Fiction Friday: Adam and Eve II

This Week’s Theme: Describe your character's first brush with danger I was honestly in two minds as to whether or not I should continue on with last week's story, mainly because I'd made a promise to myself to write 52 unique short stories across the year - and this one seemed to be taking a life of its own beyond the boundaries of a short story (thank you all who breathed life into it as an extended piece with your encouragement!) Undecided I left it up to chance to see what the prompt for this week was ... so here we pick up directly from last week. The air lock of the cell hissed as the door shut. The guards shoved her quickly against the wall beside the door and clamped handcuffs onto her, pulling her arms upwards and outwards, forcing her to bend down. All the time she kept her eyes tightly shut, the fluorescent lighting of the corridor burning her eyes, after the indefinite time inside the darkness of the cell. She took a gulping breathe of air and tried desperately to centre and ground herself, invoking an old relaxation exercise. In her minds eye she saw three gently glowing orbs, but before she could discipline her mind to draw the orbs together into a line and then down into the one golden glowing orb, she was roughly and awkwardly pulled away from the wall and pushed viciously down the hall. Her legs, felt like jelly and she fell heavily on her face, as they failed to respond and carry her forwards with the momentum of the push. Blood gushed from a cut in the top of her lip or perhaps it was her nose. She was unsure, too disorientated with her own body to work out what hurt, what was numb and what felt OK enough to work for her.. “Get up!” commanded a voice from behind her. Before she could attempt to get herself back onto her knees, she was dragged back onto her feet. A small scream escaped her lips as the shoulder joints and the scar tissue on the right, threatened to release as all her weight hung on the triangulation of her bound arms. Her feet touched the ground and the pressure released. “WALK!” Placing one tentative foot out she felt the feeling return to her legs. Squinting out her eyes, they began to slowly adjust, until she realised there was nothing to see. Just a long endless corridor of piercing white, punctuated by a door every few metres, that blended in so well it only became apparent as you came to the extact point of it in the wall. At the end of the corridor she was told to stop, a code was punched into the security pad and she was thrust into a room and told to sit. “Wait,” the taller of the two guards ordered her, “and don’t move. Whatever you do, do not move.” She remained seated for what seemed time eternal until she realised that the feeling had gone in her hands. Left with only her thoughts, and a terror that rose in a jaggered chunk up her throat, she surrendered all of the fiery rebellion that had fuelled her for years. This time she had left everyone down. When she left The Caves she understood the dangers that awaited her within the Gated City. Over the years she had devised a meditation technique in which she would predict, envisage and then overcome all the dangers and obstacles for each assignment before she left the safety of where she was staying - that way she was never caught unaware. She had learnt the hard way, with her first scrap with danger what would happen if you were not prepared. She was leaving Brisbane in the days before it had become the Gated City and was heading south for the Coast. Despite her urgency to leave, knowing it was a matter of time before someone from the Government knew she had been there and came searching for her on the open road, she had pulled over for a hitch hiker. She was a young girl, not much younger than herself, with untidy auburn hair and a sunburnt face. Ten kilometres down the road the hitchhiker had pulled a knife on her. In the ensuing struggled the four wheel drive had veered sharply off the road, through the guard rails and down into a culvert before ploughing into the embankment on the other side. Her first instinct at the sight of the knife had been to fight back. It had surprised her as everything until that point in time in her life, had been passive aggressive, she had never had FIGHT. But what had surprised her more was the lack of remorse she felt walking away from the body of the young girl in the long grass, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. A huge blood spattered hole in the windscreen on the passenger side gave away the fact that someone else had been in the car. Brigit’s shoulder ached. Broken in the accident it had been set late by a healer with only a little knowledge of bones and never healed properly. Years of yoga, of stretching and building up the muscle had never compensated for the break in judgement and bones that day.The similarities between the hitchhiker and Adam struck her like a blow to the stomach. He was another break with her better judgement, after all these years of being so damn careful. After experiencing unbridled freedom from Mother for most of her adult life - here she was caged by enemy. Something she could never make peace with. She had made peace with the fact that circumstances may call for her to detonate the explosives before she herself could leave the building. It had taken a month or more to come to a space within herself where she could unequivocally say she was ready to die,if she was call to sacrifice her own life. In all the exploration of the possible problems with this assignment she had never seen Adam, or anything like Adam. So firm was her belief in the Sisterhood and their city cousins in the Underground that she didn’t factor in betrayal. Not simply his betrayal of her, but her betrayal of those pinning their hopes on the success of this assignment, betrayal by the weakness of her own flesh. Disregarding the orders given to her by the guards, she got up off the chair worked her body back through the loop made by her bound arms, until her arms were again in front of her, and her shoulders in a more comfortable position. Doing this engaged her mind and kept her from falling victim to the apathy and desire to just give in that was threatening to overwhelm her. Instead she tapped into the rawness of the anger that was building within her. She placed her hands on the table and studied the handcuffs. She had never seen a pair of handcuffs, let alone worn a pair. She pushed them back down her arms towards her wrist until they hung like a sloppy masochist’s jewellery. Sliding her wrists out she held them in her hands and wondered what sort of guards cuffed someone’s forearms? Before she could ponder further, the door slid open and Adam walked in alone.
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Going after goals

I was looking forward to writing my Thursday Thirteen but somehow the entire day has slipped away from me - and now I need to slip into bed. So it will join the list of other things to write for tomorrow (deadlines are not going to be reached - but I'm ok with that) Tomorrow is our first kindy morning tea, Dylan want to bed late and I'm already have caniptions about what may go down considering the late night, lack of sleep, lack of Dad for a week etc etc etc?

A small quote for today before I do depart to the land of the sleep fairies:

Experience helps build momentum

Build momentum rather than problem solving, in going after goals

Look for new ways to build momentum - experiment and seek out challenges.

Challenge helps build momentum, but no reaching too far at first.

- Robert Fritz -

Smiler - is that your cat being all philosophical by any chance? There is much I could muse on in regards to this right now, but it probably would come out backwards in the tired state that I am in!

Good-bye Heath

It was with utter shock, followed by great sadness, the news of Heath Ledger's passing. I hadn't heard the news all day and was listening to Triple J on the way to the pet store late this arvo. They were about the discuss the Oscar nominations but said that had all been over shadowed by Heath Ledger's death. It took a while for me to really get, that he was no longer with us.

My friend Lisa years ago had the biggest crush on Heath and I remember placing a photo of him I'd found in the centre of the TV guide for that week in her pigeon hole at work, with some suggestive comments scribbled across the top. She kept it for ages - she may even have it still. I watched 10 Things I Hate About You with her, to be followed up by A Knight's Tale a few months later, with my friend Trudy while I was living in Albury. It has hard not to like him, or admire his talent and ethics as an actor.

His passing is one of those things that you just dont expect - young, vibrant, talented ... He will be sadly missed.

Time Poverty v's an abundant universe

I'm a bad person. I am forever conceptualising myself as being time poor. This I do admit is partly to do with the fact that I am a workaholic and self confessed addict of being constantly busy. You would think that I would have an immaculate house as a workaholic - as I dont have a job outside of the home - but that's not the case. I can assure you that I don't keep myself busy with cleaning and ordering our home! But I digress.

Last year after we came home from the Bunya Mountains I wrote an article called The Tyranny of Time on being time poor. In retrospect it probably had more to do with me mourning and working through my need for freedom, more so than being caged by time constraints.

Yesterday I worked out that Buddha was true when he said

'its your mind that creates this world.'

I have this in a frame, a beautiful present from my soul sister Karen. Next to the words is an endless and lovely vista of mountains and a valley - seen through the open window of a house. It always challenges me to think of free open spaces and not the cold cage of the house - because that's what I want. I've often wondered about it, but perhaps never quite 'got it' -that was until yesterday, when I put it into practise ....

If I think there is a time deficit - I open up a time deficit in my reality, like my own little Midkemian rift. It becomes a self fulfilling prophesy that I fill with ample of amounts of procrastination and other things that inefficiently sap my time and my willingness to committ. I'm sure that I am not the only person on this earth that this happens to. And it's always at a time when there are more than enough things to fill a normal day plus some more.

So - contemplating all the things that I needed to get done yesterday (morning pages and AW committments, two articles to write by Friday, a short story to review for submission, a magazine to complete, new years cards to research and create,Fiction Friday entry, daily blog ... and then all the normal mundance daily stuff) I literally freaked out. This time though, rather than wallowing in the 'there's not enough time, woe is me, I'll just get apathetic and give up now' I tried to conceptualise my time in abundance rather than as a deficit.

I reminded myself that this week Dave is away, which means that I dont have to feel guilty about planting myself infront of the computer at night. And I decided to use all of those time bytes during the day to best effect. I write my morning pages after I've had a quick check of my email in the morning and while Dylan is having his turn on the computer for the day. Whenever a little piece of time opens up, I think about how I can best fill it (and if push comes to shove I'll do a little bit of housework - 15 minute blocks can achieve amazing amounts!) Today I filled it by giving my Goddess pack a quick shuffle and noting down the different Goddesses that came up for different friends and I begin to organise the New Years cards I'm going to make and send out next week.

I slept badly last night and internetted myself into oblivion until 2am, meaning that this morning I had been everywhere, read all I wanted to, commented on more than I probably needed to. I also bruised my bony right elbow from leaning on it (usually an indication that I've been on the internet/computer far too much!) So when I turned the computer on bleary eyed a little after 7am - I opened my magazine program up and started work immediately, basically without thinking (because there were little cerebral processes turning over). This seemed to be in keeping with FlyLady's motto for 2008 'Do it now - make it great in 2008'. And surprisingly - I got quite a bit done before it was time to go off and write my morning pages (aka sharing the computer!)

And now, as I glance over at the clock its still 20 minutes to go until 10pm and while I haven't attacked those articles, that I keep deluding myself will be easy to write, I have put a huge dint in the work that I had to do for the magazine, including clearing three adds that have been hanging over my head (I'm looking forward to getting the bartered services for their creation!) Which means tomorrow I will be happy to get up and attack it again ... and with any luck Friday will roll around with the magazine ready to go our for proof reading and my articles done ... and well yeah I know ... you can dream.

This is a long winded way of saying - if you want something to be a deficit it will be - if you want it to be abundant it will ... the power of positive thinking is just that, powerful. It conceptualises the world in which we live, how we react, carry ourselves, our perceptions, our ability and will to function.

So - I can honestly say this time around time is one my side, yes it is. Oh thank you Mick!!

PS: I should also point out - that the motherhood fairy dropped by this evening and with a tap of her wand, she put Dylan to sleep on the home stretch of our evening walk (he was in his pram) meaning that I could settle down to work on the magazine at 7:30pm which honestly - is just unheard of. I dont remember the last time he was asleep that early. So yeah - create your universe and then the universe will support you ... or the motherhood fairies!

Roar

In the Western zodiac the fifth sign is Leo - ruled by the sun and symbolised by the lion. Leo embodies self expression and vitality - which is not surprising considering that the Sun is considered to represent 'the self'. Leo's are bold, beautiful (you'll pick them from their immaculate, and perfectly coiffured mane of hair!) and said to be born to rule. They are generous of heart, affectionate, magnanimous, creative and full of simple joy. And I probably should point out here - that my soul sister is one of these adorable creatures (she's just like a lioness too - gorgeous, radiate and cuddly, but do not under any circumstances get on the wrong side of this lioness - all she has to do is LOOK and you quake!)

Representing the self , the sun can also be called our 'ego' or our solar self (as opposed to our lunar self - denoted by the sign the moon was in when we were born). Over the past year I've been making an effort to shrug off the shroud that came over me when I became a mother. I am still a mother and I do still operate from my moon sign, but I feel much more connected with what I would call 'the real me' (my solar self).

In the early years of mothering I felt alone and strange within my own skin ... walking the shoes of my lunar self was tough. I longed for my solar self, wondering 'who the hell I had become'. My moon sign is Virgo and I fought desperately against it - to me it represented everything that I did not want to be, become or even have a vague signature of. Over time, and especially since attending my friends 'Circle of the Sun' workshops once a month, I've begun to reconnect with my solar self (the Circle of the Sun was begun last year while the sun was in Leo to signify the beginning to rediscovering the self through creativity!) And in doing so I feel as though finally the two of them are integrating into a workable unit - I feel a little less like I have a split personality in which I more often than not teeter near the void in between.

Using different modes of creativity has been one of my ways of getting in touch with 'the old me' - and it hasn't just been writing (though that has been the main one). I've painted, and sketched, I've made a mask, sculpted with clay, drawn a mandala, and I long to collage (hopefully this year). I've also been trying hard to get out walking. If I can do it for once a day for at least half an hour I regain that sense of freedom I had before I was a Mum - before I had to put everyone else's needs before my own.

So for me the Lion is inextricably tied up to self expression and vitality, and is why getting a

means so very much to me ... it tells me that my attempts at self expression are vital and are touching (perhaps even influencing) the lives of others. Thank you so much Smiler.

The instructions that come with this award are: Each recipient is instructed to “distribute [the award] to those people who have blogs we love, can’t live without, where we think the writing is good and powerful. [...] and accompany the image with three things they believe are necessary to make writing good and powerful.”

Considering that my blogroll is modest at very best ... I dont think that I can reciprocate to five people (especially since Smiler tagged Square1) but I will try.

To make writing good and powerful I believe it must have

<

PASSION ... which is the difference not just between writing that is entertaining and writing that is deathly dull, its what can change the world - or leave it wallowing in ambivalence. Passion is the fire that makes writing speak, not just to your head, but to your heart and your soul.


CONNECTIVITY ... that is the ability for the reader to connect with their writer, as well as the writers ability to connect their own thoughts and beliefs with others in such as way that it crosses all barriers of culture, religion, geography, age and any other barriers you can think of, to find a common ground. Writing can be a force for uniting if the right hook is offered.


AUTHENTICITY ... and we're not talking plagerism here! Writing that comes not just from the heart, but come from the space of truth, with humility and without pretentiousness has the ability to transform the reader. And as Square1 commented the other day - you always know where you stand with someone who is authentic - and that is what you should expect as a reader.

And now - five people to bestow this wonderful award on ...

Dan at Danae Sinclair
Paul Anderson at Clamouring to become visible
Carmi Levy over at Written Inc(who I quite honestly do not visit often enough - note to self to change!)
Annie at Annie's Musings (you can bop me on Wednesday for dobbing you in for this)

and honourary awards to Square1 at Fanciful Muse (who's already been nominated), Smiler who first sent this award over and to all my fellow Artist Way journeywomen over at Cluster of Artists (our private blog!)

Sunday reflections

Fears Crawl Out by angelreich

It's been a funny old week - lots of shifts of energy moving in both directions. Having a huge purge of anger only to be hit with other's anger, to have had my writing both attacked and celebrated, to have said good bye to a rather serious negative energy (that's I've had since before I was born) and to have felt both elated and crushed. I've been to parts of me that I haven't wanted to go, but have gone anyway and have been welcomes and blessed with insights that can only help me to go forwards. Ahhh ...

So I leave you tonight with a quote. I will be back tomorrow to post my "Roar for powerful words" award presented to me by Smiler and subsequent discussion that is attached. I have to say, being presented with this, is the perfect way to end a tumultuous week where my Truth and my ability to believe in it, have been thoroughly tested (thank you so much Smiler!)

I never take counsel of my fears

- General George Patton -

1968

In preparing the birthday invite for my darling partner's 40th birthday yesterday - I did a little research on what went on in 1968. It was quite interesting (to say the least). I had forgotten how much I love researching stuff - and how bloody carried away I get with it. Not all of it will e used for the invite so I thought I would post it all here rather than let all of that work go to waste.

Each Saturday until his birthday (2nd March) I'll spend Saturday going into a little more detail of something more obscure or less known about the year that was the beginning for my beloved. If you have any particulare requests (that pique your interest from this list) let me know and I'll endeavour to write about it.

So here goes ...

1968 is a year of sex, drugs and rock and roll, the emergence of the ‘generation gap’, of riots, protests, war and power struggles.

Three and a half billion people live on the planet. The first Big Mac goes on sale and man orbits the moon for the first time. The Boeing 747 makes its maiden flight and the first ATM is installed by the First Philedelphia Bank. Amniocentisis is pioneered and the first ever heart transplant is performed in South Africa.

Students are involved in violent anti war and race protests across Europe, North and South America. Nine million workers strike across France and bring the country to a halt and Russian tanks roll into Czeckzolvakia crushing the Prague Spring uprising and re-establishing communist rule. Women’s Liberation groups protest at the Miss America Beauty pageant and 23 African nations boycott the Summer Olympics due to the inclusion of South Africa. It is also the year of the Tet offensive, the My Lai massacre in Vietnam and the Hong Kong Flu pandemic. Richard Nixon is voted President of the USA.

Pop artist Andy Warhol is shot in his loft, the rock musical ‘Hair’ opens on Broadway and at the Newport Folk Festival singer Arlo Guthrie performs his 20 minute ballad "Alice's Restaurant" to rave reviews. Dave Gimour joins Pink Floyd replacing founder Syd Barrett, Cream play their farewell concert at the Royal Albert Hall and Led Zepplin perform for the first time. Jimi Hendrix releases Electric Ladyland, Johnny Cash ‘At Folsom Prison’ and the Beatles ‘White Album’. The Grammy for best song goes to Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Mrs Robinson” and Dione Warwick wins the the Best Female Grammy. Cream, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Otis Redding, Steppenwolf, Donovon, Tom Jones, Mama Cass, The Monkees and Status Quo are all receiving airplay. James Taylor, Joni Mitchell and Deep Purple’s all begin musical careers.

At the movies Oliver receives the Oscar for best picture, with best actress going to Barbara Streisand. Also released this year are Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Funny Girl, Rosemary’s Baby, Planet of the Apes, the Thomas Crown Affair, 2001: A Space Odessy, Valley of the Dolls, The Graduate, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and the Green Berets.

On the small screen Gilligans Island, The Monkees, Star Trek, I Dream of Jeanie, Dr Who, Petticoat Junction, The Avengers, Get Smart, Bonanza, Hawaii Five-O, Land of the Giants and Here’s Lucy continue their runs and the funky Mod Squad airs for the first time.

In literature William Styron’s The Confessions of Nat Turner wins the Pulitzer Prize, Nobel Prize for Literature goes to Japanese author Yasunari Kawabata and Thomas Keneally wins the Miles Franklin award with Three Cheers for Paraclete. Dean Koontz publishes his first novel, Phillip K Dick writes Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Alexander Solzhenitsyn releases Cancer Ward and The First Circle and the contentious Chariots of the Gods? is written by Erich von Däniken.

In Australia the population reaches 12 million. The town of Meckering in WA is badly damaged in an earth quake. Mail delivery goes from two deliveries a day to one, Ansett ANA is renamed Ansett and a referendum in Tasmania paves the way for the granting of the first casino license to Wrest Point Hotel. In NSW the Breathalyser is used for the first time, Sydney’s water is fluoridated and the first heart transplant in Australia is performed at St Vincent’s Hospital.

Prime Minister Harold Holt goes missing, presumed drowned and John Gorton becomes Prime Minister. In Queensland Joh Bjelke-Petersen begins his reign. India's first female Prime Minister Indira Ghandi visits Australia, as does the Duke of Edinburgh. In July almost 100 people are arrested for Anti Vietnam protests in both Melbourne and Sydney, joining hundreds of thousands of others protesting across the world (though no one is shot or killed here).

The Winter and Summer Olympics are held and Australia wins five gold medals in Mexico City. Rod Laver wins Wimbledon, South Sydney beat Manly-Warringbah, Carlton defeat Essendon before a record crowd at the MCG, Western Australia win the Sheffield Shield, Bruce McPhee and Barry Mulholland win Bathurst 500 in Holden Monaro GTS327 and Rain Lover wins the Melbourne Cup.

The Seekers are named Australians of the Year and members of the Who and Small Faces are escorted from a plane at Essendon airport after an unscheduled landing due to bad behaviour. John Farnham, Doug Parkinson, Zoot, Masters Apprentices, the Bee Gees, Ronnie Burns, The Executives and the Easy Beats grace the charts. Bandstand with Brian Henderson, The Bell Birds and Play School are our home grown small screen hits.

The world loses Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy, Helen Keller, poet Dorothea McKellar, British comedian Tony Hancock and author John Steinbeck. In the same year Celine Dion, Guy Ritchie, Riki Lake, Owen Wilson, Kylie Minogue, Hugh Jackman, Rachael Griffiths, Duncan Armstrong, Julian McMahon, Eric Bana and Lisa Marie Presley are born ... oh and my darling partner David Harris!

Fiction Friday: Adam and Eve

This Week’s Theme: What is your character's lifelong dream? Why didn't she persue it? This week's story comes from a dream that I had about a year ago ... and will hopefully be the first installment in an exploration of this world and the characters that live in it .... The screech of the hinges opening on the small door snapped her back into reality. Her body became instantly and instinctively alert, as she waited for the rough grasp of the guard's hands on her bruised shoulders. In the sensory deprivation of the visual and auditory abyss surrounding her, the visceral smell of fear and blood was her only navigation point. With the door open again, she smelt it with a terror that allowed her to centre herself in the moment and prepare for what lay ahead. A body was thrust into the tiny room and fell limply at her feet. The door closed shut with a deafening finality and all was again silent. Her chest heaved in a relief that washed over her on the same wave as the adrenalin surge. Tears stung in her eyes but never fell. It was all over in less than fifteen seconds but it seemed like an eternity. With a nervous hand she reached out to touch the body, warm but barely breathing, crumpled on the floor at her toes. It was a vivid and tangible reminder of what she was here for and she knew it was the first instalment of her torture. “Is that you Eve?” a voice rasped. Her stomach lurched at the sound of his voice, but she kept her composure. “Shhhhh,” she soothed instinctively rather than consciously, running her hand down the cool clammy skin of the face she knew was looking up to her in the darkness. “I –“ “Shhhh!” she hissed with insistence this time. “They will be listening.” Stretching her legs that were cramping in the confined space, she adjusted herself to take his head in her lap. She didn’t know why, but it was comforting to have him close to her. From deep within, a saying rose up from the times before Mother. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. A tactile examination of his head and body found no external wounds or signs of torture which left her shuddering. It was known that those who tortured in the name of Mother never left a calling card but now the urban legend was reality. No one ever left the clutches of Mother alive to say whether it was true or not. “Eve …” “My name’s not Eve. That was my code name.” “Someone in your ranks has a sense of humour,” he wheezed. “I doubt it. You were a last minute substitute.” “No I wasn’t.” She withdrew her attention and focused on each vertebrae of her back pressed against the cold hard metal wall. She didn’t want to think what his words meant. She didn't want to believe there was a mole in their ranks. Outside of the unnatural darkness that imprisoned them, she knew that a full and glorious moon burned in the sky above. Mother could subvert and control all that was natural within the human body, she could be the Mother of inhumanity with the power, the propaganda and the technology all at her finger tips – but she couldn’t undermine la luna high in the skies above them. As long as the moon rose in her celestial magnificence each evening all those below were reminded that there was once a natural rhythm of life that was beyond human manipulation. But it was the moon that had been her undoing. With her rhythms in total harmony with the moon, as she snuck into the Closed City, her own biological undercurrents were dragging her in a direction that she was totally unaware of. The rendezvous had been the only thing in her mind as she had crept around the back streets looking for the point of contact, but her own natural cycles had a rendezvous of their own. She had forgotten the venomous arguments in the Caves, that the full moon was a dangerous time for any woman to be in the Closed City. It was only now that she understood so completely the implications of this and her own deep bedded concerns. She had worn an olfactory scrambler as she made her way to the small door in the rear of the theatre. The small device acted like a cloak of invisibility that allowed her to walk the street of the Closed City without drawing attention to herself. If no one could detect her own cocktail of pheromones then she was just like any other woman on the streets – hormonally chaste. It was the only protection she had bought with her into the vipers nest. The rest lay before her, hidden within the official precinct. “Will you tell me your real name?” he asked, his breathing more measured and stable than it had been earlier. “Does it really matter?” “It does to me – though it doesn’t matter to them. When they strap the electrodes onto your skull - they’ll know everything then.” She thought for a moment, remembering the passion and ecstasy that swamped her when he had first touched her in his house. She was reeling from the extravagance of running water and electricity – and a television, such luxuries when he had caught her off guard and touched her. She remembered the speed and voracity with which they had fallen on each other and within the chaos of discarded clothes on the tattered lino fall, they had quickly consummated the controllable fervour within. It had been an eternity for both of them. The natural state of a woman made her both powerful and weak in his presence. “My name is Brigit,” she answered quietly. “Brigit,” he repeated. “As in the Celtic Goddess.” “Who apparently rode into battle with both her lover and husband at her side. Yes, one and the same.” “You have a husband?” “No just a lover it seems,” she answered absentmindedly, stroking his damp hair. “but all I ever wanted was a husband and a child. A simple but full life.” “Your mother must have known you were destined for great things to have named you Brigit.” “From a simple dream I was born a revolutionary, gifted with the name of a woman who refused to submit, for whom the cycles of life are more important than anything else in the world. " "Are you angry with me?" "No. My rage is at a system that has destroyed what it means to be a woman and a man. A country that pretends it’s Utopian, that it’s rich and peaceful. No one at the mercy of the uncontrollable ravages of natural ebbs and flows of biology – women don’t bleed, women don’t bare children, men and women who no longer have sex. People just live to consume. And beyond the gates the masses die without food and water.” “Humanity has been stripped of everything that makes it human. I thought my life long dream was a simple desire when I was a teenage – my friend would laugh that I would aspire to something so mundane. But now ...” Her cynical laugh was interrupted by the sound of the security pad being activated and the locking mechanism being accessed from beyond the cell. The sound bought back the moment, as she stood with Adam, as he punched the security code into a door to give her access to the explosives. The door swung open and there were Mother’s secret police waiting for her. “You betrayed me,” she screamed as they had seized her by her arm and pressed a sedative into the side of her neck.. The door opened and the audio of protesting steel kicked in for ambience sake. There were no rusting hinges in Mother’s high tech detention centres. A muscular arm reached in for her. “You betrayed me Adam,” she spat, as the fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm. “You betrayed all of us.” "This was the only way. I'm sorry."
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Thursday Thirteen: Things that I am Good at [3]

Thirteen Things about Jodi This week I have begun (for the second time) The Artist Way by Julia Cameron. Part of week one is excavating to discover where those negative voices in your head come from, uncovering negative core beliefs. After some intense family stuff over the last day or so, the blurt I came out with this morning, as I wrote my morning pages, was "I am not good enough".It was a good day to be having kinesiology today - and we worked with that blurt ... but for the sake of my own sanity and self belief - here are 13 things that I believe I am good at! Generosity - I generally never say no and often put the needs of others over that of myself Writing - there I said it!! And I'm not going to worry about sounding egotistical - just check out the latest short story going up tomorrow for Fiction Friday. Cooking - when I put my mind to it, have the energy and feel inspired. We've never had to eat baked beans yet. Procrastinating - aren't we all, or is it just me? I've only ever been outdone by our old flatmate who would procrastinate from his uni studies, using his hobby painting -then would procrastinate from his hobby by painting not his picture but the windows in his room. Nutter!! Being a Saint - even though some would argue I am not. When you live with a three year old who spurts constant streams of consciousness conversation about the Spiro the Dragon and/or Dr Who (that can last up to 45 minutes and seem to occur without a breath being taken!) there has to be some saintliness there - though I doubt I shall ever be canonized for it. And no I can't answer all the questions regarding Spiro but I'm getting pretty good at creative answers for Dr Who. Horizontal filing - is that not what all flat empty spaces are for, even if FlyLady would disagree! Tactless - which seems to not just be foot in mouth syndrome, but the cyberspace/typing equivalent of it. I'm blaming this one on my Sagittarian origins or my alternate world view which doesn't often sit well with others. Never finishing anything - though three years of producing a quarterly magazine did go a long way to helping me over come this personal flaw. With the end of that era dawning, its up to me to rise to the challenge of finishing things! Reverse parallel parking - just ask my friends Annie and Karen who applauded my efforts to reverse parallel park our station wagon on the weekend - the first time and perfectly straight (I reckon I've got about a 90% success rate - I can thank my driving instructor all those years ago for that!) And as an aside - I used to be able to do this style of parking on both the left and right hand sides - as we had reverse parallel centre parking in the town where I first drove. Optimism - though recently even this has been pushed and its limits discovered. Living my truth - though this is a daily challenge and something I'm far from mastering, but I'm getting the hang of it, thus I must be getting good at it. Catching a tennis ball, left handed, whilst floating on a basketball at the deep end of the pool - no explanation needed on that one I reckon! Inspiring others - well at least I can delude myself into believing that, though I can use the example of Annie who has recently been inspired (OK hassled and cajoled!) to participate in Fiction Friday ... I'm still working on inspiring Dave to write also and a number of other friends to take the Artist Way journey. You will notice that I haven't tried to pull the wool over your eyes and tell you that I am good at telling a joke (I can never remember both the joke and punchline), nor acting in the role of navigator (I get car sick from reading the map, while the car is moving) and I have definitely not tried to pass off my organisational skills (as its all last minute stuff with the Goddess shining down on me and offering me large slabs of luck to get it all happening!). What are you good at? And more to the point - what are you shy about being good at?

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Looking for the Divine

If you would learn

the secret

of right relations

look only for the divine

in people and things

and leave all the rest to God*

- J Allen Boone -

Kinship with all Life

I dont believe in tradition notions of 'God' - but I can believe in the workings of the Universe, in serendipity and in energy.

At this point in time I would prefer to leave it 'all' to the Universe to sort out - as old demons and new demons crawl from the abyss of the psyche and blood to revisit all manner of things best left alone - that however seemed to have been ferreted out, and tossed out in a merry Spring cleaning effort.

I read earlier either on Mystic's blog or Astro Rave about there being a feeling of finality in the air as Pluto gets ready to move into the sign of Capricorn ... and with all that's come to head here in the past 24 hours there is a certain sense of that.

There is also a sense of all this wisdom that has been gifted over this week, in the guise of quotes that all seems to make so much sense now. I understand now that I have been at the mercy of the expectations and demands of others, and as I have attempted to move away from that, into my own space and my own Truth, it has rocked the boats of those around me. When you shift energy, it shifts not just for yourself but those that you are connected with. As Newton said 'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction' ... and I've come to see and experience that all to clearly in the past day. Change is just change - its only a loss when those close to you want to keep the status quo alive and kicking - only then is change a loss.

I have had my Truth tossed into the firey forge and it has emerged shaken, but still in tact. I'm amazed at my ability to remain grounded in the maelstrom and to continue to believe in my words, my story and my conviction to share both. I can understand now why it is so difficult to stand up and tell your Truth - especially when it is closely woven with those of your family or your friends. When you stand to tell your truth you cannot help but tell their stories too - and not everyone wants to have their stories told. So pressure grows to keep everyone happy, to perpetuate the silence so no one is hurt, no one is angry and the status quo remains. When you supress your Truth to keep others happy part of you dies inside and its a slow, painful and miserable death - a cancer of dishonesty to yourself, until one day you wake up and you can't remember who you are any more. Someone in amongst the pressure to supress, you have to honour your own story - find a middle road some how .. to find Temperance - balance! This is my challenge now.

It makes me more adament and more passionate about continuing to share my story - to continue to hone my Truth and share it. The more woman who stand and share their stories, who stand in their Truth and be glorious, to be in their own authentic skins, the more women will be inspired to stand too and share their stories, to find their Truths. And when women do this, we'll all be fighting against the Shadows that strive to keep women silent - because women are their own worst enemies.

More Remedios Varo - this time "The Calling" or "One Who is called" - upon doing a little research I discovered that we share a birthday - though with her passing in 1963 we were never alive in the same year to celebrate. I'm not suprised that I was drawn to her artwork now.

Change

Change

is never a loss -

It is change only

-Vernon Howard -

The Mysic Path to Cosmic Power

I'm currently in a state of transition between the old and the new. As I wrote here between The New Year and the Chinese New Year I am taking stock, reviewing, assessing, clearing, finishing and letting go.

In this image from Remedios Varo the woman is leaving her psychoanalyst and dumping baggage into a well as she moves on. For me its difficult at the moment to actually dump the baggage, because I am still working on my final edition of Down to Birth. In essence I'm still carting the baggage.

While I am still caught in the HMA machine its easy for me to become bitter and angry - because I desperately want to move out and move on, but my personal integrity (thanks Annie for pointing this out to me this afternoon) wont allow me to just dump my stuff down the well and move on - however much I truly desire to do so. I need to finish this last edition, I need to honour the work and effort that others have put in, and I need to end this chapter of my life without regret or the haunting of my conscience. I want to leave being remember for all the right reasons. This is the legacy I deserve to bequeath myself.

But the problem is I keep getting caught - like a persnicketty crumb in the back of the throat. I try and cough to move it, I take a long slow drink, I stick my tongue down the back in some weird and completely wong movement ... but it remains stuck. I think of all the things that are difficult at the moment in relation to finishing the magazine, but without the energy nor the passion, I keep get stuck. Rather than resolving to find a new and creative solution to a problem layout, an article that requires rewriting, photos that need to be resent or artists that dont return my emails, I just turn the computer off, walk away and pretend that it doesn't exist. Sigh ... I need to swallow my pride and accept the challenge head on ... reminding myself all the time that I can do this ... that the time for dropping the bundle down the well is nigh.

The other aspect that I continue to struggle with is to not demonise what (which also includes who) I am moving from. I need to remind myself that I made the choices to do what I did in the past three and a bit years, I choose to be the martyr and it was not anyone else's doing. While there are things about the last three years that are difficult to accept (there is that word again) there have been many wonderful and positive aspects to everything I have done in the past three years. While I may have been a shadow artist during my time as Editor and Layout Designer for Down to Birth - it helped me to keep in touch with the artist within me, until it was strong and confident to emerge from the shadows.

It seems that while I'm transiting its easier to see things with a negative pall cast on it. Perhaps its a survival mechanism that I have created to help me move on from things. I wrote the other day that I am not a bridge burner but I think I lied - while I dont tend to burn bridges with people, I tend to burn bridges in other domains - even if its only within my head. It's something to be mindful of and to give myself permission for these thoughts and feelings to pass through me, rather morphing them into a cord in which to bind myself with. So my challenge is to just accept this change that is occuring both within and around me, to understand and honour the truth as it is, was and will be, and finally, to allow myself to move forward with grace and conviction - the grace bit being the hardest of course!

What have you recently changed in your life? What presented the greatest challenge for you in accepting and being a positive part of this change?

Acceptance

Today's quote, pulled from my trusty Guide for the Advanced Soul earlier on today - seems to speak to me on numerous levels now .. I guess that true acceptance in one of the practices of authenticity - if you can just be in the moment and not be yearning for the past or the future, then you are being true to yourself. You are accepting, being in the moment is without demands or expectations.

I not only need to accept those around me, forsaking demands and expectations, but I need to practise the same with myself - to allow for less demands, less expectations and more opportunities to just be me - whoever I am in that moment - whether it be good, bad or indifferent.

Having experienced tonight, the true breaking down to the primal me, it was incredibly nurturing to have Dave and Dylan to just accept me as the howling (and oh yes it was primal and raw) mess I was on the kitchen floor, as the welled up rage, frustration and sorrow came spewing out - both literally and metaphorically. I knew it was coming, but I have bee fighting to hold back the flood tides of negative emotions and experiences. I dont think that I have ever cried so hard that I couldn't breathe any longer , like I did tonight on my kitchen floor as dinner popped and bubbled above me. The constriction in my chest was so tight it felt as though my airway was blocked. The anger was so desperate to leave I actually vomitted it up.

Neither Dave nor Dylan tried to fix me, nor tell me to get up and stop being silly - they just sat or stood next to me and allowed me to (finally!) let it all out. There were no offers of tissues, not consoling words - just there presence and witness of me in my terrible glory. Dylan wanted to know later, as I was resting in bed, why I was sad and what was wrong with me - Dave told him simply that I was tired ... and that was probably the whole truth of it. Not just tired physically - tired emotionally and spiritually ... and probably intellectually and psychologically as well. Dylan laid down next to me a little later and told me that he was sure I would be better tomorrow. He's not used to seeing tears from me - but at least he's seen part of the authentic me.

I've been reminded in the most awful of ways what will happen to me if I dont take the time to rest when I bleed - when I don't for one day tell the world to stop so I can get off, and allow myself some time to rest and regenerate. I need to accept it and so does my family and friends. I have learnt that its not rhetoric - its wisdom and its meant to be walked, not just talked.

So I've been to a dark dark place tonight - somewhere I dont go often, but somewhere I obviously have to go from time to time to purge, because I'm not good at allowing the anger and frustration out as it occurs. And, I'm feeling vulnerable, washed out, raw and in a way empty ... it seems there was a lot of anger and bitterness being carried around. They seem to be quite hefty in weight - but I guess anything that is carried in your heart space is.

And I've just been reminded to honour this space that I'm currently in - I rarely allow myself to feel vulnerable or raw. So with grace I shall accept my vulnerability and my rawness, because there is beauty here.

Peace of mind

comes from not wanting

to change others

but by simply accepting them

as they are,

True acceptance

is always without demands

and expectations

- Gerald G Jampolsky -

Love is Letting Fear Go

Image by Alan M Sherwood

Moving On

Dwell not on the past

Use it to illustrate a point

then leave it behind

Nothing really matters

except what you do now

in this instant

From this moment onward

you can be an entirely different person

filled with love and understanding

ready with an outstretched hand

uplifted and positive

in every thought

and deed

- Eileen Caddy -

"God Spoke to Me"

Warhol-apalooza

Just when you thought that too much Andy Warhol was not enough ... yes Annie and I were back at GoMA again this morning - with our tiny tribe of kids in tow..

We all had an absolute ball in the Silver Factory section of the Gallery that is especially set up for kids. They got to go in the 'Silver Clouds' installation (and wasn't that a trippy moment for me when I stopped paying attention to the three kids for a moment and uttering "Be gentle" in every other breathe - and looked up to see a multitude of silver pillow floating in the ai above me!), as you can see above - had their photos take a la Warhol style in a specially designed photo booth (then we picked the colours and emailed them home!), stacked Brillo, Campbells Soup and Heinz sauce bottles and then had fifteen seconds of fame where the kids sat on a seat and were filmed, then cast up on the wall old movie style with the count down numbers and all. It was brilliant ... oh and we got some temporary tattoes as well. Who could ask for more.

PS: Dave has just pointed out to me that Lilly, Morgan and Dylan need to form a band in 20 years time and use this photo as their first album cover!!

The Perfect Day

After much teasing here it is...

I never thought much about what my perfect day would be. When you're a full time Mum juggling all the demands that are placed on your time and energy - there isn't a lot of time for dreaming. I also caution to say, that for a time I steered clear of dreaming because it was so far removed from the reality of my life, that it was depressing to see that huge gulf between where I was and where I hazarded, to want to be.

For a few months my beautiful friend Annie and my soul sister Karen had been plotting to get away by ourselves to see the Andy Wahol exhibition, while Karen was on holidays here in Brisbane during early January. It looked for a while like it wouldn't happen and then miraculously it did.

Saturday lunch time Annie and Karen were dropped here at my place and we began our adventure by stopping in at Handmade Naturals. Karen has had the joy of experiencing their products care packs from me and from internet purchases, but she's never been into the store - which is amazing in itself, with the colourful tied dyed baby clothes hanging in the window and all the beautiful natural and organic beauty and personal hygiene (gosh I despise that word!) ... and all the wonderful organic produce. So Karen was in seventh heaven and Annie not far off. With the brown paper bags clutched in hand, and organic chocolate melting in our mouths (and not in the 30 somthing degree heat) it was back in the car.

Next stop was the Lifeline Bookfest. Twice a year Lifeline (a charitable organisation that uses its thrift stores to subsidise its free counselling lines) has a huge book sale at the Brisbane Convention Centre - its something like 50 odd rows of books on trestle tables that run from one side of the hall to the other - its massive. Karen had never been, as it is usually held over the Australia Day Long Weekend in late January (which coincides with the beginning of the school year - and Karen is a school teacher). So when she accidentally found out that it was one while she was in town she was ecstatic. Dave and I always toddle off to the bookfair to come out fully laden with books for the next six months.

The best thing for me, is that the bookfest seems to be a good measure of my personal growth ... as whatever is clutched under my arm as I walk out is usually reflective of where I am at. This time around I didn't go anywhere near Family and Health .. and instead cruised the Science and Politics sections, along with oddities and my favourite "new age" which appeared for the first time ever. I left with a lovely collection of Goddess books!

After losing each other, and then finding each other ... it was time to haul the books back down in the underground car pack, find space for them all and then with much excitement and anticipation go on to the Andy Wahol exhibition at the Gallery of Modern Art (affectionately known at GoMA!) By this stage Karen was declaring the day her "Perfect Day".

The exhibition blew my mind, as prior to walking in I hadn't had a great deal of exposure to Wahol's work ... not any of the stories of the great man's life etc. I immediately lost Karen and Annie - which for me wasn't such a bad thing - I was happy to browse at my own pace. I was most intrigued as to 'how' he achieved what he achieved with his work ... and how he played with and pushed the existing technologies to produce what he did. In the age of computer generated images, photoshopable images and then rest - it good to be taken back to a time when it was a canvas and converted dark room equipment. I was in LOVE!! And I look forward to going back with Dave to see all of it (I missed seeing the films that were running and looking at all the memorabilia that was part of the exhibition) I also want to go and hear one of the many lectures that is on (a definite potential Artist Date I do believe) and more over - I'm inspired to give some of the art ideas that have been rushing around in my imagination for quite a while now - the light of day.

Karen and Annie with cameras in hand set about taking all our favourite types of 'I've been to the Andy Wahol exhibition' type photos and Karen went searching for a photo of the cityscape in the late afternoon sun.

By the end of the exhibition the chicken sandwich I had made Karen at my place, and the tomato and cheese sandwich Annie had made for herself at my place (yes I forgot to eat!) had worn off ... and it was off to the Bohemian elegance of The Three Monkeys in West End. Amid plates of Dianne cake, nachos, Betty Blue coffees (coffee from a tiny soup bowl!)and a ginger crush we had a chat fest. Then I dragged out the Sandra Boyton book that Karen had got me about love. I set about reading it out loud and after each page we tried to find a name/relationship to match each type of love.

Annie and Karen went to teachers college with each other about 20 years ago and have been friend ever since - Karen and I worked together from 2000-01, and then we lived together in 2002 and of course - have been friends ever since! So there's quite a bit of accumulated love history between the three of us to share, muse, be embarrassed about and a fare slab of laugther too.

With great reluctance we emerged energised from The Three Monkeys to make the trip home. The sun was so glorious hitting the cityscape that we took a quick detour to allow Karen to get one final picture of the city with the setting sun casting a perfect light on the sky scrapers. It was also a perfect stop for some final friendship shots ....

It was dark when I finally got home - close to 8pm and I was exhausted. But now I have the Perfect Day etched into my head and have this memory to carry around with me until we can create the Perfect Day II at some stage in the not too distant future. It's given me hope to begin to dream again and to have faith in the fact that dreams can come true!

More photos to follow later on today when Annie drops me off her disc of photographs from the day .. All photos here are of me, or I'm with Karen.

Quote for the Day: Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

We are not here just to survive and live long

We are here to live and know life

In its multi-dimensions

To know life in its richness

In all its variety

And when a man lives multi-dimensionally

Explores al possibilities available

never shrinks back from any challenge,

Goes, rushes to it, welcomes it,

Rises to the occassion

Then life becomes a flame,

Life blooms

-Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh-

from 'A Guide for the Advanced Soul: a book of insight

I shall be back tomorrow with my Perfect Day entry ... I begin The Artist Way again tomorrow morning and I need a good nights sleep - as my tanks are already half empty and it's only the beginning of the cycle. Moon is waxing in Aries tomorrow, thus a good time to start things (we must have known huh?!!)

The Perfect Day

Today was unanimously declared 'The Perfect Day' by my two friends Karen and Annie. It was so perfect that I am now exhausted and about to head off to bed. Tomorrow I will recount our adventures together and perhaps share some photos ... until then goodnight and dont let the bed bugs bite xxxx

Fiction Friday: Haefestus

This Week’s Theme: Write a scene that ends with your character saying: 'I never want to see you again.' Haefestus … The name rather than rolling elegantly off her tongue seemed to slither out like a sadistic viper. Her soul sister Jules was adamant that this was who she had been dreaming of. The dreams had begun suddenly and seemingly without reason. It made no sense that the God of love and mystical restoration should be her nocturnal consort. She did not need his special love – she was not crippled, nor was her heart or dreams broken. In a month’s time her first collection of short stories would roll off the printing presses and into book stores. There was no more lingering in the shadows of self doubt, of literary torture. This was her small but powerful proclamation to all the nay sayers in her life – the artist in residence who had told her at uni to go out and get a life, her family who had insisted on her getting ‘a real job’, the passing acquaintances at parties who laughed and asked ‘No really – what do you do for a living’, to all the editors and their rejection letters she had collected over the years. Curling up on the couch, she stroked the crumpled and dog eared tome Jules had lent her to read. The book, Women Who Run With Wolves, was velvety with age and use. She ran her fingers over the now rounded page corners that reminded her of the malleable corners of an old cotton pillow case. After all these years, when anxiety began to rise, she would seek the tactile reassure of rubbing something smooth and soft to rub between her thumb and forefinger. But I’m not anxious … am I? And she opened the book again. Haefestus, now crippled, refused to give up and die. He fired his forge with the hottest fire he’d ever built and there formed for himself a pair of legs, made of silver and gold from the knees down. She knew those legs of silver and gold well and the pyroclastic shock that blew through her body like a nuclear blast, each time her hands touched the cool metal in the dreams. Lying naked and in a state of ecstatic bliss beside his warm body, she would be unaware of those legs until her erotic exploration bought her to the nob of his knee cap. Haefestus, now crippled, refused to give up and die. This line seemed to haunt her. It seemed even in her dreams Haefestus was tenacious – twenty eight nights of the same thing. Jules kept insisting that the dreams were trying to tell her something if she would just listen. She’d blow Jules off with the same nonchalant comment, that is was just a dream. Jules would remind her it had been an entire month of the same dream – how could it be just a dream. If the dream was trying to tell her something, she was adament she didn't want to know. All in her life was perfect now. Looking outside she could see nothing. It was the dark moon and only a few stars pierced through the night sky and the light pollution of the city. The longer she stared up into the sky, the more it felt like she was being drawn into a vortex of nothing, into a knowing within her soul. In a breathe she would know everything if she could just surrender. If for a single moment she could completely let go of everything and just be. Then she got it. With the potent sleep brew half finished and cooling on her night stand, she lay back into her pillows and allowed her eye lids to grow heavy. She thought of him, Haefestus, his warm body beside her. She thought of the never ending abyss of surrender. Then he was there beside her. This time she lay quietly beside him, drawing him to her and allowing him to touch her. His lips and his finger tips were synthesthetic upon her bare skin – visions and memories awakening with each touch. It was kaleidoscope of visions and memories that played through her body, rather than her mind. She was seeing it somehow through his touch and the response of her body - all beyond her control. The rapture of his touch unleashed the torrent of suppressed pain, sorrow and disillusionment within her. In the orgasmic maelstrom the epiphany climaxed and then washed through her. She was whole again - mended together with his tiny lines of silver suturing that thrummed beautifully in a synergy of both pleasure and pain. In the dark she could sense he was still there with her. She reached out to touch his legs, anticipating this time the cool metal but there was nothing. All that remained of him was his essence that clung to her body, smudged through her soul. She fought to find the words to thank him, to honour him, to express her joy and fulfilment at understanding finally, to finally say his name with the love that she felt for him. But when her eyes opened and the world within her bedroom came into view, the words that rang out shocked and distressed her. I never want to see you again. This prompt comes to us this week from the creative genius of Paul Anderson.
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Thursday Thirteen: Things I love [2]

In this, my year of authenticity, its timely to remind myself of the things that I do truly love ... so here is my list of 13 things that I love ... and I will endeavour at the end of the next thirteen lunar months to have done each of them, at least once a month...

I love ....

1. Writing
2. Cooking/baking
3. Taking unplanned and spontaneous adventures
4. Dancing
5. Learning
6. Taking photos
7. Sewing in all its forms
8. Yoga
9. Walking
10. Music
11. Reading
12. Theatre
13. Being creative

What are the things that you love, that because of the busyness of life, may have been forgotten or rescheduled to a date, somewhere in the ephemeral future when there will be more time, more energy, less committments ..... you get my drift?

What do I Expect from my Blog

I have been blog tagged by Fanciful Muse (thanks darling!)

The rules are simple:
1. Answer the question, “What do you expect from your blog?” and try to be as specific as

possible. Avoid warm-fuzzy answers unless that really is your thing. Link back to the blog

who tagged you so your readers can check others’ answers.

2. Tag at least five bloggers with the same question.

What do I expect from my blog ... immediately makes me think that my blog and I are in partnership, as I believe the when we have expectation, or place expectations on someone or something, then we're wanting or believing that we will get something in return.

What I want from my blog is a place to come and write - a place in which I feel safe enough to bare my soul, but vulnerable enough in which to feel challenged. I began blogging in about March last year I think it was, as a consequence of joining My Space. This was my first experience of having a wider, and uncontrolled to some extent, audience for my writing. When I first created my My Space account I wasn't quite sure why I did it. And it took me a while to create the profile and start putting anything on their. The issue - I didn't know 'who' I wanted to be in the world of My Space. After the first round of Mercury Retrograde activity in 2007 and had an answer to my question - I would just be me.

And that's what I want from my blog - not just a place to come and write, but a place that allows me to be me - in all my glorious brilliance, crazy idiosyncracies, darkest depths and irrating limitations. What you see is what you get here. (Note: I moved to Blogger in October so I could begin participating in Fiction Friday meme)

My blog is a place to be public, and private at the same time. While my heart is quite often out on my sleeve, and I'm not backwards in coming forwards in speaking about my beliefs and my ideas, I've realised that I remain very private in terms of sharing photos of me (my son is another matter - but that in itself is also another matter!) Although my name is definitely out there - I expect my blog to protect a certain amount of my identity.

Blogging sparked my renewed love affair with writing ... and it mostly had to do with the fact I go brave enough to write and share it with the world. Up until then, (with the exception of an odd article in Down to Birth, and my quarterly editorial which was always rather short and reasonably 'safe') I hadn't written in years. And I believe for that reason alone - my blog wont ever die because its so inextricably interwoven with my love of writing - that for my blog to die, would mean that my love for writing had also died. So I guess I invest into my blog the belief that like some sacred vessel it will hold nurturingly my fire of creativity and passion. There could be worse places to leave it.

The 'traffic' to my blog site is slow - there are a few who drop by regularly but that's really it. But that doesn't really seem to matter most days (other days I wish it were different) It's like that 'If a tree falls in the forest...' scenario .... if no one visits or reads, does it mean that I am not writing.

I do know that I strive to and hope that one day my writing can make a difference in the world - and I'm starting low on the micro level - hoping that something that I write can spark off something in someone, who can carry that thought, that idea and create a new thought or idea from it. That's what I love the most about blogging - the wildfire of imagination and thought that can sweep across continents, touching a few, or touching many lives, with a few key strokes. So I expect my blog to be a vehicle for change ... to challenge me to step up to the plate.

I want my blog to be a respository for my creative writing (first and foremost) but also to be a record of my journey and growth as a woman ... in days gone past it would have been kept very privately in a journal - and whilst I do still love journaling - there is something faintly addicitve about being able to share your world with the world.

I want my blog to be my friend and to introduce me to many more of its friends ... whilst not technically a social networking site ... you can't help but meet people here, either going out to seek and soak in their writing, images, experiences and wisdom ro for them to find their way to you. I've made a number of lovely new friends here and nurtured a couple of other fledgling friendships that are now beginning to bloom.

There are a couple of memes that I play in - but I'm not serious and there is a free flowing nature to what I write - other than regular postings for Fiction Friday, Wordless Wednesday and most recently Photo Hunt on Saturday. Fiction Friday keeps poking me to produce work, and the other too encourage me to find and share photographs that I love (which has now poked me into angling to get a new camera so I can have some new images to share - the camera on my phone really doesn't cut it.)

This year I am determine to post something every day ... and in true NaNo style - to try and write at least 1667 words a day - whether they be fiction, non fiction or blogging. It seems like a sensible word limit to aim for a day ....

Moreover - this year I expect my blog to keep my authentic - what this means, I have no idea yet, but I'm certain that this is the medium in which to explore this theme/concept in all is horrific and beautiful manifestions ....

I'm not sure I have five friends to tag ... so I'll simply give Dan a kiss on the cheek and slip her this note, because I'm intrigued to know what she will write.

Wishes for a New Moon: Capricorn

• I want to consciously and easily use time to my best advantage


• I want to easily find myself demonstrating my competency in fiction and non fiction writing


• I want to be filled with confidence and self discipline, successfully reaching my goal of being a published writer.


• I want total clarity in setting appropriate goals that lead to success in the area I desire.


• I want to easily find myself recognising and utilising opportunities when they arise


• I want to easily find myself filled with the right ideas leading to success in the area of writing


• I want to easily find myself seeing life in a way that bringsjoy.


• I want to easily find myself managing my time in a way that allows plenty of time for work, play and family.


• I want to easily find myself filled with optimism and faith, pursuing directions that make me feel free.

Themes for the current Capricorn new moon:

future security

handling responsibility

reaching goals

success and recognition

management skills

authority figures

releasing controlling tendencies

Jan Spiller, author of New Moon Astrology (where this information and the above wishes is derived) suggests casting or making your wishes within eight hours of the new moon, for best affect, but at any time during the 48 hours past the new moon (unless the moon goes void of course). She also suggests making more than one wish, but no more than ten. The last two points she suggests are that they wishes must always be handwritten (I have a special diary that they are written n) and that you go with your gut feeling on the wishes - I guess without the aid of the book it opens you to go with your intuition for what you want to wish for based on the above themes.

I've been doing this since May last year, and find that it helps to chart my course, by best harnessing the energy present at the beginning of each month. It's not surprising I guess that a lot of my wishes are focused on writing - seeings this is the major aspect of my life that I want to nurture and develop in the coming year. It also seems to bring together what is going on in my life at the time, and synthesizing it into a positive format with which to work with.

At the end of my little writing ritual I always go to my Goddess pack and draw two cards - the top and the bottom cards to see the energy that I have to work with to allow the wishes to materialise ... and as always there is a definite synergy between the cards at the wishes. I got a new pack of Goddess cards for Christmas, so this was their first trip out for the lunar wishes.

This month I drew on the top (which I refer to as the conscious, or what is definitely 'on top' for me in my life at the moment) Nu Kua, who is a Chinese goddess who embodies "Order". With all the reordering that has been going on - this was no surprise. Her wisdom to me:

"Now is the time to nurture yourself with order that assists rather than chockes your life force ... when life is ordered in a natural way, you nurture your path to wholeness."

The bottom card (which I refer to as the unconscious, what is rising to the surface to be understood or acknowledged or is passing and becoming incorporated into life ... and the two cards always seem to work together - often what is on the top one month, is on the bottom the next month) Gyhldeptis is a North American Goddess who embodies 'Synthesis". Her wisdom to me:

"This is the time to find the common thread that will serve your needs in the best way ... wholeness is created when all the parts are honoured and listened to."

More musings on this beautiful Goddess wisdom later. And a Happy New Moon and astrological/lunar year to everyone.

Artwork: "To Be Born" by Remedios Varo, Sagittarian Surrealist ... painting came through with my AstroRave this morning and seemed quite fitting, not to mention beautiful.