BEING KAREN

She was so beautiful that no one could gaze at her. All those who served did so with eyes downcast or wearing a hood. They knew that beauty was the last thing you saw before your eyes went dark. Maybe it was a spell. It was said that her great great grandmother was born of a demon after all. Powerful magic ran in their family, and so it seemed that powerful beauty did too. The courtiers were used to it. The servants got used to it. The portrait painters? They worked with mirr

It was a quiet day, Tuesday morning does not scream tattoo. When she walked in I thought she was looking for her kid, not looking for ink. She wasn’t looking for ink either. She wandered over to the display and my heart sank a little, she was too old for a tramp stamp, too elegant for anything wild, and then I wondered if she already had some, just not where they could be seen. That cheered me up. She made eye contact and that was her way of smiling and saying hello. “Do you

Eating social media She opens the door with one hand and gives her friend the glass full of wine with the other “Come in, sit down, try to be quiet” “As if!” her friend takes two big gulps, throws her bag onto the only free space on the couch and wanders over to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” “Cooking” “No no. What are you doing? What’s the story? Why aren’t you set up to film” “I’m cooking, see”, the knife is waved vaguely in the air and then returns to the board and the

The Arrow I slip a hand into my witches bag, and to my surprise, draw out an arrow. What to do with this? I have no bow. I do not hunt. A single arrow could point me in a direction, but would it be the right one? Can I be my own compass? Targets abound. I have no bow. I do not hunt. “Do you shoot?” “Yes. Very well, as it happens:” A woman wiser than most wrote of the arrow, through the voice of her brilliant archer, “one of my vanities, you see. It’s handsome to watch, and s

The only angels here The only angels here are draggling, Flightless, Barefooted. Each lovely Renaissance arch – dirty. Sunburned. Hung-over, oh the rich cocktail of our air. A child’s fascination for the slickly shiny. Harbouring secret longings, Hopeful, For the ghetto fabulous bling wing. Why are they here? I only ask because these faces that appear in corners, like sad day-after-the-party balloons, look unsure. If the angels are unsure… So why are they here? “It’s a job,”

So while we are all being distracted by the Depp/Heard trial, and Kim K wearing Marilyn Monroes dress to the Met hoohaa, a terrible erosion is expedited with the news of the overturning of Roe V. Wade. But it's in the US you say. Doesn't matter. Do you really believe this issue is gone from our politics here in Australia? Roe v. Wade (1973) was a landmark decision of the U.S. Supreme Court in which the Court ruled that the Constitution of the United States protects a pregnant

Life is strange, and not all surprises are good ones. I am thinking about this day a year ago, which turned out to be not a good surprise. And then my thinking took me down a path of why we measure pain and recovering from said pain in time? (Or indeed any experience.) Why this need to say how long it takes? How many creatures lived out their full life span in the last year. How many didn't, having 2 months instead of their allotted 3? How many people have endured days that f

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

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

"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

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

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