Sage is lying on her back – stretched out on the freshly cut grass which circles like an amphitheatre around the Botanic gardens bird lake. The clouds are floating past like elongated balls of cotton wool. They’re white then light grey, then an ominous charcoal. They string out like fairy floss being pulled apart in blobs and strands. The slowness of the dense whites are passed by the speediness of wispy charcoal filaments and in the distant background the steady towering banks of cumulous hold fort over the dancing and cavorting foreground. And all the while it is the earth turning in unison with the gusting wind which assists their passing. The dank smell of stagnant water mingled with bird droppings hangs in the warm afternoon air. It took a while to find a spot not littered with bird poop but she was determined to think and reflect on how she was going to deal with the latest issue at hand. She studies the passing fiesta of clouds as she ponders the gravity of yesterday’s death battle.
‘Well, it was either me or, him and who would have thought that she could turn things around like she did?’
He’d planned it well – his modus operandi – not a fail-safe plan but a cunning one. Daring even. For there was an assumption on his part that she would be of the mind to investigate how and why there were legs protruding from the undergrowth. That in her curiosity, she would wander off the track and into his trap. Someone else might have scampered off in fear or gone to fetch help. Which makes her think that he may have known something about her and her particular mentality. ‘How so?’, she wonders.
Gently touched by the breeze
the grass is so delicate,
but strong enough to withstand the imposition
Much as I wish to gently touch you
and thank you for being
strong enough to withstand
the imposition of my delicacy
Whilst Australia is a wonderful country and there is much to be grateful for, Australia Day remains a bitter sweet occurrence within its historical and social relevance to Indigenous Australians. Furthermore, as long as the welfare of our Indigenous friends is not adequately addressed, there can be no restitution.
Right across this land – look past the horizon – out into the beyond – feel your feet on the surface – zone in – right to the core – feel the expanse – the immensity – the wonder – not just this country but all over the planet – out beyond this planet – galaxy upon galaxy …….. it is not ours to own – to exploit – to tarnish….. and how can we be so conceited to think that we’re the only ones? We are visitors – all of us – we must behave like visitors – with respect and reverence …. Some may think that they own a small piece of it – but they don’t…really….. how can we possibly own that which is not given? We only assume things to be so and as such, we are always at odds with the universal law ……When we learn to abide by this law – when we learn to live in the universal flow…we will cease the struggle, the control and the greed… And what of love? It is said that love is all that is required…as if by some magical flick of a wand, love fixes everything.. How ignorant is that?? Love is an intent – a verb – a doing word – not a random emotion and not something to be bandied around to make ourselves feel good. If we tried to heal our woes with emotions, what a mess it would be! ….And it is! LOVE is the genuine intention of good will – of desiring well being for all. Not this disingenuous crap espoused by those in fancy garb. Let the false prophets be exposed, let the hypocrisy be revealed….let there be a genuine intent – may harmony and ease of living prevail. Stuff patriotism – (as Oscar Wilde said: “the virtue of the vicious”) – I pledge my allegiance to this wonderful universe and its eons old ways of creating harmony and order!
The little minds of human kind are no match for this…
How many colours has my soul?
Which one is the strongest? Which one is the weakest?
Which one is the wicked?
Which one has the power to drag your soul into a journey that will challenge you?
Are you the wicked one? What colours are you?
Who is the one now reading intent into my words? Making assumptions?
Uttering righteous comments – making subjective judgements?
Which, like a medieval sword challenges my heart, confronts my soul?
Whilst others choose to use my words like a knife with two blades
Do my words have the power to awake a dormant flower under the ice?
Like a pale ray of sun breaking the heavy clouds in the mist of winter?
Is it poetry of the soul? Are they words from the divine?
Are they words that can say more than words can say?
Words that seek to describe that which is indescribable?
The ineffable, indefinable, transcendental, courageous, infinite.
These words of soul’s connection, soul’s expression of the divine
The devil’s trumpeting or, the angel’s sweet melodious intonations
Are you brave enough to receive them?
I was born searching for my star and was offered this galaxy
It was almost too much to cope with at times
And me, just the tiniest speck amid this vast gathering
Way too minute to register on the universal radar
Insignificant but, breathing all the same
My steady lup dup heart mimicking the pulsing of distant unknown stars
Protons, electrons and neutrons circling each other
Repelling, attracting, pinging
All vying in a game of one-upmanship
Different formula, same dance moves
conjuring up the next spontaneous combustion
A big bang
A tiny pop
An apocalypse perhaps
Every now and then an unexpected turbulence or, a devastation
Perhaps a sixth dimension intervention
Exquisite, ephemeral, eternal, ineffable
I was born searching for my star
Was offered this galaxy
And ended up with an infinite universe