Wednesday, April 22, 2009

If I knew how to write I'd...

write enough "Love Actually" scripts to sink the Titanic.

I'd write a "Gone with the Wind" or "The Fountainhead" classic every year.

I'd write love poems, tragedy, comedy and I'd be as prolific as Ben Elton with even more of an edge.

I'd write for the New Yorker. I'd write for Time. I'd write for The Boston Review.

I'd write the lyrics of songs that would be sung in a hundred years time.

I'd write essays of thoughts so philosophically profound, people would wonder if Emerson or Thoreau had reincarnated themselves via me.

I'd write children's books that J.K. Rowling would write the preface's for.

I'd write travel tales every bit as extraordinarily touching as those of Elizabeth Gilbert (and I'd be every bit as gorgeous too!).

I'd write stage plays so astonishingly insightful into the human condition, even George Bernard Shaw would rise from the dead to tip his hat.

If only I knew how to write!

If only I knew how to make clear the prose that resides in the mind of my Muse but which for me, resides as mere hints of shadows in phrase and syllable: just broken fragments, pieces of ideas and thoughts, juicy hints of poetic genius, swooshing about, unable to be grasped or seen clearly enough to snatch onto the page or remain there.

There is a marked anxiousness in the Spirit's desire to write frantically all the potential of the universe onto the page under my hand. Alas, but my hand hovers frozen in stasis, and my mind which is controlling this ''twixt heaven and hell' state of play, is grinding gears, frustratingly obfuscated to the very things Spirit knows to be truly there for the writing.

Muse plays and cavorts with my moods. I feel her knocking at my spirit door seeking entrance but if I fling open the door, I can hear her sparkling, cynical laughter as she floats down the passages of my thought processes while I chase after her, silently screaming for that which she was hinting to tell while the door was 'ere closed.

If only I knew how to write!

To feel the unhindered quality of text pouring forth in casual, easy rhythm; the words moving on the page like living entities all collectively related to each other by the blood ties of an effortless syntax so strong they form a genealogy of prosaic providence...always imaginative... that has a reach throughout all time.

If I only knew how to write and write WELL; so freakishly, so insanely, so unequivocally well.

My blog would reach millions and not just a few. Even Seth Godin and Tony Robbins would want to read me. I'd be able to teach the world through the musings that would arise from the very core of my soul and my "Genius" would be engaged with my Ultimate Purpose all combining into a synergy of limitless potential for change and growth, a constructive coherence...for the better...for everyone...

If I only knew how to write... Oprah would mark my words.

If only I knew how to write.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

who do you think you are?


Who do you THINK you are?

What we see of our Selves as we go about our lives, is a screwy combination of a lot of assumptions about things that have happened to us, or are going to happen to us, or are happening to us.

We perceive ourselves through a rather faulty lens most of the time. It's really hard for most people to be completely honest about who they think they really are inside.

We generally fall into one of the following categories:

a) We believe we are so utterly beneath most people, we consistently believe and sell ourselves short of our talents, gifts, value and purpose.

b) We believe ourselves so utterly above most other people, we consistently alienate others and yet blame them for "disappointing" us all the time.

c) We waver between these two poles and consistently over-compensate when engaged in either a) or b) swinging wildly between them and losing all sense of security in our identity at all.

Much of the time we can blame our upbringing, our genetics, our environment for all the cumulative "failures" we believe we endure. Thing is, we sometimes forget that what we THINK in any given moment - whether as a reaction to our emotions or as an impetus to emotion - will trigger a slew of things we can never quite believe or accept or understand or aspire to or we underestimate them or overestimate them and so on.

Thoughts beget new thoughts and our emotional re-activeness can lead to thinking that is at best, mildly wise and at worse, a completely irrational and gross over-assumption of the real.

Many of the self-help gurus' would lead us to believe that thinking positive thoughts and having a much more optimistic 'glass-half-full' bravado, will generally lead us to a better life because we'll begin to "manifest" a better life as a result of thinking better.

I still think this is pretty much BS for the most part. It's hard to argue against it though. If we THINK something is bad then it can't be anything BUT bad because that's what we think and assume it to be! It's hard to think of having a brain tumour as something positive isn't it? It's hard to think that missing your flight for a very important job interview is going to lead to new amazing opportunities isn't it? We're led to believe that we either brought these things on ourselves through our thought processes and that we actually wanted them or that somehow, there is a positive outcome that an arbitrary universe bestows on individuals further along the time-line just because of our predicament in the here and now! It's a cruel thing to believe. I'm not saying it's not entirely untrue even so.

I have no idea! For the most part, I'm still very much of the opinion that despite man's insistence on bending truth to suit, there is such a thing as Absolute Truth that cannot be bent by either Science, religion or man's equivocal and super quixotic tendencies to try. There is "something" that exists in the world, in nature and inherent within Life itself that is exactly what it is and can be nothing else. We keep looking for it and we probably ignore it for the most part because we assume that something like that is probably really hard to find but just as likely, it's probably easy as all hec to see - we just consistently expect it to be other than what it actually is!

If our thoughts do indeed create the world and our environment in which we react so vociferously and willfully, then seeing ourselves for what we actually are is mind-blowingly difficult. At least it probably is for many people not the least of which is me! It's like we live with this spectre of intense Self love and even more intense Self loathing, battling inside our deeper psyche, warring it out over which one will get the upper hand; our 'Terrified-I-don't-fit-in' little selves or our 'Super-ego-inflated-over-the-top-of-everyone-else' big selves.

Finding the spot where we're exactly who we are and KNOW that to be True - Absolutely True - is a massive test of character, wisdom, humility, patience, acceptance, Love and of pure objective compassion.

Strange isn't it? That we can probably only see what we truly are when when we are at once brutally honest and utterly, completely and unsentimentally compassionate with ourselves at the same time. Nothing in our past, our future, even around us in our present world is the mirror into which we can look with any accuracy as to our Absolute Truth of the Self. Our eyes are like a carnival hall of mirrors that distort and refract what is presented to them and from those weird and grotesque deformations, we construct a view of our Selves and how we fit into this world that is most likely largely inaccurate and silly.

Neither abject self debasement, nor total self aggrandizement, of our person hood, in this life, will help us see ourselves clearly as we truly are.

The truest form that Nakedness takes is to stand utterly stripped of the mirrors that are our eyes and the thoughts we contrive from the evidence of our eyes, our ears, our nostrils, our tongue and our fingers and without thought, allow our Self to feel this moment.

No scanning, no judging, no assuming, no forecasting, no musing, no alluding, no naming, no wondering, no acknowledgment, no hindering, no moralising, no debasement, no aggrandizement, no fretting, no pride, no smug assuredness, and nothing else that causes or reacts to human thought: just THIS moment and - without naming it or giving it labels to rationalise it away - what you feel within and without is exactly who you are. It's never what you think.

Celebrate that.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Musing on my relationship with food

(NB: This is pretty much a stream of consciousness ramble. I'm thinking aloud sorta in words. It is probably too long and boring for most to read but for me it's my way of figuring out something baffling. You're welcome to read it and hopefully you will have an insight that can help yourself or someone else - including me - along the way).

I am an eater.

Nothing new about that per se. Most living creatures eat - even single celled organisms almost invisible to the naked eye eat - sort of.

Eating is at the crux of the sustainability of Life. Nourishment from an external compound creates a looped system of Birth - Life - Death complexity that can boggle the mind if you let it.

Food, in order to make that Life part between Birth and Death has to have just enough of the right chemical compounds to bring the right kind of sustaining nutrients required by the various cells in the body to continue to function even while they are in decline and decay. The aim of food is to delay the decay process of Life towards death for as long as possible so that the propagation of those cells can be as successful as possible in new generations. Life is incredibly selfish that way!

That's the simplistic side to the food story. The base understanding that food is necessary for my very survival and fitness to live for as long as possible, is pretty much a foregone conclusion.

Thing is - food - and I - have a complex relationship superimposed onto the mere survival one that is so in your face, its spinning obviousness is akin to a Catherine Wheel! It's somewhat dangerous and even a little bit incendiary. Food is both my saviour and my nemesis; my god and my daemon.

Love and Hate for this substance that gives me life or could just as easily kill me before my body has had a chance to live out its natural and slow decay process to a peaceful death, gives me both chills and thrills: and sometimes the order of those are mix and match to the order of the others. What gives me a thrill is likely as not to be incredibly dangerous if consumed in too great a quantity over a sustained period. What gives me chills is likely as not to be the very thing my body craves to nurture it to continued life. And vice versa.

Three years ago, I weighed in excess of 105 kilograms. For those not yet familiar with Metric measurement that equates to approximately 230 pounds (16.5 stone for the UK people out there).

Right now, I am not game to stand on the scales to see for sure what I currently weigh. About 6 months ago it was somewhere in the vicinity of 75kgs (165lbs or 11.5 stone). I suspect I may have gained in under two months, approximately 10kg (22lbs or 1.5 stone approx.).

The question I ask now is "Why?"

I am eating again! That's why.

But wasn't I always eating? Even when having lost so much weight?

Yes! I had been eating. I had been eating in a disciplined, controlled, self-denying kind of way. To lose in excess of 30kgs over the course of two and a half years, I went into a kind of mindset that essentially said "Do not eat THIS or THAT no matter how much you want to!". I eliminated a lot of the carbodhydrates from my diet. Actually I eliminated or at the very least, severely reduced the following:

Potatoes (except sweet potatoes)

I lived on rice grain products such as rice milk, and rice floured breads, meat and most vegetables. I cheated a bit on the dairy as I'm a big fan of cheese and cheese became my main "treat".

Including those restrictions, I began walking - a lot. I was going through some massive internal changes as well. My marriage was slowly disintegrating; I was seeking love in other places; I was spiritually changing some of my perspectives; I was also craving new challenges and new experiences. Essentially, the weight loss was an expression of a vast 'iceberg' effect of internal change being evidenced by a smaller external surface change - aka weight loss.

Three years on and my life is in a new place. I'm single again and I am living under very different conditions to the past life I had. I have different wants now and a very different set of priorities. I don't walk nearly as much as I did. I work in an office now which is a lot more sedentary than I've been this past three years. And - the main culprit? I eat what I want when I want even if it's not necessary or good to do so.

I'm eating not out of the need to survive but because there is no emotional set of circumstances strong enough within me to govern my sense of having to control my world.

Is my world under control now? I do feel more "content" within myself. Yes! I am a bit lonely on the romance front but that is to be expected and quite frankly - I'm getting rather used to my nice unfettered independence. The only thing I am out of control with is food.

Again I have to ask "Why?".

I do wonder if it's boredom sometimes. I wonder if it's to do with instant gratification. It may also be do to with sensual pleasure. I have always enjoyed the sensory pleasure of food. Eating is very much an "In the Moment" kind of thing. Its very present, as in "right now", is eating. It's right here, right now: a canopy of sensual experience across the spectrum of the senses. Touch, taste, sight, smell, sound. Food answers the sensual need to FEEL the physical world as real.

I live in such an intellectualised state of being most of the time - that I wonder if perhaps, I am over-eating because there is within me, a subconscious need to strike more balance between my physical reality and the intellectual/fantasy thought life I tend to adore too well. My body is literally pleading with me to balance the realm of thoughts and ideas I frequent with sensual, physical sensory experiences. My body is trying to tell me I need to breathe and ground myself into more Earth rather than continually focus on the Air of Ideas.

It's a novel thought really and one I hadn't considered until writing it just now. My body is conditioned to use food as a device for connecting to earth; for finding sensory experiences springing from the subconscious and conscious thinking I do so much.

Then there is Emotion! Watery, fluid, morphing, moving emotion. I have always said I'm an "Emotional Eater". I do eat when stressed, tired, bored, anxious, happy, content, placid, busy. The few times I don't eat are when the stress reaches a critical mass and I am physically incapable of eating too much, which was exactly the case not long after I left my marriage of 18 years in May last year. For nearly three months, I found it difficult to eat a lot at all and spent most of my time attempting to find work, crying and walking to meditate and pray about my lot in life.

Right now, I suspect my base emotional reason for over-eating all the foods that "do me no good", is the fact that I am frustrated and bored.

I have a great job! I love my job really and am enjoying the learning curve involved very much. My job is however, very Air oriented. It's almost pure intellectual thought and idea and both the absorption of idea and the dissemination of idea - hopefully as creatively and as inspiring as possible. What my job is not is very Earth. The office - meaning the people in that office - seem to subconsciously try to correct this through the use of food as a means to provide balance to our very cerebral kind of work. Interesting!

I don't need a lot of massive control in my life right now either. My house needs attention in the housework department of course but it's okay - I don't feel unduly pressing need to organise straight lines and the stuff as much as I had done in my previous home. The energy is "different" here - but that's probably a musing for another day.

Where my base frustrations are springing from and triggering my instinctive impulses to overeat certain "not-good-for-me" foodstuffs is most likely in the realm of sex and romance. It seems that I might be the kind of woman who literally needs a certain level of physical sensuality and gratification of the kind usually presented in the bedroom between lovers. That's about as delicately as I can put it without sounding too crass or TMI about it *blush*. Not just ANY kind of physical sensuality mind you - I did get very fat within a perfectly "normal" marriage after all!

No! What I mean is that I currently desire something I am simply not getting. Intimacy of the physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual kind. I am not "in love" and nor do I love anyone with enough limerence to create the endorphins my brain says are satisfying enough that I can do without the need to eat!

Part of this is the pure fantasy of romantic Hollywood style "perfected" love of course. My Knight in Shining Armour coming to whisk me away from my mundane life to one of sensual pleasure, delight and utter adoration of ME! etc etc etc T'would be nice I suppose if I wasn't also looking for someone with a good brain as well! ;)

I'm eating because I'm frustrated emotionally and romantically. Food is my drug, soothing and smoothing the edges to this frustration. It's my crutch and comforting friend when no other actually exists in my physical reality. I'm not choosing foods I CAN eat without needing to worry about gaining weight. I want to eat those foods for which the conditioned pleasure of eating them outweighs the emotional and physical sense of loss and discomfort.

I eat a lot of bread! Bread and high carbohydrate foods tend to become a looping system of addiction for me. I eat bread, I crave more bread. A little like giving up smoking, giving up bread is fraught with cravings so strong as to be almost impossible to do - at least for me. Cheese in all its varieties is another of my chosen comforters. Giving up cheese equates to a feeling of such utter depredation as to border on criminal punishment. Sugar is my final nail. Sugar is the fuel that adds the exhaustive flame to the bread and cheese debacle that is my current diet. My body is actually exhausted by the combination of these three main fuels. The more exhausted I feel, the more frustrated I am, the more likely it is I return to them seeking relief from the very thing they're creating within me.

So? How should I solve this dilemma so that I can sustain a gradual weight loss to a healthy weight zone again?

One would think that I need to eliminate the culprits from my diet! I did that. See the above "DO NOT EAT" list? I did that for not quite 12 months - that sparse and highly disciplined diet. It's not going to work for me over the long term. That kind of focus and self-denial thing isn't sustainable or wise. I can't yo-yo my weight up and down 10kgs on a constant treadmill of weight-gain then guilt then self-denial then collapsed motivation then weight-gain over the years. That would be even more unhealthy!

What I do need to do is address two things in my life.

a) I need to get more balance between sensual in-the-now physical reality and my propensity to live inside my head without resorting immediately to the foods I love to address that balance. The possible alternative may be to spend some time walking again out in nature everyday and touching the earth - literally touching it. Bark, leaves, dirt, flowers, grass. Smelling, sensing, breathing in, hearing and seeing the earth. Taking note of it and feeling it IN my body.

b) I need to examine my basic desires for romance and intimacy and how they form within me. Why do I assume subconsciously, that I am not a whole person if I do not have a partner/lover? Why do I not see the potential within me to be a whole, complete and independent woman even without a man beside me? Possible alternative is to begin telling myself deliberately that I AM worthy of love and that I AM very okay right now as I am within my own skin. I also need to come to a deep acceptance of my current circumstances and trust that whatever happens in my future, I will be very okay anyway. I may feel lonely from time to time and I may certainly need a lot more physical affection than I'd previously thought (perhaps; it may be just coz I don't have it right now that I want it and when I DO get it - I'll perversely think I don't need it anymore! *sigh* Women!) - be that as it may, my romantic frustrations can be acknowledged and identified and that latent energy put towards self-actualising goals that don't need to involve bread and sugar!

Food is such a dichotomy of both desire and subsequent repulsion for what it can do to my body, it could be something I'd talk about for quite some time. One more thing - I am currently addicted to my computer screen for the "company" of others. Strange that idea huh? That I should choose the computer, to seek intimacy and human connection. This is probably also, another blog post for another day, but I do know sort of why I use the computer in such a way. I get both the freedom of controlling my own world without having to put up with the In-your-face realities of person to person contact and I can control how I present myself (I feel more confident and constructive in text than I do in voice) and I also get quite different feedback from the intimacy of chat than I do face to face with people. Part of it is illusion and Story, the other part is being able to control the conversation to tell that Story. This environment taps into a part of my psyche that fundamentally fits with how I think and feel and perceive the world...ergo, I sit here too much seeking that feedback loop and not moving my body through space enough to burn up the bread I just ate for my tea.


Sunday, April 05, 2009

The girl who couldn't cry: Chapter 8

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7

Ariadne did not feel like eating but it was against the few rules mutants had to skip meals. She went to the servery and seated herself in her usual place. A meal was placed before her, the gravy spilling a little over the edge of her pannikin. In her mind, she was sculpting a dead tree, every nuance of the carving taking up her imagination. The throbbing inside her head had lessened significantly since she had started the dream. She was suddenly thrust back to reality by the sensation of emotions pulling in beside and across from her.

She looked at the mutant faces of the people she shared her life with. She did not love them or hate them. They were merely people who lived with pain like her.

"I'm going to sculpt a spiral from a dead tree,” she announced to the group at her supper table. "It will be my fountain of tears and with it I will mourn a river."

The group looked at her balefully and sceptically. She felt their questions and their disbelief. "I'm going to." and she began eating as if to end the matter there and then. The others looked at her for a few more moments, and then one by one they bent over their meal and ate in silence too.

Ariadne pulled her imagination forward so that all she could see were its pictures in her mind, reminiscent of, and built upon her dream - that of turning the giant dead wood thing in the imaginary lathe around and around, carving the grooves that would become the spiral of her tears.

As the pannikins emptied and the diners were satisfied, they stopped and in silence sat and bored their eyes into Ari trying to fathom if she had gone mad or if this was yet another mere moan regarding her plight. Ari could feel the rising heat of enquiry poking her in the spot behind her eyes like laser swords.

“What’s wrong with paper and charcoal?” Said the round shaped young woman at the end of the table. It was a pertinent question. The charcoal alone, being black market and extremely valuable a commodity, was enough to warrant jealousy of Ari’s abilities to use it. No one else in their Section could draw like this Ariadne modification could so many denied themselves such extravagances as charcoal by virtue of not being able to do such a commodity justice. Paper on the other hand, was still a common device. Available to everyone in every section of the laboratory, it carried no special merit save that it was made not from wood anymore, but from papyrus.

The civilised world had turned full circle in many ways and the ancient plant, once used by the Egyptians thousands of years ago was now used again, only with much faster and more efficient harvesting and processing techniques. Of course it was genetically modified to endure conditions its ancient predecessor could not. It was whiter, thinner, hardier and far more resilient to moisture and mould. Normal Humans paid a premium price for this paper; it was considered a luxury outside the Perspex cages of the laboratory. Mutants used it as people had historically used – and abused – paper in the century preceding them, with no compunctions about wasting it.

“Nothing is wrong with paper and charcoal, Carol,” Ari replied, looking up at the speaker and feeling the jealousy and envy pour from every cell in Carol’s rotund frame. “I simply want to carve the tears I cannot shed into a spiral on a dead tree.”

“But, Why?” Asked the James Modification, the gills at the sides of his neck flapping as he spoke.

“Because I want to!” Ariadne could feel her anger beginning to rise. She needed to escape these people. They couldn’t - and wouldn’t - listen to her and she could feel their frustration and distrust of her as a firebrand on her mind. Because…I…want…to!” She reiterated the words slowly and deliberately to try and make it clear.

The bell sounded to announce the end of their meal and they each rose from their places, taking their pannikins and cutlery and dumping them with a cacophony of metallic thuds into the dish bins as they exited the mess hall. No one spoke or commented to Ari as they left, but she could feel them. She could feel their questions; their mistrust, their envy and she determined once more, to carve her tears so they’d finally know what it meant to not be able to cry.

... To be continued. (I hope)

Saturday, April 04, 2009

The mystery of emotional attachment to animals

Sevvie is our 6 month old moggy. A cat of no fixed pedigree who came into our lives on a whim one fine November day in 2008.

I had originally called him "4711", that being the date we got him, all wobbly back legs and tiny thing of fluff and innocence. Four legs arriving on the 7th of the 11th. Seven being shortened version of said weird name for a cat and "Sevvie" being the normalised version of "seven" which is apparently only cool for StarTrek beauties so far as names go!

So, anyway... he's been re-named "Severus" by my teenage daughter who deems fantasy stories about wizards far more normal than names derived from logical naming tools such as file date numbering systems! We can still call him "Sevvie" as a result in this twist in the furry tale (sic).

Sevvie is ostensibly an "indoors" cat. I had every passionate intention of keeping Sevvie an indoors cat permanently.

Sadly, young Severus is as dodgy in character as the person in said fantasy literature, and increasingly attempted absconding outdoors as often as practicably possible.

Finally, I relented! I let him outside to "go play", after a long and active session of "Bug the Mama, while she sleeps" session in the early hours of this morning.

I'm currently so tired now on my Saturday off, I've hardly done much at all. I was awoken by naughty kitten at 0430 with screen climbing, curtain hopping, Mama pouncing, computer rampaging, and general episodic attempts to chase naughty kitten from bedroom. Then came three hours of scratching at my bedroom door.

Squirting with the water pistol has had limited success. It basically sucks because I STILL have to get up to sevvie to do the actual squirting for scratching at the door of our rented house! Most annoying at 0530 I can tell you!

So, I let Sevvie outside to a world beyond his control and experience. He enjoys himself and meets another cat who surveils Sevvie with all the caution of an older cat patronising an impertinent young upstart!

Suddenly, an hour slipped by and lo and behold, Sevvie is missing. My mood, already beaten into a pulp by lack of restful sleep and abject general "blue'ness" dived! I felt awful.

I sobbed even!

I had wanted to kill this kitten only two hours previous and now that it was missing I was mortified. Not only did I count the cost in dollars recently spent on surgical bills for Sevvie, I hadn't taken into account the impact such a critter makes in one's life thus far.

Sevvie has literally become a member of my immediate family. It seems like "overnight" and yet it's 6 months. It is literally like having a baby in many ways. I felt so responsible for this animal! So heart-sick guilty for the rashness of my responses to its behaviours.

Thankfully, Sevvie was found. He'd gotten lost in the neighbours back yard and had no idea how to find his way home! Such is the way of kids. They get distracted and take no notice of land marks to find their way home again, they're always lost in the eternal moment of new discoveries and new friends to chase.

Sevvie must have realised not long after finding himself in the wrong backyard that he really wasn't as ready for big outside adventures as he'd assumed. No doubt he'll forget all of this learning curve tomorrow and want to go outside again!

The Mama in the mean time has to figure out how to stay one step ahead of early-rising felines if only to prevent the early morning angst that threatens dire consequences on furry black hides.

Friday, April 03, 2009

cloud cuckoo's pine for the fjiords too

I live in the future a lot. I plot and plan, design and idealise phantasms of perfection in my work habits, my romantic aspirations and my personal development.

I want to be perfectly formed physically, glowingly attractive both within and without - whilst still enjoying cold pizza for breakfast on lazy Saturday mornings.

I want to be with 'The Perfect Partner', who "gets" my every mood. You know? A man who can read my mind to know what my mood is at any given moment - and know how to accommodate it ;)

I want to be highly organised and efficient in the daily running of my duties and responsibilities, so much so that people will clamour for my organisational expertise, paying deliciously large sums of money for the privilege, while I pay for a gardener and a house-cleaner to tidy up after my perfectly anonymous quiet life at home.

I want to have a new super green, hydrogen fuel cell car, parked in the garage of a big, beautiful low-energy use house so I can join and invite strangers from around the globe to share their travel tales with my children and me in homely and world-changing civility and cross-cultural understanding.

I want a "firm" pocket spring mattress and base set bed for my nice lean and well exercised back after I've been out walking for 10kms every day.

I want the perfect tattoo, designed by my own hand from my own innovative concept in the perfect centre of my lower back where it will be discreet and only viewable by the very, very, privileged few.

I want an inner city serviced apartment in the CBD of Melbourne overlooking Southbank with large east facing windows and a balcony overlooking the river.

I want to write the 21st century version of a "Gone with the Wind" epic so timeless and classic, it will outlive my Great Grand Children. And every day I shall struggle and labour to write the words for this blog, beautifully, coherently; inspiring others through my experiential musings.

Oh yes! I have a lot of fantasies.

Now, many in the professional development industry might say that if these were genuine desires, nothing should be able to stop me from intending and creating them as a part of my reality. It's a nice theory. It apparently works for some too so I won't quibble too much.

Obviously, I haven't properly mastered that little bit of fluff between intention and realisation yet. I'm a work in progress I guess.

So? What do I really want?

If everything in the above list was mine to have, what else would there be left to want? Family, friends and faith notwithstanding, what else in my Cloud-Cuckoo Land could I possibly want?


High-quality stationery! That's what I want.

I decided it today. I decided that if I lived in a perfect world with the "right" man and the "right" house and had the "right" income as well as the "right" level of business acumen, I would want a beautiful, elegant, gorgeously designed concept stationery store where I could sell people the most astonishing array of quality paper ephemera.

Thing is...I wouldn't sell "just" paper...I'd be helping people! People who also had a love of fine stationery, like - glowing, gorgeous, sweet, elegant me, all beautiful and lean in a black pencil skirt, naturally tanned elongated looking legs in black patent leather Manolo Blahnik's, and a white button down pure linen blouse - me, with the stationery supplies they needed to create mastery of their own aspirations.

Beautiful paper notepads, filing supplies, pens and planners...

ahhhh...such heavenly bliss!

I'd help them own a Moleskine too :)

........................In a perfect world!

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

1000 buzzes

It's late and the sleepy, eyes-half-closed quality of horizontal avoidance threatens to lay me flat despite the insistence to remain up. I am resisting sleep and yet I must. A thousand thoughts burble and bumble their way across the canvas of Ideas. Things to do. To say. To be. To want. To buy. To sell. To think. To read. To muse. To blog.

Things too innumerable to be anything but transient, soft buzzes. Buzzes akin to an errant mosquito against the ear late at night when its dark. The sound burrs inside your brain large and insistent but reach out to SMACK it down.. and you will fail...everytime.

No such capture device exists to slam down these bursting-with-sound mosquitoes of thought. No notebook or digital device can lay its thick, solid permanence to transitory murmurings of eclectic, passing, tiny, large, insouciant, pressing, niggling, angling, careering, noisome thoughts.

If I wrote, I'd write for a hundred lifetimes. Lists. Lists so long they'd wind the sands of the Sahara into clouds of watery tears, begging me to stop with the lists, the words, the hapzard and non-sensical array of buzzing thoughts in my head.

Some would say to turn off this mind-trap of aMusement. But I won't. It is a vibe for the moment and nothing more. A creative bursting of mosquitoey bubbles of sound, flexing their syllabic muscles and capturing words into coherent messages for the future read.

One thousand buzzing ideas and ideas about ideas and thoughts about thoughts and then thinking thoughts about thoughts of ideas, all spinning like crazy string, electric taut and buzzing.... a mind without edges, print or byte expanding beyond the reaches of the known Mosquito Universe...

bzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzz.....