Making Love...or

Playing Cricket 

What does he feel

as he grips the willow…firmly, lovingly

and faces the challenge?

The ball

that spins and tricks and flies..

and are his eyes

inside?

Judging, measuring

timing the connection,

then his moment of truth!

Sweet sound of ball on wood.

full and centered.

Eyes following all the while

as it moves

True, low and fast.

Now an ally.

A flurry of white as he goes for two

Beating the quick return

And crossing the crease

To breathe once more.

Checking the placings of his men.

A scene of grace and strength and skill

Yet…underneath

For me, at least…a tension

Beating, pulsing to the rhythm

Of the heat, the ball, the hand, the eye

The man

lina

Sex, Intimacy and Social Mores

I realise that the media and society in general is eager to use words like "sex' and "celibacy:, yet "intimacy" seems to have been mislaid.
WHo of us does not wish for that elusive state, shared with another of our species.
Sometimes, we have to take risk, find our self worth, recognise and salute our innate priorities and just turn our backs on the social mories and common denominator that informs our generations with such meagre, small minded and essentially damaging
guidelines and "acceptable" behaviours.

I think that intimacy is more than just emotional closeness. I believe there needs to be a congruence of minds...a shared level of intelligence as well as a determined desire to be one's own person.

I shudder at the idea that some people have regarding marriage...as if two can become one.
It is insulting to both parties and totally unrealistic.
The question is not in the "understanding" of someone! (Why would anyone want to try?) It is also not "needing to be understood!"
The question should be do I have the capacity to accept the qualities of the person with whom I MAY be able to share some special times and thoughts.

A wonderful event

The Mullet Run
The air and sea have made a deal to soothe the sweet Pacific. Awareness is everywhere… in the rain drops, on the dripping foliage of the wattle trees and in the memory of the soft shelled crab awaiting his new carapace.
Awareness is everywhere and becomes tangible. There is the scent of the wet burnt eucalypts hanging in the air…hanging like that dream I failed to remember even though I thought I had.
Birdsong and happiness splits the air as the world says goodbye to summer.
This is a bounteous place. A place pleading to tell a secret. A secret involving gravity, and latitude, salinity and atmosphere.
The summer rains are finished and the mullet are coming.
From the backwaters of creeks and lakes, rivers and estuaries, flows this silver stream, with twitches of fins and twists of tails.
In every year of my life this ancient rite has occurred. Year after year, the dance of silver is refined until the choreography is more heart stopping than any recollection, any act of love, any prayer granted.
Lakes and river and all waterways take colour as the weeks of summer rain cease… browns and grey, greens and umbers as the salt water becomes brackish.
Shoals of mullet have been growing quietly and undisturbed in the safety of the waterways. It is time. The collective culture of this species now shows its willingness to pit itself against life.
If you are lucky, your eyes will be filled with silver. This is the time of dreams, of magic….a time of waiting and remembering the laughs of years gone by.
Mullet. The humblest of fish! They come determined to reach the open seas.
A stream of solid silver makes its way out. A marine Milky Way. A stream so solid you could stride across in heavy boots or tap shoes.. Wreathes of silver scales wash upon the shores while this monster flash of living light makes its own music as it snakes into the bay.
The urgency to leave one phase of life to pursue the next is a statement…a lesson to all of us. These strips of mercury must mate only in the open sea. They fill the day with their light and endless reflections and the following morning we find the shimmering, glistening waves of silver scales washed up, abandoned like clothes not needed…jewels spilt on the sand.

YASI

While my heart is sad for all the people being terrorised by this magnificent cyclone, I cannot help being thrilled by the power of Nature. At the same time as this once in a 100 year Cat 5 cyclone, we have a heatwave in NSW and fires in Victoria.
It is quite easy to picture future Aussies becoming environmental refugees. The planet will only destruct in its own time...we have helped destroy our time on this wonderful planet.
ALl I can do that makes sense is continue to comserve , save, and leave a small footprint...all of which only assuages my soul. On the other hand, I intend to apply and receive my second country's citizenship papers and passport so that all my future bloodline can at least have an option.

Christmas

If one person reads this and as a result goes out of his/her way to be more considerate than usual, I will feel pleased. I ponder on the small amount of influence a person like me, has, on society...the welfare of mankind.
I am like a pebble thrown into a busy waterway.
My ripple is eaten up by greater currents and whirlpool. I imagine the days when the world was still so unpopulated that each person bore weight and influence. Now we seem destined to accept the fact that media and advertising are the strands that make up the fabric of our communities, societies...our worlds.
My conclusion is always the same and sounds so mundane. It is to be kind, be peaceful, be just and honest and hope that others are doing the same.

Dawn

Dawn.
Layers of grey mist swirled and coiled across the bay as the sun poked fingers of light from the horizon. They hesitated, then lifted to reveal the desolate old pier…a shadowy structure that lurched crookedly out into the water. It stood on fifteen and a half barnacle encrusted legs. The timbers, which were bare and grey as old bones and polished splinterless by ages of sun and salt, caught the soft gold and pink of sunrise, as though specially painted for the day.
A girl sat hunched against the early morning chill, a sole figure on the deserted curve of beach, chewing the stem of a piece of washed-up seaweed and facing the panorama of sunrise. The taste and smell of salt and old sea things were familiar, yet as exciting as the ocean itself and the start of a new day. In this small part of the world, on this morning, she was the only world alive and the beauty was hers alone.
At one end of the pier old lobster pots and fish traps lay heaped against each other in a haphazard pile of rusted wire netting and weathered slats of wood. Pieces of rotting ropes damgled from the pilings, frayed and stiff with salt and casting twisted shadows on the surface below.
In this dark safety beneath the pier, small schools of silver bream and whiting flashed and wheeled in intricate formations of discipline and survival. An occasional vee-shaped ripple bespoke a larger predator and all movement ceased. Tiny crabs scurried around the pilings, their stalky eyes black and protruding. Legs waving and claws grabbing, they carried on their disjointed dance of survival.
A single gannet swooped low, skimming across the surface, then banked abruptly and headed to its roost on the top of the cave on the lava cliff. Light caught the tips of its wing feathers and for a second he was clearly outlined against the black face of the cliff.
She watched the never ending motion of the sea which rolled gently like a giant pudding simmering in a saucepan. Noises, muted in the early hours now slashed through the stillness. Greedy gulls fought and bickered, circling frantically at the shoreline as they scavenged for food.
The old pier creaked and moaned, protesting against the onslaught of high tide.
Two dark clad fishermen strolled along the beach, their voices deep and gruff and the acrid smell of their cigarette mingled harshly with that of fresh salt breeze.
Colours were suddenly clear and bright. Dawn was over and day was beginning.

Glory

Glory is a word I learned as a small child.
I learned it in relation to God and creation and other magical spiritual things.
It has always been a word without a visual for me. I could never see "glory".

I became a "glory-seeker" most of my life and now I watch the dawn, the rivers, the sky and small things like raindrops, and smile at the glory of it all.