Is coming to terms with one's insignificance a good thing or a bad thing?

Not sure. But it certainly frees up a lot of time. 

Regardless of the ultimate futility of it all, I have been voraciously spending six hours a day in the studio working on new tracks. 

Nourishment, it appears, comes from creative expression - same as always - but now add the tasty sauce of productivity satisfaction and you've got yourself some chewable results.

Not one to neglect my art, I spend a minimum hour a day on making new images. And the same goes for my writing: minimum hour a day.

I can almost feel death coming. Not yet. But I am aware of it's eventuality more profoundly than previous. 

It's what we are all racing towards.

I ask myself - am I doing all this stuff to leave a mark? No.

Why then? Cause it is rewarding, feels good. It's how I relate to life. Like all creators; I am compelled.

Fills in the time. Masks the pain. Distracts from the struggle. 

Creating new stuff, for me, is fun because there are no rules and I can be loose and try new things and not worry about outcomes or opinions. It's a relationship with an open minded giver.

It builds internal layers, adds pieces to the puzzle, lubricates thought; centres you.

Discipline is adopted willingly. That's something special right there. 

You can do whatever you want. Putting effort into effortlessness. It's an art. 

 It's not that I am lazy - but I can be so lazy.

Motivation is overrated. Success is a mirage.

Gimme a camel, some fresh dates and a cup of tea in the desert, surrounded by nothing, any day.

We aren't going anywhere. Nothing matters, ultimately, so why get caught up in it?

Because it's so seductively real-feeling. Our minds trick us - drive us on - this thing, that thing, the next thing. Want, want, want.

Why am I writing this now? Because I feel I should. A little. (Also, cause I do like writing these things - once I get going...) Why do I feel like I 'should'? Because I have been doing it for five years now and to miss a whole month would be - I dunno - negligent. Wasteful.  Some part of me believes I am building something. Something worthwhile. An artist's journal. Insights into my mind. 

At the same time I know it's nothing that original or deep. Just the free flowing ramblings of another survivor. I feel like a teenager right now. This is how I used to write at thirteen. Just put down whatever comes. (Which is actually a good way to write. But you are supposed to tighten it up later, edit, make it a little fancy, polished. Later never comes.)

We didn't have LOLs back then to punctuate our sentences. We didn't have lots of things. No blogs. No computers. I used to write in notebooks with a ball point. 

Where was I? Oh, yeah; forty four years back. Say hello to the new old me - or the old new me! 

I haven't changed much. They called me lazy in school. Labelled me. Underachiever. But why waste time on bullshit! I knew life was not going to be what they presented it as. I knew what was useful and what was useless (for future me.) Stuff like - physics, history, Latin (yes! we had to study it! OMG, right!) - most of the academic stuff. English was good. Maths - good. Art - oh, yeah! Choir, drama... now we are talking! 

I was right. I didn't quite know it back then, but I was a free spirit, a mini rebel, an artist. And nothing has changed. Well, lots has changed. I have lived a life. My best friends from school are all heading towards sixty now. Those great people I remember as vital, good hearted, zesty, lucid sixteen year olds. They're all doing things, they've been through it all, too. You don't know how it goes until it's mostly gone. Seems like a bit of a rip off in a way. But there's no point in complaining. Cause no one is listening. You're the adult now! The authority. If you can't fix it - no one else can. That much you know. It's beyond ironic.

So why do I bother? Same reason everybody else does. It's easiest just to go with the flow. Keep being who you are. Doing what you do. How you've always done it. 

And although I have very little in the way of material reward to show for my devotion to creativity and passion and self expression, to living free spirited, unattached, unemployed, still making stuff up, creating every day - although I have not found success in the current social definition of success - I have been able to keep it going for a long time. Been a bohemian, a drifter, a dreamer, a poet, a romantic. I have not given up.

I am who I am and who I have always been. Same kid. Feeling life deeply, strongly, wildly. Overwhelmed at times by the ferociousness of reality, the demands of a sentient mind. But coping. Making the best of things. Taking what comes and dealing with it on my own terms in my own way. 

I never had any choice. I was born to be who I am. That much is clear. I resisted, circumnavigated society's insidious pressures to constrain and contain me. I have eluded conformity. Things haven't turned out ideally but they don't. Not for anybody. That much I know for sure. But if you are lucky, you can hang on to yourself - be true, face it or flee it as the case my call for - but follow your inner voice, stay alert, aware, open, hopeful. Keep dreaming.

Sure, be lazy. Unless you feel like doing something. Unless you get a good idea. Then do that. 

I can't talk for everyone. I can only talk for myself. But, ironically, it seems the more accurately and honestly I talk for myself the more it is aligned with everyone.

Make sense? 

I come to this forum and communicate here without schedule or external motivation. It happens when it does. Sometimes I wish I was here more often - because, frankly, there is never a lack of things to express/explore - but I have reasons for not making the effort. Sometimes I am just too lazy. I mean it does take a level of discipline and application. It is an effort to access, assess and describe what is going on in my head, in my being. It is often interesting for me to see what comes out - to read where I am at, so to speak - but it still requires some dredging, concentration and motivation. Not doing it is so, so easy. Having said that, I have been recording my state of mind/spirit/heart regularly in journals since I was fifteen. All the way through. The bulk of it has never seen the light of day, which is as it should be because it is primarily done to inform and enlighten (and lighten) myself.

It's only in the last few years that I have been opening up (as it were) to other inhabitants of the same planet in the belief that somehow by sharing my individual truth in a straightforward and unedited manner like this may be beneficial to others. I don't know who or how but if it has a positive effect in any way, lessens the burden or brings a smile to even one person, then it's worth doing. Because sharing is caring. LOL. Cliche. But true. And I do care. I really do. I have always been empathetic, sometimes at a cost  to my own well being, but it's a good thing, not a bad thing. We're all bits of the same big one. LOL again! That statement reads like the first words of a sermon by a caveman preacher. Which is perhaps, something I would have been OK with back in the day. Way back.

Interestingly, my paternal grandfather, for a time, was a preacher and used to speak his truth on the streets of Kings Cross. I think it was somewhere after his divorce and just before his playboy phase. He died in a fiery Ferrari crash in Europe, loose ends - financial and emotional left scattered back home in Aus. A dramatic departure but quite fracturing to his family. He left a big gap - he was quite the big man, self made multimillionaire, friends with Billy Graham and Shirley Bassey, a dandy dresser with a hefty appetite, a big tipper (a good thing), and a showman. I didn't know him very well. I was only nine when he left. My single strongest memory of him is him taking my Mum, me and my brothers out to lunch in our first ever fancy restaurant in 1969 Sydney, then taking us to a toy shop in town and saying 'Whatever you want, boys; on me!' How could I forget him! (I went straight to the bicycles but my Mum though it too extravagant - so I settled for a game of Twister. Harumphhh!) Didn't really get my money's worth till I played it semi naked with the girl next door. (And then it was like riding a bicycle.)

So, yeah, caveman preacher. I reckon way back in the day, in an earlier incarnation (yes, I do believe in reincarnation) (have done since a few lives back), I would have been comfortable in the role of observer/overseer/speaker of truth. Got a bit of shaman in me. Wise man. Pass the pipe. Come hang out and we'll have a yarn about what's bothering you. Yes, those fucking dinosaurs! I know. Life in general isn't easy when you are a hunter and gatherer - on a physical level - but it isn't smooth sailing when you are spiritual journey cognoscente, either. But, hey, I am not complaining. (Cause I know complaining is a waste of time. Early lesson.)

But yeah, like I was saying it's not always easy to write this stuff. Admittedly, this one has been and rather fun, but, but... my point? Who cares! It is what it is. Life is full of contradictions. The point is to find what you like and are at least semi-good at and go for it. Don't think too much. If you can find something worth doing - do it. We all have to do something - even if it's slacking off most of the time and then writing a few words of lighthearted drivel once in a while and considering it meaningful. Even if it's that! You could have my job, eh. Then I could retire from sermonising altogether and commence my next phase: rich playboy. Sounds like a plan.

It's been over twenty five years now, so I feel like I can tell it.

It's a love story, a life story, a series of experiences and interactions between a man and woman over a one year full of passion, uncertainty, love, drama, excitement and romance.

It's a true story, one that I lived. An undeniably prominent and unforgettable relationship, unlike any other.

It was never ordinary.
It was never simple.
It was never boring.

A raging fire of a love affair that spanned three continents and oscillated between emotional highs and lows with wild abandon. I feel lucky and privileged to have lived it, to have been half of the equation but I am also aware that I paid the price. It was no free ride.

It began simply enough. A chance encounter at a dinner party. It was her last night in Sydney. It was an Italian restaurant in Kings Cross, there were more than twenty people present. Although she knew my brother, we had never met. Somehow, we were seated beside each other.

Looking back now, it all seems inevitable, really. Right from the start there were sparks, chemistry. We were both very different and neither of us entered the venue with any expectation of anything out of the ordinary occurring. But it did.

What was she like? She was a Californian girl, about thirty years of age. Italian American. Brunette. Olive skin. Deep, dark eyes. Medium height. I never thought of her this way - but if I was to attempt to build a visual composite from old school beauties I would say that she was mix of Raquel Welch, Sophia Loren, and Ali McGraw. She was wounded. There was sadness and rage. She was proud and accomplished - a high achiever. A self-made success story with a little something missing in her life. And that thing was companionship, connection, love.

Enter me. At that time I was around the same age, a true free spirit, a poet, a painter. Living a bohemian lifestyle; I had been unshackled since my divorce two years ealier - staying with family and friends, in motels, hostels, couch surfing, travelling up and down the coast from Bondi to Byron, even sleeping in my car when I had to (a Cortina, ornately hand painted like a true hippy mobile). My possessions were few, my commitments fewer. 

Was there something missing in my life, too? That same thing, perhaps? Did I realise it at the time? Probably not, I was too busy being free. Did I realise it after we spent that first night together in her Sebel Townhouse hotel room and she left the next morning? Maybe, some. And in the subsequent days, did I notice her absence? Indeed. Had a fire been lit? Was something grand created and then suddenly taken away? Yes, yes and yes. But, she was gone far away - back to the States. I thought of it as a dream night. Perfect, sumptuous, unrepeatable. 

When she rang me, from LA, a week or two later, I was surprised and delighted to hear her mellifluous, whispering, slightly raspy voice. She was someone who made things happen. A very successful TV commercial producer. She was not willing to let it go. File it under the most wonderful one night stand ever. She had a proposal...

Paris. She was headed there to shoot an ad the following week. She wanted me to join her. Would I? 

I can't afford it, I told her. I had less than a hundred dollars to my name. I'll pay, she said. For everything.

I was taken aback. I didn't expect that. I needed to think about it.

Don't think about it, she said. You have to tell me right now or it's off. Wow.

I've got to admit, on the plane going over, I was about as excited as I've ever been. I wrote poems, did sketches in my journal. I listened to CDs on my Walkman. It was a three leg, twenty four hour flight.... Singapore, Alaska, Paris. We disembarked at Anchorage. There was a massive bear in a glass case in the airport and a huge duty free shop. I couldn't afford to buy anything. But I didn't need anything. I was running on adrenaline and anticipation.

I got a taxi from Charles de Gaulle airport. As arranged, the concierge paid the driver. I went straight up to the room. There was a note. I'm working till seven. Go out, have some fun. When I get back we can go somewhere for dinner.

She loved good food and good restaurants. She smoked Marlboro Reds and drank Margaritas. Each night for the next ten days we would dine out somewhere exotic and special, drink and smoke, cab back to the hotel and make love. It was always tender and heartfelt. Never a showy or sporty or fancy kind of union. It was sex as a manifestation of emotion. Sex as a display of desire, yearning, opening up and tumbling into each other. After, we would fall asleep easily and quickly. In the mornings, she would be up early, ready for a challenging day shooting on location. Sometimes she would leave my some francs. One time, as a joke, she threw them on the bed as she was walking out. As though I was a whore. We laughed. I pulled her back onto the bed. She left late and her hair was messed.

In the days, I would roam the streets, go to art galleries and sit in cafes writing poems. I was the happiest poet in the world. Can you imagine one happier? No. I wrote a lot. She had a weekend off and I took her to my favourite spots - the Pompidou, a corner cafe in St Germaine, for a ride in the subways. 

It was perfect. Perfect. And then, it was over. We woke up after our most beautiful night together and suddenly it was time to go. She left early - meeting the crew downstairs, I left a few hours later. No one on her team even knew I was there. On the bus back to the airport I listened to Marvin Gaye, tears streaming down my face. It was immense. I was happy, sad, and everything in between. I was at the end of a dream. I didn't know if, or when, we would meet again. There were no promises made. But it was clear that what we had between us was precious and substantial.

We spoke on the phone when we could after that. This was the pre-mobile age. It was frustrating to be apart. We both missed each other. We came up with a solution. My parents were living in London at the time. She had a job coming up. A week in London and a week in Madrid. I didn't want her shouting me a second time, so I used what money I had saved and got across to London to visit my folks. When she arrived, I moved into the hotel with her. It was the same ritual - she would work during the days, we would go out to dinner at a high end restaurant, drink margaritas and wine, taxi back to the hotel and savour the rest of the night together. She introduced me to The Water Boys; her favourite band. 'The Whole of the Moon' was the theme song of not only that trip but our entire affair. It's poignant, emotional, a cry from deep within. 

One night towards the end of the London trip, one of the waitresses in one of the restaurants took a liking to me and could not conceal it. The atmosphere got quickly tense and jealousy reared it's ugly head. In the cab home, we had our first argument. I professed my devotion and honestly told her that there was nothing to be upset about. I was 100% committed. But, she fumed for a while. She was threatened that the slightest amount of my attention went elsewhere, even just for a moment. I saw a side of her previously undisclosed. Back in the room, she calmed down and our lovemaking was more intense than before.

Arriving in Madrid was exciting as well. I got there during the day. My job was to seek out some great places to dine. Again, it was pre-internet, so I used guide books. I found some hot spots and the food was amazing. As is the tradition in Spain, we ate later that elsewhere. This allowed us a few hours playtime before dinner as well. 

On the second or third night we were dining in a delightful Spanish restaurant, sitting in the courtyard. We were overlooked by stylish balconies of local residents. It was a community atmosphere. When we arrived a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, saw us and waved. She must have sensed how in love we were from our affectionate behaviour and she seemed somewhat captivated. She stayed in her place and gazed down at us from a distance. When we glanced up at her a few times, she returned a beaming smile, full of warmth and appreciation. 

Towards the end of the meal, while we were waiting for dessert an older woman came around with some roses. On impulse, I bought two. I ceremoniously gave the first one to my lover. The other one, I announced, I wanted to give to our devoted fan, still watching our every move. I stood up, walked a few steps towards the balcony and threw it up to her. She caught it and beamed with happiness and appreciation to have been acknowledged. When I turned around the table was empty. Thinking she had gone to the bathroom, I sat down and waited. She was not coming back. The maitre'd informed me that she had left, stormed off.

My heart sank. I felt that feeling when all the air is sucked out of the atmosphere. Oh, no. This is not good. Really not good. 

And it was bad on many levels. Just paying the bill used up more than half the money in my possession. Then there was one other thing. I did not take proper note of the name of the hotel we were staying at. I had no idea what to tell the taxi driver, one who spoke no English. Somehow, after driving around for close to an hour, using my internal GPS and a mix of luck, we found the place. The cab fare cleaned me out. I was pretty stressed and kind of angry. I was never a fan of drama and this was drama.

To make things worse, I had to key to the room and she refused to let me in. After arguing, negotiating through the closed door, she finally relented when I told her to just throw my bag out, that I was leaving. She let me in. She cried as I reassured her of my love, our love. She apologised for being insecure. It was the drink, she was tired, it was confusing... Of course, I forgave her and all was good for the rest of the stay in Spain. Leaving again was difficult and I returned to Sydney.

Three months later, she told me on the phone that she had booked me a ticket to New York City. She had a job there and wanted us to meet. I was leaving in three days. 

I decided that our love affair, our connection, was real, truly special. It demanded that I honour it, and her, with a proactive decision and action. I used my entire savings and bought her an engagement ring. It was just one diamond, but I spent a long time finding the best looking ring I could find within my means. I was going to ask her to marry me.

What I remember of New York in that trip is mostly the plush Park Avenue hotel room. We spent a lot of time there. I also remember studying that wine coloured Zagat guide, doing my job selecting and booking the evening's restaurant. It was a culinary indulgence, a luxurious treat. Money was never an issue. Not only did she pay for all our meals in every city, but she was a generous tipper. 

Is it OK to do what I am doing, I sometimes wondered. She is paying to have me around. Am I keeping within the boundries of my personal integrity, I would ask myself. 

But I felt I wasn't. It was just the way it was. I was extremely lucky to be where I was. It was fate. 

I never did anything that compromised my own morality. I was never fake, I never lied or acted any way other than was true. I was extremely grateful and always thanked her and let her know how much my sharing was appreciated. 

We talked about it. What else am I going to spend my money on? she would say. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You make me happy, you make me feel free. Being able to see you and be with you after a hard day's shoot means so much to me. It is as much a dream come true for you as it is for me. I believed her. Whatever the financial dynamics were, our emotional bond was undeniably based on equality, honesty, passion and deep, heartfelt desire. We had to be together.

The ring was burning a hole in my pocket. I wanted the timing to be right. I waited until our last night in New York. The restaurant I chose was the landmark, opulent Cafe Des Artistes on the upper West Side. We had finished our meal and were drinking champagne. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled it out. I can't recall my exact presentation procedure, but I am sure I attempted to make it as romantic as possible without being corny. She was surprised and delighted. She said yes. 

I can't recall the exact way things happened after that but when she was coming back from the bathroom I was chatting to a waitress. We might have been sharing a laugh or a brief moment. Whatever it was, my new 'fiancee' didn't like it one bit. She went into a rage, like a sudden cyclone. She took off the ring and threw it in her champagne glass. I was speechless. For a moment I considered leaving it there. But I picked it out. I went  outside. She was attempting to hail down a taxi. When one pulled up, I jumped in beside her. She started crying. I said nothing. We got to the hotel and went to the room in silence. It was tense and uncomfortable. And in my opinion, completely out of order and unnecessary. It was become clear that this was a pattern. A emotional anomaly. Something was out of whack. I realised that each time these things happened, we had consumed quite a few drinks. That was surely part of it. But the reactions were so extreme. The anger so fierce. The response inappropriate. It felt disrespectful, damaging. 

We went to bed together, after separate showers. Eventually we made up. In the morning, when I woke she was in tears. 

I left my ring behind. I can't believe what I have done...

I hugged her. I've got it. If you still want it.

Of course I do. I am so sorry.

Things were back in place. We were OK again. Another storm weathered. My flight out of NY was after hers. She got back to LA before me. My flight back to Sydney was through LA and I had an 8 hour lay over. She picked me up from the airport and we went to her house. It was interesting and kind of strange to actually be in her home. It seemed to me, from my observations, that it was somewhere she spent little time. It needed more attention, warmth. I got an idea.

Why don't I stay here? I suggested. In LA. We can live together. I have nothing that demands I immediately return to Australia. Why don't we try actually being with each other on a day to day basis, in a more grounded way. 

It felt like an opportunity in a way. It came to me in the moment and I shared it. 

She thought about it but I think it was too fast. My plane was supposed to be leaving in a few hours. It was a big decision either way. She went with maintaining the status quo.

Once again, I was up in the air. Heading back to Oz.

Six months passed. It was excruciating. A little heartbreaking. Talking on the phone was like a cruel tease. She was busy working on more shoots within the US. Arizona, NY again. I suggested she come visit, even stay. Or I could fly back over. But she wouldn't commit.

Long distance relationships are so, so hard. Two months is the limit, I believe. My limit anyway.

I could not put my life on hold. I just carried on as I would. Did my thing. Went to art gallery openings, plays, parties. Along the way I met some lovely women. None captivated me like she did, but a few times there was intense and immediate attraction. I didn't know what was going to happen, so I went with the flow. I went with what reality was presenting to me in the moment. That's the way I live.

Our communications had dwindled to just a trickle. I took it in stride. Glad for what we had had. But I knew she was a tied to her job and was afraid of letting it all go for love. I couldn't blame her, she had more to loose than me. 

When she rang, though, and told me she was coming back to Australia for a shoot, I was pretty happy. Mostly. Actually, a little conflicted. The suffering involved in a long distance relationship did not suit me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to re-ignite the flame, only to have it extinguished again. But she still had my ring, as well, it was far too special a relationship to give it every chance.

Her shoot was to be up in Cairns but her first night was in Sydney. She was staying at the same hotel, The Sebel Townhouse. Back where it all began. We met for dinner in a restaurant on Kellet Street, just nearby. Seeing each other again was electric. It was all still there. Dinner was wonderful.

I made the choice to be completely honest and up front with her. I told her that in the interim, during our time apart, although I had not gone out with any other women, that I did hook up briefly with three women. 

She seemed to take it well and said that she appreciated me being open and honest with her. She said that she had not been with anyone. We went back to the hotel and our night together was as though we had never been apart.

It was a long week, while she was in Cairns, waiting for her to return so that we could discuss a future. 

When she did come back we went for dinner and then went back to the hotel. Everything was beautiful. 

We made love. It was passionate.

Then, right in the final moments, right after the crescendo, in the space between hitting the highest high and floating back to earth, she looked me straight in the eyes, her hands around the back of my neck and said...

While I was away in Cairns on the shoot, I fucked a guy in the crew.

Bang.

I got off her. I got up and got dressed. I felt physically sick. My head was spinning. I will never forget the feeling of that moment.

I walked out. It was over.

A few weeks later, I get a call from LA. It's her. She is crying. She tells me how sorry she is. How wrong it was, what she did. She tells me she has to see me. We have to talk. In person. I tell her it's too late. She says, no, I am coming. I have to see you. I have already booked my ticket. I arrive tomorrow. Please, please, if even a skerrick of anything good remains, please come to The Sebel tomorrow night. Just to talk. Just so we can talk.

I tell her, don't come. I don't want to see you.

She says, I'm coming. I will be there.

I admired her conviction and gumption. There were some burnt embers still there but not much. Mostly it was a damp, smoldering, unpleasant heap of ash and wet coal.

But I went. I went to her room. She was lying on the bed. She tried to seduce me. I could not do it. I could not let it happen. What she had done was unforgivable. Once again, I walked away. This time, though, there was no anger. Just sadness.

A week later, I got an padded envelope in the mail. Inside was  a small dried rose and some barbed wire wrapped around it. Attached to the barbed wire was the ring.

Nice touch. I had to smile. 

I sold it at a hock shop the next day.

End of chapter. End of story.

Drink from the river
Breathe in that mountain
Make your skin quiver

While you can, while you can

Follow the new path
Taste the unknown
Step up to the new task

While you can, while you can

Shake yourself silly
Run naked at midnight
Be ready, be willing

While you can, while you can

The dying man was angry
He had let too much slide
Squandered his birthright 
Kept too much inside

Learn from his rage
His pain is your lesson
Whatever your age
Don't let it go missing

There's nothing worth saving
Spend your soul, open your heart
Go hungry, push the whole way
Give everything, go hard

Life is but an instant
A flash from a star
Dive in and taste it
Don't live from afar

Push all your boundaries
Find your truth, perfect your plan
You are in it; so win it

While you can, while you can

I have started a few entries over the last two weeks and have left them unpublished, as invisible drafts.

One was too negative (although realistic about circumstances), the other I can't remember what stalled it's publication.

Many other times I have sat down to write something and just shrugged off the notion altogether - a mix of laziness, rebellion and ennui. Sometimes I can't muster up the positive energy to commit to forming a sentient, honest, current expression of my head space. Living it, it seems, is challenge enough.

I don't need to write stuff down because....

It's too complex.
It's too obvious.
It's too personal.
It's too confronting.
It's mundane.

There are always plenty of reasons. Plus, I ask myself, what is the point of doing it at all? Who is it for? What is it for? What am I trying to achieve? 

And these are good questions. 

When I am actually into it, writing one or having just finished writing one; it all makes sense. 

It's about uncovering truth. Investigating the depths and recesses. It's about detaching from my attachment to self and observing and reporting on what is occurring. 

This can be beneficial because it offers insight and clarity. 

It takes courage to speak out, to reveal one's inner workings. A bit of courage. And abandon. And trust. And devil-may-care attitude. In the end, after all, we'll all be dust - so why be precious. Why not mine whatever the present presents for some nuggets of interest?

Having a dialogue with one's self is amusing. It can be elevating.

Because time keeps moving on and we continue to evolve - nothing is set in stone. Nothing is permanent. All the notions and conceits, the dreams and delusions - grand and petite; all leaves in the wind. Clouds. Raindrops. 

This is not me. 

This is just me at the moment.

Tomorrow I will be different. And the next day again. And on.

So, it's amusing to carve a few scratches in the wall. It's something to do. It's a passing conversation. On record. It's the voice of one of billions. The tiny peep of a little bird. A glint in the sky.

This evening, after dinner, I lay down and fell asleep. I woke up and felt rested. I had gone far, far away, in dream. My slumber erased the day, the thoughts and feelings, and left me with a clean slate. It was refreshing. 

We want to live and we want to experience but we also want to be fresh and ready for what is to come. It's such a complex, miraculous system. There is no real way to properly comprehend or explain what life is. We just keep going.

We think we know but we don't. And yet, somehow, we kind of do. Rather exquisite, confounding, tantalising. 

Like this brief monologue: something but nothing.

There's a lot of implied pressure and expectations these days from mainstream society to be ambitious, aggressively proactive in pursuit of career and financial success. It has always been present, growing since the eighties, but with the massive increase of numbers of strivers, step-uppers and wanna-be-famousers it has become even more competitive out there in every field. It is a way that many people, in fact, measure their self worth.

The downside of this is that for every winner there are many losers. As well, the make-it-at-any-cost attitude does no favours for the moral integrity of the game players. Egos battle, feelings are disregarded, the non-achievers are scoffed at and relegated to the fringes. The whole game is one that gives massive financial rewards to the top of the pyramid and a pittance to the bottom. Obviously, it is not fair. In fact, it is blatantly unhealthy and unethical. 

There are other options to partaking in this ruthless hunger for gold, however. There are other ways. Better ways. It means first seeing beyond the noxious and infectious fumes of capitalism and materialism. It requires one to see the big picture, ponder on the finer points of existence and choose an alternative that is uniquely suited. The choices are vast, though, in some cases they may require some contemplation, as well as a pinch of courage, a glint of resolve.

It all begins with you. Who are you? What do you believe in? What are your natural instincts, passions?

By listening to yourself, your inner voice and paying it heed, you will start to find your direction. Ignore the calls and shouts of the outside world - family, school, the media - this is a very personal thing and the answers come from within your self.

Whatever you choose to pursue - and you can chop and change as you feel the need - or pursue multiple paths at once - do so with commitment and integrity. If what you are doing makes you happy, feel valuable, feel worthy, feel empowered - then you are on the right path.

I don't know why I have started to sound like a self help book. So, I'll curb it. I guess, though, what I am trying to say is that there are unlimited options - helping your grandmother, kayaking, salsa dancing, sewing, cooking, volunteering, spontaneous travel - and that they exist across a wide spectrum. One needs to not be narrow minded. One needs to question. To seek answers. To acknowledge one's own internal struggle and not look away. Stay with it. Stay with yourself. Invest in yourself.

Oh, no. Self help book lingo returns. Ich! Sorry.

I suppose I am speaking to the young. I am trying to encourage the rewarding journey of self creation. Climbing walls and peeking over. Going too far sometimes. Getting lost. Feeling the pain of existence. 

A lot of the best things in life are not written about in magazines. Or online. They are secret treasures. They are precious and personal. They are yours to seek and discover. There is no map. You need to trust. You need to keep searching - for that thing - that thing! - the whatever it is that only you know.... 

Reality is only limited by your imagination. And your imagination knows no bounds.

Back about eight years ago when I was directing a documentary about Bay FM called Bliss Jockeys, I did a little contra side job. My camera man and I were to film William Whitecloud give a talk about his system and beliefs. It was a no fee job, negotiated by my long time lovely friend, Claire, but in exchange I got to attend a four day seminar in Brisbane called 'The Magician's Way.'

Previous to that I'd done a handful of other self help/self realisation seminars - 'Insight' and 'The Forum' spring to mind - and had found them to be beneficial (in their own way). So, as Claire often espoused the benefits of TMW and was actually in training to lead herself, I figured why not.

I was invited to stay the three or four nights in a spare room at one of the generous trainees. Each morning before showing up at the function centre, I'd go for a stretch and swim at the local pool. Generally, I was in a good head space at that time, so I was open and receptive to whatever may shift, any changes in perspective, broadening of outlook.

There was a lot of great stuff in the seminar over the two days and four nights. I found it engaging and beneficial. One of the best exercises - and the reason behind this rant - was one in which we sat in an arrangement of four chairs facing a single one in a semi-circle. One at a time, we would sit in that chair and say just two words: 'I am.' The other four would then respond to the simple statement and tell what they got from that - about who you were, how you feel, where you are at in your life, etc....

Well. It was amazing. I will never forget just how accurate and on pace everyone (all strangers to each other) was. It exemplified just how deeply we all comprehend things about each other and how clearly we see each other.

Thing is, in everyday life, all that is mostly subliminated for reasons of etiquette and normal surface level interaction. 

We all know how normal it is for ourselves to perceive others in a complex and comprehensive way but we tend to kind of assume that people looking at us aren't really taking much in. The truth is we are all extremely attuned to human nature and individual personality. From just two words, the feedback was gobsmakingly astounding. We underestimate each other. And, to a degree, ourselves.

My point, and the reason for writing this piece is to do with the connection between what I am writing and what the reader is receiving. I sometimes worry about a gap. But then I realise. No. It's cool. We all read between the lines. We all pick up on nuances and read into every minute choice a writer makes with words, phrasing, energy aligment. I don't need to worry. Just put it out there. Just say, "I am," and people will hear you as you are. 

And part of that is the point. It's something we love to do. Share ourselves with each other. In all sorts of ways. And the more real, the deeper, the more passionate, the more raw and pure; the better. Each of us is connected deeply. And we need each other more than we know.

I voluntarily missed out on my night time poker game, so you know it must be important. I was invited to the Steiner school to attend a night of short speeches by year six - one of whom is my beloved godson, Jarrah. 

It was a special activity and they were adeptly coached and mentored by a drama teacher/parent who donated his time. Each kid, all around 12, spoke for 3 or 4 minutes. When they announced that there were going to 28 speeches in succession - it was a little bit like - OK, this is going to be a long haul. I was very happy to be there surrounded by the creative energy, the excitement, the proud parents and the precious children. I was expecting something shorter, perhaps, but, hey, let's see what comes...

In short, it was awesome. Each kid had chosen a topic close to their heart and had written the speech themselves. They had obviously all practiced well - some even spoke from memory. The topics were varied and interesting, topical: Global Warming, Learning From Mistakes, Caring for Animals, The Barrier Reef. One kid spoke on the Importance of Mothers. He got a standing ovation. About five of the boys talked about soccer. Jarrah's speech was about archery - his new passion. It began with the quote from Zen master Eugen Herrigel: "In the case of archery, the hitter and the hit are no longer two opposing objects, but one reality."

Mind focus. Merging. 

At some point in the evening, it was cleear the speakers and the listeners became that one reality. At the end of the talks, they sang three songs. One of them was by Paul Kelly and Archie Roach: "From Little Things Big Things Grow", which happens to be one of my favourite songs. The audience sang along on the chorus. Seeing those young souls there, fully alive and in the moment, gushing with innocence and enthusiasm, I pictured how each of them will grow up to be compassionate and strong adults and was overwhelmed with the absolute beauty of humanity. Tears were rushing down my face. I have not felt so in place, connected and honoured to be a human for a long time. I was uplifted and transformed. New seeds of hope and wonder were planted that night. We'll see what grows.

“Somewhere in the archives of crudest instinct is recorded the truth that it is better to be endangered and free than captive and comfortable.”

Tom Robbins said that. He's a wonderful, joyous, rollicking writer if you are ever interested in a fun and enlightening read. 'Even Cowgirls Get the Blues', 'Still Life With a Woodpecker". From down south USA, wrote his best stuff in the 70's. (What a decade!)

So, I read this quote and it resonated. Yes. Even when I am not writing in this blog, I am thinking about it. I'll get a subject and mull it over in my own mind. (For my personal enjoyment/distraction/development.) Then I will ask - is that something worth writing about? Is it going to shed any light for anyone? Is it something that, if explored in text, may expand, form tributaries, perhaps lead to somewhere interesting and engaging?

Sometimes I am feeling a little blah and I can't be bothered. I let the thoughts come and go. Sometimes I think it's not interesting enough to share. Sometimes I think: meh, what's the point? Really? The internet, the world is full of stuff that people write and have written about internal mechanisms and observations - why crowd it out even more?

That's why this quote kind of got me. Some things - especially truth - need to be released and shared. Who knows the result of their liberation from captivity. Isn't that the whole point of setting something free? You no longer control it. It can run wild. It is no longer yours to have expectations of, influence.

With all the bullshit in the world today, morsels of truth, honesty are a refreshing and enriching change. What is the point of reading all that crap in the papers, the bad news, all those pumped up, vapid articles in mags and on web sites about so-and-so doing this or that scandalous thing? Garbage. 

We are glorious, enlightened, miraculous beings. (At our best.) We deserve to surround ourselves with - as much as possible - things that are lucid, pure, worthwhile, enriching. We need to elevate our consciousness - individually and collectively - to spearhead our way to a more enlightened humanity. 

That is why I write in this blog. A tiny little voice, not practiced or showy, with nothing to promote or sell, no agenda. This is not PR. The is just a simple soul in a big complex, demanding world - like a bird, making a little chirp - before flying off, up into the sky. Back to hovering above the earth, in the clouds of imagination and freedom. A little, melodious, simple, one or two note song from the heart. I know there are other birds around, just like me. And some of them will hear my sound and find comfort.

I love the smell of abstract in the morning.

Some days I wake up after exciting, lucid dreams and feel that I am able to see the world slightly differently.

Every day, I make new images and I have done for many years now. Today, I made five new images. The one above was my favourite. It wasn't quite working at first and almost felt like a discard but I kept with it and let it find itself.

When I was finished, I really loved it. I will often like what I create but only maybe really love one in a hundred images. This is one of those. Makes me feel good. 

I want to state - for anyone who doesn't create images, who doesn't know the feeling of painting or drawing, conjuring up a fresh life force with line, colour, shape, composition - that it's a wonderful thing to do. It can bring immense pleasure. You focus, loose yourself, question things, answer things, experiment, take risks, assess and reassess... It's a mind's eye game. It's a connection with the source. 

In the best moments, you become a conduit for pure universal energy. When you have practiced enough, you learn to get out of your own way and let the flow happen. It can be ecstatic and tantalising. Of course, along the way, and still, on some days, it can also be frustrating and hard work. But for me, generally, these day - I'm free rolling, having a grand old time. Art is my jazz. The picture above is my improvised solo from today's jam session.

Yep, it's been proved, once again, as the title say, 'Art gets me high'.

Just a little spark is all I need
Like this morning
I was awake
More awake than some mornings

Just a little spark
I read a word
Just a single word
That lit a fuse

Ignited by passion
It's not a predictable thing
Passion lives in a world of it's own
With it's own rules
With no rules

I think of Raymond Carver
His words
Chosen
Select
The effect
Sublime

I think of the artist
Say Picasso
No, Van Gogh
Or Hockney, yeah, Hockney
The colours presented
A miracle to behold

I think of a lifetime
So much struggle
By the time we realise
It's not the game we thought it was
It's too late
Too late

So any spark
Be it in the morning, at night, at twilight 
Forget the cocktails
Get up from the patio
We're gonna dance
We're gonna dance
Cause this may be the last chance we get