carry around. Sadness that comes from childhood. Sadness to do with the lack of love and support I received as a kid, the inner struggle that was ever present, the loneliness, the insecurity, the tears.

I try to see beyond, to make amends, to forgive, forget. But I can't. Sometimes I feel like I am damaged goods. That I am doing the best with what I have got, but that I could have been so much more. Other times, I just, shrug and say fuckit, carry on. Expect less. Accept. Surrender. 

Waa, waa, waa. Isn't everyone just the same, though. Aren't we all fallen angels, broken machines, injured souls. I think so. So it's really about coping. And carrying on.

Anyway, I was walking along today and on my way back, I mentally compared life to the beach stroll. At a certain point, you turn back. On the way back you are covering the same ground, but you see things differently. Just like when you hit your forties or fifties, you have lived a fair chunk of life and you can actually use it to look back on and consider who you are and what you have done. When you are in your teens, twenties, you just go for it. You have no perspective. 

Obviously, things slow down as you get older. Some things you have done hundreds, thousands of times. You are well versed in the everyday requirements and expectations of being a human. (Hopefully.) Your needs and urges wane. Your ego has taken countless beatings and can now shut the fuck up sometimes, take a back seat, maybe even disappear. 

You've most likely been through at least a few wonderful relationships that end, either badly, terribly or not very well. You've seen the ugly side of yourself and others. You have tried and failed. Tried again and failed again. You sometimes get lucky and somethings work out alright. 

Mostly, though, you realise that life is not all fun and games. It's a challenge. And it keeps on being one. The parameters shift but the rules stay the same. As hard as it all is, you wish it didn't have to go by so quickly. There are many, many things you would do differently, given the chance. But you don't get second chances. Not really.

Strangely, there is a certain calm, acceptance that comes with age. You probably believe more in destiny. You know what you can do and can't do. You know how to make do with less. You know how to enjoy more from little. Nature appears more vividly and has a bigger place. Children offer delight, hope, warmth and a reason for still caring, still fighting. The miracle of existence, as a whole package, can be appreciated more often and readily. You know you are going to die. You've seen it happen to people around you. You may or may not think about it much, but you definitely know it's coming, getting closer. This can be a comforting thing or a frightening one. Depends on the individual, on the day, the circumstance.

Sometimes, not today, but every few weeks, I look out onto the horizon, while on my walk, and think, every picture I have ever done, even if it was expanded to 1,000 times it's size, would only fill the tiniest fraction of a single percent of this vista. Every day, every hour, the glorious outlook; the sky, the ocean, the beach changes and delights. A dynamic, breathtaking, living work of art. What I do, making little pictures, well, comparatively, it's just laughable. Of so little consequence. Why do I bother? It will never amount to anything. It is of absolutely no significance. In fact, my life, is of no significance. Not in the long run. Not really. Not when you realise and understand that it's all just a self created illusion. Not one of us is more that a grain of sand. So why bother? 

See what I deal with on my daily walk? These are the kinds of things that go through my head. And looking at me, from the outside, if you chanced to see me walk past - you'd just see a dude taking a stroll. You wouldn't look twice. But in the silence, behind those squinting eyes - a battle rages. The struggle of self. The coming to terms with the quagmire of existence. The never ending questioning. Like the waves crashing on the shore. Relentless. And yet, soothing. Somehow. Kinda soothing. Comfortable. 

One step at a time. Down the beach and back up it. A dip in the ocean. A frolic in the waves. The sun shines on skin. The seagulls jeer. The spirit is uplifted after a commune with nature's essence. The petty concerns washed away with the tide for another day. 

I'll be back tomorrow to do it all again.

"Miles from nowhere
Guess I'll take my time
To reach there..."

Cat Stevens was a guiding force in my formative teen years. I learnt every word on the album Tea for the Tillerman and would listen to it (on vinyl; end of side A, flip it over and put the needle back down on side B, rpt - a process unknown to more recent arrivals on Planet E) over and over. So many incredibly soulful, meaningful, spiritual songs. All of them as relevant and poignant today as they were when first released in the early 70's. 

Father and Son
Wild World
Where Do The Children Play
Miles From Nowhere
But I Might Die Tonight
On The Road To Find Out

That's just some of them. I'd have a favourite for a few months and then move onto the next. As a rebellious teen, I didn't get any guidance from my parents or school. I was pretty much left to my own devices to work things out. Real world experiences, friends, a steady flow of books, and a few select albums. Cat was number one. He had it all - the inventive, pure, melodic music with the meaningful lyrics. Other faves were Elton John (Yellow Brick Road) and Jackson Browne.

"Be wise, look ahead
Use your eyes he said
Be straight, think right
But I might die tonight!"

Cat was an anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian guy. He seemed, in his mellifluous, calmly charismatic voice, to be talking to my young teenage self, saying, "you are right not to buy into all the bullshit, find your own way." Some of this I had worked out myself, it was innate, but having Cat back me up, with his wisdom, quiet charm and self assurance sure helped.

Just saw a picture posted on facebook of a distant cousin of mine. It was a post-lunch shot, out with his wife and mother-in-law. He's wearing slacks with black leather shoes, a tucked-in shirt and a sports jacket. Everyone is smiling and happy. And I'm happy for them. 

It did feel a little formal and forced, however. And it reminded me of times, long ago now, when I would do things like that.
- tucked-in shirt
- uncomfortable shoes
- ironed pants
- attending functions I would rather not

It reminded me that my goal in life has always been to be and become as liberated as possible. We are all bound by social structures of some sort. One way is to accept them and carry on. There is plenty of good stuff within the confines of conformity. This has never been my way, however. I have never enjoyed forced conversations, false politeness, pressured attendance of functions or events not of my choosing....

I realised, looking at this photo, that I have come a long way. 
- I'm almost always barefoot or in sandals
- I wear comfortable shorts all year 
- All my shirts have the sleeves cut off
- I no longer attend stiff or formal gatherings
- I am not expected to behave in any certain way by anyone

etc.

And the important thing here is that this is the way I prefer to be. This is how I function most efficiently. The less stress, expectation, pressure: the better. I rarely get mail, my phone almost never rings, I don't get invited to dinners or parties.... and I am so relieved.

It's not that I am shy or do not like people. I love human interaction. It's just I don't like feeling trapped or having things expected of me. When I go to the local cafe in the afternoon, all the staff knows me and we joke around. Same as poker in the evenings; it's very friendly and social. But it's also very accepting. If you don't feel like chatting - you don't. 

I guess I have found a place, sculpted a format of existence, that is well suited to my lone wolf, artistic gypsy temperament. I realised all this, just now, seeing that photo. I could see where my cuz is at. He may, too, liberate himself. He may not need to. He may love his place already. But me, I found that way of living to constricting. I had to get divorced, I had stop wearing shoes, I had to curtail social interactions that were no longer meaningful or rewarding. I had to move out of the big city.

Instead, I spend time alone, thinking, making art, reading, writing, playing games, joking around... all the good stuff. Simple, nourishing, natural activities. The stuff that I have always enjoyed the most. If - or when - I can make a more than just surviving living out of it all - then I will add travel and driving a nice car to the list. Until then I'll count my blessings.

If you are able to claim what you need in life, and you can, then you should. Only you know what best suits you. Find it, work it out, go for it. You'll never have it all - but, hey, you might just find the less you've got the better.

Sitting here watching some old episodes of the tv show The Voice on my computer. I love the emotion of it all. I love how unknowns are given a chance and underdogs are discovered and nurtured by the professionals after they have passed the blind auditions and are selected on vocal merit.

Some of the performances are captivating and deeply soulful. Singers get to express their truth directly, through their voices. It is not something that can be faked. Honesty and soul shine through. 

What caught my attention is in the cutaway interviews, the judges talk about 'being an artist... '. What they mean is performing artist, obviously. But it made me think about visual artists. And the differences between us and performing artists, in particular singers. They make beautiful sounds straight out of their mouths, they enchant, enrapture, transfix and transform people. It is a very powerful talent. It runs so deep and is timeless and profoundly moving. A visual artist on the other hand, mostly labours alone, often in silence; feedback or encouragement is rarely immediate and sporadic at best. We spend years, playing, experimenting, honing our skills and craft, attempting to make images that will express our souls. 

A great singer can sing someone else's song and make it their own. A great artist can only make their own art. What makes a great artist is his or her ability to transcend the norm, transcend the limitations, restrictions, the expectations and create an image, or a series of images, that are so packed full of subtle power, so full of life itself that they cannot be ignored. To do this is extremely difficult and usually takes a long, long time. Devotion, passion, dedication and desire. Desire to journey to the edge of soul and gather up all the good bits, bring them back and throw them out onto the canvas in a act of pure mastery and magic. In it's own way it's just as powerful as an amazing song. Not as immediate, not as flamboyant or as attention getting, but just as moving, nonetheless. 

I've been seeing these images pop up on my facebook page over the last few days by an artist I don't personally know. They are incredible. They immediately move me, I am transfixed and intrigued by them. If I see in a book, or online, someone who's work I really relate to, I will sometimes check if they are on facebook and 'friend' them. Most artists, bless their souls, respond. We don't correspond, really, I just 'like' their posts of new works and vice versa. It's pretty cool and one of the things I dig about facebook. But this guy, the one I am referring to - I don't recall how I came to know his work or when I friended him. I kept seeing his works being posted over the last few days - so many winners! - these were awesome paintings, wow! Thick and fast. I finally went to his page and worked out that his loving wife was posting his stuff. He recently passed away. She wanted everyone to see the beautiful works he had been doing in the last few months, years. It was poignant and sad to realise that he will be creating no more. 

If I think about the feeling I get listening and watching a great singer doing their song and the feeling I get when I look at his works, I realise they both inspire me in different ways. A song, sung in a certain way can bring me to tears. These artworks, on the other hand, fill me with something equally as moving - not as immediate - but more esoterically, more subtly and in some ways, more profoundly. This man is not painting for an audience, he is not performing. He is following his calling, attentively, joyfully perhaps, recording in images his interpretation of the sensation and experience of being alive. He has left behind a beautiful and abundant legacy. I never knew him, but I feel like I do. And as a fellow artist, I respect and admire him for his talent and devotion. I thank him for his inspiration. Conrad Mecheski; you live on through your art, sir, and those of us who are priviliged enough to hear your unique, enchanting song exude from your gentle, complex, captivating images will continue to be uplifted and exhilarated by them for a long time. Thank you.

As a sentient being there is no escape from feeling and experiencing life. We like to believe that there is a reason behind it all, a justification, a validation for our demanding and formidable journeys. But what if there is not? What if this realm is truly just a harsh and difficult existence? One that, for reasons beyond comprehension, has to be experienced? Nothing gained can be taken with you. Any relief from the never ending demands are just temporary and fleeting. In fact, they may only add to the magnitude of suffering that is to come. 

Buddhist teaching says that life is suffering and I have to agree. It just seems almost too hard sometimes. I don't see what the purpose of this enforced series of procedures is. Endure, endure, endure, then die. OK. What was that for exactly? Some lives have extended times of loving and beauty and freedom and joy, but from what I have witnessed; most do not. There are times of comparative relief and short periods within a day or a month or a year or a life that are not stressful and demanding but mostly, it's just hard going.

I have engineered my life to have as few demands and stresses as possible. I try to have plenty of free time to pursue art and writing and thinking and just being. I have time for exercise and connecting with nature and relating with good people and play. And yet still, there is a heaviness, a constant, sublime feeling of uneasiness. Sometimes it's simply because life itself is so much to comprehend. We are mere mortals. Puny. We are specks. Star dust. Flippity-floppety little human entities. What are we doing? What are we really here for? It seems as though there has been a mistake made along the way in evolution, we've taken a wrong turn. If this is of our own spiritual creation, our own devising.... why would it be like THIS??? 

I find it hard to abide. Really. Sometimes more than others. And, of course, I acknowledge the incredible beauty that surrounds us, the dignity of fellow beings, the miracle of life, the gorgeous glory of newborns and children, etc. But I still feel that there is a quantifiable imbalance. Life is not what I imagined it would be. I thought that the struggle during teen years, through the twenties.... and on... would lead to some kind of resolution, a settling. Some kind of peace, mental and spiritual. But I have found no evidence of this. Am I missing something? I live in a great country, in a wonderful, peaceful, friendly small town, I have a supportive family and great friends across the globe. I have my health, physical and mental. And yet...

I'm raving, I know. But that is what this forum is for. An occasional ablution is necessary. Even this writing, though, what is it? Little symbols that form words and concepts. You can read them and get something. You can hear my soul. Is it singing or is it screaming? Am I a madman shouting or an ordinary man who is questioning that nature of reality, one who is not content to turn away, one who is compelled, often despite his own wishes, to face the immense, throbbing, pulsating, infinite series of vibrations and molecular clashes that form a never ending cacaphony of thoughts, images, sounds, sensations and experiences? 

I am screaming. Silently. Am I calling for help? No. Not really. Am I looking for acknowledgement? No, not really, that either. Then... ? 

I am trying to express the complex nature of my relationship with life. It is compelling. It is complex. It is relentless. I have travelled through it for 53 years so far. No bad. It's been quite a journey and there have been plenty of times and experiences that I cherish and am thrilled to have had. Plenty. I am not complaining. I am not bitter or angry or resentful by any means. In fact, I am grateful. But the fact remains, that between when I get up each morning to when I go to sleep each night, there is a series of thousands, tens of thousands maybe, of feelings, FEELINGS that pass through me, some lingering, some flashing, many of little consequence, a few profound.... FEELINGS.... that make up my day. By the end I am tired. As I go through it, I am challenged. I cannot name these phantoms, I cannot categorise everything - although I often try to in an attempt to come to terms with it all. 

I have to believe that surrender, surrender is what should be done. Let it go. Let it be. And I do that. I really do. Still, still, still...! Can you hear me? I am a sentient being hurled into a life form that has become comfortable and familiar, not only second nature, but first nature. I acknowledge that I am a person. Humble, vulnerable, fragile. But with powers to take it on, whatever. With a will to live and endure till the end. A will to survive, to thrive. I am weary, I am wounded. I admit that this brand of reality is not what I would have chosen. I'd like something more like heaven, all the cliched juice with a bit of sauciness and some thrills. I'd like more of the good stuff and less of the pain. I'd like better endings, more satisfying middles and unlimited new beginnings. I would like, you know, utopia. Bring it on. Seriously. Like now, already!

So, if it lays up ahead for us all, waiting to surprise us, reward us for our hard work, our labour, if it is our destination. Well, then, OK, I will continue to endure this weird blend of exquisite suffering until then. But seriously, it better be there up ahead.... or I'm going to be one disappointed corpse!

Hear you, LB, I hear you. As I get older and accumulate wisdom and knowledge and a wider perspective world view, I can see with increased clarity just how much suffering is involved in living.

When you are younger, it is easy (and natural) for youthful vitality to carry you through the years of exploration and adventures. It's like riding a wave. The velocity doesn't often allow for you to take time and really inspect life as it rushes by.

But hit fifty and, wow, things change. No more free rides, no more yelling and screaming sans souci. Contemplation descends upon your existence. You cannot ignore things as easily. You cannot ignore the throbbing truth of reality. This too is a natural occurrence. You are more or less ready for it. 

Usually a bit less than more. 

So you have to dig deep. Truth is harsh. Things don't turn out as you imagined. Romance fades. Notions of beauty and magic wither. And yet, you can not let yourself become jaded. You have to find what goodness you can amidst the wreckage. You have to not only continue to survive but you have to use whatever skills and energy you have to somehow rebuild a version of yourself that is less idealistic, less consumed and consuming, less charged. You have to accept your mortality. You are reminded of it more often now. 

You need to see the bigger picture. Divest from ego. Jettison a large trunk of self serving activities and realise that the time for taking is gone and the time for giving back is nigh. This will be a large part of your salvation. This will make the sting of the realisation of lost youth hurt less. 

There is still time to grow. Still plenty to enjoy. Sink not into the morose. Be not a victim. But do not ignore stark truths either. You are heading towards the exit now. But on your way out you can still slap a high five, scratch a pithy caption on the wall of the corridor. You can even blow a fucking hole in the wall and make a window for those to come!

So lament not. Feel the sorrow. Express it. Release it. And accept the kiss of each morning's sun with a steady, kind and open heart. It's a new day. A new day for everyone.

Yesterday morning when I got up, I went to the bathroom to evacuate my distensible membranous sac and as I stood there looking out the window at the late morning light hitting the trees and leaves, I was profoundly aware of the omniscience of life and the exquisite grandeur of this planet. Simultaneously I felt suddenly aware of my own relative tiny-ness and insignificance. 

Certainly, within my own mind, and body, within my personal reality-construct, I am key, larger than life, the central player. As we all are in our own consciousness. But in that moment I realised with quite a powerful peeling back of the layers, that one humble human life is such a minute part of the gargantuan and infinite mechanisms of the world and the universe. And not just as a concept - I actually felt it vibrationally.

I greeted my revelation with a mix of fear, surrender, wonder and awe. It was truly the first time so far that I have completely without any pondering or meditation, focus of thought, experienced such a wave of pure obvious truth. 

I have had out of body experiences since I was nine years old. The first one came about while sitting in the back seat of an old Beetle VW on the way to hospital after I had been bitten by a deadly funnel web spider. I remember looking out and up at the tops of the trees and the sky and thinking, well, this could be the end of the line, I may be skyward bound myself in a few hours. 

A few years later, in a Tokyo hospital, I was given a near overdose of pain killers and tripped out so heavily that I remember hanging on by the thinest of threads, slipping in and out of consciousness. I realised then, that life itself is tenuous at best, unpredictable and well beyond our mortal control. 

At 17 with a good mate and some fresh hashish, during a deep and meaningful, relaxed dialogue I felt a wave of deepening connections to the omnipotent forces and a depth of understanding beyond my tender years. I cried and cried, at the beauty of it all. Sobs of joy - and then the munchies.

In my twenties, I experienced some magnificent, delightful and astounding revelations on my first ever LSD trip. Subsequent ones never equalled the first, so I curtailed my intake.

In my twenties and early thirties, I sometimes felt my awareness/consciousness was like a wild, wild horse. I did my best to remain on it's back, but a few times, I felt fearful. Never one to shy away from looking over the edge, occasional violent gusts of wind, would make my mouth dry and my head spin. Close calls were rare, but disconcerting. 

Around 33, things spiralled beyond my control and I began to experience fully fledged anxiety attacks. I endeavoured to ride them out, work my way through this stormy period, but my doctor at the time said she would refuse to see me if I didn't get immediate professional treatment. She was convinced it was necessary, so I acquiesced and enrolled in a weekly group therapy to curb the escalation of panic attacks. It was most entertaining and eye opening, and more importantly, it equipped me with the techniques to stop the escalation. I have not had one since. (If anyone reading this has them, I strongly recommend these anxiety management classes.)

In my forties, I moved to Byron Bay and lived in a Buddhist temple. I was a temporary guest of the head monk, initially, but was invited to stay on, even though I elected not to astutely follow the path to ordainment, due to an aversion - from an early age -  to imposed structure, expectation and assesment. Instead, through a impromptu, self-evolved hybrid technique of meditation, solitude, quietness and self investigation, I lived in harmonious tandem with the monks with a strong mutual respect for three years.

The through line here reveals a predilection for exploration of the mind and consciousness; the spiritual journey. It is something that comes in waves, spirals, peaks and troughs.

So, when I felt that stuff, yesterday morning, it was with a mixture of surprise, near overwhelmingness, amazement and, eventually acceptance. You are exposed to what you need when you are ready for it. Also, I realise, now that I am in my early fifties, I am well past the half way point of my journey. I am heading towards a period where one can ruminate over life experiences lived - celebrated and endured - and use the colourful maker pegs of the highs and lows to assist in the speculation of what is to come - or more aptly - what 'is'.

I feel lucky to be an artist, somewhat of an outsider in society, because it avails me time and freedom to pursue nefarious things and ponder questions regarding the true nature of existence. We are an evolving species, now faster than ever, so to be able to step away, step back, view from a distance, the immense madness and divine chaos in it's infinite variations is a blessing and an honour. 

That sounds a bit like the ending of a speech. But to who? And what for? Everyone is much too busy with their own whirling, constantly demanding realities. And, each is so important in it's own way. Otherwise, it would not be. So, acceptance.

I realise my own need not to get to spaced out or esoteric. I do things to keep it simple and true. Eating, walks on the beach, swims, laughing with friends. It's such an incredible ride - sometimes you just have to hold on and hope for the best. Other times, you can sit back and watch in wonder. Wherever you are, whoever you may be, I, as a fellow human am communicating with you my own truth, as best I can, in an effort to connect and commune. I am telling the tales of my adventures. Whilst many of them are in my head, they are no less real, and no less worthy of sharing. 

I am encouraging you to have no fear. And to get to know yourself, to find and forge your unique place in the world, then to share your truth in whatever way suits you best. 

I really should be writing here more often. Because everyday I have revelations and interesting thoughts, dynamic mini-conceptual-breakthroughs. And yet... and yet... I let them come and go and many go unrecorded.

Why? Am I being lazy? Neglectful? Some sort of sabotage? Not sure. 

There is a bit of laziness. Like - I don't need to write it all down. There'll be new stuff tomorrow. If it's really important I'll think it again... etc

BULLSHIT.

I should be keeping an updated log. It's my job. I'm a poet, a writer, an artist, a philosopher. If I become too lax in my journals, well... well... the progression will be too staccato. Some important revelations may be overlooked, slip away. 

Sure, no great loss to humanity, but a shame, nonetheless. For who is to say what is important and what has an effect and what that effect may be. My job is not to second guess those kind of things. It's just to do what I have set out to do in this blog and record my truth, un-edited, freely, unselfconsciously. Then, let the words do their thing, go where they will, be whispers or screams, be heard and hindered or ignored. Be laughed at or with. Not my concern. I am simply the conduit.

My life is lived differently to many. I am a solo explorer. I spend an inordinate amount of time with my self. I use the time to create art, just to be, to observe, to experience being alive, to witness and assess the human condition. I pay close attention. I am my own guinea pig. I am the scientist and the subject. A living experiment. Ongoing. So I must write the reports! I berate myself.

So what's the AMAZING thoughts from today? 

Er, I've forgotten. Ha ha ha. 

No, let me think. 

Today was about trying to balance the mix of inner world and outer world. As our perception, our concepts, our beliefs are the filters through which we perceive the outside world, every experience is subjective. There is no truth. Just versions. So when I go out, like I did today - to the cafe (flatwhite and new artwork!), to the shops (slippers!), to the beach (bodysurfing!), to the pub (poker!) - what I am really doing is using the existing structure of reality to comfortably fit into my idea of how I want things to occur. 

And I'm happy to report that, apart from not winning at poker, it was quite successful. I did notice that along the way, various small things did stress me out and as best as I could and as swiftly as I could I made an effort to quell these moments of unease. They were only trivial - a lady parking her car too close to mine unnecessarily - a guy at poker taking forever to shuffle as he crapped on with some uninteresting tale - as examples - but I noticed the mini spikes in my serenity and attempted to limit their amplitude. 

We all seek, desire peace and comfort. We want to belong. We want to feel at ease, unthreatened. This is basic. Beyond that we want some excitement, some joy, some attention, some love.  We're all the same. But different. Different needs and expectations, different perception and behaviour. 

All you can do is try and streamline your own life experience to best suit your true, individual self. And who is that? It's an evolving thing, of course. Be to fully know yourself, you need to pay attention. And more than that, you need to consider things and make modifications. 

Having said that, some choose not to at all. And that can be valid, too. Who am I to say? My personal quest is to find meaning and substance where I can and then share it. With a joke, an essay, through images or video. Whatever is at hand. 

Which brings me back to the starting point. The reason I need to be more consistent with this blog is because if it is going to be worthwhile - then it's up to me to make it so. I can't predict what will come out. But I can make the effort to begin with the first few words  - whatever comes - more often. And, so, I will.

Sometimes I wake
And without even thinking
I will begin to write
A poem

About what I know not
At the beginning
It is something that 
Line by line
Gets disclosed

Or revealed should I say
Unearthed, exposed
Shown the light of day
For the light is where 
We are heading 
The light, the light
We return to

Simple and bright
Everything
And everywhere
The light is what we are thinking
The light is what we are dreaming
Of in the darkest night
On the darkest days
And yet it is here already
All around
You can see it
Can you see it?
The light will guide us home
The light of the morning's song

Sometimes I stay awake at night
And thinking deeply
I will write 
A letter

A letter to my friends
Known and unknown
A letter to humanity
In regards to our shared existence

In the letter 
I will ask questions 
And share views
Like 
Have you ever felt that?
and 
What are we here for really?

And no one will write back
They don't need to 
Because I am part of every one
We all suffer and stumble together
We all lie in bed and toss and turn
Like pages in a book long ago written
Read and reread
Memorised even
And then forgotten 
But not discarded

We flutter like pages in the wind
We are indecipherable
To the birds
Our follies
Our outrageous enactments
Absurd
Although they seem so...
So...
Important to us
At the time

But the sky isn't interested
The sea is impartial
The air keeps on giving
The land and trees that surround us
Protect us, regardless
Despite our pompous and vapid notions
Of what we should be doing
Our time wasting egos
Misguided

Our fighting
Our shouting
Our causes
Our fervour 

All nothing, not really
Just time passing, slowly
Just noise, blood and folly

There always has to be something
But say, how about tomorrow
We try something different
And be loving 
And left softness and kindness prevail?

Just a thought
Just a notion
We've all heard it before

But listen...
Hear the difference
When you go beyond the roar
Of needs, demands, expectations?

There's a whisper in the silence
That so gracefully implores us
To listen 
To the solemn truth within us
To witness the light that is guiding
To feel the soul that is filling

Up 
With 
Love
Abundant

Share it, declare it, swim in it and dare it
To take you
To guide you in your journey

Take heart, oh weary
You battered, tattered
Roughed up
Saints

We'll all be leaving together
Hitch a ride now
While you can

The light, the light
Ssshhh.....

Surrender

Remember?

We used to go poetry readings in the Cross, late 80's
Listen to Steve read his lucid stories in his accent
Frank would ramble, highly intelligent obviously, but still a rambler
We were captivated by the passion, the character, the honesty
We were enthralled by the words

The words selected
For their mystique and power
The words connected
Hubbed together like a daisy chain, droplets in a shower

The words intersected
Colliding with force
Voices rode hoarse
Arms swirling
Verbal symphonies
A concert of concepts spinning and twirling

Peter was one like that
He'd go into a trance it seemed
Some would be read, the rest ad-libbed
It was poetry his stuff, real poetry
Melodic and moving
Hypnotic and grooving

Joe was funny ha ha hilarious
A barrister, retired early
He'd write outrageous letters to council
Pompous tones
Read them out with the responses
Those suits got owned!

Others were good, too
Renee, the tree Davids, Captain Angus
Rob, of course, sharp as a whip
And Marla who danced with no undies at a party
In Bondi, in front of the full length mirror

Sometimes the surprise newbie
Talent like lightening
Out of nowhere, sharp and bright
Lots of red wine, from the cask
Two bucks in a plastic cup
Ciggie breaks, mostly rollies
Sprinkling of drug use
As habit or just to enhance, to amuse

Remember you'd get nervous
Before you went up those few stairs to the stage
Mouth dry, hands clammy
But once you made it to the mike
And got started 
It was like an old bike, riding downhill
Wind in your hair
Giggling on the inside
Suddenly unselfconscious, but intimately self aware

The Aquatic Club, on the hill there, mostly
Upstairs at a restaurant in Darlo
Sometimes at a pub or in a basement
Didn't matter
We were loose comrades, bygone bohemians
United by aspirations, dreams, love
Of ideas and spirit expressed in word
Tuneless song

It was a much simpler time,
No mobiles, no net, and yet
We communicated so much more
And with beauty and grace
Exposed, fearless and raw
Liberated and protected by prose
Uplifted by staccato rants
Seduced by mellifluous chants

We made it up, line at a time
We shared of each other
Gave what we had in syntax and rhyme
Those were some good nights, eh?
Just big kids at play - the outsiders, the rebels, the fray

My word
And yours
Something to listen to
Something to say

Things are different these days
Yeah, everything is different these days

phase out
disruptive thoughts

fill the coffer
with life's glorious offers
of nature and wonder, serene

initiate
your own form of peace
a treaty between you and everything

find the ease in the whispering breeze
sit still beyond the bluster

living in
your own skin
making a life you like for living

moulding a framework
to hang easy
outside the walls of conformity

on your stroll
to nowhere
take notice

how delightful 
the illusion 

hear and consider
the extent of your sublime
self conceived amusement