magical and wondrous
magical and wondrous
I saw Jesus at the bus stop again today. We met in rehab about ten years ago. We hit it off and kept in touch for a few months when we got out. Then I met a girl and found work across town. He just dropped away. We had plans to rent a house together once. When you have to make a new life you stick together. You realise how alone you are. He wanted a place with a work shed, somewhere he could work timber, maybe up in the hills away from the noise, and old friends and old ways we needed to let go. I agreed, we both liked restoring old wooden furniture and making things. I found him one day in the workshop back at the Centre, we talked for hours about old timber and projects we’d done and ones we wanted to do. Worn out broken men dreaming and healing. He crossed my mind many times but I didn’t know how to reach him. He never owned a phone. We’d made a connection. I knew he was a good man.
I’ve seen him around town now and then over the years. We never talk about the old plans or rehab now. Life moves you on. He asked how I’m getting on and always wants to know all about my boy Jack. I told him I’m not with that girl anymore and we rolled a smoke and sat talking at the bus stop for about a half hour. He explained he was doing it hard. Couldn’t get work, past his prime and nobody needed his skills these days. Back on the drink. I could smell it. I knew his health wasn’t the best. He had a smile as ever and was happy to see me but I sensed his act. I think he was carrying his life in that old rucksack. I offered my tobacco pouch and he reached up to take it reluctantly, his eyes smiled with a wink of humble gratitude. He asked all about my life now and how I was getting on. He said he knew things would be okay for me. Never said much about himself. He’d been in town getting some test results from his doc and bought a few groceries. Said he was going to watch an old western on the TV tonight and we laughed and talked about westerns, and science fiction movies, and tried to remember the names of a few old classics.
His bus arrived five minutes late. It was the one that headed an hour down along the bay to a quiet little backwater where the docks and an old shipyard and salmon cannery once did a good trade. They all closed years ago. There’s a pocket of a few hundred ramshackle tin roof asbestos workers cottages and a pub. The school closed in the eighties. He hollered out the bus door before it closed, “Tell Jack I said hello! Give him my love! You’re a good man!” and the bus pulled away in a blast of burnt diesel.
Rain fell hard on a wet black road as another bus pulled into its place and a gust blew cold grey people suddenly all around me. I doubt he saw my thumbs up and a smile in return as his bus moved off down the lane.
Will you love me for a while? She scared him a little but he was falling. She knew he was the one and he had kind eyes.
Who ever fails at life? What is success? Why do we invent such categories? Who invented them and for what purpose? This may well be the pertinent question. Follow the patterns and repeat. Seems to be what they do around here when they ‘grow up’.
We’ll need you on deck at 6am sharp, we depend on you. Can you work Saturday? Oh look we’re cutting hourly rates to help the boss he’s got his golf fees due and his wife’s Range Rover Evoque needs a service. Let me repeat, we need to run a tight ship as you know. It’s competitive and it’s all about “Productivity and Innovation!” Or something. It was a great company. They told us at the meetings. Except Penny who moaned like a broken record over coffee at morning breaks and everyone rolled their eyes. “Burnt out old bitch…” Jim offered in the wash room. We laughed. I nodded. Jim had his finger on the pulse at work. She was clearly no good for morale. We need team players here. It’s my boys birthday on Saturday. Fuck.
Your doing alright and you’ll go far here son. Sign this tax form and we’re good to go.
The children had wide innovative mind’s and eyes that looked at wondrous beginnings and saw infinite miracles. But they’ll need a good job. We love those kids. We’re working for them you know! Then they left for work and nobody spoke at that hour. Grab a coffee and go. The child care arrangements were almost perfect. The sports news was what they talked about and the kids got the idea. Facts are facts and Santa ain’t real kid. They never saw their little five-year-olds lonely tears behind her pink bedroom door. She held dolly so tightly and she sobbed gently into her blanket. Sally was always such a happy girl. They took her to MacDonald’s for her birthday. Such a lucky girl. Day care on Monday.
“I want to die.” Heather said flatly and I thought it was a deadpan joke. I had just remarked about the rainy day and she says that. Sat next to me. Wet umbrella folded in her lap. Then she got off at the next bus stop. I still wonder who she was. I call her Heather just so she has a name. She looked about 19 or 20. She seemed lonely. Lost. Never forgotten her. Never saw her again.
Contrary to popular belief, not everything society does is written on tablets of stone as if in some master instruction manual thoughtfully passed down by the gods aeons back. The slavish repetition of pointless and detrimental customs is arguably a form of belief, or faith, in Idiocy. Either that or a form of mass psychopathic dementia. Could all those staunch atheists actually be true believers in the neon God they made? Perhaps ‘God’ has been staring at you from billboards and tempting you with cheap fares and better holidays. Church morphed into the café strip down town and that hip bar on Fridays after work. Well, there were 100 different beers on tap and the music was ok. Happy hour 5 – 7 and the wine was cheap and cheerful. Tony was 30 and had a certain charisma which got her attention about eight months ago. He joked that he was praying for that new role in Marketing and pictured himself in a new Audi A3 Cabriolet Quattro in metallic shiraz. He knew it would impress and he worked the room well. We don’t do religion they told friends at dinner parties smartly trying to sound hip as they headed into middle age. “Only fools believed”, they said and everyone laughed. She believed in Tony and his smile. More Chardonnay Maxine?
Work on suckers and slaves. Pay tax. It’s the law. We care about each of you. It’s department policy. Take a number and wait over there. Next!
Some things have long been written in stone. But you ignore all that it’s not relevant to anything. Ancient what? Those pyramids are amazing we did a package tour in 97 heaps of fun. Experts said something that sounds awesome and somebody sounding important said it on television so it’s true. Gerry at work saw it too and he agreed. “True as a turtles turd!” he says. He’s a funny guy Gerry. History – it’s what you get on the History Channel – plus those kooky Aliens shows. We sponsor a little African boy can’t recall his name. We’re doing South Africa and Egypt at the end of the year. Six weeks. Work will be piled high when I get back oh boy! He smiled then looked pained. He flicked on the plasma just as Brien threw to Ashlee with a witty segue and a twinkle in his eye. Flawless. Polished. Ashlee took the cue with precision and seamlessly launched into the weather report. She was perky and upbeat so he always caught the evening weather report. Hottest June day in Melbourne in recorded history. She had a cute smile which was etched in his imagination.
He and Maxine hadn’t touched in six years.
“I don’t fit into this fucked up world…” Alex whispered to the drab walls as he slammed a hit. It was a clean place for a squat house and the junkies left him alone. There was running water in the back lane. Alex was good at algebra and liked electronics. Built a computer from scratch when he was 15. They said he’d be an electrical engineer once. He hadn’t eaten in two days he thought fleetingly then he pushed the needle into his arm and pressed. Bliss.
He hated that fucking job. He had no choice. The fucking bank and this pissant cyborg petty micro managerial-guru fuck head line manager owned his lily ass. He had wanted to be a fireman when he was seven. Or an international hot air balloon pilot sailing the skies of the world. Being seven was fun. He could picture the gang as he daydreamed from his neat office work cubicle with grey partitions and pinned minutes of the safety meetings. A small framed picture of his boy was pushed haphazardly back behind the computer. They laughed and climbed trees in somebody’s yard and shot at aliens and monsters. Now they needed to create ‘brand energy’ and ‘facilitate visionary synergistic relationships with clients because ‘time is the new currency!’ Fuck. He was becoming more forward thinking with each passing day and couldn’t stop thinking out of the box. He could smash that window and jump it was 15 floors. Freedom. He hated their fucking tin pot buzzwords with every fibre.
The world seemed an enormous mystery that extended well beyond the far edge of the next block where little Sam and his big brother Brett lived and who knows how far it goes! Whoa! Transformers! Cool! They had a little black terrier called Pete and their dad made stupid jokes. Those days felt as if they’d last forever because we felt like we had forever in front of us. Life was one adventure after the next.
Does anything else in this world seek such nonsense? Tigers looking for a promotion. Roses out-bidding the competition. Baboons gazing into space thinking of that perfect getaway.
What should this tell you? Think hard now.
Humans are strange creatures. So stuck. So fearful but so full of their own imagined worldly schemes, schemas and paradigms.
Lost you could say.
Love your children and teach them well. Question authority and find determination in your belly. Put the fire in theirs. You may save their lives. Give them love and hope. Make it unconditional and let them fall. Hearts get forgotten in a world trying to make sense. Be present in moments and laugh lots. Do your best and be gentle with each other. Strive to be happy.
It’s broken. People are broken. They gloss it up and you’ve got your life to worry about. You can change the world. Oh wait you’re late for work and the house payment is due. You’re treading water and staying afloat can’t be happier they say! Got to pay for that holiday now too. Shit they’re going to cut off the gas on Thursday.
I’ll look cool in these Ray-Bans. Black or tortoise shell? Can we have tacos dad! Need another script the Valium runs out tomorrow. Shit.
I’ll call work they might have extra shifts. Fuck.
They were all in stunned disbelief when they heard the news. Found hanging by his own jeans tied around his neck from the steel rafter in the ceiling of his garage. The old couple next door called the police. A week or two was all they said. The smell had got beyond a joke. Tom was 85 and says he knows the smell of death and that were no rat. His frail wife looks into the space between the trees as clouds drift past like puppies and sky dragons. He was 23 and unemployed someone said. Truth was he hadn’t seen his mum in twelve months. They’d argued about money and who said what in just another family row. He ran out that night nowhere to bed down. Then they didn’t speak. Couldn’t talk to dad wouldn’t know how.
A quiet kid seemed reserved. They didn’t know his name. A month later when they’d worked out who he was it got page 6 with a dozen lines in the town news beside a half page advertisement for a kitchen ideas showroom grand opening sale with never to be repeated crazy prices. Maxine shifted her gaze and noticed the flooring tiles. She paused and for a fleeting moment she imagined her kitchen floor with those gorgeous Italian marble tiles, and that stainless steel induction cook top was to die for. Bliss. In that moment she broke and cried in grief and utter despair. The wind blew cold and she cried and shivered as twilight dimmed her lonely kitchen and tomorrow autumn would turn to winter.
He was always a good boy who loved climbing tall trees and shooting aliens and monsters with the gang.
Once when he was 13, he picked a fistful of Mrs Stevens daffodils on the walk home from school and banged on the front door to peeve his poor mother. As she opened that damn door her heart melted as her little boy says I love you mum and he holds out the flowers. He has the face of an angel with those beautiful kind eyes like his father.
He had always loved his mother with all his heart. She’s been putting daffodils on his grave each Wednesday for three years even on rainy winter days. He would be turning 26 in May.
We lay beneath a shady tree by the river and breathed the clear air deeply. I watched water molecules dance like nebula and dissolve into azure skies and distant sounds of a city muffled by
There is true art involved in creating beautiful subtle images as visual poems. Moving evocative images may linger in our memory for years like a flickering memory or fragment of a dream.
Good writing and good image making require the same keen skills of observation, the same sense of the moment, the same ability to distil the essence of moments and life.
Both done well hold the essence of being human. One with words creates it’s images in our imaginations, the other with light and magic.
“I’ll miss you when I’m gone”
His words from the previous night had lingered in her soul.
She went upstairs in the morning to check on him and found only an empty bed.
The days were becoming longer now as the seasons slowly moved.
Sunlight kissed her cheek as it slipped in quietly through the curtains.
she screamed her truth at him like it was her last day.
he’d never quite seen her so utterly utterly broken. broken in her brokenness.
had he caused this?
he stood petrified right in the middle of their slow motion destruction.
he walked out of their bedroom for the last time and softly closed the door.
her eyes red and wet with crying. her eyes screaming. at him.
those eyes that he had fallen in love with.
now you’re just trying to be an asshole she had said. I can’t do this she said. I can’t go on she said.
he drove into the hills not knowing his destination.
and he never saw her again.
In turbulence particles coalesce with gentle attraction. Your ears hear the breeze calmly kick a second before your skin feels it brush your cheek. Water molecules gather and grow a million fold as they rise captive in the updraft to the clear thin atmosphere their multitude becoming cloud-mountains which billow kilometers high above. The breeze becomes the wind and all the Winds now whip and gather in speed and force. This air mass shifts, pressure drops. This system draws the energy of lesser worlds or moons.
It’s blackness dims the bracing green hills and valleys of this shivering world.
So born are the great Storms of regeneration and transformation.
Wait now calmly as you can, though you must endure the wrath of the demon of tempests which stalks this place cloaked in darkcloud and frenzied agonised ripped cursed tortured air. The Great Forests fall stripped broken and defeated. Floods fill all lowlands. Outposts, settlements, cities which once glowed brightly are wiped from the surface. Lives are lost forever in this tragedy.
The destroyer of soulless Worlds and those dark masters who have ruled them descends now upon the this world.
Rivers break banks spitting torrents of silt and filth in the black night.
But energy dissipates, and in time these skies will return to the blues you have known well. Tranquillity settles on sky and land. The land is wet, it breathes. A strange but welcome quietness is pierced by the calling birds and you breathe ozone and oxygen. The planet exhales. Frightened creatures and women, children and men stir tentatively in the dawn. Lightning punctuates lengthening intervals in bright blinding bursts. It crackles and scatters in dark like broken neon.
You see far and understand now. A new Spirit inhabits this world. A cleansing has taken place. Regeneration and a Shift of the human Mind has now come.
Eastward on the low horizon dark breaks now with the glowing ember sky and the small inner planets rise in stillness ahead of the rays of the small home Star.
Those who are here now to see shall gather and they shall know that a New Dawn has come. All spirit, life and matter here in this small world fill with the harmonic frequency of universal Love and Light.
All people shall live in the truth of love, compassion, and peace in accordance with Universal Morality.
The storm has passed.
Two forces exist.
the traveller spoke the words and this was his message.
The great duality.
One of love and light. One of fear and darkness. One of these states is an illusion, and in reality it’s all a dream. This is the nature of the cosmic game. Particles and waves abound in duality and your new language is binary.
Reality is a dream.
We are beings dreamed into manifestation in the mind of the Cosmic Consciousness, which became knowing and was dreaming throughout the Infinite before the Earth was ever dreamed of.
It is energy and it resonates.
It has frequency you can feel.
Your rhythms are circadian and so you sleep then dream – by cycles of planet and Star. You wake to a state you perceive as ‘reality’. You are in turn a figure in a larger dream of Worlds within the mind of cosmic consciousness. As your own dreams wander and shimmer in shadows and the light so does your life in the ‘real’ move in and out through the darkness and light. You find your dreams difficult to control, are you lost? – you wake. You have a suspicion that you can bring into being whatever it is you wish in your dream. Trust this feeling. You are beginning to truly understand this now as you watch your world decay. Deeply in your soul. In simplicity is truth.
Deeply in your Soul.
You know these things.
You know these things deeply in your Soul. You have known them all along. In simplicity is Truth. Perhaps as you age and you reflect upon your life you may begin to have some perception of your life as a dream. You conceive the past much as a dream, and to the future you already attach your dreams. Deeply in your Soul.
It is time to attune yourself to this resonant energy. It is in you and you are in it. Many are now being awoken and minds activated. Those coming to awareness may face many hardships of life. They are to be tested in all ways – to truly know what it is to be human. It is required. Many have also come here now. They each have a message. Listen. Do not fear.
This is your evolution. This is your transcendence. This is your way forward.
Guide the dream now out of dark shadowlands and into Vast fields of Light and Love and in so doing find the resonance of harmony within you which is in all things in the realm of the Cosmic Dream. Face these fears you have and you will find true peace, you will be free. Push through. Look inside your very self and Soul and find endless Love within. It cradles you with eternal warmth and you will always be safe from harm. End fear now. End fear, Open your eyes.
Awaken to the Dream.
(the traveller bent down on his knees to survey the landscape the dark azure air cracked and smelled of electrons he seemed weary he asked are they learning are they changing do they understand and his head fell he stayed silent I had no answer the air was dark it was quiet )