And then she twists... pull up a chair, if you dare....


As we go about our ways, accumulating, gathering, adding and subtracting, we develop a picture.

Ghostlike this sense of 'other' manifests itself.
It takes on form, although not solid.

This Shadowself, this almost, but not quite, tangible form,
has facets that are familier.

Every instance of powerless terror, of impotent rage, of licentious envy, and vitriolic contempt, resides there.

Every unacceptable darkness of persona seeps from the very pores of this Shadowself.

Crossing into the darkside of Self, of embracing Shadow, being absorbed into the currents of elemental blackness repulses.

Intense sensations arise; of violence, of catastrophic rage, of roaring seething desires to destroy.

Of death, and suicide, of carnal dementia -
all of these too... just below the surface, in Shadowself.

Do you recognise yourself?
Do you nod in greeting, as one would, an anonymous neighbour?

Or look in appalled horror at this inconceivable truth
that resides within us all?

Will you dance with this Shadowself in the underworld
of You?

Those that cover their eyes, to the utter abhorrence,trembling, and cringing, away from Shadowself, do themselves a disservice.

Those that choose to bow, and accept the embrace of Shadowself,
who take the lead in this dance of discovery, soon discover darkness loses interest.

Shadowself can be a demanding partner, vying for your attentions, consistently, persistantly demanding this dance.

Over and over the fascination will draw one... the violent lover, the seduction of horror stories, promiscuous self gratifying sex.

Manipulations, and envies crowding for favours.
Drugs, alcohol, food, escapism, tempting and taunting.

Desperate to avoid Shadowself, we fill up on these, attempting to trick the truth of the underworld into passing us by.

There are no Shadows cast, without light. A lightness of Soul, and acceptance, of having taken the dance of darkness, is the only way to remove Shadow.

Burn so bright, that there is no space left, to create Shadowself. By doing this, we live a pure existance.


Become the truth which resides in us all
the Light, and the Dark.

WoW!!! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh (( Lee )) I am in awe ,, and shall await more,,,

Double Bump!!!

"oh i like that!!"

How do I know you?

How does water recognise wetness?

How does sand know it's a sandcastle?

How does the wind know it is the storm?

That's how I know you.


As ice becomes fluid,

As stone becomes sand,

As tempest becomes gentle breeze,

That's how I know you.


For in you there is me,

And in me there is you.

We all journey somewhere.
A journey is never over,
It just enters a new room
We but sit upon the lip of beginning.

Footprints are seeds, are words,
Each kernel rooting, branching to another
or dying where it lies.

The paths we've trodden are sown furrows.
Who knows the gardens, forests, fields sprung
far behind us,
That we may enter years hence and
Never recognise as work of our own spawning?

Each footprint the child of it's predecessor
A freedom of direction but not of place
Unable to erase what has come before
But of infinite influence on what will follow.


At journey's end, at evening
Arriving in a remote town
I walk through deserted streets
To a certain house, knock upon it's door
And only as it opens do I see.......
I stand upon my own doorstep
And beyond the threshold
A road descends anew
Through a landscape I left
so long ago." - from The Book of Flying.

The sea's utter lust eats at the shores of my skin.
Here at last I can be lonely.

The sky has spilled all it's secrets
and the crabs have gathered them into their caves.
The horizon drags my own secrets out with the tide
out beyond the islands.

Here I can believe the world has an end
that if I swim out far enough
I'd plunge across the brink
and fall through thickets of stars.

Even the universe, it is said, has walls.
Out beyond the twilights keeping
a door lies open.

I'd like to stand there with my back to all the light looking out,

...........................and take a step.

Art is thievery.
A painter is a pickpocket,
His fingers accustomed to deceit.
He does not lie with his tongue
but instead on paper and canvas.

The world succumbs to his untruths
so that they become truths.

A painter makes a life more beautiful,
Daily his eyes steal beauty,
And return it enhanced.

A painter's loyalty is to his heart,
His heart follows his hands, his hands follow his eyes,
And his eyes move on.

so many good reads here

i love it when it comes back up

Growing Pains

When all I know is nothing
when all I do is wrong
when the turn is but a pivot....

I'm a mother.

When the fabric of my heart tears
when these arms ache long and loud
when the darkest hours are my companions...

I'm a mother.

When I blink and you're an adult
when I cast about for wisdom
when I hold your anguish for you....


I'm a mother.

I do so agree with you, Kace...........

popping in ... sitting a spell ...

here it 'tis!

Music blasts through speakers
Echoing through the silent sentinals
Of wattle and eucalypt..

Bright halogen arcs
Across the planes of night
Pushing back the shadow of audience.

A harem of colour and perfume
Ascends the stage, jangles of metal
And twitters.

The lure of ancient egypt wafts
As 30 modern concubines express
Their feminine craft.


Five small women/childs enter
Clothed in the black night
A flash of gold and pink lips.

These five young beauties twirl
Flexing hips and toes, shy smiles
And jaunty angles.


Tumbling backwards into history,
Blended with tribal mirth
Ululations reverberate amongst the voyeurs.

Intense, profound, energised in the witnessing.






************************
(Rhi, my youngest daughter (11yrs) performed with four of her friends, and thirty bellydancers, at a festival, and they fused bellydancing, and hoop fusion into a dance of drama and mystique, and purity...* hoop fushion, dancing whilst hulahooping...intensely clever and unique*)

Some of the most terrifying moments in our world comes when we have logic dissappear and authenticity appear.

All those 'things', ( Heart, Love,) we desperately move away from, avoid and distract from, at all costs... are the very things we so desperately desire.

Closeness, acceptance, constance...connection on levels we cannot begin to describe, are presented to us, in every form available to this human experience, and most times we run from them.

Is it we are not ready? Ill prepared?

Goodness no!

When stuck in the parameters of societal doingness, we sell our souls short, to be less, for the illusion of acceptance.

When we look past the what of life, and collapse into the who of life.... everything, absolutely everything melts away....

In it's place is the stillness, the esctatic joy, the vibrant carnivale of life... the allowance of being in the moment...

No requirements to avoid now.... no filling up on past, future, past, future constant thinking.

One discovers the totality of everything, the inter-connectness of everything, that this illusion of individuality, this separateness, dissolves...and once again, we are one.


It's a great place to be.

****Cough !!! Cough!!!****


Just dusting, will be back soonish...

Loves dark bruise consumes the tender sound
of immense minutes showering wild secret
tendrils through cracked summer lace.

Run with blossomed tongue across the page
of burning memories
but let not all bouquet be spilled by morning song.

Withold an avenue that winds around
the evenings pronounced as wasted dreams
see the man using dirtfuls of people
as they stagger through their dry afterburn of empty life.

Leave only your skin.

Amidst the gums where the soft wind moaned
And sang their songs to the dust
I picked the flower from the tallest reed
growing out of a charred black husk.

On the shadowed bank of the lazy creek
as the stars reclaimed their sky
I cried for the heart of the Jabiru
whose calls got no reply.