The first girl to ever grab my package was from Korea. Her name was Angie. It was at a school dance, being held at the girl's school. We were in a hallway outside the dance and as we kissed, she just reached down and cupped a handful. It was one of the most mind blowing things that had ever happened to me up until that point. I was fourteen years old. 

I wasn't a virgin. I had already slept with a beautiful Japanese surfer girl called Yayoi whom I had met at Mobius Disco in Roppongi.  I was a full year younger than my friends, Gordon and David, (whose father's worked as diplomats) and they pressured me to have sex with this girl. I really didn't have any idea what to do. When Yayoi and I were about to get started, alone in my friend David's spare bedroom at the Australian embassy with the lights off and our clothing removed, the buildup to this moment had been so great, that I suddenly realised that I had no idea what to do. Yayoi was also a virgin, so neither did she. I climbed on top of her and our bodies took over. I clearly remember being amazed at how proficient my animal instincts were and how they kicked into gear with an enthusiasm of their own, despite my youthful doubts and inexperience.

The next day, after I put Yayoi in a taxi, my mates took me to a fast food restaurant for a celebration and debrief. I do remember feeling different. I had done something that you only do once. I had lost my virginity. I was glad it was with such a beautiful girl. Even those guys were amazed at how I had pulled such a stunning chick. Truth is, she found me. She liked me. And she made it all very easy. There wasn't love, but there was fondness and respect. I saw her a few times after that, but she lived out of Tokyo (she even had her own car - which was a big deal at the time) and despite a sweet connection we drifted apart. 

That's how I ended up with Angie. We used to hang out at the same cafe with the others. Ange wrote poetry and so did I. She had already attempted suicide by the age of 15. She had a dark, powerful allure. Most guys were afraid of her. Again, she was someone who chose me. I just let it happen. 

That grab, at the dance, in the dark hallway. Phew. It was phenomenal. Until it actually happened, I could never have imagined it possible. Then a few months later, after school one afternoon, in the deserted upstairs area of a small local drinking spot, she did something even more attention getting. Something, I experienced for the first time. She really was a tiger. I was shocked, breathless. Half afraid that someone would walk up the stairs, half beyond caring, in a mesmerising mix of disbelief and pure euphoria.

Yayoi from Japan and Angie from Korea. School was somewhere I went because I had to. My real teenage education was from these two females. They were both there, at seperate times, for my graduation - from innocence to experience.

When you take snapshots of yourself and select your favourite - what are you looking for? Are you trying to see/portray yourself for who you are or are you trying to capture/present a version of yourself that most fits your ideal self image?

Makes sense to do the latter, of course. But a selfie is just the cover. What really is important is what's inside the book. And what is equally important is that - this may come as a surprise - that YOU READ THE BOOK.

The book of self. New pages everyday. Some bits you write, others are written for you. All you have to do is record them. Some bits get erased. Some segments are abbreviated. Some are drawn out. 

What is your story, though? 

These days there are lots of book covers being flashed around but there is less and less content being revealed. Why is that? 

There's always so much going on that things like long, intimate conversations with lucid friends, meaningful connections, investments of time and energy in those in need, etc - have become less prevalent. 

Character. Personal morality. Philosophy. Discourse. Ethics.

In this money focused, ambition driven society there is less and less time for these things. Perhaps because the world has become so thick with information (and disinformation), in addition to entertainment and various forms of distraction (facebook, twitter, insta for starters), it is so easy to just drift along on a raft and never have to paddle or pull over to the shore and stake a claim or make a home. We are overwhelmed by complex systems, wheels within wheels; social, political and physical.

The world now takes it's own selfie, every day, every minute, every second. And we are not sure what to think. It is always changing! It's alluring, dangerous, stimulating, confronting, familiar and foreign all at once. Are we part of it? Have things gone beyond the point where one person, any given single entity - with their views, opinions, feelings, thoughts, outlooks - really matters? Is it all too much? Is the river now a tidal wave, a tsunami? Are we all just hanging on and hoping to land somewhere safe?

We take selfies to benignly assert our presence in the modern day. Look! This is me! Having fun, acting cool, being silly, sexy, wild! I exist. I am living the life. Whatever that is, at the moment. Don't ask. Questions make for discomfort. Questions stir things up. Especially questions we avoid asking ourselves. Those ones. The ones we are not sure we are even equipped to answer. Why bother? It's easier to just float along from day to day. Things will work out. 

Thing is - who are you?

Don't you want to get to know yourself? Look at yourself? See what you are made of? Get to know your true essence? 

If you do, you can, and you won't regret it. To find, you must seek. And the answers will only come once the questions are asked. And no one is going to do that for you. Not once you are an adult, anyway. It's your responsibility. In some ways, it's your primary one. To get to know yourself. Beyond what is on the cover. Beyond the presentation. Open the book up. Look inside. There is a world as grand and magical as you can imagine. There are things there that might make you uncomfortable, even fearful. But the truth is there is nothing to be afraid of. It's all you. 

And you, my friend, you're a flawed and complex, sentient being. Just like us all. Do not judge or condemn. Accept and embrace. Discover. Uncover. Allow. Once you can do it for yourself, you'll be able to do it for others. 

What does this mean in real terms - beyond the new age slogans? I don't know. It's different for us all. What I am saying - to myself, really - is that there is a need for more substance, more fibre, grit, integrity. What good is it to simply exist, without allowing your character to grow, to be revealed, to be celebrated in essence? Why not at least try to sort through your shit and dust off your dreams, pick up the book you have neglected and start to make up some stuff that you will proud of one day. Make a story, live a story, that you want to read. It doesn't matter what the fucking cover looks like, it's what's inside that matters. We want laughter and tears and meaningful, wonderful events to occur. Substance. You hear me? 

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!

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.

One of the things that comes with the territory of being an artist is a constant questioning and mental investigation/exploration in the essence of being. As well as creating images on a daily basis, I find myself constantly contemplating the nature of existence. Why is life like it is? What is the meaning/point? Is there a way to evolve through astute consideration/cogitation?

My lifestyle is simple. I make pictures, I do some writing, I take long walks. My haunts are the library, cafes, the beach. One of the great assets of being an artist is that you have time to think and time to just be. Daily life is incredibly demanding for everyone, some more than others and it is rare and valuable to be able to withdraw from the constant demands and stresses to take time to think in solitude. 

It is not something that I necessarily like all the time, but my mind strives to come to terms with the nature of reality. Why is it the way it is? What is the point of everything? Where are we headed as a species? etc etc

These kinds of questions are tackled by philosophers, poets, writers and artists. In a way it is our job. It doesn't pay - at least not in money - but it is still important. Vital, in fact, to the evolution of mankind. By not being busy all the time, we are allowed to zone out of everyday demands and attempt to truly comprehend what being human means.

It's a fucking hard job. Some may call it navel gazing and a waste of time. But I don't think so. By not being distracted by work demands, schedules, timetables and common social considerations, thinkers are able to mentally float free in search of new horizons, new ways of looking at things. After all it's all about perception and perspective. There is no one way. There is no correct answer or single response. Time moves on, and yet, it is timeless. 

Any given event can be recounted by even a small sampling of observant individuals in any infinite number of wide ranging ways. What is the reality? There is none. It is all story. Which story is it that you wish to believe? Are you game enough to make up your own? At what point does illusion reveal it's true nature?

One can go round in circles thinking this kind of stuff and at times it seems pointless. Why bother? Why not just get on with things? But then, why not bother? Why not TRY and work out the eternal mystery? Of course, it won't be solved, not by a mere mortal - there is no solution - BUT - what is wrong with attempting to scale one hundred fold Everest? Each of our lives is to do with as we choose/ are compelled to/ are lead to believe we should. 

An artist is a kind of anarchist. He is a malcontent. He is a fighter in the cause of truth and meaning. He wants to take in everything life presents and ingest it, grapple with it, be seduced by it, be immersed in it, dance with it, get punched it the stomach by it. Then, he will take it all and make something of his own devising from it. He will say, I don't know what the fuck it's all about, but somehow, by spending time with words or colours or sounds, I have created these things. They may translate as something comprehensible to others, enjoyable perhaps, provocative maybe. They may assist in the journey of others to find and redefine their individual meaning of what life is. If that happens, then sweeeet! It it fails to translate or adds no substance, well so be it. It won't stop him from trying. 

An artist is born to make art. That's all we can do. This in itself is kind of wonderful. At least we are not killers, or corrupt politicians, or greedy business people, or sadistic military or police. We are mellow. We are peace loving. We are searchers, adventurers, gypsies, nomads, explorers. 

We care about people and have time to listen and empathise, to learn from our fellow folk. We love life. Yes, it's a struggle but by asking 'what if?' and 'why?' and by considering 'how about..?' and by spending time with the simple and pure elements of life and nature, we may be able to contribute to making this world a better place. 

We are weirdos, yes, by some definitions. But we see well beyond the restrictions of labels and opinions. We reside in the realms of pure existence. We have a place in the world. Our job is to keep things real by being unreal. Yeah, that's it. Unreal, man. Unreal: man.

After all, it's all just a dream, right?

Have you been here?
I wanna go!
It must exist somewhere.
Does anyone know?

It looks familiar, eh?
Maybe it was in a dream.
The colours are splendid
And a mysterious form
Perhaps if we pretended
We were there
That it's our norm...

It's inviting, right?
Soft and juicy
It can't be too far from here...
And yet so elusive

Within us all, though
Resides that deep desire
To find these places
To climb under the wire

And make a run 
For the distant,
The ephemeral,
Into the mist

We want to escape
Everyday existence
And return
To that we so solemnly
Profoundly miss

Always on the lookout...

I realise that some of my inner dialogue is with my younger self. From a young age I asked myself countless questions about humanity and the nature of being. From about the age of fourteen onwards my journals are full of musings and wonderings about what it means to be a person and the implications of existence. Much was unanswered, of course. You have to live through life to get a better idea of what it is really about. 

The irony is that by the time you can come to understand some of the depths and complexities, you are most of the way through it. Much of the boundless and dynamic energy of youth has rescinded and the horizon of unlimited options is much closer and it is obvious that some terrains are inaccessible, some destinations - one's that looked idyllic from a distance perhaps and undesirable.  


As you look back on paths chosen and where they have lead, you can't help but wonder that if you had known then what you know now... (that old chestnut!) ...and how deceptive free will and easy decisions are. What it actually looks like is an ambling through a more or less pre-destined course. One that leads you to... here. More speculation. More questioning. More soul searching. But now with a soul that has some noticeable wear and tear, interesting texture, an aroma, imprints...


One begins, slowly at first, then with greater ease, to accept. To hold briefly then let go. Of everything. Because one has come to realise that all is transient. It's not about what you thought it was at all - it's not about acquiring anything or becoming anything or getting anywhere - it's about moving on. And on. And on....


A brief dream. A brilliant, complex, bittersweet illusion of epic proportions. How could one ever, EVER, conceive of comprehending the infinite, the unknowable. Not. Gonna. Happen.


So, you accept the limits of your own tiny place and begin to acknowledge, explore and celebrate the beauty of the vulnerable, impermanent, imperfect, tentative, changeable, ironically humorous entity that you embody. 


Some of the questions that you asked earlier have by now been answered. But in their place have come a hundred fold more. And each a thousand times bigger. So what to do?


Give up? Settle? Stop asking? No.

While at once accepting and embracing the glorious absurdity of at all, marvel in the illusion. That complex, challenging reality that appears in front of you each new day is your dream, your construct. You've spent a long time making it to this point. Why not see what comes next? It's never going to be boring, at least. Find the things you need to have and do for your basic well being, surround yourself with warm buffers of emotional resonance (aka human beings), immerse yourself in nature (the more pure the better) and face each day - ready to take it as it comes. Always ready for more pudding. Cause there will be some coming. Eventually. And won't that next bite, that new first one, be sweet?

Components. Segments. Fractions. Sequences. Events. 

Our lives are divided. We function by making multi-layered compartments and dealing with them in tandem. Running strings of incidents and perceptions, emotions and outcomes together. Like music. When the event/day is proceeding as planned, on key; it's harmonious. When not: discordant. 

We put everything in it's mental file folder. Or leave a shambles on the desktop of our psyches. All a part of the process. 

What is amazing is that we have so many options/choices in every moment and yet somehow manage to carve a unique and (somewhat) comfortably personal single path out of the zillion possible directions. Over and over. We do it consciously and subconsciously with both awareness and complete ignorance. Even as full adults, we are relative babies. One lifetime, ten generations; nothing! A droplet. And yet, there are moments/days/sequences that for each of us are so engaging and or demanding that it feels as though every iota of being is being called upon to attend.

It's the good old fashioned, timeless paradox of existence!

So, how to cope? What to take from this brief speculation? 'Go with the flow' is about the best I can come up with. It too, as a course of action has been around forever and has withstood the test, the infinite tests of universal incarnations. It means, to me at least; allow yourself to be guided by a combination of intuition, judgement and behavioural modification based on surrounding situations and occurrences. It means: don't freak out, stay a little detached, but get into it, as well. Sage advice from unknown origin with unquantifiable results. And yet, it's as good as there is.

When you are young

You think it's cool to wear sunglasses
You think it's cool to pull pranks
You think it's cool to act heartless
You think it's cool to sleep around
You think it's cool to ignore people
You think it's cool to pilfer
You think it's cool to drive fast
You think it's cool to act superior
You think it's cool to break the rules
You think it's cool be irresponsible
You think it's cool to be unthinking
You thinks it's cool to be me me me

But when you get older
You realise that none of that is cool
Not cool at all

You come to understand that what's cool is

Acting with care
Being compassionate
Showing love
Teaching
Listening
Contributing 
Helping others
Being of service
Kindness
Sharing
Truth
Honesty and trust
Empathy

These are the things
You come to realise
These are the things

That are really cool

We are surrounded by them. But most go unnoticed. Some are microscopic, some are emotions, thoughts, others are everyday things that require re-examination.

What if I told you that if you try hard enough that you can extend your awareness/consciousness? 

Step one is to be open to it. Step two is to wonder. 

Ask yourself questions, look closer, think deeper, exercise your imagination without restraint.

If you think about it, your entire life has been conjured up anyway. What do you want to do with it once you break free of constraints imposed by family, society, bad experience, bad education.

Are you ready to fly? Transpose? Transcend?

Don't get distracted by the noisy, superficial touting of modern society. It is flimsy and corrupt. Go within. Discovery your own version, in fact, define your own version of reality. This is your option. It should have been encouraged from the start. But no matter. Begin now.

Just by reading this, something will open inside you. You will catch a glimpse of new, conceive a fresh notion, get a feeling of grand and open possibility. Go with it. Go with it. Go far.

Went for a dip in the bay of the Rose this arvo and on the way back to my car I saw a few of these things in the grass. I haven't seen one for a while and I was happy to be reacquainted with them. I remember when I was very little and first discovered them I could hardly believe that such wonderful, whispish, joyful things could exist - and that they grew wildly and plentifully. You could pick them and blow on them and there'd be always more to play with. I was very happy with this bountiful discovery of mirth.

At times I think there has to be a master plan. The incredible way everything fits to together - the intricate workings of our minds and bodies, the perfect symmetry of nature and the world in general. 

Other times I am convinced it's a shambolic fluke. Full of chaos and coincidence, life and death at random and without meaning or result. 

And then there is a third option - that it is either both of these things at the same time - or neither. 

I am quite certain whatever the 'answer', it shall not be known to myself or anyone, not ever. For it must be incomprehensible. That is the nature of eternity.

And that, in itself, in it's own way, I find somewhat comforting and on occasion, thrilling.

There is so much stuff out there to fill our minds and distract us. I was talking to an aspiring young writer today and he was saying how challenging he finds it to concentrate on his writing with facebook and youtube just one click away. It made me feel glad that when I was his age all my writing was done with a pen into a notebook. If some of it was good it would get transcribed with a typewriter. If I made mistakes I would use white out, or for bigger ones, rip out the sheet of page (it wasn't even called A4 - just paper) and START AGAIN!

There was no button to click or mouse or anyway to suddenly start watching entertaining clips. If you were desperate you could get up turn on the tele and rotate a clunky dial to one of four channels to watch some dreadful and extremely limited daytime TV options. Probably why people wrote betterer back then. Alternatively, you'd just get stoned and think about how great things are - before getting the munchies.

When in the day you get FRESH thoughts? How often and for how long? When I say fresh, I mean original; emanating from your own series of thoughts - culminating in a spark that is new to the world. We spend a lot of time worrying about shit - past, present and future. We also spend a lot of time thinking about satisfying our animal instincts. Then, we spend a lot of time absorbing things thrust upon us through TV, film and the internet. How much time is left for thinking our own stuff in a day? Not much. 

I like to try and get in a good chunk of fresh thought creation every day. This requires alone time, preferably in nature. Walking, at the beach, sitting watching life pass by.... that kind of thing. It's most enjoyable and the more you do it, the more you like it. Forgive me if I'm going to far, but, I daresay, fresh thoughts are the new sex.