Author: dawnbirdau

As mentioned previously, the West coast of Australia received some unexpectedly high rainfalls in summer.  Travelling across the State, one can see a landscape transformed.  Naturally, rain dominates the topic of conversation.

I was recently in Kalgoorlie.  I had just missed the torrential rain they experienced.  The main roads were flooded and young folks shrieked while floating on inner tubes on previously dusty creeks.  Like I said, I had missed the rain but not it’s legacy.  Everywhere I go, the familiar is novel.  My eyes are greedy with awe at this nourished landscape as we fly in.  (I’ll post some photographs later).

As is my routine, I check the times for sunrise and sunset and set my alarm for the morning.  This time, I head out to Mt Charlotte.  I am alone with birdsong.  One of the most surprising things I have discovered in Kalgoorlie is the number of birds they have here.  Quite amazing given it is not an oasis of green.  The landscape is scrubby with elegant gum trees.  The earth is red.  The main street often streaked in bright orange or yellow clothing of those who work here.  This is gold mining country.

I’ve taken photographs of the town at sunset from Mt Charlotte.  The sun goes down on my right.  I’ve never photographed a sunrise here.  I know it must be on my left.  Duh!

Mt Charlotte is one of the highest points in town.  It is also an isolated spot with a few cars at sunset.  I never feel entirely safe here unless there is a busload of tourists.  At daybreak, I’m convinced there will be no one there.  I was right.

I needed little to convince myself, sunrise here will be awesome.  Almost bashful in my solitary presence, the horizon blushes, anticipating the spectacle that follows.  Within seconds, like the eye of God, sunlight streams directly over The Superpit, until recently, the biggest open cut gold mine in Australia.  For a split second I know I am not alone here.  The spirit of those who walked this land flood my thoughts.  The indigenous people, the pioneers, the entrepreneurs.  I am none of them.  Yet, I am.

I practice my mindfulness exercise for 15 minutes.  Once whole, I head to my day’s work.  No matter what the challenge, I know I can meet it.  I also know this is how a work day starts.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

It was dark when I woke an hour before the freight train rumbled by at 6 am, less than a kilometre away.  I lie in bed and enjoy the vibration.  I know all is well.  This is my life.  This is familiar.

The honeyeater outside my chalet door in Merredin, Western Australia, is not.  Smaller than the ones I have in my garden, in the softest dawn light, his call is insistent and sweet. Under a harsher light, he is ordinary. Like me. In a garden filled with flowers, he knows what he wants. And, he is quick to seek it.

For a brief moment, he is silent and still.  So am I.

We share the same space.  Trust is a fragile intimacy.

I blink.  The camera clicks.  His company is fleeting, reinforcing the reality I face each day. I have no nectar.

His flight is as silent as unrequited love.  I look away from the camera.  I can only smile, because, he was once there.

Here’s hoping a memory makes you smile today. I know mine has.

Until next time,

As always,

A dawn bird

Last spring while walking in a nature reserve a Willy Wagtail caught my eye.  They usually do, because they are joyful creatures.  They are quick, have the sweetest call, and shake their tail feather like we all should do.  I also find their company comforting.  They are fearless and will not fly away on approach.  So to find a bird in the tree, quiet and not moving was unusual.  I zoomed in but could not see clearly because of the thicket.  I thought it was trapped by a leg in the thick brush, and, fearful of predators, silent.  Early morning, still concerned, I returned to the area.  Amazingly, the thicket had cleared, what was blocking my view, fell away.  I could see clearly.  It was a mother in a nest.  The clarity and perfection of the moment, delighted me.

Over the next few visits, the nest disappeared.  A few days ago while walking in the same area, a tiny Willy Wagtail chick dropped at my feet.  Shiny, new, curious, fearless, trusting.  A new life has begun.  It gave me pause for thought.

The reality of life is simple. In Nature, seeds and eggs burst, break, crack, as part of the process that brings new life into being.

So also with people. Sometimes, things have to break or sever, for new life to begin.

May today find you are able to break free from all that binds and traps you. When you do, new life awaits you.

Peace.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

Perth, Western Australia experienced a once in a 100 year weather event last week.  We were lashed by rain, some of the highest recorded falls and coldest summer days, in recent history.  It was undeniably winter, in the middle of summer.

I was hundreds of kilometres away and wondered how my parched summer garden was coping with the onslaught.  I made a cup of coffee early morning and went outdoors  … to this.

I have several different kinds of jasmine in my garden in shrub form and a climber.  The shrubs vary in size, with this one well over 8-10 feet high.  It is the most generous plant in my garden.  With a little nurturing, it lays down a perfumed carpet.  The bees love it, as do I!  A wonderful reminder … when you have something beautiful to give, a 100 year storm cannot destroy it.

The perfume of jasmine is where home is.  I recall in the India of my childhood, women wore strings or slender garlands of jasmine entwined in their braids or chignon.  It was a familiar adornment around homes and temples where garlands of flowers are hung over the entrance.  It was worn as a bracelet by teenagers, giddy with puberty.  A symbol of femininity and grace, it was a flower most closely associated with women.  My mother found the scent of jasmine too heady.  She preferred roses.  She often tucked a perfect rose bud alongside her chignon.

For me, the perfume of jasmine grounds me.  It reminds me of a time when I felt safe and secure.  The indelible memory, the experience, of being home.  And, that’s how I feel now.  As I write, the heaven scent wafts in intermittently.  I’m home.

May you find ‘home’ today where ever you may be.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

There’s a benevolent quality that comes to the fore in all when looking for ‘something special’ in Nature.

For some, a sunset is a sunset.  For others, it is an event.

Sitting at a waterfront pub at The Fascine with a colleague recently in Carnarvon, Western Australia, the visitors to town were obvious.  They eyed the soon-to-set sun and chose their table accordingly close to the heat of big glassed windows.  The locals buried themselves deep into the darkness of the indoors and away from the heat.  Others, cold beer in hand, sat on the ledge and directed the tourists where to find the best angle for their photograph, cautioning when an occasional car drove by.

I’ve always been drawn to the sky.

As a child in India I recall we would hire ‘summer beds’ for several months.  They would be lined up in the front yard with snowy white mosquito netting.  The maid would make up the beds just after dusk.  Slipping into a cool bed at night when the sun had gone down is a delicious sensory memory.  Chatting to our neighbourhood peers over the hedge and being constantly hushed to sleep is another memorable one.  We had no fear.  We were safe, in the open.  The monsoons would arrive, with rain showers predictably at midnight.  There would be a mad rush to take the bedding indoors to be set up hastily before we caught a few more hours sleep.  It was something that happened every night for several nights until the rains would appear almost constantly, day and night, before the summer beds were sent back, until next year.

I was always fascinated by the night sky.  By the stars.  By the moon.  It was my connection with the wider world.  It was the same Moon viewed by others around the world in faraway places.  It was a world I wanted to be part of.  Each summer night, I plotted and dreamed … one day …

My “one day” is here.  I still look at the sky with wonder.  How can I not?  There is one difference from my childhood.  This time, I want others to be part of my world.  So I share.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

Blue

As blue as a moment,

alone,

caught by surprise

at the memory

of his eyes.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

Dawn is the best time for me.  I see clearly.  I think clearly.  I feel clearly.  I am synced best at this time of day.  It is my moment of mindfulness when all senses are intensified.  It is a moment that has taken years to acquire.  It is now an addiction.  I seek it every day.

I took this picture at dawn in Carnarvon, Western Australia, an image running adjacent to my hotel.  As soon as I took it, I had a visceral response.  I knew I had photographed what I had seen.  There was a feeling of authenticity that resonated deeply within me.

I don’t do this well with people.  If I feel slighted or in doubt when someone is being passive-aggressive, I tend to give them another chance, despite a bum note resonating in my body.  I second guess myself.  I make excuses for their behaviour, sometimes blaming myself.  No more.  And, I’m not just saying, no more.  I’m practising it.

As we get older, behaviours and habits are set in people unless they consciously want to change them.  If one lacks insight into their own behaviour and the impact it has on others, or perhaps even if they do know this and continue with their behaviour, then I know it is time to distance myself.  It is not my role or my responsibility to help them gain insight or be their change agent.

This kind of truth brings its own distress and joy.  The latter may be difficult to experience at the time because there is no harsher truth than discovering a friend’s behaviour for what it is.

Reflecting on Maya Angelou’s words, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time” I know this is true.  As the picture shows, what is visible above the water line, is reflected perfectly below it.  But, you can only see it in a moment of clarity.

May you find your moment today.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

12:30 pm.  I arrive at the small airport, the one used for charter flights and off the main airport just in time to hear the announcement.  The flight to Sunrise Dam is delayed.  The voice on the PA adds, passengers can show their boarding pass at the counter and get a slice of pizza!  The room is filled with a sherbet volcanic eruption.  The miners in their high viz orange and yellow clothing, headed to the gold mine, some 1000 km northeast of Perth, hear the announcement too.  Soon the congo line snakes out the front door.  Some chomp their way through their free lunch with absolute focus, others comment with gusto, “Bloody good, eh!  Almost restaurant quality!” to anyone within ear shot.  Thirty minutes later with the most delicious pizza permeating the air, same announcement and the same result is repeated.  An eruption of colour, that settles into an orderly queue and hungry men returning to their seats with their spoils.  No angry customers.  No angry tantrums at flight delays.  No demands for better customer service.  I’m still smiling at the memory.

At university I recall my classmates making plans of working in private practice.  I can still remember one or two who had aims of working in West Perth, the mecca of health specialist services.  I recall one whose husband was adamant working in West Perth was the plan for her.  Perhaps due to my circumstances, life as a practitioner seemed so far away, that I really did not plan the distant future.  But I knew one thing for sure.  I was going to work differently.  Influenced by mentors who advocated universal health care, I wanted my services to be accessible.  From the time I was a student practitioner, my work focused on accessibility for all.  I had not thought this one through but now realize I had unconsciously made a commitment I would go to others when they were unable to come to me.  I have reaped many personal, spiritual and professional rewards from this kind of thinking.

At the time of writing this, I’m flying to Carnarvon, via Shark Bay, while glancing occasionally at the landscape below me, the bluest of seas, curved coastline and the occasional seaside hamlet.  The propeller plane flies low at 18,000 ft.  The coastline is visible but too far to recognize landmarks as the flight avoids the inclement weather over land.  Soon we will be stopping in Shark Bay.  I love this area.  The landscape is spectacular.  The plane meets the tarmac with a thud.  I always try and catch a glimpse of the tiny airport as we make a sharp turn.  A small shack, wire fence, a few white plastic chairs and a plastic table or two make up the whole airport.  This time, someone is waiting with a placard!  There are only two passengers on board who disembark.  There are twice as many people at the airport!  But, they are thoughtful and have come prepared with a home made cardboard placard!

The plane turns on a five cent piece and we take off again.  We seem to ascend faster than the descent.  Before I can catch my breath, we are air borne.  Thirty minutes later we land in Carnarvon, flying low over banana, watermelon and mango plantations.

On my return journey home from this region at sunset, the beauty left behind is fleeting as a backward glance.

As I reflect on this I am more and more convinced … life is not about luck.  It is all about making the right choices.  I know I made the right one.  The view is beautiful from here.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

“Featherweight by Suzy Kassem
One evening,
I sat by the ocean and questioned the moon about my destiny.
I revealed to it that I was beginning to feel smaller compared to others,
Because the more secrets of the universe I would unlock,
The smaller in size I became.

I didn’t understand why I wasn’t feeling larger instead of smaller.
I thought that seeking Truth was what was required of us all –
To show us the way, not to make us feel lost,
Up against the odds,
In a devilish game partitioned by
An invisible wall.

Then the next morning,
A bird appeared at my window, just as the sun began
Spreading its yolk over the horizon.
It remained perched for a long time,
Gazing at me intently, to make sure I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
Then its words gently echoed throughout my mind,
Telling me:

‘The world you are in –
Is the true hell.
The journey to Truth itself
Is what quickens the heart to become lighter.
The lighter the heart, the purer it is.
The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.
And the heavier the heart,
The more chained to this hell
It will remain.’

And just like that, it flew off towards the sun,
Leaving behind a tiny feather.
So I picked it up,
And fastened it to a toothpick,
To dip into ink
And write my name.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

Wherever you are, may you find a way to write your name today.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

It is said that challenges change us.  For me, this is true.  Taking photographs was never my thing.  Hand me a camera and you would get a blurry shot.  Guaranteed!

Alone at the beach recently, with just a passing jogger or cyclist in the distance, I saw a ball of white fluff moved across the landscape.  It looked out of place on the sand.  I zoomed in and much to my surprise found a tiny bird, a plover of some kind, I believe, headed towards the waves.  Surprised, because I’ve never seen the bird so far south.  I usually see them in Broome, some 2000 km north.  They are tiny and scurry at great speed.  I’ve seen one fly a short distance only once.  They can be difficult to get in focus because they move quickly across the sand.  And, they blend in with their environment beautifully.  Forty minutes later and over 100 photographs playing a game of “where’s wally”, the bird moved towards me, even standing still for a moment for me to get a picture.  And, then against a rock.  And finally, a small call.  Delighted with the interaction, the challenge then was to leave the beach and resume my day.

Photography is teaching me to see the world differently.  It makes me view the world differently.  I see things, I never saw before.  It makes me look outwards first, before looking inwards.  The result is joy in small things.  Nothing matters until I get this daily hit at some time during my day.  It can happen roadside while eating a sandwich in a hot car or on a balmy beach at dawn.  The challenge has become to pursue joy, every day and, in each day.  It is a challenge that has changed me.

May you, too, find joy in small things this weekend.

Until next time

As always

a dawnbird

Recently, just before flying out on a regional trip, I realised I had not met my monthly resolution of enrolling in professional development.  The seminar I wanted to attend was a few days away.  I jumped on the website and enrolled, printed off my ticket and left for my trip.  There was no time to reflect on the seminar I was to attend.  With the flight coming in later than usual, the next morning, I dressed hurriedly and got to the seminar, 15 minutes late.  I had missed the ‘housekeeping’ and schedule for the program.  I settled in, attentive, interested and open.  Soon, a feeling of disquiet came over me.  There were no name tags, no attendance register, no information when professional attendance certificate would be handed out.  Odd!  I fiddled with my pen incessantly to calm the feeling of having paid good money for something that did not seem to have a familiar format.  The pen leaked onto my fingers and the ink found its way to my white linen top.  The lady next to me giggled as I caught her eye and hissed, “when wearing white … Murphy’s law”.

A student for the day, I wanted to learn but the message was muted by the presenter’s harsh use of the ‘f’ word.  The use of the word does not offend me.  It has its place.  But not when used liberally as adjective, adverb and noun in a formal seminar, repeatedly, even as a quote.  Having arrived a few minutes late, half way through the seminar I asked the lady near me about the professional background of the presenter.  She stated, she had arrived early, but the presenter had not mentioned it in the introduction.  I grew more curious as the hours slipped away.  Having read extensively on the topic, my feeling of disquiet grew.  The seminar did not appear to come from evidence based literature but on case studies.  There was a thin thread holding together a range of established practices, put together by one person’s experience, and now promoted for therapeutic practice in a highly sensitive area.  The day’s program was a taster of the presenter’s practice.  At the end, it was announced the full course of three days will be run at a cost of several thousand dollars.  I picked up my belongings and headed home, taking the coastal route, to calm my outrage.

The first thing I did when I came home was do a google search for the presenter and the organisation.  I am yet to find it.  It is definitely online.  I just cannot find it.  Had I read the background, I would not have wasted my money and time.

This leads me to why I am writing the blog today.  I have a sense of disquiet about a lot of things lately.  I have asked myself, how it is possible, in this day and age of technology and information overload, people are still uninformed.  Have we been reduced to just reading the headlines, ‘click bait’ I believe it’s called, aimed at the vulnerable.  The louder the voice, the more flamboyant, we are led to believe, it must be true.  In this instance, I was vulnerable.  The headline was bold.  It automatically became a priority on my monthly to do list.

On the day I had learnt nothing but a valuable lesson.  It reinforced my learning journey.  Over the past few years I have been steadily taking a different approach in my work.  I have come to appreciate, brain functioning is complex.  There is more that we don’t know, than what we do know.  At the very least, this lack of knowledge should instil humility in one.  Good teaching demands, we respect this.  Good practice, demands this.  We owe  this to the people who trust us with their well being.

It is quite possible, this is applicable to politics as well.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

 

 

It is my first flight of the year.  The terminal is busier than usual.  I walk around looking for a seat among a sea of people, mostly men.  A flight is announced.  There is an exodus to the gate.  The line is probably the longest I have ever seen in this terminal.  They are headed to the mine in Telfer.  Smiles are broad as they greet each other warmly in a word, “G’daymatehowyergoin”.  Their jokes are weak, their laughter loud and raucous.  Some look forward to being underground where, “It will be bloody cooler, mate!”  It’s blokey talk.  This camaraderie I noticed some years ago but in the down turn last year, markedly absent.  It’s good to see folks happy again.  I silently wish I could be as exuberant as they are.

The pilot announces it is 40 degrees centigrade on the ground in Esperance.  I anticipate a bumpy ride and proved right.  The landing is one of the worst, even with my eyes closed, I feel the small plane dip, tilt and shudder.  Twenty three landings to the end of the year is way too many.  Despite the inherent dangers of country driving, I seriously consider the ten hour drive next time.  It’s a familiar thought.  I have it every time I take this flight.

Despite the heat, Esperance is beautiful as always.  I pass the Golf Course on the left, just before I enter town.  I always look for the Cape Barren Geese that roam the green.  If they are there, they are visible from the highway.  I see five and pull in for a quick picture.  They are large, magnificent birds.  Distinctive.  They take off and land like an airliner, gathering speed in slow motion until air borne and landing with a thud, their large muscular legs seemingly unable to stop until the momentum is slowed down.  In the air and in formation, they are elegant.  The black winged stilt on impossibly long red legs is foraging for insects.  The honeyeater peers out of the green lawn.  The wattlebird blends into the tree.  I feel calm and centred.

I arrive at work the next day.  The low morale of staff is surprising.  The funding cuts have left scars.  They are having farewells.  Other staff are going on leave, unsure whether they have a job on their return.  My schedule is booked back to back one day and overbooked the next.  Under the funding restraints I feel guilty to remind the secretary of my daily quota, which is less than what they have booked in for me.  To add to the unexpected load there is a crisis 15 minutes before I leave on Friday.  I work another hour.  It has turned out a 9 hour day.  I finish work and head to the hotel where, exhausted, I fall asleep fully clothed.  I wake just before 8 pm only to find the cleaners had turned off the fridge.  My dinner and breakfast ends up in the trash.  I head out looking for something to eat.  A futile attempt as the choice is either fast food or fast food.  And, as I watch the young artiste hurriedly assemble my sandwich, it occurs to me, it is Friday the 13th.  I ascribe the circumstances of the day to the calendar.  Somehow it sits better with me that way.

Esperance has become a friend.  It is familiar, soothing, accepting.  I love everything about it, the Bay, the beaches, the bush, the birds and the locals.  This time the pale full moon hangs low over the Bay, a smudge of moonshine drawing my eye.  West Beach is busy with a lone walker while the massive granite rocks at Dempster Head, at the other end, dwarfs a grown man.  The sea at this beach is as serene as a madonna.  At Salmon Beach, the sea has “its resting bitchface on”, according to a fisherman!  It is roiling and boiling more than usual.

I’m reading a book ‘Useful Belief’ by Chris Hedler.  It helps me accept the circumstances of the last two days.  Nature adds the byline.  All is, as should be.

May all be as it should be in your world too.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

The Seagull

Under a warm, generous sky

shared by moon, stars, sun and sea

the seagull watches

with an enchanted eye

dawn’s perfect synergy.

While others preen, flock and fly

still

the seagull watches

with that ever watchful eye.

As the moon fades

to brighten another darkened sky

the seagull watches,

through a glassy clear eye.

And when the sun, too, settles

into the embrace of the sea

she returns to the edge

undaunted, undeterred,

by this familiar infidelity.

She knows

a new dawn breaks

beyond the sea

and so

the seagull watches

and waits

expectantly.

Where ever you are, may you wake to face the sun.

As always

a dawn bird

It’s the first day of 2017!  The fireworks have fizzed into smoke until next year.  But, the champagne bubbles are still bubbling, and the cold beer frothing, I’m sure, in many homes.  I know they will in mine later tonight when I have company over.  Some wake to resolutions every new year.  I try and avoid annual resolutions.  I never keep them past a day or two.  Then I feel I have failed.  So I set goals for the day.  Sometimes the day is segmented into sections.  I find I achieve goals better and more effectively this way.  It also gives me a sense of satisfaction when I do.

The Australian flora teaches us a wonderful lesson.  Perhaps this happens in other parts of the world as well.  There are some plants that need the intensity of bushfires to help their seeds germinate.  Soon they spill colour onto an otherwise beige landscape that is so summer.  Last January a huge bushfire devastated a township.  On the highway from Perth to Bunbury there was kilometre after kilometre of charred trees and vegetation.  A few months later, I found new growth.  The grass trees are more prolific than before.  There are vine climbing up darkened branches.  From the sombre grey of ashes, new life begins.

I’m inspired by this.  At the end of each year I reflect on what went well and what didn’t.  An inventory, if you like.  There are some experiences I know I will not repeat but they were necessary.  I needed the heat for ideas to germinate.  There are others I’m eager to try.  This year I’m determined to get some big ticket bucket list experiences crossed off the list.  I’ve built my work schedule around them.  This is an unusual year.  I’ve had one annual resolution.  And, it has already been achieved.  My down time for personal growth has been organised.  I feel elated at the very thought!

May the new year bring you joy.  May it bring love and laughter of family and friends into your life.  And, may you grow and blossom during those intense moments of searing heat.  Because, that’s when life begins.

Until next time

As always

A dawn bird

 

 

Another year has flown past.  Too quickly.  This is the year I’ve come to realise, this is my life.

It has been a year of triumphs and a year of disappointments.  I’ve enjoyed the intensity and challenges inherent in frequent travel.  The excitement of visiting new places, working with new teams and the comfort of the familiar, the teams and colleagues I’ve worked with over the years.  On the home front, the house is taking shape and is slowly becoming a reflection of how I want to live.  It is becoming a sanctuary.  My business has expanded and I move to a new office soon to accommodate the expansion.  From next year I’ll be working in the south west of the State more frequently.  Renowned for the lifestyle of quality produce, fine wines, cheeses, flora, fauna, coast and surf, I’m thrilled at the prospect of more photography opportunities.

I’ve been able to hang on to hope that my contracts would be renewed.  After nearly 11 months of almost unbearable patience, not only have they been renewed, but then some!  If at all possible, it promises to be a busier year.  I’ve had the courage to accept work in a new area, one that requires more learning and upskilling.  I’ve accepted it because it was an offer that found its way to me in the most circuitous manner.  It has presented itself for a reason.

As I mentioned previously, it has also been a year of disappointments.  It is my steadfast Faith that underpins what I am most grateful for.  It is the courage to take risks, make mistakes, learn from the experiences, and allow myself to sit with the discomfort that comes from poor decision making and judgement, instead of deflecting it.  I’ve found this kind of living has a sequence.  Embracing it I’ve found, if you listen closely enough, there is music in the momentum of change.  A rhythm.

It’s called life.

Here’s to yours. May you find courage to take risks. May you find mistakes are opportunities to learn, to heal, to grow.  It is in the chaos of discomfort we find the best teachers, and if are open to the experience, we find it is the best learning environment. When we emerge from this, not only do we discover the best that is within us, we are able to share it with others.

May your heart seek and find what it’s looking for in the coming year.

As always

a dawn bird