BEING KAREN

She sleeps high in the tree, frail and slight, finely built, a small bird. Wrapped around a branch tightly, although she can fly, a little. Awkward flight. Always arms outstretched to grasp the nearest sturdy perch. She never learned to fly. She just woke up one day, in the trees, flying. … To fly was surprising. And tiring. She can’t rely on it. She must rely on the trees, and shun the ground until she knows why. To land feet back on the earth may be through falling. Not-fly

This photo popped up in my Facebook memories today, it's a lovely moment to be reminded of. It’s not me, but it is my chuba. I was in Mahlo which is up in the grasslands in Amdo, Tibet. The rest of my group had gone off on a small trip but I had stayed behind to take the Lum or bath therapy. You have two very hot baths with prescribed herbs every day for a week. Normally you stay at the facility to keep the warmth in your body. But as I was there alone I didn’t have help to

I made a home with a man I made him sons We grew it, a family home And then it was not The waves that crashed through were made of time and betrayal Sons do not stay at home forever And neither do some men I opened my home to another man I ran here, ran there, gathering, to welcome him, This home a gateway, new life, new country The wave that took him, he caught it like a bus. Picking up small things he left behind, seaweed on a sorrowful beach, learning how not to be a thin

not all realisations are bliss some are brutal gut punched, breath out others a measureless instant when lonely transmutes to peace where emptiness becomes spacious where questions fade and nothing replaces them a peace of my own making a space that is expansive in every direction I could desire from my cushion, the horizons are infinite and nothing is small 25/4/22 Photo taken at Dratang monastery, Tibet

For His Holiness I used to wonder about the karma of it all. Why this strong connection and this belief that yes you are the Buddha, blessing us by placing your feet on this earth. Complete belief. Utter trust. From a far away place, just a small person, why would I feel this? This thinking western mind would take it on, but turn it over often, like a piece from a puzzle. I saw you many times, me a face in the crowd, you above, golden and shining. I showed up every time wonde

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

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

"... 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

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