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Like Life

24/9/2017

1 Comment

 
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I was walking along Brunswick Heads beach late this afternoon. There were not many people about as it was nearing sunset and also quite windy. The wind was heading south, giving me a push as I walked towards Byron - not with the intention of going that far - nooo!, that’s way too far (for a daily constitutional) - just heading in that southerly direction.

Beach walks; always love them. A daily thing, regardless of weather conditions. Clears the head, good for ideas, good for sorting things out, good for the lungs and other equally impressive organs. (We have many.)

Why am I sharing this? Big deal, right?! A man goes for a walk on the beach…. At least I am not taking photos of my food and posting it. Or telling you about my dreams from last night. Or lamenting about a bad break up.

But is there a point to this verbal stroll? Yes.

As I was walking back, in the last few kms, I passed a small group of teenagers ambling in the direction I had just come from with the wind at their backs, enjoying the water, the shore, the openness.

And walking past them with the strong wind resisting my advancement, I considered the metaphor between the walk there and back and life itself. The first half you have the wind behind you, momentum. On the walk back you are pushing against it. It’s not as easy.

The youngsters don’t know the difference. Not until they reach the turn around point. Then it becomes apparent.

It’s like life. Is there any point in advising them, that their return trip is not going to be as effortless, I wondered briefly. They won’t be aware. Like I wasn’t on my way downwind. I may have even shortened my journey south if I had known how up against it the journey back was going to be, comparatively.

And then I wondered; would I like to be heading downwind again. And the answers was no. Because you just have to come back again.

Like life. You move on, move forward. It becomes more challenging but you keep going. Even if you could go back - why would you? You’ve got to face what is happening where you are at when you are there.

No escape. No point in lamenting. Head down, face to the wafting opposition of nature and move forward. Where to? The next challenge. Is there any other way? No.

Like life. Just keep going.

What I would have appreciated, though, when I was in my downwind segment of my life, would have been to have realised this - what I have just said - and appreciated the comparative easiness and natural boost of youth. It’s been said before, by many. And I probably did read it more than a few times back then. But, really, you can’t fully get it until your time comes and you experience it. It’s just the way it is. Ironic. Youth is wasted on the young, was the quote I remember. Not wasted, but, you know, would've been good to have been able to save a bit for later.

Not lamenting, just observing. If you get me now, if you are on your own walk back, you’ll understand.

​And if you are still in the first part of the journey, heading with the wind behind you - enjoy it! Savour it! Be free!
​
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Book A Space In Time

21/5/2017

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     I just finished inputting the final pieces of my new book into InDesign last night. It's such a feeling of satisfaction to finally get it done. The cover, too, is mostly ready - with just the spine and the compilation of the back and front covers to finish on Photoshop remaining - a single session job.

It's a collection of writings (mostly humourous) that includes short stories, poems, haiku, lists, q&a's and a one act play. The writing was all done and ready to go over a year ago but - I don't know exactly why - it has taken up until now to lock it in. I had some kind of mental block. Other things took precedence. I felt hesitant to complete the project - even though all the 'hard part' (writing) was already done. Creating stuff comes easy. Commitment is harder.

I suspect, too, there's also a thing to do with success/failure. Each of them confronting in it's own way. Failure - meh! - that I can handle. I've done it often enough. Huge failures, relative failures, destined-to-fail failures, avoidable failures, interesting failures.... The list goes on. And it's not just me. We all know failure intimately. Failures are the Lego blocks with which we construct our make believe multi-coloured castles. No, I think it's more about fear of success. Failure of completion. Of having to move on. Of life's impermanence. Am I being too recondite?

Anyway, I've done it now. It will soon be off to the printers and after proofing, I'll do a run and have a launch. It's exciting. The best part is that it will free up some mental space to get on with my other projects. Funnily, over the last year I have completed enough new poems/lyrics to publish a whole other book. Which is something I plan to do. Plus I have another in the works - with much of the writing also done - a 'life of the artist' memoir. We'll see how long those ones takes to get released. (I hereby VOW they will be expedited quicker! LOL)

My first book was published in 2001. It was called All I've Ever Wanted Was What I Know I Can Never Have. It was similar to this one in some ways - a compilation of writings. I had an exciting and successful launch in Sydney at the Middle Bar. At the time I was right into the nightlife scene, so promoting it was easy. I had a lot of 'evening' friends. Add in my 'day' friends from over the years living in Sydney and I easily had 100 people attending. I knew the managers at Middle Bar and they kindly didn't charge me and also threw in free champagne. It was great - speeches, live music, give aways.

Soon after that I moved up to Byron Bay to live and wrote a second book. Sadly, I did not have enough money to get it published and it lingered inside my iMac (the coloured bulging ones) for a few years. Then the hard drive died. And the whole thing was lost. Content (ready for printing - I had taught myself Quark), and the cover; the lot - kaput! It was disappointing. But weirdly, I did not stress too much. For me the fun is in the writing. I had had my fun. Still, kind of a waste. I wasn't going to let it happen again this time. One word: backup. I learnt. Also, computers have improved.

Since then I have also finished and printed four volumes of comics. My first two, Weird Is Good and We're All Free* (*To Be Deluded) have been released. I had the launch of WIG at Mullum RSL. It wasn't as big as my Sydney release but it was a relative success, nonetheless. My second one, WAF* debuted at Rock&Roll Coffee Company cafe, also in Mullum. I failed to adequately promote it (not one of my strengths) and although the launch was satisfying and fun for those attending (myself included), even an impartial observer would have to call it a bit of a fizzer. Let's just say there was a case of champagne and a few hundred cucumber sandwiches left over. Plus a lot of cheese. And books. It was not a reflection on the quality of the book or it's contents, however, so I was not too worried. Frankly, I was just glad to have staged the evening (which included an exhibition of 20 or so works - framed prints from the book) and for all the arranging (food, beverages, lighting, music, staff, etc) to be over with. Like I said; for me the fun is in the creation. 

Not sure how I will approach the launch of this new one (which is called Capricorn King Decrees That Insouciance Must Prevail!')  I think I will just lower my expectations and do something low key that does not involve expensive outgoings and attention demanding arrangements. In some ways, the time between now and when I receive and open the boxes full of the freshly printed volumes is the most exciting time. Like giving birth, a bit. Raising the kid is a different skill. I'm just going to let this one grow organically. It's my sixth, after all. I still have yet to launch my third and fourth comic collections, too. Perhaps I need a manager. But can I be managed? I think not. Not now. It's way too late for that.
​
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Howl All U Like

29/11/2015

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It pains me to think about all the books I haven't written. There are so many in there. So much waiting to come out. Intricate plots and characters diverse flow through my mind on a daily basis. I love books! I love reading! Hell, I even love writing! So where are the books? All the books I haven't written?

Will they stay in me until they come out? Or will they fade gradually, disintegrate, dismantle, vanish in a crowd of other things called distractions, called living, called demands of daily existence?

New ones seem to appear quite easily. Ideas, at least. Maybe it's all incubating, just waiting for my burst of rigorous self application, dedicated word production. 

I can live with that. I can believe that, even. Like a spring being pushed down... when the time is right... release! Book one, two, three.... Soaring up and out into the consciousness. All the thoughts and feelings, concepts and scenarios that reside inside me, along side me, abide my lenient, procrastinating ways.

An artist needs time. An artist flourishes with an overflow of non-commitment, excels at leisure, jerks at pressure, winces at expectations, scoffs at demands. Even from self. Leave me alone. If it's going to come out, it's going to come out. 

Who gives a shit about ambition? It's a fucking joke to imagine that you gotta strive for success. Fuck success. What we want, what we need more than anything is authenticity. Is real. More real than ever before - felt, lived, experienced, conceived - and then, at the right time, in the right light, with the right intentions, pure intention - expressed. Like the birth of a new sun. A new universe. 

To be false in any way, to be motivated by anything other than divine inspiration is just chewing time. And chewing time is fine, practicing, partaking in things that humans do; no worries. 

But the real stuff has got to come from the source. And that is not on tap. That is not accessed through will or demand. That is given to the worthy few who have shed enough skins, who have suffered their share, who have practiced and practiced and practiced their craft until they become conduits. Conduits for a higher purpose. And that purpose is enlightenment. The advancement of human consciousness. A worthy pursuit. A rewarding escapade.

So, what of me and my books, I wonder. What of the hundred millions other meez, all thinking and feeling the same thing. Will we find salvation? Will we finally pen our personal, poignant, powerful tomes, the ones that reside inside us?

It does not really matter. Because if we don't, another will. Then when we stumble upon their works we can smile and sit back in comfort and glee, content with a reflection of our own inner voices that while not a splitting image, is damn close enough. Yeah, we can all relax, you see. Whatever needs to be will be.
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Headspace, Heartspace, Outlook and Inlook. 

23/9/2015

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I browsed through some of my poetry book from fifteen, sixteen years ago and I was struck by how much time and circumstance have changed my headspace, heartspace, outlook and inlook. 

I was reminded by the poems that I used to have quite the romanticised view of the world. Reading them I was moved by the sentiments and surprised by the depth of feeling and, to be honest, kind of impressed by the verbal dexterity and inventiveness.

A lot has changed. The last half a dozen years have served up a series of challenges, one after the other; financial, medical, emotional, physical, circumstantial.... all the 'al's.

In old school parlance - I was put through the ringer. So much so, in fact, that in sessions with my counsellor we have identified that I have manifested symptoms of PTSD. And it feels that way. Like I have been in the trenches, been bombarded. Worn down. Mettle tested. Stretched out and strung up.

I do believe I am making my way out of it. Some of the heavier blue-grey clouds have lifted. The notion of peace, of an occasional mild happiness is not implausible. 

Reading the poems from back then made me realise how I've been worn down by situations and circumstances beyond my control. In each case I have mustered up my best defence, dealt with things as best as I can, tried to stay positive. But I never anticipated just how taxing the cumulative effect would be.

I don't think there is any going back. At times i wasn't sure I was completely willing or even able to continue forward. But now, I am rebuilding. Using what I've got, dusting off some of the old tools, repairing the broken pathways, patching up the gaping holes...

And in doing so, finding and accepting a different me, an older and wiser self, a survivor, a veteran. I have come to terms with surrender. I practice gratitude. I strive to be more of service.

And slowly, day by day, my hunger and my hope are becoming reanimated, revitalised. I have missed them. My whole being has been compromised and my wounds have still not healed, but I am able to walk on my own again, the will is there again, it's stronger now and my only choice is to buck up and stand up and try again.

I tried hiding away, running away, denial, avoidance. I tried suppressing the emotions, subjugating the pain, rationalising the wrath. It may have worked partially at the time but now I need a new strategy. I need to forge forward with what I have got, gather up the broken pieces, the dream fragments and the shards of idealism and see what I can make.

This is the journey of a human. This is life. 

What a surprise.

In a way, I am lucky to have another chance. Not everyone does. Some beautiful friends have died already. Giving up is not an option I will again consider. I want to be there at the end. I want to write poems again.
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    ART GETS ME HIGH

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    Author & Artist

    Lewie JPD 
    Blog Mission Statement: 

    "I am taking this opportunity to openly and freely express my simple truth in a relaxed, stream of consciousness manner, without self judgment or editing while transcribing and celebrating the process and practice of being an artist.

    My goal is that I will have some fun recording sentiments and thoughts as they come to me, coupled with my recent imagery. As well; to learn something of value and share something that may inspire/offer insight to other artists, creatives and sentient beings."


    Disclaimer: He's high!
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