Got my teeny bag packed and I’m ready to go.

What? You’ve got a sleeping bag, clown pants, Elmo t-shirt and your butterfly hat is making a comeback? And they’re all in that bag?

It’s time for random and ridiculous to make a comeback!

I’m off to NSW on a road trip with four strangers, volunteering with Dr Froth at the Incredi-Bubble Festival in Corowa.

Today, I attended a poetry workshop facilitated by community poet, Padraig O’Tuama. The workshop was to develop skills in writing stories of sorrow and sadness, inspired by the words of others, particularly in the community sector.

We were asked at the beginning to share a line from a poem or poet that took us somewhere. I responded with the notion that everything inspires me: I am an observer of life and the world around me. And that is what inspires my words.

After five hours sitting in space, being provided with space, words inspired thought and thought created words.

Today, I understood the true power of words to take you somewhere.

Words are so much more than a jumble of letters.

With Padraig’s permission, I took the basis of the workshop and crafted the words of others with those of my own, scrawled with pen on paper over the course of the afternoon and those spinning round in my head after an extra long walk home due to being so lost in words, I missed my tram stop.

As I write, I will inspire thought. And thought will create words.

Held in their collided form, words have power.

No one likes a collision.

But they make you stop.

COLLISION

Where have words taken you?
The recesses of a dark alley
Where no light shines?
Centre stage?
Is painful paradox
What is needed
To make us change?
Sanitised death or the
Unsanitised experience
Of a life fully lived
Through love and pain
Experience and shame
Fear of letting go
Let go.
Like a balloon floating to the sky
I say thank you
And goodbye.
Knowing that I will not hold you again
Thank you
And goodbye.
Words inspire thought and
Thought creates words.
Blank pages left for the
Unsayable
Unspeakable
Undeniable.
Wordless.
Space.
Speaks.
Loud.
I hope your grips are firm.
Not all slopes are slippery
They are simply steep.
Keep going. Up.
So that a path may be revealed before you
And glad that there are gladder days beyond these days
Because you were born
And you will learn most from situations
You
Did not choose
Have you been telling secrets that
You
Should not have been told?
Do you want to hear the truth?
Don’t tell anyone.
I can’t tell anyone.
I want to listen to you.
I am trying to listen to you.
I still am listening to you.
I really want to listen to you.
I.
You.
I listen.
Do you hear?
What if she was your daughter?
I don’t want you to listen.
I want you to hear.
Sssh…
It’s nothing.
Lost in the abyss of first world problems
And old world dreams.
The smack sellers
sleep in the park
Their pain perhaps
Not quite fully understood
By the family dwellers
Next door
Will their mothers keep inviting them back
Again and again and again
Maybe not.
Do they even know they’re there?
Do they even care.
Why do we feel the need
To resolve a human story
Can it not be simply lived?
A story does not express
The finality of a story.
It is the instrument you choose
In the morning
Which shifts the story.
Sadness and darkness
Bundled in a box of glory
Thank you for your gifts.
Joy. Elation. Silence.
Shape shifter.
These are the instruments I choose.
Where there is space
There is thought.
And where there is need
Don’t just do something,
Stand there.
Give voice to the voices
Silenced by the lies and secrets
Of untold paths
Injustice
Untruth
Lies.
And words not told.
How do I know you are who you say you are
When you lie only to yourself.
If you can survive, survive it well
The facts of life
And stories of locked out lovers
Lamenting lost keys.
Where there is no program or title
The privilege of space
Has provided your key.
Vulnerability.
I too
Cry in the bathroom
With a black coat hiding
The colour underneath.
Coraggio!
When words take you somewhere
Do they really take?
Or do they give?
Where do words take you?
Somewhere
Anywhere
Just let them take you,
Thank you
And goodbye.

Today, instead of being an observer of life, I became an observer of words. 
Inspired by Padraig, other participants of the course, space and the words that cut through the air and my own thoughts, this poem is witness to the untold stories of sorrow, lost love, conflict, allowing oneself to let go and the experience of being human.

The collision of words resulted in one accidental poem.

3.30 am – you will never look the same.

you bloody ripper!

Today, I had to ensure I got my application in for #blogforgood so I had plenty of time to tell you all about it.

As I had some prearranged things to do that have kept me busy since I found out about the competition, tonight I had to get it finished. Six hours scouring photographs, playing with animations, finding the right stories. And I’m finally done – upload complete – here’s the final slideshow (albeit less my animations that aren’t supported…. technology).

I began this blog in July 2010 after a challenge was set to me by a co-worker and friend. You can read that challenge here.

you bloody ripper!

I’ve just arrived home after watching three hours of home videos I’d never seen. While emptying out a box earlier in the day, I came across the footage from my first travelling stint through south-east Asia and Africa. They were from 1998 and I’d never seen them.

Memories of my African safari have begun to resurface after my decision to enter the #blogforgood competition. The winner has the opportunity to head to Tanzania and blog for CBMAustralia about the work they do improving the lives of people living with a disability.

As I have travelled extensively, the opportunity to travel back to Tanzania is not about ticking off another country on the list – I’ve had the pants scared off me by a tiger enroute to the loos one night in the Serengeti.

It’s about the ability to reconnect to a place that I longed to travel from a very early age, have always felt a calling to, and to see first hand the work of an organisation that is making change.

Travelling in extremely remote areas 14 years ago was not easy. Tonight reminded me of the depth of poverty, disease and malnutrition I came across. As parts of the film screened, I closed my eyes, and took myself back. I could describe the scenes before they happened. I could smell the fire, feel the water cascade over my body as I bathed under a waterfall, taste the beer, recall the hands of the young child as we walked to their home, feel the fear when the snake charmer danced, be overwhelmed by the weariness of three days stuck by the side of the road due to an accident and deny all knowledge of that Queensland accent. Did I really ever sound like that? Proof.

More importantly, I could feel the overwhelming joy of achieving a life long dream.

You see, ever since I watched Sigourney Weaver surrounded by gorillas in the mist, it was my ambition to be in that position.

With any goal, it means you have to work. No one was going to hand me an airline ticket to travel across the globe, trek up a mountain and spend all day clambering through dense jungle with the hope of spotting an elusive gorilla.

So I worked, hard. I saved, hard. I travelled for almost two years, hard. I worked a bit more, hard. And then I climbed that mountain, hard.

Tonight I was reminded that realisation of goals needs a very strong mix of desire, commitment and effort.

And tonight, every cell in my body was reminded about the moment of success, that lethal concoction of exhilaration and adrenaline that combine to ensure an overdose of pure joy.

I recalled every ounce of pleasure that dripped through my veins as I sat within 3m of a mountain gorilla and observed the family interaction for more than an hour. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I would be so close, almost at one point feeling like I could reach out and join the throng of flea picking, cuddles and childish play.

The opportunity I had no longer exists. And yet, tonight in Angie’s room, it was as real as it was that day 16 years ago. The smile on my face expressed it all. Because it came deep from within.

Tonight, I was back in that mist.

I close my eyes. On opening, I can assure you that despite time, the joy of achieving a long-term goal never leaves you. The richness of the experience will be there forever.

Tonight, I am hungry to feel that way again. I’ve been reminded of what I need to do.

Keep writing. Hard. There’s magic to be found in getting up close and personal to your dreams.

you bloody ripper!

you bloody ripper!

Today marks my hump day: mid-way on the #b03 challenge to jump on the bandwagon and blog every day for the month of March.

Despite having struggles with cognitive function at the moment, I chose to write as I felt it would bring a sense of purpose and commitment to the days. So far, it has allowed a mindful focus on the words, emotions, frustrations, excitement and simple pleasures of whatever and whoever has crossed my path.

As I reflect on the straight line from 03 to 17 March on the habit calendar, it’s been tough. And yet if you’re ever to get over the side of a mountain, you’ve just to keep on going up.

We all face humps in our lives, some of us more than others. To reach this little incline, I learned after five days that if I wanted to complete the challenge, I needed to stop trying so damn hard at everything I do. I needed to ensure lots of rest stops. And I needed to make sure I didn’t exhaust myself so I didn’t reach the end.

Sometimes you just need to dig deep. Put your feet up. Celebrate the achievement. And hang on.

It’s all downhill from here.

you bloody ripper!

Photo taken at Docklands, Melbourne.

The last time I threaded a needle, I was probably eight. I never really connected with fabric, patterns and hand made, preferring to design with words and a 2B pencil.

So when an invitation to a hat party, rainy day and no work collided, I headed to the local $2 shop to scour the shelves for some creative inspiration. I needed to get my hands dirty, laying myself bare to the process of imagination.

One terry towel, packet of army men, stem of cherry blossoms, two bags of butterflies and $8 later, I sat on my lounge floor, closed my eyes and created in my mind an image of my two year journey in a building. Then I got onto translating it with the help of a needle, thread and four hours.

The end result documented an army of community that creates change as well as a very emotional personal journey within a space.

As I tore off the hat and threw it on my bedroom floor at 2.30am this morning, I realised the final part of the process was now complete.

It was time to let go and fly.

you bloody ripper!

You may not see them every day.

Likely you won’t see them every year.

They may not live in the same city as you.

They may not even be in the same country.

They always make you laugh.

You feel connected, despite the distance.

You deeply wish they were here.

They are never far from your thoughts.

you bloody ripper!

Last week I realised yesterday was a public holiday to commemorate the eight hour work day. As I’m struggling doing any work at the moment, thought it an ideal opportunity to celebrate by doing no work. It was time to rewire the frazzle of the past few months to ensure all connectors were back in the right place.

It’s been a while since I took a road trip. The only reason I keep my car is so I can take road trips on the odd occasion. Parked in the drive for most of the year, it provides me with a permanent sense of freedom, only a key turn away.

After my last gig of ‘helping’ on Sunday morning, I headed out to the Kinglake National Park. I’d never been there before, and with 98% of the park destroyed during the Black Saturday fires, I had no idea what I would find. All I knew is there would be fresh air, space, regrowth and a chance for phase one rewiring to commence.

There’s nothing like that first breath of eucalypt forest to clear out the dust that has settled due to long gaps between escapes. As it was almost time for the sun to set, on arriving in Kinglake, it was time for a quick meal before heading deep into the Robertson State Forest for an elusive (and probably illegal) camping spot.

There is one part of the daily cycle that never fails to disappoint when you are in the country: it’s city cousin can never compete in the magic of a night sky. Tonight I felt in true awe of the power nature has to energise, reform and bring back from the dead. As I sat on the barren earth, I observed the new life pushing its way through the blackened trunks of a forest that had died, resurrecting itself into a maze of new life sprouting from any where it could find. The moon looked like it was swathed in a deep orange velvet cloak, ready to entertain the million sequinned dinner guests, and one willing observer.

There are more important things than what people do each day. Rewiring phase one complete.

Awaking refreshed the next morning, it was time for a walk. Unfortunately, most of the tracks and camping areas have not been rebuilt since the fires. Heading into Kinglake National Park, there was a small 3.5km track open to the peak of Mt Sugarloaf. Not exactly a 2000m plus mountain I was used to climbing, nonetheless, I threw on my boots and headed off to conquer Sugarloaf.

The view from the ridge of a sea of blackened trunks gave a clear indication of the extent of the fires. As I opened the air vents in my hiking pants and sat on a burned log, I closed my eyes and felt the power of nature’s force. On opening, I reflected on that force emulating the struggles of all humanity and the desire to not be destroyed, to co-exist, to survive, to create miracles.

When you find yourself in a dark place, if you wait for a while and listen, you will find yourself again. We are all born with the ability to create new life and survive. Rewiring phase two complete.

After waving at Melbourne in the distance, I began to head down the same path when I hit a crossroads. On investigation, I decided the awkwardly placed red tape and ‘this track is currently under restoration’ didn’t really tell me not to enter. Besides, as I too was under restoration, perhaps we could both test out how much we both needed work by a moderate – difficult 6.5km shared journey. The worst that could happen was I give up and head back to the top and hitch a ride down to the base of the mountain. Having broken my cardinal rule of always carrying enough water, I was more worried about the 100ml left in the bottle. So I opted for the tortoise and a slow and steady pace to win the race.

Three hours later, I hit the bottom carpark. I passed no one. I meditated for 20 minutes at the base of the valley surrounded by blackened trees on either side. I crossed paths with Mountain Creek, and on dipping in my fingers and meeting a surprisingly warm sensation, walked for 100m, stripped off and lay in the water for half an hour under the rays of a warming autumn sun. I was glad the ferns were reconquering land that had been theirs for centuries, I could shout out loud and feel so insignificantly powerful in a new landscape created by significant force.

Take the unknown path: treasures await the willing explorer. You know from where you came. You will not know what you could find unless you step forth. Rewiring phase three complete.

After a very sweaty afternoon of 10km of hills and climbs, with the sun only having another 1 ½ hours of light, it was time to head to the only re-opened National Parks camp site in the area: the Gums. I’d read it was by a mountain stream, and with ½ hour of driving, it was time to head straight there and hopefully get in an evening bathe under the rays of the setting sun.

With no one else at the site, and having spent a day immersed in the power of nature, who was I not to get back to nature in its most simple form. Stepping into the freezing mountain stream, I found a spot to safely sit and convey my deepest thanks for a cleansing day of country air, silence broken only by the chorus of birds creating a symphony of shrills, the aching thighs and empty mind.

Nature has a way of stripping you bare. Rewiring complete.

You bloody ripper!

Quite a few months ago, I helped a friend build her website. I didn’t ask for anything in return, because I’m kind of used to saying yes.

When my friend handed over an envelope, I was totally bowled over with the thank you of a trip to the only traditional Japanese bath house in Melbourne.

Recently in decluttering mode, I found the forgotten voucher. As it was added to the ‘must use now’ pile, I added it to today’s to do list to make the appointment.

The exciting thing is, tomorrow, I’m getting naked. I’m not worried about the excess Divine dark chocolate with raspberries I have been devouring. Nor, the big, blue bruise on my arse from a slip on the wet grass. I’m just so darn excited about an hour in the hot water, a full body scrub and a very much needed shiatsu massage, I could do cartwheels on the front lawn without caring how many bruises I end up with.

And to add to my excitement, when I pulled out the voucher to put in my bag for tomorrow, I jumped up and down because in the morning I will have to call them and extend the massage – 1.5 hours of pure blissful relaxation and a long overdue rebalance.

If it’s traditional, I had better kick back in true Japanese style. I’m already daydreaming of finishing up for an hour curled up in a kimono and slippers on the tatami mats, surrounded by tranquil bamboo and water, listening to music, sipping on a few glasses of sake and nibbling a few wasabi peas.

Time out is well overdue in my life. There’s been too much ‘yes, I’ll help’ coming out of my mouth. Injuries. Sanity (or lack of). Life getting in the way.

I am excited. At 12.00pm tomorrow, I switch to 100% time out mode. The water will be heated to a nice warm 40 degrees. There’ll be a nice pair of cotton pjs waiting for me, a tatami mat with my name on it and a warming sake (or two) to sip and savour.

I’m getting all warm and fuzzy just thinking about stepping into Japan and out of life for 3 1/2 hours.

Go on… book yourself a treat. I can guarantee the anticipation this side of time out oozes

you bloody ripper!