If anyone is sitting around with a million bucks and you want to give it to me, I'll spend it on this. It would be a perfect place to host my dream business idea and provide accommodation and an awesome studio space for Anth to boot.
Feel free to leave your email address in the comments and I'll give you my bank account details.
Kay fanx.
~
That night, I dreamed of a man who was cooking crepes. I don't know what they were made out of - let's say buckwheat. On the side of the crepes he had also served up a side of some groats. Groats are the hull of the grain after it's been milled and they have been on my mind because they're a good thing to eat if you're on a bit of an elimination diet like I am at the moment (candida and other fungalness - no sugar, dairy or wheat. I am not doing this perfectly but then who does anything perfectly? The cravings for sugar have largely passed). The man also made a third component made out of buckwheat, like a sauce or something, which also added back in elements that were taken out in the hulling process.
It felt like a very positive dream - every component of the original grain was back on the plate. The grain had become bigger than its original as it was now able to be utilised in three different ways that ended up being bigger than the sum of the parts.
I am trying to stuff it into a box from the Universe that is saying that yes, somehow we will be able to buy this property (even though I'm earning like 80 bucks a week tops at the moment). I haven't quite been able to stuff it into that box, however. It's like a woman with a bit of extra conditioning trying to shove herself into last season's skirt - bits of skin bulging out the side.
I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised though if it related to my idea. That baby has legs, methinks. Now it's just for me to edge forward step by step into the dark and see what can come of it. It's fun trying, at the very least.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
I just went to the newsagent to buy Anthony a copy of The Smith Journal. This is sort of kind of the male version of Frankie, the magazine superstar that bucked the trend by establishing its very own niche in the current uber-difficult publishing landscape by simply being what none of the others are - itself. Indeed, in its writer's guidelines Frankie says that if you can imagine your piece somewhere else, it's maybe not for Frankie.
I like Frankie, but I'm most certainly at the old hag end of its demographic. In fact, I'm about six years over it. But what it does is inspire me because it's sweet and quirky and itself, and its founders went for it and succeeded. And it inspires me because it's Frankieness is such an individual feel compared to other mags, and so when I flick through the magazine stand at the newsagents every once in a blue moon and never find the magazine that I want to read, seeing Frankie sitting there gets me to thinking that maybe there's other people not finding the magazine they want to read either and that maybe there's a market for a wide diversity of reading instead of the tonnage of same ole dreary women's mags.
The kind of magazine I want to read has a bit of whimsy mixed in with a bit of intellectual stuff. I guess it's sort of kind of geared towards women, or if not, it readily encourages the feminine - as long as it's not boring trite bullshit about beautifying your exterior. I envisage a regular spot devoted to exploring a particular philosophical idea. I envisage a short story each edition, along with some badass creative nonfiction and investigative journalism. I envisage a regular section devoted to big historical events of the past that may or may not have trickled down to affect us in the present. I envisage the occasional whimsical rambling, a la McSweeney's, which are sadly lacking in magazines. I envisage lots of creativity and lots of art.
It's a little broad, granted. But it could possibly work. For the people out there like me who can't find the magazine on the shelves that they want to buy.
I can't see that magazine on the shelves anywhere. Maybe I need to invent it :)
~ ~
Anyways, this is not getting my essay written. What is it about procrastination that makes everything that is not your essay urgent and delightful to involve yourself in right this minute? :)
I like Frankie, but I'm most certainly at the old hag end of its demographic. In fact, I'm about six years over it. But what it does is inspire me because it's sweet and quirky and itself, and its founders went for it and succeeded. And it inspires me because it's Frankieness is such an individual feel compared to other mags, and so when I flick through the magazine stand at the newsagents every once in a blue moon and never find the magazine that I want to read, seeing Frankie sitting there gets me to thinking that maybe there's other people not finding the magazine they want to read either and that maybe there's a market for a wide diversity of reading instead of the tonnage of same ole dreary women's mags.
The kind of magazine I want to read has a bit of whimsy mixed in with a bit of intellectual stuff. I guess it's sort of kind of geared towards women, or if not, it readily encourages the feminine - as long as it's not boring trite bullshit about beautifying your exterior. I envisage a regular spot devoted to exploring a particular philosophical idea. I envisage a short story each edition, along with some badass creative nonfiction and investigative journalism. I envisage a regular section devoted to big historical events of the past that may or may not have trickled down to affect us in the present. I envisage the occasional whimsical rambling, a la McSweeney's, which are sadly lacking in magazines. I envisage lots of creativity and lots of art.
It's a little broad, granted. But it could possibly work. For the people out there like me who can't find the magazine on the shelves that they want to buy.
I can't see that magazine on the shelves anywhere. Maybe I need to invent it :)
~ ~
Anyways, this is not getting my essay written. What is it about procrastination that makes everything that is not your essay urgent and delightful to involve yourself in right this minute? :)
Last night I dreamed about an Indian man called Raj. We were in each other's company for hours on end, and it was really lovely, though I remember nothing about it. There was no romantic or sexual element to our interaction from start to finish.
When he was leaving (I said goodbye to him at my parents' front door), he kissed me goodbye. It was weird, because when he kissed me his lips were open, like some kind of fish, so that we just touched our two pairs of open lips together and that was it.
I was nervous in the dream that he was going to stick his tongue in my mouth and ruin everything, and I was wondering too whether he expected me to do so.
It felt like some elaborate gesture alien and incomprehensible to me.
~ ~ ~
I love dreaming. Even more, I love recounting my dreams because as I do, it's like I'm a translator from one continent to another and in the translation is when I start to understand. Although in this case, I do not understand. I wonder ~ what was he imparting to me that I don't (yet) understand? Sometimes I have great insights into myself, as if some far-off, not-yet-here part of myself is signalling to the rest of me that it is on its way.
In these cases, it is harder to know where we end and everything else begins :)
When he was leaving (I said goodbye to him at my parents' front door), he kissed me goodbye. It was weird, because when he kissed me his lips were open, like some kind of fish, so that we just touched our two pairs of open lips together and that was it.
I was nervous in the dream that he was going to stick his tongue in my mouth and ruin everything, and I was wondering too whether he expected me to do so.
It felt like some elaborate gesture alien and incomprehensible to me.
~ ~ ~
I love dreaming. Even more, I love recounting my dreams because as I do, it's like I'm a translator from one continent to another and in the translation is when I start to understand. Although in this case, I do not understand. I wonder ~ what was he imparting to me that I don't (yet) understand? Sometimes I have great insights into myself, as if some far-off, not-yet-here part of myself is signalling to the rest of me that it is on its way.
In these cases, it is harder to know where we end and everything else begins :)
Someone told me before about a movie out there called The Bucket List. It sounds like standard Hollywood formulaic fare, so I don't think I'll add it to the Quickflix queue.
But it's got me thinking. What would be on my bucket list? What are the things that I would like to do before I die?
I've only just started writing it, but I know one thing on my list:
Travel.
Always wanted to, never have. But I think that is a nice little intention to set for next year.
How about you? What's on your bucket list?
But it's got me thinking. What would be on my bucket list? What are the things that I would like to do before I die?
I've only just started writing it, but I know one thing on my list:
Travel.
Always wanted to, never have. But I think that is a nice little intention to set for next year.
How about you? What's on your bucket list?
I chatted last night to my blog bud Manuela, who has moved into an intentional community several hours from her house. She is excited, full of happiness and fervour and is nagging imploring me to find something like this myself, she's that happy :) Haha.
Well, I must say, though that particular flavour is not mine, the whole intentional community idea has been something I've contemplated on and off for many years. Talking to Manu last night about it has set the fire burning again. One of my workmates was back after holidays today, the first time I've seen her in a month. She is a Buddhist nun, lives in a community in Montrose. I chatted with her today about the things that scare me silly about such an idea but the way she talked about it, it was definitely a doable thing. She has been living this way for over 10 years now.
Of course, the thing that concerns me the most about a thought like this is the lack of solitude. I mean, I am seriously almost a hermit. I can go for three or four days without seeing anyone and be fine with it.
She pointed out that there is plenty of space within a larger intentional community to disappear for days on end if need be.
But I don't know if I want an entire community. I was thinking I would like to try the idea of an intentional share house, say start off with five or six people and see how I went from there. The thought occurred to me early this afternoon and the more I thought about it the more I contemplated a share house for solitudinal people who need plenty of space could not only work but could be a cool thing. Maybe it could work. A shared house for creative contemplatives. Christians please but no doctrine definitions, the grottier and more real the better. Two rooms for each person - one bedroom, one studio. An intentional shared house wanting to share life and creativity together, and to reach out to other people, whatever that could mean.
Is such a thing possible?? It's a terribly scary notion.
I've been dizzy with the romance of the thought all afternoon. I wonder once the reverb has clanged its way in if it will still seem like a possibility to me out the other end or if it will dwindle down to just another possible thought. This afternoon it has buzzed so loud, feeling like a God whisper, a future possibility.
If nothing else, it's given me a real buzz for the afternoon.
Well, I must say, though that particular flavour is not mine, the whole intentional community idea has been something I've contemplated on and off for many years. Talking to Manu last night about it has set the fire burning again. One of my workmates was back after holidays today, the first time I've seen her in a month. She is a Buddhist nun, lives in a community in Montrose. I chatted with her today about the things that scare me silly about such an idea but the way she talked about it, it was definitely a doable thing. She has been living this way for over 10 years now.
Of course, the thing that concerns me the most about a thought like this is the lack of solitude. I mean, I am seriously almost a hermit. I can go for three or four days without seeing anyone and be fine with it.
She pointed out that there is plenty of space within a larger intentional community to disappear for days on end if need be.
But I don't know if I want an entire community. I was thinking I would like to try the idea of an intentional share house, say start off with five or six people and see how I went from there. The thought occurred to me early this afternoon and the more I thought about it the more I contemplated a share house for solitudinal people who need plenty of space could not only work but could be a cool thing. Maybe it could work. A shared house for creative contemplatives. Christians please but no doctrine definitions, the grottier and more real the better. Two rooms for each person - one bedroom, one studio. An intentional shared house wanting to share life and creativity together, and to reach out to other people, whatever that could mean.
Is such a thing possible?? It's a terribly scary notion.
I've been dizzy with the romance of the thought all afternoon. I wonder once the reverb has clanged its way in if it will still seem like a possibility to me out the other end or if it will dwindle down to just another possible thought. This afternoon it has buzzed so loud, feeling like a God whisper, a future possibility.
If nothing else, it's given me a real buzz for the afternoon.
The woman who bore me from her womb called me the other day and asked me a no-brainer question: did I want to fly over to Adelaide to watch our football team in a couple of weeks' time?
Well, considering she's payin', I ask in return, do large hairy animals excrete in treed environments?
Wheee. I'll take a four day weekend, lots-of-expenses-paid, anywhere. Even Adelaide :) Hell, I'd take it if it was in St Albans :)
Hmmm, funny, I've been thinking a lot lately about getting away, and then suddenly Mum rings me up out of nowhere. Maybe there is something to this Secret thing after all, har.
So. Just in case the universe is a giant shopping centre, sitting there just waiting for me to say the word so it can vomit its gifts forth, I'll throw these out on the wind then:
I would certainly like those things above, and I am open to them. But having said that, I'm pretty content, when it comes down to it (with a few exceptions here and there but you know, who hasn't got any of those?) My immune system is getting stronger. I am enjoying living this life with God in it, the mystical relationship with the divine that feels like a fountain sometimes, the opportunity to explore outwards and inwards. The gifts that appear, in the most mundane of things, when I am not too stressed to see and feel (my seedlings are sprouting). And the greater writing depths is mine for the plumbing. Just gotta open up the arteries a bit more. Which is what I am doing. Slowly.
I am so lucky, living where I do, in this rich, rich country. Had a kick-arse art therapy session yesterday that has left me breathless with the creative ways my subconscious will vomit up things when I'm willing and ready to see. Don't really want to talk about it all at this stage - it's for my eyes only at the moment - but it really does amaze me how deep and wide we go, we humans. The depth and complexity of our workings. The ways we develop to protect ourselves, to protect that little child within, you know? Awesome.
I have done so much work, and I can feel that I am getting ready to discard old outworn things that don't serve me anymore. It's scary and exciting all at the same time, all the more because the these things are so mysterious in their unfolding. These hidden parts of myself feel simultaneously unknown and always-known as I go on and discover more.
There is a part of me, seated in the heavenlies, that knows exactly what it is doing. At the very same time it feels like the conscious steps are taken with a touch of trepidation, into the unknown, only to have the deeper parts of myself step up to welcome me when I set down my foot. It's all very strange and mysterious and exciting and difficult to explain.
But that's all for another post :)
Well, considering she's payin', I ask in return, do large hairy animals excrete in treed environments?
Wheee. I'll take a four day weekend, lots-of-expenses-paid, anywhere. Even Adelaide :) Hell, I'd take it if it was in St Albans :)
Hmmm, funny, I've been thinking a lot lately about getting away, and then suddenly Mum rings me up out of nowhere. Maybe there is something to this Secret thing after all, har.
So. Just in case the universe is a giant shopping centre, sitting there just waiting for me to say the word so it can vomit its gifts forth, I'll throw these out on the wind then:
- a holiday that stretches north instead of east and longer than four days, nice as that is (I wanna hit the Northern Territory).
- a bloke (I feel sorta vaguely ready to get back out there again now, as terrifying as that is. But not till after Winter :) Winter is for me).
- a new job would be nice but I'm grateful for the one I've got.
- greater writing depths.
I would certainly like those things above, and I am open to them. But having said that, I'm pretty content, when it comes down to it (with a few exceptions here and there but you know, who hasn't got any of those?) My immune system is getting stronger. I am enjoying living this life with God in it, the mystical relationship with the divine that feels like a fountain sometimes, the opportunity to explore outwards and inwards. The gifts that appear, in the most mundane of things, when I am not too stressed to see and feel (my seedlings are sprouting). And the greater writing depths is mine for the plumbing. Just gotta open up the arteries a bit more. Which is what I am doing. Slowly.
I am so lucky, living where I do, in this rich, rich country. Had a kick-arse art therapy session yesterday that has left me breathless with the creative ways my subconscious will vomit up things when I'm willing and ready to see. Don't really want to talk about it all at this stage - it's for my eyes only at the moment - but it really does amaze me how deep and wide we go, we humans. The depth and complexity of our workings. The ways we develop to protect ourselves, to protect that little child within, you know? Awesome.
I have done so much work, and I can feel that I am getting ready to discard old outworn things that don't serve me anymore. It's scary and exciting all at the same time, all the more because the these things are so mysterious in their unfolding. These hidden parts of myself feel simultaneously unknown and always-known as I go on and discover more.
There is a part of me, seated in the heavenlies, that knows exactly what it is doing. At the very same time it feels like the conscious steps are taken with a touch of trepidation, into the unknown, only to have the deeper parts of myself step up to welcome me when I set down my foot. It's all very strange and mysterious and exciting and difficult to explain.
But that's all for another post :)
Have you ever had a lucid dream - one where you know you are dreaming and you can control the events? I have had one ... well, sort of one a half. The half one, I was being chased in a dark industrial zone and I got to a chain link fence and remembered how in a past dream I had been able to push off from my feet and hover in the air and fly. Sort of like a part 2 dream. Being able to evade the evilnesses was very fun and rather empowering. I can still remember how it felt in my body, to be able to push off and fly that way. It was effortless, just what I did. Hovering felt really cool too. It all felt so natural.
The completely lucid dream happened sometime last year or the year before. I walked into a room where a man in his twenties or so was sitting at a desk writing something. I remember thinking, "Okay, who am I going to make this, then?" And I can remember consciously thinking, "Hmmm, okay, I will make him my son." Weird :) And then we proceeded to have a conversation where I was conscious the whole time I was dreaming.
A few nights ago I dreamed of David Tennant. We were snogging. It was really lovely! Ever since then I feel sort of funny, like it really happened. I want to go back there. I have lucid dreamt before and so tonight I want to be able to say: "Here I am, pushing off from the ground, hovering. Isn't this lovely. Oooh, look, here's David Tennant again, back for another snog." That's what I want to happen, but I'm not banking on it.
I have tried in the past saying to myself before I go to sleep, "Tonight, I am going to dream about Rod Stewart." But so far it has never happened. I know some people are able to do this sort of thing. They say it is an art you can develop within yourself. How cool to be able to lie down and tell myself to dream that I am a man, or a 14th century herbalist, or in Bulgaria, or that I am a plank of wood or a hair in someone's nostril. Or to combine them all and tell myself to dream that I am a hair in the nostril of a male, Bulgarian 14th century herbalist. Surreal stuff, you know, instead of the dull crap I usually dream about. An inordinate amount of my dreams are logistical, involving catching some form of public transport).
How about you? Ever had a lucid dream?
The completely lucid dream happened sometime last year or the year before. I walked into a room where a man in his twenties or so was sitting at a desk writing something. I remember thinking, "Okay, who am I going to make this, then?" And I can remember consciously thinking, "Hmmm, okay, I will make him my son." Weird :) And then we proceeded to have a conversation where I was conscious the whole time I was dreaming.
A few nights ago I dreamed of David Tennant. We were snogging. It was really lovely! Ever since then I feel sort of funny, like it really happened. I want to go back there. I have lucid dreamt before and so tonight I want to be able to say: "Here I am, pushing off from the ground, hovering. Isn't this lovely. Oooh, look, here's David Tennant again, back for another snog." That's what I want to happen, but I'm not banking on it.
I have tried in the past saying to myself before I go to sleep, "Tonight, I am going to dream about Rod Stewart." But so far it has never happened. I know some people are able to do this sort of thing. They say it is an art you can develop within yourself. How cool to be able to lie down and tell myself to dream that I am a man, or a 14th century herbalist, or in Bulgaria, or that I am a plank of wood or a hair in someone's nostril. Or to combine them all and tell myself to dream that I am a hair in the nostril of a male, Bulgarian 14th century herbalist. Surreal stuff, you know, instead of the dull crap I usually dream about. An inordinate amount of my dreams are logistical, involving catching some form of public transport).
How about you? Ever had a lucid dream?
I've been having an interesting dream life lately. Which is good, because my real life is boring. I just increased my work hours yesterday - by an hour, all up, bringing me to a grand total of a six-hour day. Which will make some of you laugh, I'm sure. But honestly, my job is sitting in front of a computer typing. I get paid by word rate. I feel like a fucking battery hen.
The night before last I dreamt I was living in this massive Georgian house, a three-storey affair with two wings coming off the side. It was beautiful. I was pretty stoked, really :) At the back of this house, out past the fence, was this interesting garden/forest with these giant, enormous oak trees. Me and Andrea were hanging out there. Sounds like a pretty nice house/land combo to me.
Last night I dreamt I was on a rollercoaster whose driver had decided to get off. The rollercoaster plummetted downwards then ran right off the tracks and into the sea. Funny, but it was like the rollercoaster was encased, because when we flew into the sea, it wasn't like we all went everywhere and could swim away, but we were stuck inside the rollercoaster cabin and were going to drown.
I think I prefer the first dream.
The night before last I dreamt I was living in this massive Georgian house, a three-storey affair with two wings coming off the side. It was beautiful. I was pretty stoked, really :) At the back of this house, out past the fence, was this interesting garden/forest with these giant, enormous oak trees. Me and Andrea were hanging out there. Sounds like a pretty nice house/land combo to me.
Last night I dreamt I was on a rollercoaster whose driver had decided to get off. The rollercoaster plummetted downwards then ran right off the tracks and into the sea. Funny, but it was like the rollercoaster was encased, because when we flew into the sea, it wasn't like we all went everywhere and could swim away, but we were stuck inside the rollercoaster cabin and were going to drown.
I think I prefer the first dream.
It's going to be a minimum tonight of 29 degrees (84 F) and a top tomorrow of 43 (109 F). Repeat for Friday.
Now, there is no denying it - when it's this hot, it gets in the way of basically everything. It makes 35 degrees look like you should take a cardigan with you just in case you get a bit of a chill. Me, personally I'm a bit partial to 35 degrees. There's something about the dry heat that makes me go all mystical. I feel free in this sort of weather.
Maybe that's why I stood out at North Melbourne station late this afternoon, waiting for a train 30 minutes overdue, listening to Sergei (that's my new/old iRiver) and just feeling wonderful. I kept looking at people and situations and finding them sort of amusing and getting interesting opening lines for stories and blog posts that have long since vanished. I love how expansive I feel sometimes in hot weather.
The only downside is my house is so horrendously hot, with no insulation in its flat roof. And I was concerned about the vegetables I have planted recently, that they would have withered in the furnace. I was concerned that my dog would be dead. I was worried the oldish airconditioner, which I left running all day, had packed it in from the exertion and Lester had expired in the corner of the room into a burnt-up husk for me to cry over upon my return.
He came bounding to the door when I got home, reinforcing for the 89 billionth time the futility of future tripping into what-if scenarios, and exulted in my dousing him in water. He even wanted to play with the ball, in this heat. He is as stupid as I.
I am feeling so much more hopeful these last few days than I have for months and months and months. It's not that anything has really changed except perhaps a small hitch inside of me that thinks that maybe paths are opening up for me that I shall be able to walk down. They have been dark and closed off for so long, I am not quite sure how it feels to have a full sort of a life, a life where things are happening that make you bounce.
The hope and dreaminess comes from the firm and excited conviction of my art therapist a few weeks ago when I told her about my gallery idea. She thinks it's a good enough idea that I shouldn't go blurting it about. It is an idea that is stealable. I feel very chuffed indeed that I have an idea that's stealable :) So Maggie had a bit of a talk to someone who knows about such things, and they are of the belief that funding would be something possible for this endeavour. Maggie's email was full of good advice and there were a few suggestions in there that I am going to begin to take a look at. So yeah, I'm excited. And enjoying the feeling of rolling this idea around in my head, weighing it up in my hands, aware that I don't have a first clue about anything. Maybe it would be to my advantage. "I can so see you there," Maggie said to me, all flushed with pleasure as if she thought it was something that could be done. The gutsy courage of the artist :)
It's not even about the realisation of dreams for me right now, this bubbling excitement (although how amazing to see concretely in front of you something which first appeared as a bubble in your head. There's been rather a dearth of that sort of thing lately, considering my inability to finish a short story. But that's another story). This bubbling excitement is really just all about being reminded of the latent possibilities that sit out there like big bubbles of something, leading who knows where. It's like the possibilities of people transcending space and time in weird ways. It's not the actual doing of that which excites me. It's the possibility that someone could. And the exciting thing for me these days is that I feel like I have developed the capacity to maybe have a bit of an idea of how to hold those bubbles lightly, so that they don't get encrusted with my gigantic ego and pop. And maybe then they would become something concrete in front of me. Who knows? This is a wondrous sort of thing.
Another interesting tidbit. I had an email the other day from Wayne Jacobsen, one of the people involved with The Shack. He'd had an email from someone wanting to get in touch with the Australia Sue in the credits of the book. Way back when, I was one of the people along with a whole stack of others who did several read-throughs of the book, when Paul was considering actually publishing it, and anally pointed out some grammatical inconsistencies (many of which, I was grieved in my anality to see, made it through to at least the printing of the book that I have read. But anyway, I again digress).
So this woman is self-publishing a book and wants to get a team of people on board with her. She is giving me a call tonight and we are going to have a chat and maybe see if there is any way I could give her a hand.
And just this small little thing is a reminder of how these interesting little ideas and people and circumstances just pop out of the blue when you're least expecting it and fill you again with the shy hope that maybe, just maybe, there are things out there for you to do that will fill you up with bubbles, the sorts of things that you see happening to other people sometimes, where the right people and the right circumstances conspire and there is something like a whiff of kingdom and freedom and life and sharing and commonality about it all, the heady excitement of dreams and visions, headier than any sort of champagne.
But the best bit of all is, even if neither of these things come to anything, the main thing still is, and always has been, the knowing that they could. That's what gives the bubbles their fizz :)
Now, there is no denying it - when it's this hot, it gets in the way of basically everything. It makes 35 degrees look like you should take a cardigan with you just in case you get a bit of a chill. Me, personally I'm a bit partial to 35 degrees. There's something about the dry heat that makes me go all mystical. I feel free in this sort of weather.
Maybe that's why I stood out at North Melbourne station late this afternoon, waiting for a train 30 minutes overdue, listening to Sergei (that's my new/old iRiver) and just feeling wonderful. I kept looking at people and situations and finding them sort of amusing and getting interesting opening lines for stories and blog posts that have long since vanished. I love how expansive I feel sometimes in hot weather.
The only downside is my house is so horrendously hot, with no insulation in its flat roof. And I was concerned about the vegetables I have planted recently, that they would have withered in the furnace. I was concerned that my dog would be dead. I was worried the oldish airconditioner, which I left running all day, had packed it in from the exertion and Lester had expired in the corner of the room into a burnt-up husk for me to cry over upon my return.
He came bounding to the door when I got home, reinforcing for the 89 billionth time the futility of future tripping into what-if scenarios, and exulted in my dousing him in water. He even wanted to play with the ball, in this heat. He is as stupid as I.
I am feeling so much more hopeful these last few days than I have for months and months and months. It's not that anything has really changed except perhaps a small hitch inside of me that thinks that maybe paths are opening up for me that I shall be able to walk down. They have been dark and closed off for so long, I am not quite sure how it feels to have a full sort of a life, a life where things are happening that make you bounce.
The hope and dreaminess comes from the firm and excited conviction of my art therapist a few weeks ago when I told her about my gallery idea. She thinks it's a good enough idea that I shouldn't go blurting it about. It is an idea that is stealable. I feel very chuffed indeed that I have an idea that's stealable :) So Maggie had a bit of a talk to someone who knows about such things, and they are of the belief that funding would be something possible for this endeavour. Maggie's email was full of good advice and there were a few suggestions in there that I am going to begin to take a look at. So yeah, I'm excited. And enjoying the feeling of rolling this idea around in my head, weighing it up in my hands, aware that I don't have a first clue about anything. Maybe it would be to my advantage. "I can so see you there," Maggie said to me, all flushed with pleasure as if she thought it was something that could be done. The gutsy courage of the artist :)
It's not even about the realisation of dreams for me right now, this bubbling excitement (although how amazing to see concretely in front of you something which first appeared as a bubble in your head. There's been rather a dearth of that sort of thing lately, considering my inability to finish a short story. But that's another story). This bubbling excitement is really just all about being reminded of the latent possibilities that sit out there like big bubbles of something, leading who knows where. It's like the possibilities of people transcending space and time in weird ways. It's not the actual doing of that which excites me. It's the possibility that someone could. And the exciting thing for me these days is that I feel like I have developed the capacity to maybe have a bit of an idea of how to hold those bubbles lightly, so that they don't get encrusted with my gigantic ego and pop. And maybe then they would become something concrete in front of me. Who knows? This is a wondrous sort of thing.
Another interesting tidbit. I had an email the other day from Wayne Jacobsen, one of the people involved with The Shack. He'd had an email from someone wanting to get in touch with the Australia Sue in the credits of the book. Way back when, I was one of the people along with a whole stack of others who did several read-throughs of the book, when Paul was considering actually publishing it, and anally pointed out some grammatical inconsistencies (many of which, I was grieved in my anality to see, made it through to at least the printing of the book that I have read. But anyway, I again digress).
So this woman is self-publishing a book and wants to get a team of people on board with her. She is giving me a call tonight and we are going to have a chat and maybe see if there is any way I could give her a hand.
And just this small little thing is a reminder of how these interesting little ideas and people and circumstances just pop out of the blue when you're least expecting it and fill you again with the shy hope that maybe, just maybe, there are things out there for you to do that will fill you up with bubbles, the sorts of things that you see happening to other people sometimes, where the right people and the right circumstances conspire and there is something like a whiff of kingdom and freedom and life and sharing and commonality about it all, the heady excitement of dreams and visions, headier than any sort of champagne.
But the best bit of all is, even if neither of these things come to anything, the main thing still is, and always has been, the knowing that they could. That's what gives the bubbles their fizz :)
Okay, whinge alert. I'm about to have a bit of a whinge and you, sweet blogger, are therefore about to read it. (But here's a shortcut: I'm about to whinge about going back to work tomorrow, so if you just skip to the comments and say "oh, poor susie, it's okay, who knows what will come up this year for you workwise?" I'll never know you didn't read the whole post :)
There's nothing for it tonight but to comfort eat. A large custard tart, which may possibly be all gone by the time I've finished this post. My holidays are over tonight. Rushing in swirling is a compacted combined feeling of all the Sunday nights of my childhood. O depressing night. The claustrophobia. The frustration at having no option but to get up in the morning and go back to skewel.
I could do comparisons, I suppose. Even though comparisons are oderous to me. They deflect you away from really acknowledging to yourself what you're feeling. But let's try.
I could be working 60 hours a week as a boilermaker, or a chicken sexer, or a prostitute, or a politician. Really, sitting on my bum to clear 30 bucks an hour for 25 hours a week is a pretty good wicket. Right? Well, that still does not deny the fact that cricket bores me.
I could be going back to school tomorrow instead of going back to work. I could be at home, crying, because six weeks of fun at Andrea's has come to an end and now I'm stuck at home, boredom central, feeling like the next holidays may as well never even exist, they're that far away.
Well, it's true, it could be all of those things, which would be worse, but that still doesn't change the fact that tomorrow I go back to the job that bores me. And I can't quite keep the sadness at bay tonight. It feels like the year is stretching away ahead of me, week after week of "Yes, Your Honour" and "Can you tell us what the tablets were doing located in your house, if they don't belong to you?" Sigh. Is there any chance, o great flying spaghetti monster, that this year my life could expand somewhat, maybe even in several different directions, so that I can possibly actually feel like I am a part of the human race? That would be dandy, thank ye.
Breathe Susie, breathe. Okay. Easter's coming up, right? And I am an optimist of sorts. I can say things to myself like, "Who knows what is around the corner? Maybe something else will come up." Well, maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.
My brother came over today, brought the last of the furniture and what-not that's been kept in a self-storage container in Clayton, brought it over to store in my garage. And now off he has gone, to the state forest beyond Bacchus Marsh, with an air mattress and a portable fridge in the back of his car. He is heading off on Friday, after a few days in the bush, wending his way to Geelong, and from there to Warrnambool to follow the coast into South Australia. He plans to stay with my auntie in Murray Bridge for a while, painting her house for her, and then to perhaps see if he can begin afresh, a new life.
I'm a bit jealous. Oh, I know it's easy to be jealous of someone taking off like that from the outside. But as it happens, he hasn't got the foggiest what the hell he is going to do. His work options are much more limited even than mine. And as it is he has been without a house for the past three months, and the gypsy lifestyle is beginning to wear thin. Still, off he drove, in high spirits, optimistic. And despite him not knowing what the hell he is doing, I remain jealous.
I want to be on the road, free, with no boring job to go to tomorrow. Living out of my campervan, driving around Australia, writing and selling articles and short stories that fund my trip. Picking up friends and family from local airports and bus stations to come along and have adventures with me.
Okay. So I'm fantasising :) It is an occupational hazard to fantasise about being out and free when tomorrow you are going back to work for the foreseeable future. Oh, fuckity fuck :(
Come on Sue. Focus on something. Okay. How about this: in a couple of weeks I am going to an information session about Kidslink, a small organisation that Heather is involved with, which digs wells in Mozambique and which is constructing a school building in the town of M'Batwe. It is a sort of surreal scary thing to consider doing something like this, but nevertheless I am going to go along and think about whether maybe, in July, it is possible that I could go to Mozambique for a couple of weeks. Do something for other people and maybe expand my small little life. Get it moving again. Maybe.
Speaking of Heather, I got together with her and Louisa last night. It was great to meet another fellow blogger. We chatted, ate Mexican food, drank a Pina Colada, got kicked out the restaurant because it was closing. We went to a pub down the road, drank coffee, chatted, and got kicked out because the pub was closing. We drove to the Espy (much cleaner than when I was last there), sat in the little side part next to the pub, chatted, drank bourbon, bacardi and champagne, got kicked out because it was closing. We went into the pub, in time to see the last song of the last band. We left before we could get kicked out and stood and chatted in the street about how, next time we get together, we're gonna try for a Saturday night next time so that things won't keep closing :) It was fun. But I'm not allowed to tell you about how Louisa walked up the aisle to a Hillsongs song, and Heather walked down the aisle to one. Don't tell anyone I told you.
There's nothing for it tonight but to comfort eat. A large custard tart, which may possibly be all gone by the time I've finished this post. My holidays are over tonight. Rushing in swirling is a compacted combined feeling of all the Sunday nights of my childhood. O depressing night. The claustrophobia. The frustration at having no option but to get up in the morning and go back to skewel.
I could do comparisons, I suppose. Even though comparisons are oderous to me. They deflect you away from really acknowledging to yourself what you're feeling. But let's try.
I could be working 60 hours a week as a boilermaker, or a chicken sexer, or a prostitute, or a politician. Really, sitting on my bum to clear 30 bucks an hour for 25 hours a week is a pretty good wicket. Right? Well, that still does not deny the fact that cricket bores me.
I could be going back to school tomorrow instead of going back to work. I could be at home, crying, because six weeks of fun at Andrea's has come to an end and now I'm stuck at home, boredom central, feeling like the next holidays may as well never even exist, they're that far away.
Well, it's true, it could be all of those things, which would be worse, but that still doesn't change the fact that tomorrow I go back to the job that bores me. And I can't quite keep the sadness at bay tonight. It feels like the year is stretching away ahead of me, week after week of "Yes, Your Honour" and "Can you tell us what the tablets were doing located in your house, if they don't belong to you?" Sigh. Is there any chance, o great flying spaghetti monster, that this year my life could expand somewhat, maybe even in several different directions, so that I can possibly actually feel like I am a part of the human race? That would be dandy, thank ye.
Breathe Susie, breathe. Okay. Easter's coming up, right? And I am an optimist of sorts. I can say things to myself like, "Who knows what is around the corner? Maybe something else will come up." Well, maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.
My brother came over today, brought the last of the furniture and what-not that's been kept in a self-storage container in Clayton, brought it over to store in my garage. And now off he has gone, to the state forest beyond Bacchus Marsh, with an air mattress and a portable fridge in the back of his car. He is heading off on Friday, after a few days in the bush, wending his way to Geelong, and from there to Warrnambool to follow the coast into South Australia. He plans to stay with my auntie in Murray Bridge for a while, painting her house for her, and then to perhaps see if he can begin afresh, a new life.
I'm a bit jealous. Oh, I know it's easy to be jealous of someone taking off like that from the outside. But as it happens, he hasn't got the foggiest what the hell he is going to do. His work options are much more limited even than mine. And as it is he has been without a house for the past three months, and the gypsy lifestyle is beginning to wear thin. Still, off he drove, in high spirits, optimistic. And despite him not knowing what the hell he is doing, I remain jealous.
I want to be on the road, free, with no boring job to go to tomorrow. Living out of my campervan, driving around Australia, writing and selling articles and short stories that fund my trip. Picking up friends and family from local airports and bus stations to come along and have adventures with me.
Okay. So I'm fantasising :) It is an occupational hazard to fantasise about being out and free when tomorrow you are going back to work for the foreseeable future. Oh, fuckity fuck :(
Come on Sue. Focus on something. Okay. How about this: in a couple of weeks I am going to an information session about Kidslink, a small organisation that Heather is involved with, which digs wells in Mozambique and which is constructing a school building in the town of M'Batwe. It is a sort of surreal scary thing to consider doing something like this, but nevertheless I am going to go along and think about whether maybe, in July, it is possible that I could go to Mozambique for a couple of weeks. Do something for other people and maybe expand my small little life. Get it moving again. Maybe.
Speaking of Heather, I got together with her and Louisa last night. It was great to meet another fellow blogger. We chatted, ate Mexican food, drank a Pina Colada, got kicked out the restaurant because it was closing. We went to a pub down the road, drank coffee, chatted, and got kicked out because the pub was closing. We drove to the Espy (much cleaner than when I was last there), sat in the little side part next to the pub, chatted, drank bourbon, bacardi and champagne, got kicked out because it was closing. We went into the pub, in time to see the last song of the last band. We left before we could get kicked out and stood and chatted in the street about how, next time we get together, we're gonna try for a Saturday night next time so that things won't keep closing :) It was fun. But I'm not allowed to tell you about how Louisa walked up the aisle to a Hillsongs song, and Heather walked down the aisle to one. Don't tell anyone I told you.
I have found a use for the 5 or 6 bottles of champagne in my wine rack. Indeed, that is all that is in my wine rack so I guess really it is a champagne rack. I don't even like the taste of champagne all that much. But eating it is another story. I chucked some in a risotto a few months ago in a recipe that called for wine, and it was primo. Just before I sat down here, I made and ate two bowls of French onion soup. And I sloshed some in that and yea, I am such a good cook :) Heh.
Cooking helps to calm me down, the way that playing with clay does. I need a lot of calming lately. Soothing myself the way a mother soothes a baby. It's gonna be alright. It's okay. It hurts to learn to do that. Isn't it funny? But it feels so lovely to do.
I don't feel energetic enough to go playing with clay tonight. You've got to pick your levels and tonight is a playing music and cooking kind of night. Which is fine. Eating my creativity is something I never get tired of.
I took Lester and my brother's dog, Elly, down to the river the day before yesterday. The crazy part up near Avondale Heights where there is a new housing estate being built. And which now, considering finances, maybe will take a bit longer than first thought to be built. Which is more than fine with me. The less construction that goes on there the better as far as I'm concerned. On the estate the ground has been levelled, trees brought down, a few roads been put in. It's all safe and nice. And damn boring.
When I get down to the river, it is so quiet and treed that, unless I lift my gaze up high and see the houses further along on the other side of the river, I could be in the middle of the bush. I come here when I am struggling to breathe and feeling constricted, as I am quite often the last couple of weeks. I cannot explain what is going on in me, but I recognise this space. The last time I was here I came out the other side with a few more pockets of breathing space. I imagine it will be the same situation here but first, I have to learn to breathe with less air than usual. Everything ends and everything belongs. It is just a matter of hanging onto perspective, and remembering the good things, or else I go too deep into the dark and I start to scare even myself.
On top of these spaces, I have my brother here too, which has difficulties all its own. Not that he is difficult to be around. He's actually quite fun and interesting, enjoying pondering and philosophising about things as much as I. It's me who is the one struggling without my own 300 miles of private space all to myself. But my struggles with boundary issues are not just for the hell of it. There are definite reasons why I struggle. Still, it is good to learn to stick to my boundaries with another person around. And a family member to boot, to make it a bit more challenging. Funny how our family dynamics often teach us to deny our own boundaries. "That is selfish," we say when we want to go and play with clay. But I did it anyway, because I know it is nothing near selfish. And anyway, apart from all that, I'm much nicer to be around when I have been allowed to do what I am screaming to do :)
My brother is in a better headspace himself these days than when he was here last. Last time we were both pretty messed up. I still am, but have come along a bit all in all. He is still on the lookout for a new life for himself - indeed, is on his way through Melbourne. Doesn't want to stay here. Can't handle the pace of a city that rushes insanely and whose bosses inanely expect him to work 14 hour days because it's what you do. Is hanging around Melbourne for a few weeks, lining up a bit of work here and there painting houses and pubs with a friend, on his way over to South Australia and my auntie's place. It's really nice to see him walking out of dark places, walking towards who knows what but still walking. Indeed, he is more positive and much less cynical than me at the moment. I'm the God lover and yet I am the whingeing whining one, finding it very difficult to see anything much beyond my own nose and losing sight of the God of the everyday in things, the gentle small graces that we all share in and that touch everybody. This is a humility teacher to me. Indeed, the other day, while I was criticising our old cat who I despised, a half Persian who was as snooty as they come, he said to me, "Didn't that book say that all creatures are God's creatures? You should be loving all animals." He was talking about The Shack, which both he and my mum have read, which spins me out beyond belief :) It is difficult to be the grouchy, cynical, busted up one, but it is what it is, and I am what I am, and pride is a pointless enterprise anyway :)
There is a method in all of this madness going on in me. I know that much. There was some kind of willing assent at the beginning of this latest weirdness, a nodding of the head to God to do whatever he is wanting to do. I wouldn't have a bloody clue, but he does. And oh, I love him. And I trust him to walk me into places that I would balk at like a horse otherwise.
It feels weird to me to consider how long ago last week feels to me. It feels like time has slowed right down in some ways. I yearn for release from this latest bubble, but there is just no rushing it, and there are opportunities to toughen up within here.
Having someone staying with me is interesting in another way, is breaking me out a bit of some more of my hermitical sealing. Oh, my deepest prayer these days is that, whatever economic ramifications go on, that I won't have to move from my house anytime soon. My solace and my comfort. I am not ready to leave here. Not ready, not ready, not ready. Nor am I ready to share my space with anybody else. I hope I don't have to anytime soon.
The day before yesterday we walked into the crazy undergrowth. It's so boring up there on the flat levelled treeless estate. Much better the spaces covered in trees and ditches. Elly didn't care. She was chasing rabbits. Bounded exuberantly through underbrush, over logs. Running flat stick despite the uneven ground. Careless for her own safety. Paying the price yesterday, lying around apathetically all day, a red mark on her groin where she had caught herself and bled. Her already sore back leg limping more than before. We are off to visit George Schofield the dog whisperer on the weekend. There are two dogs here who need his soothing fingers.
I have had the same dream two or three times. Well, not the same dream as such ~ different dream occurrences but with the same powers. Life in these dreams is pretty much as it is here. There are no weird monsters, or people walking around who in real life have been dead for years, nothing out of the ordinary except for the amazing ability of my feet. I was being chased in the last dream. But I was pretty cool and calm and collected about it all. I knew my feet would save me. They were as powerful and superhero as Jennifer's amazing singing feet are. I was being chased, got to a high, high chainlink fence. Just pushed up, as easy as anything, and effortlessly flew over the chain fence. As easily as you step off a step onto the ground, I pushed off the ground and into the air. And flew. Hovered above my pursuers. In other dreams I have flown over green fields, high, high above the trees.
I will never ever forget what it felt to fly, and I will never ever lose the desire to do it in real life :) I haven't had that dream for ages. But what it looks like right now is reaching out and touching the flame, and walking into the suffocating dark. It'll all end up at the same place in the end.
Cooking helps to calm me down, the way that playing with clay does. I need a lot of calming lately. Soothing myself the way a mother soothes a baby. It's gonna be alright. It's okay. It hurts to learn to do that. Isn't it funny? But it feels so lovely to do.
I don't feel energetic enough to go playing with clay tonight. You've got to pick your levels and tonight is a playing music and cooking kind of night. Which is fine. Eating my creativity is something I never get tired of.
I took Lester and my brother's dog, Elly, down to the river the day before yesterday. The crazy part up near Avondale Heights where there is a new housing estate being built. And which now, considering finances, maybe will take a bit longer than first thought to be built. Which is more than fine with me. The less construction that goes on there the better as far as I'm concerned. On the estate the ground has been levelled, trees brought down, a few roads been put in. It's all safe and nice. And damn boring.
When I get down to the river, it is so quiet and treed that, unless I lift my gaze up high and see the houses further along on the other side of the river, I could be in the middle of the bush. I come here when I am struggling to breathe and feeling constricted, as I am quite often the last couple of weeks. I cannot explain what is going on in me, but I recognise this space. The last time I was here I came out the other side with a few more pockets of breathing space. I imagine it will be the same situation here but first, I have to learn to breathe with less air than usual. Everything ends and everything belongs. It is just a matter of hanging onto perspective, and remembering the good things, or else I go too deep into the dark and I start to scare even myself.
On top of these spaces, I have my brother here too, which has difficulties all its own. Not that he is difficult to be around. He's actually quite fun and interesting, enjoying pondering and philosophising about things as much as I. It's me who is the one struggling without my own 300 miles of private space all to myself. But my struggles with boundary issues are not just for the hell of it. There are definite reasons why I struggle. Still, it is good to learn to stick to my boundaries with another person around. And a family member to boot, to make it a bit more challenging. Funny how our family dynamics often teach us to deny our own boundaries. "That is selfish," we say when we want to go and play with clay. But I did it anyway, because I know it is nothing near selfish. And anyway, apart from all that, I'm much nicer to be around when I have been allowed to do what I am screaming to do :)
My brother is in a better headspace himself these days than when he was here last. Last time we were both pretty messed up. I still am, but have come along a bit all in all. He is still on the lookout for a new life for himself - indeed, is on his way through Melbourne. Doesn't want to stay here. Can't handle the pace of a city that rushes insanely and whose bosses inanely expect him to work 14 hour days because it's what you do. Is hanging around Melbourne for a few weeks, lining up a bit of work here and there painting houses and pubs with a friend, on his way over to South Australia and my auntie's place. It's really nice to see him walking out of dark places, walking towards who knows what but still walking. Indeed, he is more positive and much less cynical than me at the moment. I'm the God lover and yet I am the whingeing whining one, finding it very difficult to see anything much beyond my own nose and losing sight of the God of the everyday in things, the gentle small graces that we all share in and that touch everybody. This is a humility teacher to me. Indeed, the other day, while I was criticising our old cat who I despised, a half Persian who was as snooty as they come, he said to me, "Didn't that book say that all creatures are God's creatures? You should be loving all animals." He was talking about The Shack, which both he and my mum have read, which spins me out beyond belief :) It is difficult to be the grouchy, cynical, busted up one, but it is what it is, and I am what I am, and pride is a pointless enterprise anyway :)
There is a method in all of this madness going on in me. I know that much. There was some kind of willing assent at the beginning of this latest weirdness, a nodding of the head to God to do whatever he is wanting to do. I wouldn't have a bloody clue, but he does. And oh, I love him. And I trust him to walk me into places that I would balk at like a horse otherwise.
It feels weird to me to consider how long ago last week feels to me. It feels like time has slowed right down in some ways. I yearn for release from this latest bubble, but there is just no rushing it, and there are opportunities to toughen up within here.
Having someone staying with me is interesting in another way, is breaking me out a bit of some more of my hermitical sealing. Oh, my deepest prayer these days is that, whatever economic ramifications go on, that I won't have to move from my house anytime soon. My solace and my comfort. I am not ready to leave here. Not ready, not ready, not ready. Nor am I ready to share my space with anybody else. I hope I don't have to anytime soon.
The day before yesterday we walked into the crazy undergrowth. It's so boring up there on the flat levelled treeless estate. Much better the spaces covered in trees and ditches. Elly didn't care. She was chasing rabbits. Bounded exuberantly through underbrush, over logs. Running flat stick despite the uneven ground. Careless for her own safety. Paying the price yesterday, lying around apathetically all day, a red mark on her groin where she had caught herself and bled. Her already sore back leg limping more than before. We are off to visit George Schofield the dog whisperer on the weekend. There are two dogs here who need his soothing fingers.
I have had the same dream two or three times. Well, not the same dream as such ~ different dream occurrences but with the same powers. Life in these dreams is pretty much as it is here. There are no weird monsters, or people walking around who in real life have been dead for years, nothing out of the ordinary except for the amazing ability of my feet. I was being chased in the last dream. But I was pretty cool and calm and collected about it all. I knew my feet would save me. They were as powerful and superhero as Jennifer's amazing singing feet are. I was being chased, got to a high, high chainlink fence. Just pushed up, as easy as anything, and effortlessly flew over the chain fence. As easily as you step off a step onto the ground, I pushed off the ground and into the air. And flew. Hovered above my pursuers. In other dreams I have flown over green fields, high, high above the trees.
I will never ever forget what it felt to fly, and I will never ever lose the desire to do it in real life :) I haven't had that dream for ages. But what it looks like right now is reaching out and touching the flame, and walking into the suffocating dark. It'll all end up at the same place in the end.
Mike is in a blogging frenzy this morning (his time) in damp Dorset. This quote, from his friend (I hope his friend doesn't mind me reposting it here) just resonated so much with me:
Of course it's like that. But I have so many little dreams going on, and some days I doubt that any of them will come to pass, especially when I look at myself and start thinking stuff about how much I need to change and grow and be different to achieve what I want to achieve ... and this brings me back with not even a thud but a gentle, graceful landing into Now, and into whatever is going on in front of me. Wonderful stuff, Mike's friend! Thanks.
God plants his dream in a person's heart and then moulds the person to fit the dream. Even though the moulding process seems to contradict the promise, the day comes when God moves the prepared person into his prepared place... and the dream becomes a reality.
Of course it's like that. But I have so many little dreams going on, and some days I doubt that any of them will come to pass, especially when I look at myself and start thinking stuff about how much I need to change and grow and be different to achieve what I want to achieve ... and this brings me back with not even a thud but a gentle, graceful landing into Now, and into whatever is going on in front of me. Wonderful stuff, Mike's friend! Thanks.
This is the kind of thing I dream of having in my backyard to work in one day in the future, when I'm living in the Dandenongs. It's not exactly like this. But something like this. Made of cedar, of course. Have you ever smelled cut cedar? Its scent is so strong and raunchy it would either distract me totally from working or it would cause me to write 400 novels in a year.
Which would be good, because these things are 10 grand a pop, so I would be hoping to have already written a couple of best sellers to fund the damn thing.
Which seems completely, utterly, totally impossible - but this is my dream, right? And physically I'm feeling rather as flat as a French crepe this morning, fighting off another cold, so I may as well be dreaming big dreams (going on the idea that your immune system doesn't know the difference between real thoughts or remembrance of past experiences or daydreaming about the future, but the endorphins get released just the same).
While I'm here, I guess I'll have one of these installed as well. This is a dog kennel that Jennifer talks about on her blog. Which would just end up sitting there because my dog would never, ever deign to sleep outside :)
Seriously, some people have too much money if they're building stuff like this. (The kennel, I mean, not octagonal shaped enclosed gazebos, although they seem pretty frivolous too).
If I had 10 grand fall into my lap right now, I would go down the travel agent quick smart, book me a return ticket to France and Italy, before I could change my mind and plough it into less "frivolous" pursuits :)
To lay in the grass here and tell these pansies (petunias?) about how I knew the photographer who captured their great, great grandparents for posterity.Unless she's there too. Who knows?
How about you? What do you one day hope?
I dreamt last night I was eating toast with Vegemite (a common occurrence if I am having toast), except the Vegemite was mint green, and it had the consistency of icing.What on earth does that mean?
I love dreaming. The convoluted crap our minds go on with never ceases to fascinate me. I just wish I dreamed the things Andi does. She dreams that she has holes in her hands and she's pulling the DNA out. Or she dreams that she's seeing Mel Gibson having a mammogram. They're the kinds of dreams I want to dream :)
Last night before I went to bed I was reading a chapter of The Shack where Mack is talking with God about the difference between living a life based on dead flat principles versus a life living expectantly in God.
Papa says:
Further on:
____________
So if life is more open and expansive than we think, more geared to us living out our life within God rather than living according to a set of principles, then our lives would look very different from each other. We would each be doing things that set us apart from the pack. Could we handle that? Western democracies depend on herd mentalities. Stepping out of the herd to follow God requires a bit of courage, but I think it's well worth the ensuing discomfort.
I went to the tennis today. Sat at Kooyong in the hot summer sun for five hours and thought about how toey I feel. The dreams of the vegetable-oil-powered campervan are running hot right now. My auntie is planning to do that herself later on in the year when she retires - it must run in the family. It would be nice to meet up with her in Manangatang or Cape Tribulation :)
And so I was thinking about this long-held dream I've had, and how entirely frivolous it has seemed for so long. How terribly irresponsible to want to spend time - a month, six months, a year, 10 years - driving aimlessly around doing whatever pops up. Writing stuff. Selling a few articles here and there. Having a wireless internet connection :) The bestest dream (and a most difficult one, too, at times. But I'd have lots of good blog post fodder :) It makes my mouth water.
But it doesn't seem so particularly irresponsible to me anymore. Sure, there are issues of why and how I want to do that. Running away is surely a part of it. But so is running to. So is having adventures. My friend Jane lived in a cave in Spain for a year. Driving around the same country (but 2 cultures) isn't quite as out-there as living in a cave for a year, but still - I'd love to do it. Join the great Church of the Homeless :) Find other people on adventures.
So today I told God that I really, really want to do this :) The thought terrifies and exhilarates me. Absolutely. I would do it; I really would. I would go off in a campervan by myself around Australia. I just would. So maybe I'd get murdered but dammit if I don't feel like living my little life in suburbia is just murder by small degrees anyway.
So that's my dream that I would do if a great wad of money fell out of the sky. What would you do, if it wasn't considered "irresponsible"? If you weren't living under the great Western squashiness of expectation and responsibility that makes us all look exactly the same? Tell me ...
Papa says:
"Religion must use law to empower itself and control the people who they need in order to survive. I give you an ability to respond and your response is to be free to love and serve in every situation, and therefore each moment is different and unique and wonderful. Because I am your ability to respond, I have to be present in you. If I simply gave you a responsibility, I would not have to be with you at all. It would now be a task to perform, an obligation to be met, something to fail."
Further on:
"But," argued Mack, "if you didn't have expectations and responsibilities, wouldn't everything just fall apart?"
"Only if you are of the world, apart from me and under the law. Responsibilities and expectations are the basis of guilt and shame and judgment, and they provide the essential framework that promotes performance as the basis of identity and value. You know well what it is like not to live up to someone's expectations."
"Boy, do I!" Mack mumbled. "It's not my idea of a good time." He paused briefly, a new thought flashing through his mind. "Are you saying you have no expectations of me?"
Papa now spoke up. "Honey, I've never placed an expectation on you or anyone else. The idea behind expectations requires that someone does not know the future or outcome and is trying to control behavior to get the desired result. Humans try to control behavior largely through expectations. I know you and everything about you. Why would I have an expectation other than what I already know? That would be foolish. And beyond that, because I have no expectations, you never disappoint me."
____________
So if life is more open and expansive than we think, more geared to us living out our life within God rather than living according to a set of principles, then our lives would look very different from each other. We would each be doing things that set us apart from the pack. Could we handle that? Western democracies depend on herd mentalities. Stepping out of the herd to follow God requires a bit of courage, but I think it's well worth the ensuing discomfort.
I went to the tennis today. Sat at Kooyong in the hot summer sun for five hours and thought about how toey I feel. The dreams of the vegetable-oil-powered campervan are running hot right now. My auntie is planning to do that herself later on in the year when she retires - it must run in the family. It would be nice to meet up with her in Manangatang or Cape Tribulation :)
And so I was thinking about this long-held dream I've had, and how entirely frivolous it has seemed for so long. How terribly irresponsible to want to spend time - a month, six months, a year, 10 years - driving aimlessly around doing whatever pops up. Writing stuff. Selling a few articles here and there. Having a wireless internet connection :) The bestest dream (and a most difficult one, too, at times. But I'd have lots of good blog post fodder :) It makes my mouth water.
But it doesn't seem so particularly irresponsible to me anymore. Sure, there are issues of why and how I want to do that. Running away is surely a part of it. But so is running to. So is having adventures. My friend Jane lived in a cave in Spain for a year. Driving around the same country (but 2 cultures) isn't quite as out-there as living in a cave for a year, but still - I'd love to do it. Join the great Church of the Homeless :) Find other people on adventures.
So today I told God that I really, really want to do this :) The thought terrifies and exhilarates me. Absolutely. I would do it; I really would. I would go off in a campervan by myself around Australia. I just would. So maybe I'd get murdered but dammit if I don't feel like living my little life in suburbia is just murder by small degrees anyway.
So that's my dream that I would do if a great wad of money fell out of the sky. What would you do, if it wasn't considered "irresponsible"? If you weren't living under the great Western squashiness of expectation and responsibility that makes us all look exactly the same? Tell me ...
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