Monday, June 17, 2013
“Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really." - Harvey Milk
(inspiration and pic via The Yard)
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
Hello lovers. I've been thinking about you.
I've been thinking of this space. So often. About how and why I have left it for so long. It has been strange and I can't tell you how happy I am to be tapping on the keys and watching these words come to life.
How are you?
Oh, where to begin. With whatever feels right, right?
Well, tonight the skies over Melbourne are purging. They have literally just opened their arms and gone for it. It is bucketing down. I'm sitting at my dining table with very tired eyes but a beautifully happy mind.
I went to the most extraordinary concert tonight - a dear friend from an old life has become this remarkable singing healer. In a nutshell it involved lying on yoga mats for two hours drifting in and out of consciousness while someone I adore sang the most incredible tribal and Indigenous music. It was extraordinary. Very primal and very stunning.
When I emerged, far more tiny-yet-more-put-together than when I went in, I discovered it was wet. Seriously wet. But, one challenging car ride later, I'm home; about to be tucked up in my cosy bed and hopefully dreaming sweet dreams.
I love the rain. And I love adventures on Melbourne's streets. Tonight brought both in their finest form. And so I've come back to you.
I'm a hugely private person and a highly introverted processor of thoughts. And I've been mulling this need for blogging over in my mind for the past few days after a great conversation with dear friends over winter wines and mushroom croquettes.
Our online lives often become little slices of our real personas and so many of us only show our best possible side, untagging unflattering photos and carefully constructing a character who is forever content and breezily nonchalant. I've been thinking of that a bit since and I've realised that while I retreat when shit is going down but I also find that I come to online spaces when I want to share something quite deep and real, whether it's a link or a thought or a funny picture; there's a meaning to it.
And I specifically come to this space with a quiet yet full mind. And I've come to enjoy the chance to purge a little, like Melbourne's skies. Not with any desire for feedback or attention but just as a comfort, as a processing ritual. I never know whether anyone really reads it - it could be just people searching for hot shots of Lou Doillon (hey, she's smokin').
Even if you really are a human reading these messy words, it's still kind of anonymous. And, just maybe, one of you is feeling the same thing at the same time. How lovely.
I like it. And I've missed it. I'll be back more often, I promise.
In other news I've been listening to a Sydney muso quite a bit on my sabbatical. His name is Oscar Lush. I thought you may like to discover his beauty as well.
Above image by James Thomas.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
Do you remember when I wrote about when we come apart from ourselves, only a few posts ago?
A week or so ago I went to Falls Creek in my southern (home) state of Victoria. The trip was by special request of Little One who proclaimed that for her 30th birthday she wanted to "walk and walk and walk on the side of a mountain and eat scroggin".
We walked over 40kms in two days, went swimming in cool mountain dams, ate beautiful food including plenty of the aforementioned scroggin (a.k.a trail mix) and enjoyed a few cheeky drinks.
When we first arrived some of us were, let's say, less excited than Little One at the prospect of walking for days but as we began plodding along the flats and trudging up the hills something happened. We started to chat, of course - traversing all kinds of topics: our dreams and our lives, the weather, when our next stop would be, our work, how much our legs were hurting and about how annoying the little spiky plants were. We spoke of things very little and very big.
On the Sunday, our bodies weary from two long walks (one accidentally longer than it should have been, *wink*) we made a last minute decision to seek the sunset. We piled into a small car and raced along those windy mountain roads shown in the images below, arriving at the summit just in time to watch the alpine skies turn pink. We basked in the sun's final warm glow, making quiet wishes before it sank happily below the mountains. It was a game-changer.
Little One and I often talk about the dangers and challenges of being complex creatures. We both like to live big, chasing dreams, making plans, facing fears, dismantling ourselves to look at our shortcomings squarely in the face, and putting ourselves back together again in roughly the same way as before.
It's a hard road. Being brutally honest, taking the longer route, confronting our less appealing traits and then accepting them, living with them. It's not for everyone. But that's the road I've chosen.
It's actually really hard. Not many people fully understand it.
I've found that while I'm still walking it in thin socks and until I build stronger soles I am tested more than I would like to be. And it's these moments - the sunsets, the long walks, the waterdives, the deep breaths - that keep us true to ourselves. They go a long way to keeping me true to myself.
To be somewhat melodramatic, I came back to life up on those mountains. Each day, month, year of taking the hard road brings me back to life a little bit more. Standing on that mountain, watching that sunset, brought it all home.
The next morning we awoke in the early hours to welcome the sun, each of us yawning but not daring to complain. We were all more excited to complete the circle we'd inadvertently started the prior evening. As we stood, mostly in a line, with Little One crouched on a rock down below, we gasped as the orange sun spread over the horizon.
It's there, it's always been there. You just have to go and find it. You have to want to find it.
Until next year, dear summit.