Ask yourself
What would you do if you could do anything?

Me? I would travel full time, visit and stay in wonderful places around the world.
I would make up my days as they came along... be lead into adventures and new discoveries by chance and fate.
I would escalate the surreal element of my reality - move it closer to a dream state.

I would like to find out who I would be if I was granted unlimited access to whatever I wanted.
I imagine I would go wild, then rein it back to simple.
I would like to experience that procedural journey.

And who am I?
Am I the man who is writing this now?
Are these my thoughts?
Do I have any real attachment to them? 
Or ownership?

Or am I just functioning as I must?
Taking one step at a time along the path that is in front of me.
Laid out from birth to death.

Do I care what I think? Am I interested?
Am I smarter that what I write?
Or are my words, as they flow from within me, coming from a higher intelligence to inform and enlighten me?

Do I think too much or not enough?
Is there any measure?
Of anything? Ever?
And what would it be in relation to?

So - no. The answer is - no. There is no measure.
Everything flows. Multiple streams. Infinite streams.
Never standing still. Never the same.

But I am writing these words now. I can see them.
And I hope that one day when I reread them I will have a deeper understanding of the bigger picture.
But do I really hope that?
No. I may never read these words again.
They are just time fillers. Perhaps.
Just static. A recording. Random.

What's the goal here? 
To keep moving, keep writing, until I hit something that resonates. Something that feels substantial, meaningful, essential. 
The artist's quest for truth. The thirst for essence.
From a man in a cave scraping on the wall to a man in front of a computer screen.
I am here, it says.
I am alive now. 
It feels like this.
It occurs like this.

I have eaten dinner, I have swum in the ocean. My need right now, my desire, my goal in this endeavour - the one in which I am investing my time in - is to find a feeling of satisfaction through shining a torch on the cave walls of my own awareness and trying to make sense of the scribbles and patterns.

The caveman in me doesn't care. He has ADHD.
He wants to do some killing. To fire up a carcass, eat some hot, greasy meat. To feel the thrill of dominating and terminating his prey. He wants to dive into the river from the branch of the tree. He wants to stare up at the moon, mouth agape, mind boggled. He wants to clumsily dance with his woman, thrash about in her warmth and tenderness, invest himself in her moisture. Laugh with her, escape with her. He wants carnal things.

That's him. Still there. But the me of now. The me of sometimes. Wants other things. Things out of reach. Things out of sight. Things that seem to spring from within. Higher callings. Spiritual lightness. He wants to break through the barriers of common living, he wants to be in the future. Now. He wants to find a way to transcend the limitations imposed upon him. 

He is me and he is you, too, most likely.

If we can imagine it...

It must eventually occur/appear. And the notions of higher self that we all share, the awareness of something so much greater, so much more...

Something is coming next. I think many of us can intuit that it's a spiritual awakening. A mass expansion of human consciousness. This tawdry everydayness that we plod through - well, it's well past it's due date. 

In the meantime, let's celebrate and appreciate what is good in ourselves and those around us and look forward to a playfully profound future.

I lived, till the age of ten, in the bush, in a house my Dad helped build, on the edge of a National Park, in Wahroonga, Sydney, at the time one of the most outer suburbs of Sydney.  I went to the public school called The Bush School. I played up trees, under waterfalls, up and down cliffs, down tracks, by rivers. Basically surrounded by and immersed in nature.

When I was ten, the family moved to Tokyo, Japan. It was the complete other end of the spectrum. A sprawling, seemingly limitless city, brimming with buildings, packed with people. Electric, dynamic, pulsating. Criss-crossed by a massive, super efficient train and subway system full of an industrious, busy, kind and benevolent culture that was, in some ways, the polar opposite to my own, I found myself in a new playground of a new paradigm.

I'd always liked exploring, with my brothers, out in the bush. We would go for long walks, adventures, just the three of us, or with our mates from down the street. We would peg rocks, catch lizards and tadpoles, climb gum trees, leap over gaps in rock formations. Tokyo offered a whole new kind of exploration. We would cover ground on foot, by bus, by subway, on our bikes and on our skateboards. Then, later, by motorbike.

In the early years, Shibuya, Tokyo's zesty and youthful hub for fashion and entertainment, was where we would go to watch movies, play in game centres, have a cheap meal and peruse shops with the latest toys and gadgets. From our home in Nishi-Azabu, we could be there in half an hour. It was our favoured destination. It had a friendliness to it, an interestingness, an inviting accessibility. 

There was a wide variety of cinemas to choose from flash and modern to el cheapo dingy. The Shibuya Bunka Kaikan alone, housed four. As well, it had a rooftop game centre, a great bookshop, a supermarket for movie snacks (chocolate covered wheat puffs, coffee milk, dried squid and big fat, puffy twistie like cheese slugs called Karl - were the favourites) and a poster shop. Movies in Japan are always screened in original language with subtitles - a godsend for visiting westerners as all TV was in Japanese language. My brothers and I for many years watched one or two movies on a Saturday, then another with the P's on a Sunday arvo. There is no rating system (G,PG,M,R) whatsoever, so we had unrestricted choice. Watching Taxi Driver at thirteen was an eye opener, almost mind expansive. The same for The Exorcist, the Godfather, Lolly Madonna War and The Wild Bunch.

We loved playing pinball and video games and would spend countless hours at Game Centres. It wasn't till half way through our time there that video games were even invented. I vividly recall my first game of Atari's ping pong - a vertical line on either side with a bouncing ball between them. Green screen, ball accelerating incrementally with each return hit. Then of course, there was Space Invaders, Mission Control and Pac Man. Car racing, shooting games, Galaga. Still, we had an ongoing respect for pinball mastery and would alternate between format offerings.

Japanese people are very thoughtful and especially kind to children. At no time were we ever in any danger or did we come across any difficulty. We were all fluent in the language and humble and respectful in return to the people of our host nation. We always made friends with the twenty-something part-time workers in the game centres, joking around, and would often be rewarded with free games and tokens. It was an idyllic existence for three young Aussie bush kids. From Wahroonga to Shibuya - we were transported from the grounded dirt and big sky free style playground to the electrified, connected, built up, efficient, magnificent wonderland of the East.

                     --------------------------------

PHOTO: Shot by Naoki Leonard Fujita - a friend and maverick photographer and cameraman- who lives in Shibuya. See some of his amazing work here: https://leonardfujita.wix.com/imagemaker

He's come alive through facebook. It's his form of creative expression. He posts pictures of wonderful sunsets and beaches, advice on health and well being, funny slogans and ironic comics. All stuff sourced from other facebook pages. 

Most of it is pretty good. I don't know him that well but have come to know him better by his posts. They don't directly connect with me but generally they are of reasonably good quality. I can feel his joy in posting them. So I keep him on my feed. Why not. I care about the environment, eating healthy, and enjoy the positive slogan, too.

He used to have an ordinary job, then he got an inheritance and now he travels the world, in a modest fashion. (ie not fancy or wasteful, less Vegas more Nepal.) His girlfriend used to be a lesbian before they started going out and before that, when I first knew her, she was going out with a talented and somewhat mystical/deranged saxophonist dude. I saw him down at Bondi a few years ago, after a decade of not seeing him and he was even weirder than before. Still wearing lots of medallions and big rings and still with unusually configured facial hair. I went to see him gig once in a boutique hotel in Double Bay.

Come to think of it, lots of people I used to know are now just characters in a narrative in the recesses of my mind.

As well, many of my life's most formative and memorable experiences are now also just stories. Many, many of them, never told. Not yet, anyway.

My favourite post from the original guy I was talking about is a quote from OSHO. It's this:

'You are nobody. You are born as a nobodiness with no name, no form. You will die as a nobody. Name and form are just on the surface; deep down you are just vast space. And it is beautiful.'

Living in the county is so much better than the city for so many reasons. But even with all the benefits and joys of things like no traffic lights, no parking tickets, fresh air, big skies, friendly people, laid back pace... etc... there are still plenty of times when you can take the wholesome goodness for granted and still become stressed over daily minutiae and concerns. 

One of the things that never fails to remind me of how lucky and grateful I am, almost on a daily basis, is seeing the cows out in the paddocks. Whichever direction I head in, I drive past lots of them, and I look at them and I feel serenity and acceptance. They are humble creatures. They hang out together, in nature, under the sun. They move slowly, big cruisers, they munch at will, they stay still, look around casually. No wonder the Indians think of them as divine beasts. I have to agree. They are.

Lighten up!

There is an abundance of things to be stressed about, enraged about, feel hard done by.... and I'm not just talking about our current government.

Sometimes it seems like the whole world is on the brink of collapse. And maybe it is.

I think its great to join together with others and join protests, take action against injustice, offer support, etc. But, as well, on a personal level, you want to avoid getting over burdened by fretting about events that you can not change and that are beyond the scope of your sphere of influence. There is just too much bad stuff going on at the moment that to take it all on mentally is just going to bring you down.

So, what to do? 

Seek the silly.
Favour the fun.
Follow the path to the pun.
Grow your own mirth.
Group giggles.
Funny accents whenever possible.
Jigs, slapstick, loud farts.

There's a lot you can do. The list goes on. I am not advocating ignoring reality, I am suggesting that you augment it with a fair share of lighthearted enjoyment. As often as you possibly can.

For in the end, whether the world eventually balances out and becomes the utopia it could be, the natural, just and egalitarian kingdom we all want it to be, or whether it all explodes in a flaming ball of human greed and foolishness, you may as well have a snicker or two along the way. Like a school day. It's mostly a bunch of useless bullshit being heaped upon you; play truant sometimes, have fun with your friends, cause some disruption. Cause just like when you make it through school and realise that it was all just a construct of control and oppression... well, so is modern day life in our society. So give it the finger, ignore the bla bla bla, zone out, dream your own dreams, slip out the back door and go find some sunshine and freedom to bask in.

Like Ghandi once said, "Fucking hell! What's the point in endless suffering?!" 

And soon after, decided to never wear a business suit instead and wrapped himself in his bed sheet. Good man.

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!

The future is coming at us, thicker and faster than ever. Every month now, amazing new discoveries and inventions; scientific, technological and biological... The advancements are arriving at a breathtaking pace. I don't have to convince anyone. Just browse through the net. No, not that old fisherman's net. That's just crab shell and a dead half fish carcass. I mean the internet. You must know it. It's one of the inventions that has changed the world. Forever. And for better. So long as we all shall live. Anyone who disagrees, go to the comment box now or forever hold your mouse. Or donate it to science. They are used in a lot of experiments.

A couple of things I remembered yesterday:

One: pinball. Played it every weekend for hours on end in my early teens, with my brothers in the game centres of Tokyo - Shibuya, Hibiya, Yurakucho, Azabu Juban.... somehow, if there was a decent game centre (geimu sentaa) tucked away in a basement, obscure building or mini mall, we'd find it. We had our skateboards and knew the public transport system inside out. We loved playing pinball. (Wizard, Fireball, TimeZone, etc... mid 70's were when pinball design peaked, I reckon). Each place would usually have ten, twenty of them lined up. Lots of choice. Lots of fun. We were all pretty good a getting free games, too. Nothing like that >crack< when you notch up a game.

Two: other play. I was driving to the beach and saw an import Tarago. Notice it as called Lucida. Thought about how Japanese come up with their names for things. Must've looked up the dictionary found lucid and added an a. Fair enough. If they put an 'n' in their, it'd be a nice girl's name... Lucinda. Then, flash!, I remembered that back in the late nineties, I had a relationship with a girl with that very name. I had completely forgotten about her. I met her in a bar in Kings Cross, the Bayswater Brasserie. It was a one night stand that kept going. She owned a house in Surrey Hills, Sydney. She worked in an ad agency as accounts manager. She liked vodka lime and sodas. She loved flowers and knew a lot about them. She was a great cook. One of her specialties was gnocchi. She was very pretty. Like a little doll. She had a great body, perfect proportions, silky skin, long straight hair. She was also very intelligent and successful. She never came to my place in Bondi. She liked her routines. She would often phone me after work, early evening and invite me over. Drinks, dinner, sex. All things I enjoy. Then I would go home in the morning, when she left for work. We didn't do many day time things together for some reason. After a few months of this routine, I was beckoned to Tokyo for a 3 month job. We did the phone and fax (yes, fax) 'I miss you' communication thing for a while and then just let it go. I never saw her again. And until yesterday, completely forgot about it. Interesting how it was sparked by an import Tarago parked at the beach. It was like finding a little treasure on the shores of my memory.

When I was in my early teens, we were living in Tokyo and my Mum was a member of CWAJ. Christian Women's Association of Japan - it wasn't a religious group, from memory, it was more about women empowering women through cultural exchange and events. The members were about half expats and half Japanese nationals. One of their main things was that each year at The American Club, near Ropppongi, they would hold a wonderful exhibition of the new works of contemporary Japanese print makers. This would include silkscreens, etchings, lithographs and woodblocks.

There would always be a couple of hundred awesome artworks to purview. The first year, my brothers and I were dragged along kicking and screaming, but we quickly came to enjoy the range and invention of the works. Well, I did, for sure. 

There was also, always, a full colour catalogue that had every print included. I would often pour over it at leisure, studying my favourite works. At that stage, I had no idea that I would go on to do three years of art school and become an artist but did know that I liked art. 

Woodblock is the most traditionally Japanese of the printmaking forms. My Mum actually studied it for quite a number of years with some top notch Japanese tutors. Over the years she became very proficient and created some wonderful and popular woodblock series of her own. (Good on you, Mum!) 

It's quite a labour intensive process. Each colour within a print is carved from a separate block of wood with special tools. Some prints will have eight, ten or more blocks. Then the printing involves the application of the ink, the lining up of the pre-prepared special paper and the rubbing of the paper so that the ink penetrates. It's a delicate and technical process - enjoyable to watch. (Once.)

Over the years, my parents collected many dynamic prints from the CWAJ shows and also from small galleries. I also witnessed things like the choosing of frames, decisions on where to hang them, etc. I did not know it at the time but these things surely influenced and enriched my art head space. Tokyo is tight on space and homes are smaller scale, so prints were generally much more prevalent than paintings. In fact, I recall coming back to Australia to live at seventeen and noticing paintings in homes and being intrigued and enraptured by them.

My uncle Dick, I now recall, a wealthy man, had one of the country's pre-eminent private collections of Australian art. He even had a granny flat full of them and would take us on a tour with animated and learned commentary included. He had originals by Dobell, Whitely, Nolan, Boyd, Crooke, Drysdale and Klippel as well as many others. Visiting him was an art lesson in itself. Funnily, even them, after doing the tours more than a few times in my teens, I never considered that I may one day myself become a painter.

It really wasn't until I had dropped out of Sydney Uni, first year, and returned to Japan to see my family that it even became a possibility. I was eighteen. Uni was not for me. I was doing a BA, studying Literature, Computer Science (!!!)(it was 1979), Japanese and Psychology. These were all areas of interest but I simply found the format of education too dry and personality lacking. A large lecture hall with one guy telling everyone what to think. Boring! More than I could bear, in fact. I quickly began cutting classes and going to the movies. Then later, visiting a sweet girlfriend. Two areas I was much more naturally passionate about. And that taught me much better.

So, I was back in Tokyo to see my family. It was the day before I was due to head back to Australia. My parents convened a meeting at the Okura Hotel. We sat in the lobby. The point of discussion was 'what was I going to do?' I was drawing a blank. The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't want to return to University. Time ticked. There was some tension. Off the cuff, my Mum said, 'What about art school..? You've always liked art...." 

Ping! What? Art school? They have those? That is an option? I seriously did not even know. But now that I heard it, it was like... er, yeah! Next day I was on a plane back to Sydney.

I looked up Art School in the Yellow Pages. The closest one was East Sydney Tech in Randwick. I turned up holding a portfolio of portraits I had done with a biro, mostly copied from comics. The year had started a few days earlier. The selection process was completed months before. And yet, somehow..... I got to show my portfolio to the head of school. Theo. He liked it. Someone had dropped out that morning. Theo shrugged. "You're in group B. Next door. Start now." I was in. It was truly something that was meant to be. So random. So spontaneous. So glorious! I loved it. Three years. A double major in painting and photography. Many, many wonderful classes and experiences. I was on my way....

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

Hey kid,

You're a very sensitive fellow. But you are also very thoughtful, observant and wise. Your instincts are good - continue to follow them and believe in your own, unique, world view. 

You have to put up with a lot of crap from figures of authority. They are often wrong, as you suspected, and are really just stupid bullies. You fight them and lose because they hold all the power. But I admire your sense of righteousness and low tolerance for injustice. Don't let those fuckers break you! (They won't.)

Although you have a naturally positive and adventurous, hopeful outlook, you are often deeply saddened by your circumstances. You feel misunderstood and misaligned. You don't really fit in with conventional ways. This will not change. 

Your curiosity, love of reading, love of exploration and FUN are a centre point to your being. Your instinct is to do what makes you happy. This is a good thing. Stick with it. 

You love people - good people, open minded people, playful people, big hearted people. You are a champion for the under dog. Heck, you are the under dog!

Much of what you learn is though interacting with others - outside of the school system. You instinctively seek and find slightly older mentors who offer you new insight, support and reassurance. This is a good thing and will continue into your thirties. 

You love of romance and woman will continue to grow. Aren't they amazing creatures. As best as you can, treat them with respect and kindness. They thrive on attention and emotional connection. A few will try and get the better of you, but don't worry, they will soon fall away. 

You will be lucky enough to have some wonderful, exciting relationships with some truly beautiful women as you get older. Don't worry too much if it doesn't always turn out right for now. There's plenty to look forward to.

I remember you sitting on the steps, alone, outside the dance or the club, on occasion and feeling alone, sad. Wishing you could find someone to have a heart connection with. Don't worry, kid. They will come. 

You will marry, too. It won't last but you didn't want it to. She wasn't the right one and you knew this before you proposed. But, ironically, getting married was the only way out. She was a tough one to shake. She had emotional power over you. It wasn't until you become husband and wife and she cheated on you that you could sever the ties and walk away with clear conscience and freshly empowered. 

Your thirties are when you will really have some hugely rewarding love affairs and relationships. Some that last years, others months and a few for only weeks. But, kid, believe me, you will not be disappointed. 

Later in life, in your fifties, you'll remain un-remarried. After a promising relationship in your late forties that turns sour, you decide that being single is actually your preference. You love your freedom and independence. 

From early on, you choose to be a free spirit. You do not like to be pinned down, committed, or stuck. You like to sleep when you want, wake when you want and do as you choose with your time. This makes holding a job quite difficult. And after trying a few in your late twenties you decide it's not for you. 

After all, you are an artist. An artist and a writer. Did I mention that? Yes, it's true. Your love of books and art and movies never wanes and you begin to express your own truth. You go to art school. You study film making. You write and publish your own poetry and stories and comics. You even publish a book when you are forty. It's called 'All I've Ever Wanted Is What I Know I Can Never Have.' Nice title!

You study screenwriting at UCLA and end up writing six feature films. None of them get made, so you kind of give up and go back to painting. But you continue to make short films and write journals and poems and comics, of course. You've always loved comics!

You do stand up for a while. Solo and as a duo. You tour briefly. It's a tough road. Not for you. You also have your own comedy radio show. That is good. You always wanted that! You create some great characters and really enjoy writing and performing. You even win an award for you comedy writing! And cash!

You move to Byron Bay for seven years. Then get invited to perform your original comedic monologue in New York! Cool, huh?! They pay for you to go over, so you pack up and go. NYC isn't your style so you move to LA. It's good there, but, once again, you are an outsider and despite some elements that you really enjoy, you decide to return to Australia. 

You love your country more than ever and eventually end up back up north. This time in Mullumbimby. There are cows and chickens in the backyard. The sky is big. The sea is close by. You visit every day - you've always loved, indeed, needed the ocean. The air is clean and fresh. Country living, the simple life suits you.

You don't have much. An old car, an old computer, a small room you rent and a storage shed full of painting from the 25 plus art exhibitions you've held over the last 30 years.

When I say you don't have much, I mean, of course, material things. You have plenty. Health, freedom, imagination. Your future is open to possibility... 

It's hard being an artist. Especially one that isn't motivated to self promote. Still, every day you create new works - two, three, four, five.... You love seeing what comes out. It reminds you of the comic covers you so used to enjoy as a kid. You've got plans to publish a book of your own recent comics - you've done over 200 of them over the last year. That will be good, huh? 

Anyway, gotta go now, kid. Just thought I'd say hello and tell you some things. Of course you won't get this back then. 

But you've got it now. Take it easy.

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

This is me.
Holding onto something. 
I don't know what it is but I like it.
Feels like I should hang onto it.
I've lost or left behind most of what I used to have.
Now, I've got this thing, gonna hang on, hold it up.

There's colours around.
And a place for me to sleep.
I'm sitting down not cause I'm tired but cause I'm saving my energy for something worthwhile.
I don't go clambering up trees for no reason any more.

I'm looking out, looking around, seeking things of interest.
It takes more to rouse me these days.
It takes more to attract my attention.
I've seen plenty of things in the jungle.
It might be considered I'm lucky to still be alive.
It might be said I grew to love the jungle.
It might be said I made some mischief of my own.

I don't care much about what others say anymore.
I don't have time to waste on things that aren't true.
I don't mind a good story, though.
Or shooting the shit with a good hearted, dumb baboon.
And little chimps, well, I've always got time for them.

Much of the bountiful zest has diminished.
The wild cries, raucous laughs have faded.
Scrapping, flying between trees, rampant fornicating...
Now things I miss. 
Once in a while I'll do one of them, maybe two...
But the days of all three, over and over...
Are over.

Doesn't worry me. Natural progression.
I survived great falls, being prey to tigers, my own foolish youth.
I crossed expansive chasms, explored deep, dark caverns, played with fire and lightening and once rode the back of a stampeding zebra.
So, sitting back now, I've got plenty to think about, to remember.
Even though, there's lots I've forgotten, too.
By choice, by necessity, over time.

Lucky, I guess, I am.
Certainly not ungrateful. 
Doesn't really matter.
I'm just sitting here now.
Not going anywhere soon.

And liking it that way.

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?

'Where are you heading?"

As in - where is your head taking you? Are you a passenger or the driver? Do you like the road being taken? Is there a destination in mind? Have you got a map?

Ultimately, the place we all end up is the same. So it's not about the final destination. It's about where you go along the way. Some like to plan, others to stumble onto things. You got your harez and your tortii.

But the questions above, I think, are worth asking. Cause if you want to, you can take some control. And it is worth looking up ahead and at least making sure you are heading (in your head) to a place that is worth visiting. If it's a downhill journey - muddy, treacherous, uncomfortable - well, better make a change. If you are happy enough, and enjoying the trip; carry on. There's no hurry. 

For me, at the moment, I enjoy make pictures everyday. Along with regular exercise and an ocean immersion, I feel satisfaction. Creating pictures that were not there before. It's a bit like dabbling in magic. And I read today about the brain - how vision is the most powerful of the senses - and stimulates the brain, works it. As a predominately solo traveller, I like to not only look out the window - but to create scenery of my own devising.

Writing can do a similar thing. But it is different. Just as much of a high - deeper, longer waves, though. And it takes a while to come on. And effort. It's more like long distance running. Where as making images is like a exploratory walk through interesting new terrains. What's ahead is uncertain, but through intuition, experience and trust, you usually end up somewhere satisfying, sometimes breathtaking.