BEING KAREN

I wrote this in 2019, it appeared in my Facebook memories this morning, strangely prophetic now ... It’s all widdershins. Don’t speak to me of retrogrades, a moment, a passing by in the sky of the malign and mischievous. No. The world is turning the wrong way. And everything that was solid is now made of glass. Brittle, shiny and treacherous. Dazzling mirrors of danger, and stage left when you are holding everything in your right. The little gods are quiet, burrowing deep, th

When you break glass, it’s over in a flash, the spiteful pieces scatter as far as they can. The noise is as sharp as the outcome. Any brief mourning moment for the object transmutes in seconds into fear. Fear of harm. Fear of the hidden pieces that lurk beyond the broom and brush, to bite you at a future time. Pottery, it hits the ground with a heavy sound, like a body falling. The shards lie close and you can pick them up without fear. Weighing each one in your hand as you l

I open the door and smell the good rain. Smell the happiness of the receiving earth. Look at my tiny garden, each leaf out-stretched and shinning. I know someone is complaining right now, no more rain! It makes me laugh. One of the things we need for actual life, falls from the sky like magic, for free. Somewhere else a young man is holding a gun he did not ask for. A mother is in a shelter making a shelter, with her body, her heart, and her prayers. And here, the good rain f

If people are having troubles or sharing their problems with you and you make it all about you, you are lost in your own narrative. If you think your human rights are more important than anyone else’s human rights, you are lost in your own narrative. If you insist that your ideas are the only ones, the right ones, you are lost in your own narrative. If you complain every day and yet you and your family have access to a safe home, clean water and fresh food, you are lost in yo

Why, Lady? I have to ask. So many why’s. Why not choose differently? Why not give us a Queen of Ithaca? Choose a young lusty lover, choose three, throw them away, husks of corn, choose again. What could the old father do? The old dog. While your husband lies with the witch queen, while all the time Nausicaa is there. (That is a fear. To fall in love is dangerous.) Why did you not storm the temple of wise Athena, she so solicitous of your man always, and demand better? The loo

Things done in private. Stare at the crone in the mirror, wonder how that wild white hair multiplies so, no idea. Eat toast for dinner, chocolate for breakfast. Dance. Try on lipsticks I no longer wear. Ignore the phone and watch the same movie over and over. Paint. Build piles of books around my home, oases. Yes oases. Sob, weep and wail, attempt to put my heart back together, the gold won’t stick. Kintsugi is a lie. Write, delete, write again. Laugh at m

I miss the wind. The clear skies. There is no blue like an Amdo sky. And the deeply dark, silent temples, with towering deities, who don’t even notice me. Shy smiles and wide stares. Elders. Malas always moving. A constancy of chanting, soft drone of mani bees, breathing the mantra in and out, turning the world as if it were a giant prayer wheel. It is. Butter tea, hot, salty, fill my cup, please. I miss throwing a handful of lungta high on a mountain pass, the wind takes the

"A religious perception of reality replaced a spiritual perception of reality. Because through a spiritual perception of reality, we are all connected and through a religious perception of reality, you are flawed for even being born. In order to justify staying here, you need to adhere to the male dominated chain of command. You see, I can't envision the Creator in a human form and I think that our problems began when we started to do that. When we decided to envision the Cre

"What is the way to the abode of light? And where does darkness reside?" Job 38:19 Job had real questions, he called out to his God with frustration, despair and anger. When we are tested those are the right emotions. And probably a few million more. That is the test, move through and you will, you will, find your way to the abode of light. We all will. We are made of light, we just forget to shine. Photo taken at the birthplace of Yuthok Yonten Gonpo the Elder, father of Tib

Melbourne enters day 200 of lockdown days since march 2020. A sober thought, two thirds of a year spent at home. Like everyone else I miss travel, even the idea of travel, so have been spending time with photographs and journals from past journeys. The Jowo Buddha is the most important statue in Tibet. It is believed to have been personally blessed by the Buddha. It came to be owned by the king of Magadha , who gave it to a Tang emperor of China. One of the emperor's clansma

This is me drinking poop coffee, or more politely, coffee made from beans that have passed through the digestive tract of the Asian palm civet (Paradoxurus hermaphroditus). In Indonesian, Kopi luwak, it is also called civet coffee. Poop coffee. Yes I am drinking it and smiling, but that is the least remarkable thing about this picture. I had never been to Bali, which is practically un- Australian. It was on my radar as a beautiful place that I had no intention of visiting be

I woke up in a river. I went to to sleep and somehow in the night my dreaming boat, became a boat. We are drifting and gliding together If I open my eyes am I in Narnia? No. I am in this other place. I woke up in a river, coolness was all around and the birds and the trees are waking the world. Everything is silver, waiting for the alchemist sun And for these moments, drifting in a cool silvery world, hearing the birds and trees in their morning devotions, I was safe, in awed

A tiny bird. It’s bones are made of wind and ice. So frail, so ill equipped for what just happened. It is impossible at this moment to even wonder how it could heal. It lies in my hands, bloody hands, bloody hands because I took it out of my own chest, to see why it was hurting so much. 21/5/21

In Beowulf, Grendels mother presents us with the problem of the aglæc-wif. She is swift in retribution for her sons death. She is named monster, a monstrous hell-bride, monster-woman, monstrous hag; a half human half supernatural warrior. She is a mother, a woman of power and although a water dweller, a thing of fire and fortitude. She is a mother. And through that gains access to powers that define her legacy because they impacted poorly on the men in the story. Defender of

"... close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. And think to yourself, there's no place like ..." Seriously anywhere. I feel like making a small shrine to my passport :) Time travel in the form of flashbacks to happy days in other countries will have to do for now! Delhi, 2018, paying respect to Gandhiji. The Gandhi memorial park (and place of his cremation) is a surreally peaceful oasis in the heart of this wonderfully crazy city. I love Delhi, (would not want

If you were born here, or came to live here, it's not a huge stretch to say you live in one of the best places to live on this planet of ours. Unless you were born here in the group of people who have lived here for 35,000 years or so. Give or take. What is wrong with us that we need to celebrate the wrong day. Come on, every bloody day is Australia day here, change the damn date! I wrote this 20 years ago, was a bit cross, still am. AUSTRALIA DAY 2001 I feel a little sick in

Last year I turned 60. That was expected. However 2020 was not the year any of us were expecting. Here in Australia we started the year in the grip of truly catastrophic bushfires. Our country was burning beneath our feet. Our Prime Minister was in Hawaii on holiday. It was a grotesque Circus, the worst nightmare. I painted water and prayed for rain. My palette was white, silver, grey, all the blues I had on hand. It rained the next day and I could not stop laughing. We thoug