As my light becomes dark

I intertwine my words and vision into woven light

Sunday, October 31, 2010


Cold love
Old love
Sold love
Controlled love
Protected love
Arms length love
Nothing love
Glass empty love
Betrayed loved
Dishonest love
Scared love
Broken love       
Black love
Deserted love
Crushed love
Ugly love
Frightening love
Heart racing love
Running love
Angry love
Impaired love
Silent love
Boxed love
Denied love

                                Warm love
New love
Kept love
Fresh love
Giving love
Freedom love
Trusted love
Full love
Blossoming love
Embraced love
Unhinged love
Deserved love
Forever love
Hopeful love
Special love
Amazing love
Floating love
Beautiful love
Believing love
Involved love
Enjoyed love
Self love


Does ones life have many momets of being re-born? Do we die on the inside and then come back into life with newness?  I feel like over the past week I have been re-born.  My life has rebegun, yet like all things new I am feeling really apprehensive and nervous.  I fear.....

I don't float with the changing winds all that well and even when goodness is the prime denominator I fear that one day I will fall from the skies....I wrote this poem a few months ago, yet it has just as much relevance as I begin a new phase in my life......

The internal beast that I feed with my attention
It makes a banquet of my mind
Never enough to satisfy its hunger
A simmering, smouldering stew
Bubbling and fermenting
For the cannibal to devour
But it desires my waveless heart beat
Turning it into a chaotic place full of mess
Braising, parching and scorching
Preparing for its meal
I desire to flee the outbreak of commotion
And be free of the controllable
The dominating thought
My suffocating breath
I am panicked by the beast
That constantly wants to gorge on my soul
Immobilising me
The questioning in my mind
As the beast starts to grow
And manifest, feeding
Feeding off a bottomless pit
Leaving me empty
Apart from the beast itself


The blue of the sky
Reflected in its eyes
As the rain falls
The voice crying
Drawn deep below the breast
Searching for the soul
Where light will fold
Raindrops stain the earth
As golden embers weave the sky
Silence falls between us
Loves liquid wets our open hearts
For happiness will once again fly

Thursday, October 21, 2010

From the Wardrobe

The earth was dark
The shadowed heart hung
In the window beside the wooden bird
Words stored in a small box by the cushioned dream
Overlooking the deep valley
Remained speckled with colour
Floating amongst the trees
As dawn danced on the horizon
In a gold pleated dress
Shedding dark imperfections and failings
Fragments of dreams drift
You hum a tune to the blowing wind
The moon shadow moves across your heart
As the ceiling is painted blue
Becomes frightened
Hiding behind the rising earth
Light is uncovered
From below the silent heartbeat
Boxed words sit
As I hear the winds tune
Like you are still humming
The passage of time
Wrapped around the stones that fall
As time does pass
The past leads the future
And the wind turns around
The box where the words have been kept
Is now

Tuesday, October 19, 2010


“Are you in trouble?” he asks me, and I look up as the first light of day emerges behind his body.
“No.”  I reply, puzzled by this strange mans question
“You are writing madly in your notebook.”  He says
“Oh” I am still puzzled.
“Are you in trouble?  Are you writing home to your family?” He asks again.
“No” I wonder why he thinks this “just my thoughts” I tell him.  I smile, and he returns the smile, his dark eyes sparkling from under his beanie.
“Poetry.” I add
“Oh you are a poet?”
“Hopefully.  Trying.” 
The tram approaches.
“I am a night shift worker, and I dream of things like poetry.”  He begins to walk toward the tram.  Just as he is about to board the tram he turns back towards me.
“Good luck” looking me directly in the eye.  A connection with a stranger I had never felt before, like for this moment he understood everything about me.  “I might read about you one day.” He adds as he steps up onto the tram.
I am left with my thoughts.

Friday, October 15, 2010

The I Remembers....

we all come from somewhere, so much worth remembering.  I remember writing this, it was meant be in a poem, yet turned into this.  A writing task set by Melanie at Easter of this year, and this is where the writing re formed itself

I remember when I was five and I started school, I cried, I loved being with my brother.
I remember making cubbies with my brother every Sunday morning, made from chairs and blankets, we had a little world of our own.
I remember lighting fires in the fireplace with Dad every winter morning,
I remember school holidays driving to Melbourne there was always a building of excitement, especially when we saw the city in the distance.
Everytime I see my grandmother, a memory etched on my mind, a memory yet to remember.
I remember the first time I watched Brides of Christ and I wanted to become a nun.
I remember when my nephew was born at 4:55am, and I held him when he was only an hour old, I felt a level of love I had never felt before.
I remember learning to swim in the King River and diving deep to pick up stones from the bottom, I remember the silence under the water and trying to walk along the bottom where it was dark and silent.
I was 10 when I first met Holly Tunstall, and her flaming red hair, neither of us had dolls, so we drew pictures together.  I remember when her step mother burnt the letters I had written her, I hate her, she burnt our friendship, I remember watching the flames, and I cried, she was burning me.  I remember Holly inspiring me to be happy, even when everything around me felt unhappy.  I remember we would ride our bikes and meet each other on Edi Upper Road,  we road for kilometres to see each other, even for small moments in time, especially when her step mother said we couldn’t see each other.  I remember Holly.
I remember hearing Kasey Chambers sing The Captain for the first time, walking from my place in Shaolhaven St, I walked differently from that house that day, I understood what freedom was.
I remember arriving in Paris, and exhaling a breath of relief, my dream had come true, and I felt like I was home, smiling at every second person I passed in the street, embracing what my mind had thought about so many times.

I remember meeting Marie on the curise to the Pacific Islands, and she asked if she and her friend could sit with us.  Friend for life from her.
I remember my grandfathers funeral and feeling proud to be his granddaughter, holding his spirit in my heart and promising to never let that feeling die.
I remember our dog Frog eating my Easter egg, prancing from my bedroom with the elegant rabbit in her mouth; she was so proud, tail wagging.  She brought so much  happiness to our family.

I remember picking blueberries with Erica Jamison on her blueberry farm, and then making blueberry pies with her Mum, one of those memories too great to recreate.
I remember helping Mr Brewster do his garden when I was in grade six, he was 93 years old and I would sit and hold his hand and he would talk.  I remember when he died and I couldn’t go tend his garden anymore.
I remember the Christmas Santa danced on the shed roof and everyone laughed and cheered.
I remember going to my first concert, Tina Arena, I loved her, thought she was so beautiful.
I remember my last day of year twelve, 1996 and it was the day I turned 18 years old, I was so excited and felt like the world revolved around me for one day.
I remember when Laura moved to London and I was scared what my life would be like, I remember her saying goodbye and her mother was crying, and I walked away with tears streaming down my face unable to say goodbye to her.
I remember the sunflowers in Mums garden, 100’s of them in a garden bad, all facing the sun, swaying towards the sun, it was an amazing sight, like they were dancing.
I remember reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in my tent at Marlo and it poured with rain for days and I was transported to another place away from the rainy windy caravan park,
I remember learning the flute and how I couldn’t read the sheet music, and how hard I tried, and I just didn’t get it.  I remember I wanted to be good at it.
I remember graduating from university and how I didn’t want to go to the ceremony and my grandfather told me the moment isn’t just about me and how proud he and my grandmother and my parents were and the importance of education., and he said if he wasn’t so unwell he would be there standing clapping me with pride.  I remember he died a week before the ceremony, and the overwhelming amount of grief I felt on the morning of the ceremony, until I approached       the stage and then I was overwhelmed with an enormous amount of pride and gratitude for knowing him and knowing who he was to me.
I remember when Melanie left our school and I wondered for days where she was.   Another teacher told me she had gone to another school and she was not coming back anytime soon.   I was so sad.  I remember having no-one to share my pain with over losing who I thought was one of the most amazing people in my life.  I remember not being able to say goodbye or express my thanks or appreciation.  I felt alone and deserted and upset.  I knew I had to contact her somehow and I remember writing to her at her new school.  I remember then she went to Greece and she wrote to me about all these new and wonderful things, inspiring a place in my heart to dream, to travel, to write and to believe.  It was here that the most beautiful of friendships was forged, through writing and expression and a way for me to grow wings and fly.
I remember the only time I have driven a car, I was 14 and Dad let me drive up our 1 km long drive way, and I did so well until we approached the house and I got nervous and increased speed rather than decreasing and almost ran into the house, and Dad screaming at me.  I remember never being able to drive again.
I remember Mum always serving us broad beans for dinner, and how David gagged on them and I remember asking  her why so many of them.  She showed me the freezer was full of them, the only vegetables that grew in a drought.
I remember when David tipped a boiling bowl of two minute noodles all down the front of himself and  him screaming, and me running down to the neighbours place, and not falling over from running too fast down the hill.  I remember mum vomiting during our drive to the hospital.  I couldn’t stop shaking, and my teeth were chattering.  David kept laughing from the shock.  He spent 6 weeks in hospital and I remember my grandmother bringing him cans of coke and I was pissed off, where was my coke!!!  He would cry when they would give him baths and bath his skin.  I remember him not being able to swim without a t-shirt.  He still loves two minute noodles.
I remember going to see The Wizard of Oz at the Regent Theatre with Molly and Nicole, and all the colours and music was so overwhelming.  This defined my love of musical theatre.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Winters Sword

I entered the lounge room and immediately felt its warmth; I could smell the dead eucalypt smell in the room and hear the crackle of the flames in the fireplace.  Mum had been here before me.  Traces of her morning ritual were still present.  Her half empty cup of tea, the newspaper left open and a half attempted crossword left undone, the overflowing ashtray full of half smoked cigarettes.  But she was no longer in the room.
I knew where she would be, in the garden.  She was always in the garden, foriging through the plants.  The room was almost silent except for the noise of the fire, crackling and hissing away.  I stood in front of it longing for its warmth.  I looked out through the window, the fog had not yet risen, it was the middle of winter, where the fog did not lift until lunchtime, and the air remained cold all day.  I began to notice a strange noise, a low roaring noise that sounded as if it was coming from above me.  It was like nothing I had heard before.  It seemed to be getting louder.  A sudden bang of the kitchen door scared me as Mum rushed into the lounge room.
“GET OUTSIDE” she screamed “The chimney is on fire.” 
We ran outside and scrambled up the hill beside the house, it was wet and slippery from the dampness of winter.  We stood and looked at the chimney.  Flames were pouring out of it and there was a loud whistling noise.  Mum yelled at me
“Go and get the hose.” 
I lost balance as I went down the muddy hill.
 “Hurry” I could hear Mum scream.  I was.  I knew she was worried our house made of logs and a roof made of straw was going to catch on fire.  I turned the hose on at full speed and water came pouring out, going everywhere.  It was cold and I had forgotten the warmth from the lounge room.  I ran back to Mum pulling the hose with me, she was standing on the roof.  I threw her the hose as water went everywhere, hitting me in the face.  My clothes were soaking wet and I was shaking from the cold and the fear our house could catch on fire.
Mum shoved the hose down the chimney and the flames began to subside.  The roaring sound became quieter and all that could be heard was a slight crackling noise.  The fire had been put out.  We climbed down the hill and I turned off the tap.  We entered the house and I was like entering a misty forest.  The house was filled with smoke.  It took away my breath and we opened the windows, letting the fresh winter air inside.  I noticed the fog was beginning to rise outside, as the fear within began to decrease.  We were silent.  Mum put on the kettle.

Purple Cloth

The purple cloth
Draped with silence
Hope breaks each morning
Cracking our souls
With its radiating beauty
Screaming as the winds change
Where is she?
The dream comes with sacrifice
Golden buds held amongst the swarm of bees
Praying for forgiveness
Why am I not good enough for you?
Lost amongst your hurt
As closed eyes flutter
Tomorrow the dawn may hide
Darkness will lead
But I will wait for you

Sunday, October 10, 2010


A lovely evening shared with Damien and Jules.

Julianne.  My soul sister....I met her 5 years ago, when we owned DC's Cafe, she managed Boost and every morning, she would stop off at the cafe for a coffee.  To begin with we had nothing but idle chatter, complain about our hours, the fools the frequented Northland.  But as time went on we developed a friendship.  Well actually before that I must say she begged to be my friend (hahahahha, not really!!!) but she begged me week in and week out to come with her crew to Trivia at the local pub.  Week in and week out I would say no, not wanting to be a tag along, not knowing anyone and all these other little insecurities.  My Mum pointed out to me that Jules had asked me 3 times and I should at least do the courtesy of accepting her invitation.  So I did, and 5 years later and lots of different team members she and I STILL are a show at Trivia.

So that's where it all began for us.  She ended up working with us at the cafe, where she became the biggest of support to me.  She knows all she did, and I know all the things she did, she basically kept me going when giving up for me seemed like the only option.  She realised she wanted to be a teacher (and will be a GREAT one), fell in love with Damien (and so did I!), went to Japan, America, quit Boost, we have shared many, many, many drinks, she keeps me very leveled, and I always know when I need her, OUR normalness, no bullshit, no airy fairy emotions (that I always get trapped in), good old plain friendship.  Both being country girls, the earth and simpleness of life keeps us connected.  We both loooovvveeeee music, especially Kasey Chambers.

My soul sister.....we are the sisters without sisters.  I love that, and soon I will lose her to the outback, the earth and children of Bonya (near Alice Springs) call her.  Soon she will be my friend from a distance.  i am not ready for that yet.  So.....

ANYYYYYWAAAAYYYYYYYY.....last night we headed off to see The Wellingtons, Jules discovered and introduced them to me.  Our happy band, the band who makes you smile, the music, light and warm and beautiful.  It was fun, the city a buzz because of the Music Festival and the Fringe Festival.  Was fun, enjoyed it.

We headed back into Northcote where we decided to have dinner and drinks at The Wesley Ann, an old church turned into a pub.  Beautiful, grungy, easy going place.  Like it, good food and yep the beer was running freely....hahahah.  As usual our dissecting of the world didn't last long, we decided we don't like smug people, talked about music, work, teaching, books, my writing, but then things changed.

We, and don't ask me how arrived at my experience of vomiting in my mouth and swallowing it, while in the car on the way home from my cousins Deb a few moths ago.  Damien asked me if I had blogged about that.  Hahahaha, "NO" he said it was a good representation of life really and blogging and how people interactt and present themselves.

So as promised i said I would blog my tainted self.  hahahah....and unfortunately I see this as a wonderful (yet personally disgusting, and soooooo not proud, or dignified) moment of discovering metaphor.

Eating my words
Holding them in
The disgusting bile
That rises up my throat
Holding tightly shut
My mouth clutching
Onto the words from
My heart
My thoughts swish amongst
My teeth
The bitterness under my tongue
The gagging on truth
Asphyxiated by lies
Choking on my views
Vomiting in my mouth
And then swallowing it

Hey guys thanks for a great night.....hahhahahah

Saturday, October 9, 2010


Today, with light in my life, love in my heart, my open mind, the desire always for goodness I should have focus and purpose and none of the life squeezing doubts in my presence.  

BUT what happens when all those elements are put to the test and questioned???  Do you dig deeper within and find that extra something?  Do you get yourself drunk and wash the worries away?  Do you embrace the fear and anxiety and give in a roll with the waves of uncertainty?  What do you do, where do you go, how do you see things, better things, forget and reject things, accept them, embrace them, be be be, find, love, search.......or do you just......simple.  Am I wanting too much, when I already have so much.

I AM SCARED.  The past few days have been filled with doubt and questioning.  I visited Vision Australia earlier this week, where I was firstly humbled, being greeted by a visually impaired receptionist, who had co-workers with visual restrictions, and here I was walking into an environment where it was all decked out with visual aids and I felt like I shouldn't have been there. 

But I was meant to be there, possibly one of the first times over the past 16 years and living, dealing and navigating my way through RP I realised that the present and future of my visual life is changing, restricting, closing in.  Caroline who I had my consultation with was lovely, normal and could sense my lack of acceptance with my condition.  We did heaps of tests, there will be further tests, mobility training is being scheduled, "jobs in jeopardy" will take place, and I guess the rest is up to me.

Anyway, without all the in between details once my consultation was over and I walked out, I passed a group of elderly people there for a group session, all covered in smiles and happiness and it was then I realised my deep problem with this is ACCEPTING it, and adapting.  Even though I live with it day in day out, its actually a soul acceptance that I need to have, not just a physical.

So I will search deeper

Here I MUST mention my beautiful friend Melanie, who ALWAYS does her utmost best to push the positive, think the best, embrace the light.  Today she sent me some hope via the cyber world, and basically sending her goodness.   I guess I don't need to be in  fear with her around.

She sent me this link......a blog entry by the great Paulo Coelho, amazing man, amazing blog, and amazing entry.....NORMAL......jolted me back to the light, the warmth and MYSELF

so my soul searching begins

Show me your soul
Bear its roots
Its flourishing leaves
The coolness of its breeze
The comforting shadow
Scent of truth
Yearning place of desire
The mouldy crevasse
Crashing waves of happiness
Sowing the seeds of regret
The incomplete action
Half full buckets of dreams
The catalogue of chance
Unforgiving impulses
Hope, caught in a web of denial
The map toward your sun
Memories buried below the weeds
The flavour of your touch
The liquid of your visions
And the beauty in your existence

Thursday, October 7, 2010

GOLF BALLS, SAND AND BEER...."A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future....." Michael J Fox

Today .  Mmmmmm today, confusing, questionable, undeciding.  Until I found a new book.  I was searching Target, looking for a present for the undeserving and I ended up wandering (of course) toward the book section.  Please I begged inwardly, find a book, find a book to take home.   Just as I was about to turn around and leave, without a present for the undeserving, or a book, there on the bottom shelf a small book glistened its sparkling lights at me.
“A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future.....” By Michael J. Fox was now mine....”life is a ride. Strap in. Hold on and keep your eyes open.  Exactly the words I needed to hear. 

Desperate to get onto the tram so I could begin it....

CHAPTER ONE: Finally the beginning
Begining with a little sotry

A university professor standing at the front of a class with a large empty jar and a bucket of golf balls. The professor asks a student to fill the jar with as many golf balls as she can
possibly fit in. When the student is finished, the professor asks the class if the jar is truly
full. After they say that it is, the professor pulls out a tray with a mound of sand. With
great care, he starts pouring the sand into the jar, shaking it gently to help the sand
work its way in. So is the jar now full? You may think so, but the professor now pulls out
a can of beer, opens it and to the students amazement is able to carefully pour over half
of the can into the seemingly full jar.
it is a story about how we choose
to fill our time and our lives. The golf balls represent the important things in your life. If
you put them in first, you will still have room for some of the less important things.
However, if you allow the less important things (the sand and the beer) to come first,
you will never find time to devote to those things that really matter.

And here I begin.  Ready to fill my jar with golf balls, sand and beer.  If I needed a sign today, this is it.  Another book I already know will impact my thinking, my feeling, my life....

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


Like silent movies
The black and white memories
Move quickly
In love you love
But there is no love
The world is crushing
With thoughts and expectation
The returning
The fate
Time creates space
Given up love
The folding of cards
Loving is hard
Losing the game of passion
Fear lying on the table
It has returned
Broken memories are swept
Under the worn rug
With the invisible broom
That hangs in the cupboard near
My heart
Eyes like deep swirling whirlpools
Catching the spirit in the current
As tear drops fall on the inside
Flowing downward
As time and space are forgotten
Filling, the dam lying in the bottom
Of the lungs
Drowning the spirit in a deep
Salty fluid
Flooding every drawn breathe
The reflection of the water
The body standing on the edge
Looking deep into the eyes
Scared to jump into the current
Whispers of love float on the top
Clouds gather
The hand releases a little boat
The breeze from the heart
Directs it to the horizon
At the back of the mind
The sun from the soul falls
Toward the horizon
The sky speaks
The swirling water stands still
Things will never be the same again
The screams go unheard
As the boat begins to sink

Sunday, October 3, 2010


Happy Grand Final Day, take 2, as water was spilled into the foxtel outlet, the cabana fell on the floor, screaming crying children, vodka, betting on the ball....overwhelming, enjoyable and thrilling....maybe!!!  Football....

The intensity rising with the chant
Yellow men
Running amongst the heat
Trusting the flying heart
The belief in wanting
Chasing the win
People gather desiring gold
As the green carpet engulfs
Many charging men
An army after the crown
Nothing unless they are leading
As the dark and light
Win the battle

Friday, October 1, 2010

Riding the Black Cockatoo by John Danalis. How a story becomes a journey

I sit and I wait for the words to find me.  Realising they are me.  I have just finished reading Riding the Black Cockatoo by John Danalis, and I don’t know where to begin.  Beautiful, enriching, soul effecting, amazing, informative, but what I consider a book that was MEANT to land in my lap, have the pages turned by my hand and my heart uplifted and changed. 
I grew up amongst the earth, where nature and change of seasons, wildlife, and the flow affect of the soil, the moon, water, spirit and nurturing engulfed my existence.  Not aware until recently that this way of living is in my soul and how I greeted most days of my childhood, unaware of how the earth revolves and supports the beginning and ending of each movement.
So the book.  Firstly, the title kept arising to me in different ways, Melanie who knows all about books and authors mentioned this author and following him on Twitter and had shared another of John Danalis books with her daughter.  My Mum had heard the name on Radio National, my friend who has been doing her teaching placement in Bonya, an Aboriginal community near Alice Springs, highlighted my lack of understanding, yet desire to learn more about Aboriginal heritage.

BUT this all really began because of my younger cousin Jack, who is wise and knowledgeable and has begun his own exploration into race and where we come from, where racism takes us and how knowledge and understanding can free us.  So after hearing about this book, and gooogling its title and author I thought it a great place for him, and I guess for me to begin our adventure into the Australian past and present, Aboriginality and self discovery really.  He is 11 and upon purchasing the book, and beginning it I realise this book may be a little too much for him to grasp, so have held off giving him his copy, sort of need to equip myself with a bit of knowledge myself.
So I begin the book.  The line that was my hook (and I am thinking it will be for most people!!) is “Well I grew up with an Aboriginal skull on my mantelpiece”
From here on in I am a slave to the story and can’t put the book down, being filled with tingles and moments of seeing my own story.  A not so important part maybe but the part that I grew much of self from is on page 19 the description of the mantelpiece takes place.  Moving me greatly and how much we shelve the past and all the “important” things in our lives, photos, china, silver, all the “good” stuff, the important precious stuff.
Mary (who is actually a male) is a skull that has lived in the Danalis household, present and presented to the world.  Unaware of its power to change a family it journeys it way back to its homeland (country) to eventually be laid to rest.  Along the way John discovers his own connection to country and the importance of “who you are” rather than “what you are”.  I found this amazing and heart-warming, at times also I felt heartbreak and pain for him as he discovered the journey is not always as cut and dry as we think.
But through his journey a connection is made, and a release and understanding of history and future combine to open the mind, forgive the past and make way for a future of cultures and race coming together.
The book has reaffirmed to me that life presents us with many signs to guide us in the direction we are meant to go.   I write.  In writing I realise I keep going to the theme of birds.  Birds with broken wings, birds with freedom, caged birds, and spirits trapped in birds, shedding of feathers.  Recently I posed a writing challenge to myself and Melanie image “feathers, shell, charm”.  I have an empty bird cage in my bedroom.  I hold onto a memory of a lost bluebird charm that I lost as a child, my first gift from a great grandmother who I only know through stories and my father’s memory.  I just purchased two cds one Kasey Chambers new album called “Little Bird” and another by Passenger called “Flight of the Crow”, my 2 year old nephew seeks out little birds in the sky, I find feathers on randomly on the footpaths in the Northern suburbs of Melbourne.  And now this book has flown its way into my life.  Birds reappear many times within the pages.  This book is full of many signs.
The eagle; he’s my bird; he welcomes me when I return to my country. “There see him, he always here to greet me?” Jida pulled off the road and drove down a little layby which ran to a creek.  We got out and stretched, but this was more than a rest stop for Jida, he was home.
Without giving too much away this book goes without saying, should be read and embraced and if doesn’t open the hearts to at least thinking about there they themselves come from, they have missed the essence of the book.  This is a book about returning what belongs to the owners of the land, BUT more importantly it is about spirit and how spirits can combine:
The Wirinun formed us, black and white, into a line and brushed us over one by one with the smoking branch of green eucalypt sapling.  Despite the smoke, the leaves felt cool, their oily freshness resisting total ignition.  He explained the importance of fire and how it lay at the root if Aboriginal Law an culture. “Fire is our gateway to the Dreamtime. This smoke is the healer; come breathe it.”
Thanks John, for impacting my life, opening my mind, affecting my spirit and having the courage to write such a beautiful and important story.  Riding the Black Cockatoo will now stay with me forever as I fly forward into a life now with a new sense of who we are, where we are and embracing the importance of returning to our country.