There are no roadblocks in life. Just many opportunities to restart.
Restart is a moment of pause before momentum. It has thrust. It has energy. It moves you from where you are. It clears the caches. It refreshes.
Restart is a conscious choice, to make tomorrow whatever you want it to be.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
It’s the first day of autumn tomorrow in the Southern Hemisphere. The days are getting shorter. I wake to dark. The early light is softer. The shadows longer, before they take shape. Yes, autumn is Nature’s zen time. A time to let things fall away.
I’m home for a few days enjoying the simple things that life offers before I leave home again.
I’ve had time for a leisurely stroll through markets enjoying the mindfulness of the taste, feel and smell of fresh produce. Summer lingered in the scent of peaches. The green herbs still have their zest. I’ve had time to query when did we change our habits to have a wall of different milks to choose? Do we really need the mega bulk stores that promote savings if you buy more. Really?! I’ve found the only savings I make, is when I don’t buy anything at all.
I’ve had time to take a break and enjoy lunch with my son. Listening to him talk about his university studies with enthusiasm, a parent could not ask for more. I’m looking forward to a high tea with his fiancee and my daughter. Amid girlish giggles, we have been practising holding out our pinky finger, delicately.
I’m enjoying a few days of simple living. Taking time to talk to neighbours about this and that and nothing at all. The veggie man in the supermarket, did not avoid me. I had given him a piece of my mind a while back when I wanted some garlic and found they were labelled “Produce of Mexico” and “Produce of Peru”. I queried why on earth, when we have market gardeners just down the road. He proudly showed me the local produce section, yes, it’s tucked away in a corner and more expensive. The law of supply and demand.
I’ve had time to enjoy roasting tomatoes in garlic and basil, to store in olive oil for a pasta meal, or for a quick hot soup. I love the vibrancy of the colour and taste. With crusty bread, it is one of my favourite meals.
When I lived in Canada, autumn was my favourite time of year. I loved the changing of colours that we rarely find here.
Autumn in Western Australia has a chill to it. Perhaps, we feel it more acutely because it’s the sudden shift in temperature from the intense summer, to a few degrees cooler. I’ve come to embrace this. I know as winter approaches, there will be pots of spicy goulash or beautiful stew to bring the family together.
Perhaps it is an artefact of aging that one comes to appreciate the simple things later in life. The only regret I have, is not knowing how to appreciate an uncomplicated life, in my youth.
Until autumn
As always
a dawn bird
It’s the second last day of summer. Autumn is in the air. There’s a chill in the early morning. My feet need warmth.
I recall the warmth of the sea that encased my feet, not long ago in Jurien Bay.
The morning was tinted in muted colours. The beach, nearly empty.
When the jogger was out of sight, the seagull kept me company
I stepped off the jetty to watch the dolphins play. They enjoyed the limelight.
As if it noticed me, one flipped on it’s back and swam a length, to show off the latest party trick.
The tide was leaving. The sun arrived.
I started to see things that first startled me … a mouse?!
I relaxed. Angel wings, or perhaps a butterfly.
I realised, the pristine sand was just shells, waiting for time, like me.
There was plenty to distract me, like the honeyeater in the scrub.
The cormorant on the pontoon, in the early morning sun.
The pied oystercatcher, with mate.
As the day ended, lovers, like lovers often do, stopped to watch a setting sun slide into the sea.
Like I said in the previous post, yes I’ve travelled the world, but every morning I wake in awe, to find it at my feet.
May you do too.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The little girl in me had a simple but seemingly impossible dream. She wanted to travel the world.
She visited countries, now most of them have been marked off the bucket list. She walked through gardens and museums, rich in history. She shopped for things that had value in the moment and discarded them long ago, without regret.
Yes, she travelled the world, but she had an insatiable yearning … she hadn’t seen anything as yet.
The realisation was a powerful catalyst. She wanted more than the eye could see. So she cast aside shackles and started to experience, free.
She saw colours more vibrant
than any painting in a gallery.
And when colours were muted
she found, they still told a story.
She searched for the Cape Barren Geese, at every trip to Esperance and found the giant bird, doing the impossible. Looking elegant.
Her eyes held a joey’s gaze while it snuggled deep within the mother’s pouch. It was something she only read about.
She walked with waders until they found the perfect palette for her to capture the moment.
She delighted in the ice cream pink wave of flowers, she found one day, in spring.
Yes, that little girl had dreams.
But, never in her wildest imagination did she think, Nature could generate this powerful synergy.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Years ago a friend introduced me to the work of Theodore Roszak, and a newer, more beautiful world.
Ecopsychology promotes, quite simply, the connection to wider systems that make up life on this planet and beyond. Ancient cultures practiced this as a way of life. As we come to grips with the devastation caused by disconnection and dislocation, it is vital to understand this. Underpinning this, is the yearning for connection.
I set about to find my way through the maze of work-life balance and as I did, my ‘connectedness’ to the world became stronger. I started to understand the meaning of ‘country’ and, with each step, I returned to mine.
Astronomy left me wondrous with the galaxies, planets and comets, but unattainable. So I looked elsewhere and found stars within reach.
I found them in my garden.
Viola! in the strawberry, waiting to fruit.
Among bush tracks.
Against a fence.
In the neighbour’s garden.
In the eyes of the magpie lark, as it picked through the remnants of my breakfast.
In the eyes of a sick dog, who knows she is loved.
In my eyes, when I found the heart I left behind.
And, when I walked among the ‘sea clouds’.
I found my very own Milky Way.
So I took it home, and like a child at Halloween, emptied my pockets of loot.
My astral experiences may be different but if they help you seek yours, our lives have been enriched by sharing this space. Stay starry eyed!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I know …
the tide is receding, when I find lines drawn between sand and sea.
they chronicle time
or memoralise life, between the lines.
The sea may leave a sprig of foliage. An oasis, when you least expect it.
Sand from far away places.
Tiny shells, from who knows where.
I catch a glimpse, a fleeting glimpse, of sand in the making.
And, as the tide leaves, I become more conversant with the language of the sea.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
As a child the word encrusted would conjure up imagery of jewels in a crown or perhaps, sequins on a garment. I am still child-like.
The word encrusted now conjures up Nature’s jewellery.
At Cable Beach in beautiful Broome, you’ll find me in an area that has a scatter of rocks. It’s a magic place at sunset when viewed from afar. It is a magical place at dawn.
The rocks covered with barnacles.
And there are sea creatures, just as encrusted.
I always visit this slab of rock. It is jewel like with barnacles.
So enthralled by it for several visits, I failed to see one just beyond, and closer to the sea.
There is life in tiny crevices. The ibis knows this.
So does the heron that walks with intent. While the seagull photo bombs, also with intent.
Above the roar of waves, I can hear the crunch of footsteps on a shell encrusted beach.
And, amid the noise and beach clutter, the tiny sand plover takes a moment to stand still.
Like me.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The task for the week was a simple one but proved really difficult for me. There were no rules. Writers were given license to tell lies, break rules, make up words. They were asked to create in the moment. Instant writer’s block! So the facilitator gave us the opening line … “I leave this by your ear for when you wake …”. Using my senses, immediately centred me.
I sat with my fellow companions in silence while we took the words in, then stepped away for a few moments, at one with all around me. Far away in the outback, I wrote a poem for my children, the opening lines ….
“I leave this by your ear for when you wake,
The footfall of blue dragonflies, on a lily carpet”
I am home now. The rainbow lorikeets are in the tree, screeching. The beautiful sounds of the currawong, echoing. The flapping sounds of big winged birds as they head for the lake, above me. The musical fluted call of the Willie Wagtail, outside my window.
I hear them with my eyes closed.
A mindful moment.
And, in that moment, I see the billabong again. The lily pads.
The big winged raptors in the trees.
The jacana. Oh! what big feet for a delicate, elegant bird!
The white faced heron, silent and poised.
Yes, I’m home.
‘Billabonging’ to the sights and sounds of the Kimberley.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Simplify! The buzz word of modern living. Declutter! Organize! Oh! the irony! One cannot “simplify” it would seem, without action.
For me, simplify is doing what monks do. There is enough science behind the philosophy not to practice it for health and well-being.
Every day I seek a solitary, still moment. It centres me. It fits in with my faith belief. I am in a chapel, a church, a sacred place, when I’m out with nothing but camera for company.
Photography has a seductive power. It can zoom in and fade all else out of sight. There is an intimacy inherent in that moment, when nothing else, absolutely nothing else, is important. Just subject and me. Yes, I have found a way to simplify my life.
I take roads less travelled.
I seek illumination in trees.
I find life where there should be none.
And find a blade of grass, is worth my scrutiny.
Until next time
As always,
a dawn bird
It is early morning. There is no one in the Lair. Well, maybe not!
Breathe in. Breathe out. My senses now acute.
There is someone having breakfast above me. I move my lens away from the remnants cast aside carelessly.
On the other side, the rhythmic thump on dry leaves tells me there’s a grey kangaroo in there. Somewhere.
I close my eyes. I hear the sea in the Marri tree tops. This, in deep Wheatbelt country.
The tops are crowned with flowers, with some blossoms hanging low, like fruit of the vine.
And, that’s when I saw her. She looked bewildered at my presence.
But not as bewildered as me, to find a shiny bauble in this bush country.
Until next time,
As always,
a dawn bird
One of my all time favourite books is Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. Bach achieved the impossible. He gave humans wings.
The book changed my perspective and, importantly, helped me understand the trajectory of my life. I return to the book repeatedly, every time finding deeper meaning than before. Oh! the power of words!
“Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding. Find out what you already know and you will see the way to fly.”
Yes, Bach gave me wings.
I know where there is water, there are seagulls. So I seek them. Some may regard seagulls as pests. Vermin, even. Not me!
I started photographing seagulls some years ago and realised they were a perfect subject for mindfulness. I saw them for what they were in the moment.
Calm.
Focused.
Joyful.
Photobombers!
Indifferent.
Brave.
Seagulls have taught me to sit with the thought. Sit with the emotion. Try and understand. The operative word is, understand.
Understanding has many layers and one does not have to dig deep to strike the mother lode of facts. When you do, beyond what the eye sees are incidental gains, important ones, of compassion, humility, wisdom. But one has to first learn how to dig, trawl, and then sift. (Any postgraduate student will attest to this).
I’ve learned when travelling along ‘information highways’, and when seated in coffee shops too, ‘clicking’, ‘chatting’, snippets of benign conversation may give information. It is easy for people to ‘analyze’ it, consider it out of context and then spout their unsolicited ‘expertise’ as fact, worse still, knowledge. It is like someone calling themselves an artist, after completing a connect-the-dots exercise.
There is nothing more frustrating than talking to someone who knows it all. If you have raised teens, this will resonate with you! But despite the angst (of parent and child), it is a critical time of social development. It can be navigated carefully. My father did this successfully.
I recall my father saying, “Be careful of people who know it all. They have a closed mind.” To some this may seem a paradox. It did to me. It also made me stop and think.
My father knew me well. Always a learner, a closed mind to me was death.
So I continue learning, a willing student, available and accessible, receptive to all teachers. Seagulls, too.
This. Is. Living.
Now I must fly.
Until next time,
As always,
a dawn bird
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