david griffith - saucepanbach: News

Twenty two miles long and five miles wide, the Gaza Strip is a bit more than twice as big as the Disney World Resort in Florida.

Makes you think. About the same distance and a forty minute drive down to the foot of the Blue Mountains, here in Australia, takes you through fourteen or so small towns and villages. About eighty thousand people live along these ridges. On either side of the ridges is a vast expanse of bush.

You could fit the whole of Gaza into that drive and barely notice if it weren’t for the hundred fold plus increase in population.......the peace and quiet would also completely vanish but that’s a luxury few enjoy.

All things being equal, I’ll drive to the foot of the mountains to pick up a keyboard for one of the guys at the Group Home in which I work. It’s identical to the one that I’ve been taking to work so he’s already familiar with the controls - enough to turn on automatic features and ‘groove around’ for hours.

No check points along the way. No roadside bombs. Just ‘normal.’

Floods up the coast and almost continuous rain and drizzle here have put a dampener on life in the garden. Flowers look dejected and don’t say much. Parrots can’t help but look bright and chirp away anyway.

Meanwhile, I keep playing my scales, keep up with the news that most don’t want to know about and look forward to playing music at the open mike and songwriter nights...... all worthwhile activities.

Very good. A day or so passes and the sun reappears after, what feels like, forty days of rain. My bid for the keyboard was successful and one happy guy at the Group Home awaits something which will add to his ‘quality of life.’

Lots of cheerful phrases such as ‘freedom of choice.’, ‘dignity of risk.’ ‘normalisation’, ‘community access’ and ‘quality of life.’ abound within the Disabilities Services industry, here in Australia.

Every client has a key worker and an Annual Plan so, in that respect, they’re a lot better off than the rest of humanity who stumble along as best they can.......much depends upon the key worker.

President Obama sounds like a grimly hollow man as he states with no conviction that “The economy is growing strong.”

That’s becoming a real problem - not the economy but the way phrases are bandied about which directly contradict the evidence pouring in through our own senses.

‘Freedom of choice.’ as it’s applied within the Group Home is still subservient to practicalities, to the wider needs of the group. In that respect ‘choice’ is limited by the imagination of both the client and the key worker.

‘Going through the motions.’ ..... I’m not sure if that phrase has stood the test of time but - for me - and from my childhood, it echoes.

‘If you’re going to do the job, do it properly.’

Off to work..... and I keep coming back to that soberly comforting thought that if you can’t change the wider world, you can work on both the inner and the local world.

I walk outside.

Kookaburras chortle, cackle and laugh uproariously as only they are able. They’re not so common where I live and are a source of wonder and delight when they - an appearance make.

The cost of living used to be measured - still is - by how much we pay for the goods and services used. Pretty simple but, logically, it makes us slaves to a financial system which has arranged itself to become despotic to the extreme.

Strange sounds in the sky reported from all over the world and if it’s not the Earth itself groaning from obscenities such as fracking, then perhaps it’s the amplified sound of nations and peoples fragmenting.

Or - it could just be HAARP up to dirty tricks.

Rogue states, pariah states. Regime change is called for in both America and Israel. None of the nations affected by their wars have done anything more than defy America and Israel’s perceived ‘interest.’ - nothing to do with freedom or democracy.

The Arab ‘uprisings’ have as much to do with a desire for regime change in America and Israel as they do with injustices within their own Arab countries.

It’s a rotten state of affairs when lies become truth.

Rain pours down through the wettest summer that I can remember but the land is still thirsting, underground aquifers need replenishing and appearance is often deceptive.

‘Global warming’ becomes ‘Climate change’ in a subtle nod to ‘maybe we were not quite right in our estimation.’ but as science doesn’t recognise that the Universe IS electric then, perhaps, much of what we know is actually error.

If you’re not in danger of immediate death then this is an exciting time to be alive.

Torrents of information pour through the internet leaving the mainstream news as a side creek in the waterway. Very little real news does make the mainstream press and is always twisted to present a point of view. It’s not so much a conspiracy - in the usual sense of that word - but more a mental shrug of the shoulders, taken a long time back, which suggests ‘What can you do? ... this is the only game in town.’

Wrote a song the other day which surprised me. As I only average two songs a year, it was the way it popped out, quite suddenly, that surprised me.

I’m never too sure about my lyrics - there’s a fine line between heart felt, sincere and clear ......... and pure emotional tripe ......and as I need glasses, fine lines are problematic.

The melody is lovely and the structure pleases me to sing. That’s a good start.

I’ll try it out this weekend and keep refining and defining each word..... until it makes sense.

The drums of war are beating louder - as well they might with the racket of continuous war against which they need contend.

What a clumsy sentence. What a clumsy war.

Bought a keyboard at a fund raising garage sale being held across the road. I left it alone for quite awhile because I only wanted it for the drum and rhythm patterns contained. No-one showed any interest so I bought it eventually for the princely sum of $20.

Back from the dentist who assures me that my head hasn’t caved in and a gentle sun shines on a quiet day off. I’ll put a drum rhythm on and play my notes shortly...... trying to play three notes in differing ways.

A bit weary. Three days at work dealing with behavioural problems within a Group Home. It’s by working with these men, for the last decade or so, that has allowed for life to go on, bills to be paid and a body of songs to be recorded. I don’t forget that and am grateful to the universe for directing some critical choices which allows a bit of space, time and energy for musical development.

I take the electric guitar to work, along with a tiny amp and one of the men at the Home helps me carry the guitar and keyboard into the house. His face lights up and he spends the next six hours happily plonking away on one string to a grooooovy drumbeat.

Meanwhile ominous clouds gather over an autistic client and the drums of war erupt over a triviality. I’m not being presumptuous and accept that trivial to one is catastrophic to another however if you know that it’s trivial but pretend it’s catastrophic then it’s a different matter. This man knows the difference.

Behavioural problems arise within the Group Home because the ‘Care Industry’ attracts many who are disabled themselves - by which I mean - they don’t care, turn a blind eye and, inevitably, those entrusted to their care manifest more and more behavioural problems.

Everything there is mirrored in the outside world and at the highest levels.

On the other hand and on a personal level, there’s something very empowering about accepting the idea that pulling your own weight means something tangible, costs something tangible and returns something unusual.

Could be illumination of sorts or perhaps the after affects of antibiotics.

The lustrous soft orange of the Tiger lilies fades as the first of the ‘soon to be man sized’ Canna lilies take their place. Yellows and reds will predominate for the next month or two until the purple of the Tibouchina delights the eyes. Brilliance in flowers and brilliance in birds and while the parrots happily gorge themselves on unripe peaches, a surly gang of sulphur crested cockatoos - imagine a scrawny but muscular small white chicken with both bad attitude and a bright yellow Mohican haircut - hang about, chew branches off trees, decapitate daffodils and, eventually, one of them casually chews part of a doorframe recently erected. They don’t respond to threats and cackle at my fist shaking antics..... not feeding them anymore!

Everything in the garden is mirrored in the outside world but here, it’s more a live and let live approach.

Off for a cool drumbeat and three notes.

Today, on the news, the coal gas industry here in Australia is assuring our Government that they wouldn’t dream of using the same chemicals and procedures used within the U.S.A.

Fracking - to a countryside - has got to be akin to mankind applying mosquitoes to its collective body while suggesting that this is innocuous behaviour.

Does that mirror society.

Wish I knew a good joke to leave you with before coffee.

Slurp, slurp - who’s there?

I wanted to rule the world. Don’t know why. Perhaps I was bored with unlimited wealth. Own the world. It wasn’t that hard to do. Very few people expected or accepted the truth even when confronted with the obvious.

I blew up - not Wall Street or the Federal Reserve but the World Trade Centre. Made a lot of money which didn’t really matter but you gotta share the wealth - and very few noticed the extra building which came down without being hit by a plane.

Remarkable how easily people are fooled.

The Pentagon was a joke. Made a whole plane disappear into a hole custom built for something smaller...... and not a frame of footage to show what happened.

Didn’t just wave my hand to make this happen.

I broke apart the Jewish religion, a few thousand years ago and left a remnant who followed the ‘Old’ Testament. The rest followed the Talmud which negates the Commandments. Only a few dissenters to point out the inconsistencies and it’s always comforting to know who your enemies are.

Who needs a heaven above when you can have a game park here below. Africa might be nice - without people.

I own everything and leave you the illusion that you owned something. How can it be otherwise when I control the money supply.

For countries to give away their sovereign right to print their own currency indicates just how much control I have.

No-one talks about it publically except on the internet.

I’ve got a lot of people to satisfy but don’t get me wrong. I don’t much like any of them but they’re useful for the time being.

That’s it - just playing with you because I can.

...... and just putting myself into the mind-set of those for whom ‘the ends justify the means.’

Easy if you don’t care.

The point - for me - is not about living ‘forever’ but to live in the moment without losing sight of ‘either side of the moment.’

There’s detail within the big picture.

Synchronicity. I love it even when it makes no obvious sense. What do I make of watching the first few minutes of ‘the Lightbulb Conspiracy’ - a film about planned obsolescence - only to turn it off, because playing music felt better, and then to find that the lamp goes out and the lightbulb needs immediate replacement.

It’s simple for me. The Divine is everywhere and imbued throughout every physical atom. Thus, the Divine speaks in many ways and very few are in ‘spake in words’ ..... who could stand the shock?

This world is a matrix and this can be a prison planet. Doesn’t have to be nor need to be and the ‘powers that be’, who look to a ‘New World Order’ and a ‘Brave New World’ coupled with ‘Animal Farm’ to usher in ‘the Future’ are ...... deluded.

They take no account of other dimensions.

‘Mad as a cut snake?’ .... you betcha.

I’ve been living, briefly, in a state of grace. Apparently, Confucius felt uneasy when given the same image to contemplate and so - should give me greater reason to pause.

Clarity, perception and idealism mixed with a combination of circumstance where, on a personal level, everything that needs to be done has pretty much been done, and I’m left with space and time opening up to creative endeavour.

A state of grace for me and ‘Thou shall not kill’ being brushed aside by all three religions of the ‘Book’ niggles away at the back of my mind........ as it has for decades.

Written as a commandment but, on a national level, almost impossible to fulfill, perhaps the intention is not to stop the killing but to make it obvious that a glaring inconsistency occurs when mankind attempts to align the killing with the blessing of God.

Whatever God might be, humans killing each other doesn’t align.

Suicide bombers blessed by God? What a dreadful perversion.

Would I kill to save those I love? I hope so - but I’d not ‘dress it up’ as ‘blessed by the Divine.’

New Year’s Eve was terrific. Spent an hour or so on the Shipley Plateau at a gathering where I arrived early, met friendly people, played music and then moved on to Mount Victoria to back up Mad Cowboy Disease at their gig.

I must be getting better with my guitar playing or perhaps it’s just that I’m becoming more familiar with the neck of the guitar. I’m playing scales - which is becoming melody - often for hours a day although this has only been happening for the last month or so.

It’s no coincidence that this increased focus and energy corresponds to the fine energy that ‘Salutes to the sun.’ gives me.

Six rounds of ‘Salute to the sun’ takes no more time than a kettle takes to boil and although I absolutely know that this series of postures activates a dynamo within the body, I’m slack enough to go months before I realise that I’ve become stiff and need a kick start.

Odd creatures us humans be. Contrary.

If I could give you a gift of priceless value - ‘Salutes to the sun’ would be it. There - you have it.

Here in the Blue Mountains, Spring and the first month of summer have been cool and wet. Today the sun shines and heatwaves ripple across the continent.

Ripples across time - and a twenty six thousand and something year cycle appears to align with 2012.

There’s something gloomingly satisfying about the idea that we’re about to come out of thirteen thousands years of darkness.

Written on the headstone of the grave were the words:

“ I told you I was sick.”

..... and so we are.

There’s something very inspiring about the idea that thirteen thousand years of light are soon to begin........ perhaps we’ll be around for the first glimmer of dawn.

Nearly Christmas.

Sitting in the car, listening to yet another apologist for Israel mouth nonsense ..... and it’s all very chummy and well mannered between him and the interviewer, as - away from the studio and not in a manger - the ‘settlers’ of the Chosen people pour bags of excrement upon the heads of the Palestinians below.

My friend gets in the car and listens intently. He shrugs his shoulders and - sort of agrees that Palestine has never really existed as a separate nation. This floors me.

“Hold on a moment, Cliff. The Romans pushed the British around two thousand years ago but they never ‘owned’ Britain. They just pushed us into the West Bank and called us Welsh....... please don’t even mention the English - bloody late comers - interlopers!”

“As much to the point, who could blame the present day Italians for the excesses of the Romans.”

The Palestinians don’t exist within the mind of Newt Somethingorother ......... Newt is yet another clown put forward as a potential leader of the USA and one that I hadn’t noticed.

In response to Newt’s odd claim, Cliff expands on this thought to refine the same wobbly point as Newt....... Palestine and Palestinians never existed as a sovereign country ...... the British took it from the Otterman Empire and gave it to the Jews.

“ But it wasn’t theirs to give away.” say I, as the shaky ground upon which we all stand rumbles.

“Your average person would suggest that the land belongs to the people who have settled it........ and that length of time has some bearing on legitimacy ”

If you’re Aboriginal, you’d see it the other way round. The people belong to the land.... it’s absurd to think otherwise. Who amongst us takes a speck of dust into eternity let alone a quarter acre block.

If all the world’s a stage - which most of us recognise to be ‘true’- we don’t even entertain the thought that we own the stage - we just borrow the space that we stand in until we vacate. That’s it. It’s the nature of acting.

We pretend we own and then go to war endlessly to prove a point which is, itself, a pretence.

The Palestinians exist now. Regardless of who ‘owns’ the land, the Israelis have parcelled out some puddles and told the Palestinians to ‘Get what you’re given and be thankful.’

It’s not good enough.

By their fruits shall you know them. By the misery displayed. By the bleak and poisoned spirit which pervades.

If Israel were a human, what a bully, what a spoilt and mean spirited child.

Whether Jesus died doesn’t matter to me, the Christ spirit lives and manifests in all of us - given half a chance.

“Cooee - my darling.”

Joy to the world.

The daffodils were thigh high this year. The Tiger lilies now reach to my lips. They’re not orange like the fruit orange and they give off a soft radiance - a lustre. Magnificent blooms of ‘almost’ orange.

Spring and summer are wet. Cool days and little sun allow the emerald green of new growth to settle.

Christmas consumerism is limited to Enid Blyton’s ‘The Faraway Tree’ collection for the new born’s parents and a two man tent for the ten year old boy.

Presence rather than presents are the order of the day and the retail sector will suffer accordingly. Exit Babylon, stage left.

The best laid plans often come to naught on both a personal and a national level. This is often a bloody good thing and gives hope for the future.

I usually avoid New Year’s Eve like the plague but this one is different because it will be musical. Time spent daily with the guitar and the pic is becoming less like a pick - or a mattock - and starts giving moments of clarity.

Thanks to Griff Hamlin for his guitar lessons. He’s a generous man and introduces his students to Bob Murnahan who breaks down licks into manageable chunks. Neither of these men are hard sell. They don’t spruik their wares and both have a humility which is heart warming.

They come to mind because they’re nourishing. I’ve now got enough nourishing material to last decades. As yet, I’ve got no speed and very little clarity but the five blues boxes are pretty much imprinted on my mind. Wrapping my head around the major/minor - is it three frets up or down the neck? ...... anyway, it’s all progress.

The signs and portents for 2012 are mixed - depending upon your point of view. I’m calm about ‘what will be’. No purpose served in being any other way. It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Before I go off for a shift at work, we’ll play croquet on a tiny strip of lawn. This will be on Christmas Day and if Christ hadn’t existed, we wouldn’t be seeing that spirit manifested in each other.

Who the hell is Santa and how did something that looks like a fat can of coke cola - complete with foaming beard - supplant Christmas....... ah well ...... you have to ‘Yo ho ho ‘ sometimes and you can’t just go by appearance.

Have a joyous moment........ four notes and a bend are still keeping me in a state of wonder .....

As to the machinations of the threadbare ‘Powers that Be’ - clever is not the same as intelligent - the smallest spark of light dispels the dark.

Last night we travelled a few hundred kilometres to witness an end of year drama concert in which the ten year old grandson participated.

His group had put together a series of monologues where the actors had two minutes each to - not so much define their lives but illustrate what was important to them.

With the innocence of childhood, the most searing personal stories were entwined with good humour, stoicism and hope - and they all wanted to BE something when they ‘grew up.’

They want to be something in a world that makes sense.

Not only did they have light in their eyes - so did the audience.

More real joy in that night than in a thousand palaces.

I don’t have anything to say apart from stray thoughts seeking a home.

Whoever you are, good wishes to you.

A cool day in late Spring. Seven days of soaking rain and the soil is dry at a spade deep. Slow work, spade by spade and sifting fingers. It’s a good way to work the land in Australia ..... gives odd looking spiders a chance to move away.

The garden is so lush with growth that ‘space for all’ is called for. I’ve separated and moved whole clumps of plants. While it may not be exactly the ‘right time’, I’ve never worried much about that. Lots of water usually overcomes the shock of dislocation.

Everything now looks slightly bewildered but quite pleased and the first of the tiger lilies blooms orange in delight.

Darling Harbour was great. Sparkling clear, boats on the harbour, city skyline across the way, sun, fun and sweat. Anticipation and trepidation walk hand in hand with me but neither is a constant companion which is actually a ‘good thing.’

Darling Harbour sounds ‘big’ and, in a way, it is. Nobody - apart from family and friends perhaps - is actually coming to see you perform. You’re as incidental as the seagulls. Nonetheless you have more potential than the activities of the birds to entertain and enjoy the moment.

Twenty minutes to play your part and the day is yours to enjoy with that slightly higher state of awareness which follows performance.

That ‘ticks a box’ for me and something in me doesn’t want to do this anymore. I’ll follow this prompting and see where it leads. It doesn’t feel like retreat and doesn’t feel like ‘giving up’. It feels like new direction.

The world financial cold winds reach Australia and it’s reflected in the hunger of my co-workers - who also work part time - to pick up any shifts available. My situation is precarious but always has been. Just as well that I’m good at a job that not many want or consider themselves able to do.

So I’m going quiet and this is a ‘cheerio’ for awhile.

The Emperor has no clothes and countries lose their sovereignty.

A New World Order - ‘shiver me timbers’ - swap lots of leaders for one.

Pirates on the horizon. Israel wants to bomb Iran. What doesn't Israel want.

Greece and Italy are now corporations run by unelected banking representatives. Democracy is gone without a whimper and all in the name of a debt which is a fraud.

President Obama is here, in Australia, for a day. Warmth and good will is shared between the leaders but do either of them believe that the official 9/11 story is true?

Did their education stop at the doors of the Federal Reserve without either asking the question, “Who owns this?”

The answer is, of course, the same people who ‘own’ the New World Order.

I don’t like the idea that the fattest parasites feeding off mother earth consider themselves the rightful rulers of humanity.

A New World Order suggests a beneficial, fruitful relationship with the peoples of this world. There is nothing to suggest that this is true if we look at the mess that we’re in.

Create the problem, present a solution.

I’m not particularly impressed with the Book of Revelations. Disease and death follow every generation. Armageddon has come, gone and returned many times but there is something different about these times.

Ideas spread almost instantly across the world. Information is readily available. Scrutiny is two way. There are enough people in the world to go “oooh” until you realise that they could all fit into Texas.

Walkabout was intense and a bit of a ‘Curate’s egg.’ The good bits were great but the bad bits were horrible.

In between, lots of very good music and the opportunity to sit in the back and add a few notes ...... if I could work out the key.

The farmhouse hasn’t been lived in for a few months. Possums and Brown snakes had taken up residence and been booted elsewhere a week before I arrive - with music, ‘whipper snipper’ and lawnmower.

It’s hot - relative to the mountains - but cloud cover meant that tanks of petrol could be used clearing ground and making the place ‘safe’ in preparation for a birthday party three days later on a Saturday.

‘Dysfunctional’ comes to mind ....... a disaster waiting to happen.

Help arrived, disaster averted but by the skin of the teeth and grace of God.

Physical catastrophe is often easier to work with than people.

Back home.

Greeted by intertwined, vigorous new growth in the garden. Lilac and white flowers pour colour across lime green leaves.

Tiger lilies, chest high with glossy green leaves along a cane, ready to bloom orange and black whenever they will.

Complete crowns of pale green fronds grace the treeferns. Small islands of microclimates expand in their space and magic is the process. No spells needed - just life and care.

Day off and too wet to move a treefern.

Learning ‘little chords’ which looks very promising but I’m not bounding out of bed to greet each day with unbridled enthusiasm and then jump into song.

Playing for twenty minutes at Darling Harbour this Saturday which equates to four - perhaps five songs. The day will be great good fun, no doubt, but my general internal direction is quiet retreat so I’ll follow that prompting when the dust settles.

There are so many people who have experienced decades of following their creative passion with minimal success on the material plane.

The artist has an exhibition and nothing much results. The actor finds both roles and energy dwindling. The poet dries up. The sculptor acquires arthritis........ so when does the series of obstacles in front of all of us - when creative endeavour beckons - become impassible?

Wish I knew when enough is enough.

Decades ago, when I’d barely taken a musical step and thus was prey to all sorts of imaginings, I was told that there’s nothing sadder than to see someone give up, right at the beginning, because it all looks too difficult.

‘Step back, look at the obstacle, inquire as to its nature. Can you go around, over or under. Will it disappear of its own accord?’

‘Step back again, get a sense of perspective - you can only get that by taking in the bigger picture.’

My internal obstacles are founded on a reluctance to play. I don’t mean music, I mean life itself.

Traumatic shock, early in life, can produce this uneasy approach to life. You cannot ‘not be here’ but you can be observer rather than participant...... or be anywhere along a spectrum which runs from catatonic to enlightened..... and back again perhaps.

I’ve had and have wonderful teachers who’ve enabled changes of consciousness. I’m still ‘me’. I don’t walk around in a state of bliss.

It’s now a glorious sunny day made brighter by contrast to the last few days of cloud and rain.

Anyway, I’m not being a miseryguts, it’s more that I’ve now recorded pretty much all that I’ve written that’s ‘worth’ recording.

Having done that and put it ‘out there’ to the extent that I now know that neither songwriting competitions nor Hollywood is interested .......and I know that because I’ve submitted many songs in order to find that out .... and so I feel I’ve done what I need to do in order to take my music seriously enough to, now, leave it alone.

And that’s the point. All that ‘stuff’ takes resources. It’s done.

I’ve got callouses on my fingers which an excellent guitarist suggests that he doesn’t get because he only uses as much pressure as is needed to produce the sound.

Not so much ‘Get a grip’ as ‘ Slightly lighten up.’

Pass the parrot, would you?

The saxophonist lives at Sunny Corner. This being Australia, it WILL be sunny. Just down the road is Dark Corner which, in turn, is close to Mount Horrible. Hard to believe but there you have it. Whatever the name, it all sounds good if you’re a Greek doing hard time.

Hundreds of thousands of people living on Pacific Islands are having the very land that their villages stand on, eaten away by rising sea levels while the Australian Government focusses on boatloads of desperate refugees.

I suppose, if we had breadth of vision we might have a plan to resettle the Pacific .... but I don’t think we have such a plan.

Our Government here does recognise climate change and arguments for or against don’t matter to me. Anything which promotes alternative energy sources needs be encouraged and the risk of ‘carrying on regardless’, blithely assuming ‘all will be well.’ are too deadly for these and the next generations to bear.

Had a great time at the songwriter night yesterday. The whole night was great. Again had the pleasure of a saxophone plus an Irish drum and Wild Man Bru on lead guitar. I’d like to play more with these people but as we’ve all got limited time, I’ve made up a cd of recorded songs ‘Griffith - The Good Bits’ ..... just so that we're all working off the same page.

You need a sense of humour.....it's hardly 'Greatest Hits' just because six people like it.

Going walkabout for a bit.

How much more so now.

“The real truth of the matter is, as you and I know, that a financial element in the large centers has owned the Government since the days of Andrew Jackson.” so says Franklin Roosevelt in 1933.

In a world dominated by crisis management, an aspect of the prisoner swap between Israel and Palestine didn’t rate a mention.

One Israeli soldier’s life is worth ..... what was it?...... a thousand Palestinians..... although the last five hundred are perhaps still in limbo.

What a silly and grandiose vision of one’s worth.

Based on what?

What’s the point of a religion - apart from serving the interests of the religion itself - if it doesn’t facilitate a relationship with the Divine.

Equally, how does chanting “God is Great’ reconcile with grenades hurled at a church?

A religion becomes no more than a gang when violence rules over either love or reason.

Religious warriors like to take heart from David and Goliath situations ... of course, they’re always David - even if they’re really Goliath - and they end up winning lots of prizes by cutting short both lives and Commandments.

Steven Fry puts forward the idea that the ten Commandments were cobbled together by some hysterical tribesmen.

Not so. What greater challenge is there but to live within those limitations. Life is limited in as many directions as you choose to look but not so within our inner core.

We get given the body but construct the mind.... and for that purpose, what serves as an enduring foundation?

These questions may well occupy some time but as she hitches to the shoulder the hemline of her modesty, she says. “I’ve been dying of a lonely heart.”

Brings it back to now.

No longer dying of a lonely heart, she - a ‘problem child’ by her own estimation - rises, by dint of correct conduct over extended time, to a new dawn with a partner with whom she’s had a slow, respectful dance.

It’s wonderful - in the true sense of that word - to see time used as an instrument in which lives take shape and, in another place, same time, another ‘problem child’ makes headway in a difficult situation.

In neither case was wishful thinking going to achieve anything and in each case, clear family obligations and responsibilities helped clarify the situation and guide actions which, in turn, allows for real feelings of self worth to arise.

What’s it worth to move a life from imprisonment to relative freedom?

It means a great deal - none of its worth is truly measured in numbers.

My own relationship with whatever God IS, is direct. Why would it be otherwise. Why would anyone want it otherwise.

Did a certain fear enter into this relationship for me? Absolutely.

Fear and trembling is a reality when confronted with the faintest hint of such Presence. I think it’s the ego which is afraid. The soul perhaps knows no separation and thus no fear arises. Laughter, good humour come later.


Holy, holy, holy - a religion is only a vehicle and they all rust to nothing over time.

Brilliant red Roses bloom along with the mauve, nipple high Irises. A King Parrot calls, a Sunday in Spring, and playing at the Rhododendron Festival yesterday was fun, a bit on the edge, and all too quick.

Got to meet Chris who liked my songs and wouldn’t mind bringing me into play at the Blackheath folk club. Perhaps early next year.

Played electric - two guitars and a saxophone, on the back of a truck in a closed off street, and all as the western sun went down across our eyes - and I appreciate that Chris could still see it as folk.

Night shifts are no good. They used to be fine. Brain goes woozey for awhile.

‘Night shift o.k.’ comes an echo from somewhere - anywhere where no shift remains.

Listening to the lush layered, beautiful songs of a band called ‘Open’ while thirsting for the miso soup that I no longer get from Japan.

The Japanese can be so polite that there are degrees of politeness and to be offered a level of politeness below your status is, thus, insulting.

Reactors still spewing toxicity and nothing much happens. A genetic experiment upon the population of an island country where there is nowhere to go. It’s one of the many mysteries of today’s world.

Much like fracking .... the process of quietly blowing up the earth beneath our feet to extract gas. Poison the water table? Of course. Should we allow it? Who’s to stop it...... well ... in this country, there is opposition

Australia is still the Promised land. No recession to speak of and relative sanity in the way in which we relate. This is a land where a gun going off can still make the news.

Depending on where you focus, life is as desperate here as anywhere. Material circumstance notwithstanding. The anxiety present everywhere touches here. Living day to day never took on more meaning.

Perhaps you’ve met a sprightly eighty year old who replies, whether you enquire or not,

“ It’s a great day, every day’s a bonus.” ..... which may well be true for him but shouldn’t apply to his children, their children and beyond.

But that’s the sense of it while ‘shareholder interest’ trumps morality and trumpets “Let’s just keep gambling.”

Three Rhododendron grow in this garden. They flower in turn. The first is a small graceful tree with intense purple/red flowers. The next is a scented, brilliant yellow/gold flowering made more glorious because the leaves come later. The last to bloom, I’ve learnt, is invasive. A branch need only rest on the ground to take root and move across the land. The flower is pretty and, over the years, I’ve shaped and confined this particular shrubby tree to follow the curved line of a garden bed in which a dozen or so smallish tree ferns gather amid the tiger lilies. Everything’s happy and in an equilibrium but it's only ever 'for the time being'.

Most things aren't greedy - they just need the space that they're in.... in which to grow. Some things want it all.

So .....in the garden....some things you encourage, some things you shape, some things need be rooted out entirely and some things just appear and take you by surprise.

"Brain no good after night shift ... shut down now."

Although I now know that the sun moves on a spiralling arm of our local galaxy and does so at a fairly rapid rate of close to a half million miles an hour, I still picture our solar system with a static sun and with the planets revolving in their steady orbits, pretty much all in the same plane.

It’s part of the idea as stated in ‘Alice in Wonderland’ - that most humans routinely hold at least a dozen contradictory notions in their heads at the one time - and that’s just in that short period of time before breakfast.

I got a better picture of where I stand when presented with the sun, belting along at speed and with the planets keeping their orbits- but having to ‘keep up’ - and thus a corkscrewing like moving picture emerges - if you were to see it at a distance. Not sure if I’ve got that quite accurate but the concept has movement.

It’s a fine thing to know that you and I are whizzing along at a sedate sixty seven thousand miles an hour......and I thought I was living a quiet life, rarely spilling my drink.

Going away in a week or so - I used to think it was a fair drive but now I know different. It’s an enormous distance - about seven hours drive so I’ll travel nearly four million miles, relative to the centre of the Milky Way - to see a friend and be part of the work and the music for a birthday.

I love the excitement and humour of a Universe where mysteries unfold on a grand scale ..... today, I swept up some spilt nails in a garage full of sawdust from the recent building activity. I found a magnet and lifted the nails clear of the dust and demonstrated that the gravity of the whole earth is weaker than one small magnet.

An Electric Universe with many dimensions that we, at least, mathematically know of - and an agreed reality where we usually live in just three.

Back to many shifts at work after some finishing touches to the building work that a good friend has completed for me.

Some people are quietly remarkable. This man - in his forties - builds with fine accuracy.He’s an electrician who can plumb, a computer expert and a registered nurse. He charges me very reasonable rates as he enthuses about a wind turbine that he’d just picked up on ebay while talking knowledgeably about everything from Tesla to comparative religion.

He dropped in the other day....... para-glided in from Blackheath and landed on the oval at the end of the street. His wife drove down to have a cuppa and pick him up.

Some people pack a great deal into their lives. I’m not one of them..... but it’s all relative isn’t it?

I’m happy to accept relativity in pretty much all except ethics. Got told I was ‘quaint’ about that..... in a much earlier decade.

I like the idea of being a ‘work in progress’ ...... everything else is.

It’s hopeful.

It’s heartening to know.

I had to stop there and pause..... WHAT is heartening to know?

That my coat - thought to have been stolen, at the pub where I was playing - was returned to the pub, two weeks later, with a note in the pocket saying:

“ Oops, sorry - thought it was mine.”

It hasn’t reaffirmed my faith in humanity because I hadn’t lost that.

People are good and bad - which is a gross oversimplification but serves the purpose.

Nice to get the coat back but it’s only a ‘thing’ ..... no ..... it was the delight with which the people at the pub took in its ‘rightful’ return.

‘Finders keepers - losers weepers.’

Echoes of a schoolyard approach to honesty and echoes of my father’s wisdom in this matter.

It’s worth repeating - “If it wasn’t yours before you found it then someone has lost it and is looking for it. Either way - it’s not yours so - if you can - you give it back.”

We have a world financial system in terminal decay which makes fools of nations and cannot be fixed.

You know it and I know it.

What’s that got to do with coats?

There were keys in the coat - the keys to the kingdom. I was careless and although I could replace the keys, they were of a nature which cost me a few hundred dollars.

Something that was an honest mistake rather than dishonesty still had material consequences.

There are no honest mistakes in the Federal Reserve.

Not only have they robbed us blind, they’ve stolen the keys to all the kingdoms of the world and now they want your coat.

It’s heartening to know.

Yesterday, summer heat slammed shimmering blue sky to earth. Fire engines and helicopters race to put out a bush fire threatening homes.

Today, torrential rain. In between the two extremes I planted Petunias and gave the snails a stern warning. This may not save the seedlings due to wild, roaming bands of ferociously hungry rabbits.

Last week, a few young teenagers were arrested for deliberately lighting bushfires by throwing Sparklers into the undergrowth.

A necklace of villages and small towns string themselves along the ridges which intersect two huge valleys within the Blue Mountains National Park. Fire is always a possibility. Heat changes everything.

The rain of today could well be steam tomorrow and Spring is here.

Although I’ve seen plenty of Ladybirds while weeding, I’ve seen no bees. Three flowering Cherry trees failed to show any flowers this year. They look healthy enough. Leaf growth is strong but I’m left a little uneasy. Perhaps they have a rest every ten years or so.

Back to music and the annual Darling Harbour Songwriter Society day approaches. Each time I’ve played there it’s been a wonderful day so I don’t know quite why I’ve left it so late to put my name forward.

Cowardice, lack of spirit, prudence - who knows. Either way, a few spots remained so I’m ‘in’.

I’ve more or less rediscovered my songs and as performance now beckons, I’d better sod off and really discover them.

‘White men have no Dreaming.’ is what an Aboriginal man sang out - from the back of the crowd - at a political rally which was broadcast on the radio.

That statement wouldn’t mean much unless you were an Australian. Even then, the meaning would generally be missed.

If you’re an American black then you’re ‘white’ for the purpose of the song that I teased out of that man’s statement.

I’ve rediscovered that song and will put it on the list.

Exotic a land is Australia....... I put the light on in the kitchen, looked through the window, straight into the eyes of a possum. It just sat there - three feet away - thirty seconds of delight for me and then it turned and wandered off.

“ hello possum, I hope you’re doing well.”

...... same to you too.

On my way home from work I listen to the late night news.

“Yes, the banks need to be accountable but now we have to move on.”

The interviewer was as incredulous as myself.

“What accountability are you talking about?”

There was no coherent response and I switched off in disgust just about the time that the mouthpiece for the banking industry laid the blame squarely on ....... us...... for borrowing too much.

Hmm...... the trillions of dollars given to banks would have paid off every mortgage ever held. It has nothing to do with us and everything to do with the fact that the source of money is in private hands. This never gets a mention in mainstream news. It’s treated as a ‘given’ ...... almost a law of nature.

The ongoing financial crisis is the end result of almost every country in the world being bribed and corrupted into handing over the right of individual countries to print their own money....... Libya was an exception and within two weeks of the ‘rebels’ kicking off, it was proudly announced that Libya had a Central Bank.

Many of us have no choice but to stumble from crisis to crisis within our personal lives. It’s the way it is and we do the best we can - often undermined in the process.

It’s no way to run a country. It’s no way to run anything.

We will, no doubt, have a solution presented. It will involve the wiping of debts and this will lead to .....more control.

‘Occupy Wall Street.’ ..... why would you bother? It’s the Federal Reserve and the Central Banks that are the source of the problem.

Wall Street and the ‘Money for nothing.’ gambling which passes for high finance ........it’s the way of the parasite.

There is no value to society to be found in the welcoming of parasites.

The sun shines and it’s another day which I can choose to treat as a new day.

Bruno phones and asks if I’d like to do a half hour spot at the upcoming Blackheath Rhododendron Festival. This will be good and I get to play with Bruno - always a joy.

I’ll be slotted in between ‘My Hearts Dezire’ and ‘The Mad Cowboy Disease.’ ...... somehow that raises a chuckle in me and seems to mirror the world.

Must be getting my equilibrium back.

As part of my job I wash arses. If that throws you then perhaps you know no-one who is disabled. I meet the disabled everyday. I literally clean up shit and carry the weight of those who are paid to care but pretend they can’t smell shit and, thus, have a ready excuse for “Oh dear, sorry.... I missed it.”

They masquerade as ‘care workers’.

Family members, neighbours and friends I can accept with their disabilities - recognised or not, but I loath those who are paid to care and still choose to not meet minimum standards let alone raise a standard.

If you came here looking for nicey nicey stories - wrong time and place.

As the world plunges into debt despair so those whose motivation is base self interest are evermore revealed. I’ll have to get over this anger and reclaim my equilibrium.

Ultimately, we stand or fall by our actions or lack of them and words are just an explanation.

Playing at the restaurant was a success. It’s a strange position - being essentially the background ambiance while people eat. I can’t - as yet - just play guitar. Songs are all I’ve got so that’s what I did and, apart from operating in a spot barely bigger than me and a chair, needed to be aware of what was really going on with forty or so people gathered together for a feed and some speeches.

It went better than I thought and catapulted me out of ‘looking for bindii’s within the garden' to ‘how the hell did I strum ‘Whose say so.’

I’ve got five days off after a concentrated ten days and ...... that’s life isn’t it?

Still finding bindii’s in the garden but now I get a small hand-full at a time rather than a bucket.......it’s also great for stretching the body AND I get to see ladybirds close up.

It’s late and I believe I could use a drink.

A break doesn’t need to be long, to be useful.

Happily working, playing in the garden and feeling slightly decrepit, the phone rings and the Rosewood restaurant wonder if I’m still around.

Long story short - could I play a three hour set this Wednesday. She expresses surprise when I tell her that I haven’t been playing and disbelief when I say that I’ll have to practice because I forget the songs.

So - I’ll do it and take it that the Universe is saying ‘Enough break.’

Snowdrops give way to daffodils, White Magnolia to yellow scented Rhododendron, mist to sunlight.

A slow unfolding of colour undulates across the garden. Everything is luscious with Spring. The Tree-ferns start to unfurl - each one to its own rhythm and time.

Flowering cherries burst into pink and are always two or three weeks later than my neighbour’s trees.

There’s a grandeur to a garden and an ongoing wonder for a gardener.

Under the Tree-ferns, Tiger lilies crouch in groups, already thigh high with waxy deep green leaves, orange and black flowers yet to erupt.

Giant blue bells, purple Iris and - low to the ground - the bright blues, reds, yellows and white of Polyanthus...... a flower which will sit resplendent in the snow ..... looking, for all the world, like a small child’s representation of a flower.

Why wouldn’t you talk to the trees.

Tree-ferns have lived for aeons. When dinosaurs were youngsters, these things had witnessed millennia. Although tree-ferns move slower than dinosaurs and are safer to observe, they have a story to tell and it’s my joy to hear it......... perhaps to sing about it.

Dark matter, does it matter? We don’t know if it exists but it’s needed in order to account for most of the missing matter in the Universe - as understood by mainstream science. I don’t know that it’s needed in an electric Universe.

I can’t help but wonder if the missing matter exists within the dimensions that maths suggests - at least another seven. We live in three dimensions - a lot less than maths suggests. Generally speaking, we rarely, if ever, move out of that construct.

This isn’t an original thought but I don’t know if it’s been connected to the spiritual life of Aboriginal culture.

This Dreamtime exists now.

I guess that’s a bold statement but if you were to ask an Aborigine about the Dreamtime, they’ll tell you it’s real. They know that it’s real because it’s an experience. They don’t have to believe because they know.

Too polite to dwell upon our ‘western’ collective disability in not having an equivalent to Dreamtime, they puzzle over the smoke and mirrors which make up our ‘take’ on reality.

Anyway, this isn’t some romantic view of a ‘noble savage’ way of life. There are just as many shady characters in black and white society.

I guess the connection I’m making lies in the reality of ‘Dreamtime’. If it’s real then it has substance. Substance usually carries weight.

Raises the possibility that Heaven is not insubstantial. I wonder what it weighs.

The pain I felt recently wasn’t kundalini rising but rather a hamstring knotting. I’ve been limping around but, fortunately, ‘tis the season of the Bindii and I’ve been able to slowly bend and stretch my body across every inch of the garden seeking this lowly and beautiful creature.

The bindii looks like a soft green snowflake. Quite beautiful to look at but very painful to bare feet once the seed has set. I got four buckets full over three or fours days of a few hours a day and my body feels a bit better.

‘The hungry tide’ - describes the dreadful plight of those who live on low lying Pacific Islands.

This is the link

http://www.sbs.com.au/documentary/program/thehungrytide.

These islands are being eaten away as I write and you read. It’s an immediate disaster and where they are going to live or die is a problem that Australia neglects as it worries about people smugglers.

The song playing - ‘once upon a time’ - is all that I can offer in the sense of drawing attention to their plight.

We now have a carbon tax in Australia. No - we don’t. We have a tax on pollution. Immediately, solar power starts to take its rightful place.

I’m sure that some of the opposition to this is reflected in the view that none of it matters because no-one else has stepped up to the mark and therefore, it would make no difference.

None of my ideas are original but it makes sense to me that it’s precisely when the empire is collapsing that ‘doing the right thing’ is of paramount importance.

"Truth lives a wretched existence, but it always outlasts a lie." (anon)

Into the personal cycles of life, advance and retreat, progress and stagnation, comes contemplation.

I don’t think I’ll be doing much public playing for awhile. My own songs are liquid and/or solid and ‘need me not.’ ...... and I’ve got no desire to play them right now.

I’ll take the time out to play notes and see what happens. As I’ve never been very brave with public performance, it’s a relief to pause.

Whether I’m playing or not is of little interest however I’m writing this because there ARE a few people who read these posts and who rarely listen to the songs...... so I can maybe assume that it’s the other facets of a life’s journey which get caught, digested and thrown out of my mind which briefly attracts your interest.

“Mad as a cut snake.”

Got careless the other week at the pub and left my jacket on the back of a chair - not just when I was playing my songs but for an hour either side of that. There was a niggle in the back of my mind about being separated from my keys but I paid it no heed.

That the jacket was stolen, I could and did shrug off easily......... after all, didn’t Jesus say - essentially - “Give it to him.” ....... however I’m thinking that even he’d draw the line at giving away the keys to the kingdom ..... funny.... as I write this so perhaps Jesus whispers
“Not so, darling child, My Father’s Kingdom needs no lock and key and He would welcome all.”

Hmm ..... I lost the keys to my physical kingdom and it cost to repair the damage........ Nevermind, my personal debt is less than Greece so no bailout needed.

“Tightening the belt is all very well.” said the trade union representative, “ but we’re not all wearing the same sized trousers.”

“Ooh..... you lucky bastard!” came a voice from the back of the crowd. “You’ve got trousers! We can only afford a belt.”

“........ AND we’ve got to share it.” echoed the kids.

Shift work is what I do.... mainly afternoon to late night or over night.

It sometimes means that I’m wide awake when the late, late ads come on for all sorts of dating services and wonderful products that we probably don’t need.

Lately, a lot more ads reaching out to those who suffer depression and to those for whom suicide is an option are hitting the screen...... it’s good.

Many years ago, on a seven hour drive up the coast, the local radio station had a promo about some bloke talking about the importance of a father daughter relationship.

I almost turned it off.

With great clarity - whoever he was - laid out the obvious and the profound.

The father - being the first male representative that the daughter has a relationship with - must treat the daughter with respect which, of course, also means that he must take her seriously.

The implications of this are such that if he does this in a way in which her questions are answered honestly then the standard that the daughter will look for in her later choice of partner will reflect this..... ..... the equality of love.....the standard expected is high..... as it should be.

One of the ‘problem children’ - and I don’t mean disrespect by that term - expressed the sense of mourning and loss that she feels and which has coloured her life grim - by the absence of a meaningful relationship with her father.

As a child, I got more thick ears than dinners...... slight exaggeration but not much. My dad ruled more by fear than love. Instilled an ethical approach to life along the way .... which is always a good foundation but he rarely explained anything.

When it came to honesty and the childhood approach of “Finders keepers, losers weepers.” he was really succinct.

“If it wasn’t yours before you found it then it belongs to someone else who has lost it and is looking for it. Therefore it’s not yours.”

I like that. There’s ruthlessly honest standard set and fluttering in the breeze.

And just as you can’t be a bit pregnant , honesty is......constant..... if it’s to have any meaning.

Apparently, people lie a lot. Studies show that fact which - in itself - makes me chuckle. Perhaps that’s because it’s a bit depressing otherwise.. I think seventy times a day was the average number of lies that was quoted. Seems a lot to me.

That idea of ‘Know yourself.’ requires ruthless honesty, a continuous self examination of motive....... without too much judgement because as yet, you haven’t got the full picture...... you can’t see that clearly.

I would think that this is the ‘Great work’ and that the importance of a father daughter relationship is no less important than the other family relationships........our societies depend on it.

“I wish I’d been treated like a princess by my dad.” she said.

In the pause that followed I reflected that what she feels and sees as being treated as a princess actually comes down to knowing that you - as the daughter - matter. By word and deed, you are taken seriously and encouraged to think, express yourself and question everything.

Why wouldn’t you flourish under such conditions.

Conversely, the standard set for a princess is usually lowered until Cinderella status is reached where you expect little and get about that.

Thank God for humour. She is pleased to have recently found a partner and is trying not to compartmentalise him too quickly.

If you do happen to feel like a Cinderella then it’s all too easy to like someone and then wonder what’s wrong with them for liking you.

I’ll stop now.

I’ve got a cramp in the leg and I’m not sure if it’s kundalini rising or sciatica descending.

Some sub atomic particles move faster than the speed of light....... or so the results of recent experiments show.

Steven Hawking is surprised. So is mainstream science.

U.FO.’s exist and, therefore, either the occupants are long living or the speed of light is no barrier to interstellar travel.

Once you’ve seen a U.F.O. and have settled that matter to your satisfaction then other implications can be drawn.

Why do U.F.O.’s require lights? To inspire ‘shock and awe’ among the witnessing local population? Because the occupants see in the same wavelengths as us? Perhaps just an effect of the propulsion unit and has no implication in terms of sight of the occupants. Perhaps because interstellar travel regulations require headlights on all craft? I don’t know the answer

“This event never happened.” is a standard response - with slight variation - by the powers that be.

“It was magnificent, awe inspiring.” is a standard response by witnesses. “I’ll never forget it.” is the truth for those who’ve witnessed.

We don’t use descriptions like magnificent or awe inspiring unless there’s valid reason.

‘Babes in the wood’ is where we stand. We’ve been here for the blink of an eye and confuse the blink with reality.

The phrase ‘an inconvenient truth’ has been debased to the level of ‘a convenient lie.’ Nonetheless, inconvenient truths abound.


It’s raining here in Paradise, as the postman brings the mail.

Water comes in many forms as does the Holy Grail.

Lying is a problem. When trust is gone, what remains?

True within personal relationships and true in the fate of nations.

If you can’t be trusted with the ‘small’, you certainly are of no use in any large undertaking.

It all matters.

O.K. ..... so what?

Lies, spin and weasel words replace substance. The U.S.A. and Israel don’t want Palestine recognised as a State for many reasons - all of them murky and having more to do with being held accountable than granting recognition to the few pathetically small puddles of land which make up present day Palestine.

There is no law in Israel but the law of the Jungle. Having turned their backs on a Covenant with God, they are unlikely to heed the laws of mankind.

This is a rejection of Zionism rather than Judaism...... although the religion itself is a bit unhelpful unless you ‘belong’. And, yes, that’s true for many institutions.

I can speak my piece about Israel - thoughts that are a direct result of witnessing the utter failure of Israel, over sixty years, to deal with any sincerity towards those whose lands they’ve stolen.

It’s true - the present State of Israel is a pariah - loathed by much of the world for its inhumanity.

Enough of that. World events unfold and none of it appears very positive...... and that’s somehow funny .... appearances being deceptive........ deceit being the subject.

Raising the Standard is not to be found in the waving of a flag........ it takes a damn sight more energy than that ........it’s also the opposite of lowering the bar on what is acceptable as ‘truth’.

The rains fall steady. The wild winds of last week blew a screen door off it’s hinges. There isn’t, as yet, a ‘real’ door for that opening. Covered in plastic and acting as a temporary door, it popped it’s rivets under the stain. The tree ferns are bowed down under the weight of water and it’s all good. We need the rain and replacing a door kept me.... a bit stimulated.

A bit of stimulation helps as standards rise and fall, fluttering like petals, across the world.

‘What goes around comes around’ seldom actually appears to happen.

I say ‘appear’ because it all takes time.

Great saying but not much more than a grim hope uttered by those who hear a sorry tale.

A year or so back, a plumber ‘done me wrong.’ Fifteen metres of unnecessary piping added to a fairly simple job which I only picked up when puzzled by the time taken for hot water to appear.

I had to take the case to a tribunal in order to get the problem fixed. No apology from the plumber - just a cheque to cover the cost and I shake my head, get the problem fixed, and move on.

I’m lucky enough to have a friend who is capable of doing any job. Today he moved the water pipes in the laundry. Did we need any copper pipe? There was a metre left over from the earlier wasted pipe.

There’s something very satisfying about this resolution. Poetic justice.

A flash of green and crimson - a parrot drinking at the sandstone bowl which sometimes holds seed. Wheeling a barrow and I stop dead in delight.

‘Hi Parrot.’ say I , ‘Wait a bit and I’ll get you some seed.’ ..... I actually do talk to these particular parrots...... I guess they’re locals.

It flies into the nearest tree and then away. I put out a bit of seed and continue on. I whistle a few times to let the birds know and it’s half an hour before I walk back up the garden.

There, next to the bowl was a green feather. Pure poetry.

The sun can’t help but shimmer silver across the tree fern fronds. Groups of daffodils stand half way to my thigh. Snowdrops and Bluebells appear. The first waxy leaves of the tiger lilies rise through the beds.

Fruit trees are in early blossom but no bees as yet...... and I’m just burbling on about moments of tranquillity.

Musically, I’ve just understood that playing box 2 in the box one position gives the major of that minor scale. Yippee.

We live in unusual times. Expect anything. In the meantime, it’s back to work for awhile and nothing more to say.

I’m a bit thick - slow to understand. I’m not alone.

Not talking about being able to string words into daisy chains and being able to catch a bus.

Fifty new planets discovered and one of these - three and a half times the size of this planet - lies within its star’s habitable zone....... ‘liquid water’ available.

As a race, we’re just starting to look outward and to recognise that we’re probably not the centre of the universe. This places us at about age two on a human scale.

At sixty, I’ve long recognised that decades pass like years not in the sense of the speed of passing but rather in time spent learning the lesson of that particular time.

At one year old - a new born - you ARE the centre of your universe and learn how to interact. So it is mirrored for that first decade.

Same applies to the following years. By four, you’re finding your place within the family and the wider world. Life is still wide open with possibility.

By forty, you’re finding your place in the world..... and so it goes.

The lessons of the first seven or eight years are mirrored in the lessons of the decades.

At sixty - aged six in terms of decades, perhaps you - like many children aged six - want to be involved, to understand and to help.

I haven’t reached seventy or eighty but by seven or eight, most children are pretty aware.

.....and then - generally - we die within those last two decades which leads me to the idea of reincarnation making wonderful sense.

It’s only our system of dividing and naming which separates the spiritual from ...... quite what, I’m not sure.

The physical, the material? It’s all spiritual or there is no spiritual is how I see it.

Anyway, we don’t get enough time on this planet to make any sense of a heaven and hell based solely on our behaviour within one life.

Also makes sense that we don’t remember previous lives - how could we operate with that dreadful knowledge....... and much would be dreadful....... human nature being capable of anything.

It’s five degrees, early Spring, waiting for the day to warm up.

My body has groaned a bit this winter.

‘Funny how we know what’s good for us but would rather have a coffee and a smoke.’ says my friend who, incidentally, nourishes everyone within cooee.

She’s watched me stretch into weird shapes and positions as - over the years - yoga has worked through me.

‘If I could give you a really precious gift’ say I to one of the problem children, on a slightly ‘other’ day, ‘it would be ‘Salute to the Sun.’’

She really doesn’t want to hear that. She runs, plays soccer, keeps fit.

It’s almost too simple.

The thing is, this particular exercise - which is twelve simple positions, combined with specific breathing - changes you.

Big meaning in two small words.

O.K. I’ve played a lot of guitar this winter and haven’t moved enough to keep flexible.

Two days of six rounds of ‘Salute to the sun’ - three or four minutes - and I can feel my spine realign. My energy increases and by the third day I think ‘Bugger it.’ and just do one....... and then have a coffee and a smoke.

This exercise changes you because it centres you ......... it’s a moving meditation. It also produces a change in the quality of your energy.

The day has warmed up. Fixed the fence and weeded for most of yesterday. Off to play in the garden again .... and maybe do a salute to the sun.

I’ll certainly have a coffee and a smoke so I’ll just do one round on my way out the door.

It's a very strange world when millions of Palestinians wait to see if the United Nations 'recognises' their collective existance upon and within a land that they've occupied for .... er .... thousands of years.

Makes you wonder quite how elastic reality actually is.