Monthly Archives: December 2020

The Day My Brain Exploded

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In the closing hours of this day, I have called friends, had a beer and now sit to do what I love (other than drinking beer!)…. write.

I have rambled more in recent days than I have for some time. For this rambling if unread, scorned or ridiculed, I am grateful and lucky.

It was two years ago today, a few hours before now that my ‘brain exploded.’ I had a brain aneurysm and think but for the grace of God I may have died. Statistically everything was against me. But….

I was in Adelaide – no ambulance to the local under resourced hospital and the overworked doctors and nurses; no waiting for the 45 minute flight to Adelaide – basically if this happened, here in Berri, I am sure, I was a dead man.

The ambos arrived at the small family gathering we were having in Norwood and I was in care shortly after and stuff being pumped into me to save my life.

To me, this was a blur; and for some time the days after; I still walk many times a day into a room and can’t remember why I went there, I lose things a lot.

But, I remember; not for some time, that at the time I was having the brain explosion, I was not scared. My family was with me and I was a peace.

So on Jesus’s Birthday two years ago they got the Makita out and drilled into my head.

A lady, who I saw was a healer spoke to me before and said she would save my life. I am a sceptic but I believed her. I have spoken to her since in her office with an entire wall covered with ‘thank you’ cards.

Her name is Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden.

I am still grateful to her and tell her receptionist that at my next appointment I will ask her to marry me: our appointments are often rescheduled as she is saving someone elses life – plus I am worried about the age gap?

My brain exploding changed my life – other than never being able to find my keys.

I saw that the ‘well’ decide what the sick really needed in rehab – and I checked myself out twice and was nasty to people, but no more than I saw the suffering of those who have lost everything.

I was angry, demanding and offensive (after all I had a brain injury)… maybe it was just that all my life long ‘governors’ were off.

People I loved came to see me; having three ex partners standing by your bedside all at the same time can seem like a nightmare, but: old mates came; young mates came…. and I wrote crazy stuff in my journal and pushed my wife away.

My sister travelled to be with me.

My daughters held my hand.

… and then I went home.

I have been here since and found that death is not something that is now a stranger to me… I wrote my epitaph several times in hospital and rehab (for the short time I stayed there – checking myself in and out …?) and it was not good?

My wife left me, my heart broke worse than my head had, and I broke with it.

My friends, my band of brothers, my guardian angel daughters saved me.

I went to the Rural and Remote ward in Glenside Hospital. I was humbled, lost and sad. (I love my Band of Brothers but the tricky bastards got me locked up because they knew I would con my way out!!!)

My Pastor friend Toh Sang Ng visited me…
My daughters and band of brothers visited me…
Old mates of heart and courage visited me…

I bought smokes, and popcorn, and watched movies, with friends I would never have met, had my brain not exploded.

I found something else; I found me. Not the one I hadn’t mostly liked, but the one I was looking for and knew was there from one of the last things my Mum said to me before she passed away… “You are a good man.”

My Mum was wise and loved God and I am certain was loved right back. It wasn’t until after my brain exploded that I realised that my Mum wasn’t telling me who I was, but who I could become.

I just always remember that Colonel Sanders didn’t start KFC until he was 65 years old, that, I realised I still had a chance.

I wrote a lot of apology letters to the Doctors and Nurses, to my wife, family and friends; some things can’t be mended and must only be forgiven.

… and time passed…. not long, but enough for me to realise that all the bullshit of knowledge and wisdom in these writings (although I must admit, rather eloquently and inspirationally written..) lacked the spirit that I wrote about – the connection to something bigger than me – I knew it was there as Eckart Tolle had told me so, YouTube clips told me so, the Art of War told me how to kill those who told me so, The Art of Peace told me how to do it with a stick and not actually hurt anyone during a fight (?), my mate Made in Bali taking me to the temples and dressing up in the garb told me so, the Philosophers I read and read told me so, my old mate Toh Sang told me so.

So, I didnt need to reach out, I just had to understand what I had always know.

And… I did.
Now I have the life I always felt but didn’t quite know; like waking from a dream that you can’t quite remember but know it was a good one (Not the flying dream, because that one is always a bit scary!)

So, now two years after my brain exploded (and thanks to Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden’s skill, I have maintained my stunning good looks)… I am grateful and lucky.

I post only the picture of Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden in this post as most of the pictures I would otherwise share are inside my head and can never be printed as they would so underestimate the things I have seen, experienced and begun to understand.

The best part, is that I still falter about 1000 times a day (about the same amount of times I have looked for my car keys – this week!)… it teaches me that the past is gone, I try to learn from it: the future is unwritten (please see the Movie Donny Darko because at any minute like him, a jet engine could fall through your roof and kill you), I have a plan, but it will most probably not turn out that way…. but, mostly my life is consumed by trying to appreciate the moment I am now in.

I want to thank all you dudes who have travelled with me on this trek, before and after my brain exploded; and especially to those who have helped me with my baggage, or even carried me when needed; and mostly, for seeing the things in me my Mum did.

In life you rarely get BIG second chances – I got one (please don’t stuff it up Ian!!!)…

I believe what I believe, which before I just thought I understood….
I live now, like today, is my last day (and forget most days and live like a rock star…?)…
I forgive easily, I hope more…
I think I love more, better, and deeper…
I write bad poetry….
I try to be kind…

I know my story is just one of many that in the past I wouldn’t have really listened to because I was too eager to talk myself…

I have time now:

I have every moment until I shuffle from this mortal coin; where you all come to say goodbye and note that their is no trailer on my hearse, as I have left it all behind;

I just hope, I leave something more behind, than all the fantastic, magnificent unfinished projects in my shed and my bad poetry….

Thank you, for my second chance.

Our Trek – to Our Town…

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So here it is…

That is a weird start to any post….. considering it is pointing out the obvious: but so often the obvious is hidden, literally in plain sight?

A few nights ago I found the courage to sit and write again: publicly I mean: not in the beloved confines of my shed with pens, chalk, markers on pieces of recycled cardboard (often beer and cider boxes): but on my long lamented blog.

I had a thought a few days ago when a trek I had been on, took a turn that I did not expect.

I have been working on a project for a year, called the ‘Out Town’ initiative. I have no inclination to explain it all here and will place ‘strategic’ links to The Fay Fuller Foundation (click here for all the info), TACSI (I just wrote that as my reminder that I despise acronyms…. The Australian Centre for Social Innovation – click here for these super dudes) and a myriad of other organisations, individuals and communities that have a hope, vision, drive and purpose to make our world a better place.

“Our Town” in a Nut Shell

Is an initiative to provide rural towns in South Australia with the guidance (through TACSI) and the financial backing (through the Faye Fuller Foundation – okay I hate acronyms but from here on referred to as FFF) to set our own courses to the future, to have towns (and regions) which are well; I interpreted that both physically and mentally; even in regards to prosperity and thriving; to a mutually agreed future.

The above is but an understated ‘quote’ of what these two organisations have offered us; mostly, to me, they have offered me hope in our community.

Yes, wonderfull words, but backed up, as all good mates do, with deeds.

After our initial application, which was submitted by hard working visionaries in our community, we were short listed to the final 6 towns.

Now let’s get this into perspective.….
We were short listed to receive funding for ten years, consisting of $300,000 per year, to fulfil the plan that our town would come up with. …. not sadly, but graciously the Faye Fuller Foundation was going to fund two towns of the 6 ‘finalists’.

… and then the world changed: Kangaroo Island: our States southern jewel was devastated by bushfires……

The FFF in wisdom and generosity, gave one of the ten year funding grants to Kangaroo Island.

… and there are people in this world, organisations that you hope exist, and they step forward…. that do things you would never expect (but, secretly always wish they did and that person or organisation actually existed…)

The FFF decided to still provide the funding for two town of the 5 towns….!!!

It them became even more than we could have ever hope for in todays world:
The FFF, then provided us with the guidance and mentoring of TACSI, and unbelievable $45,000.00 in ‘seed funding’ to help us put our final ‘town plan’ together and …. then gave us a year to do it.

We worked hard, and people got tired and their community picked them up and gave them a rest; always finding someone to take their place. AND, and a big AND, we learned about ourselves, we learned about our towns, we learned about doing things differently, we learned to ask for help, we learned to fail, we learned to accept that there was no right answer, we learned to plan and design and implement, not from the board room, the committee, or the financiers ….but to do all this from a chat with a mate, the park bench, the neighbour we have never spoken to, the invisible, the lost, lonely and forgotten members of our towns. (See a lot more detail and our town ‘insights’ on our Facebook page – click here)

We chatted, we talked, we went and spoke to our neighbours, people we had never met (and even now we know there are people we have not yet met… but want to…)…

… and I speak just for me here; I found a new way of doing things: I met mentors who were half my age; I saw with wonder the fantastic young people in our community; I learned, and learned and learned; each day knowing the more I learned, mostly only taught me how much I didn’t know and still had to learn….

All the ‘finalist’ worked towards their plans, for their community for their people for their future….

… again I stopped and wondered about all the tings that I ‘knew to be true‘ crumbling as I watched….

All these ‘competitors’… left no one behind; they shared their visions, their ideas, their insights, their failures…. the towns were not competing, but travelling on a trek that we were all going on; carrying our baggage; on the hard days carrying each others… it wasn’t a competition it was a community.

And on the last day the ‘winning’ towns were chosen: and the congratulations were as soul felt as the commiserations.

… and the FFF had decided at the last minute to give another town the ten year funding… is there no better gift than that which is given freely…. and so generous, and so unexpected

There were two towns that missed out…
And we were one….

But, the FFF and TACSI had still found us funding for one year of $100,000.00 and the promise, of which I have no doubt, to support us.

Just about me….

As I sat and listened to the announcement from the FFF that other towns had received the funding, I sat back and looked at the disappointment in our teams face…. it was strange…. I saw, also complete acceptance and gratitude, joy for the other towns… and determination, we would not let our town down and would go on… in that moment I wrote the following on my phone (I love pen and paper but I am learning to be ‘techno-savvy’):

Our Town
1300: just found out we missed out on the Our Town big grant….. wow, didn’t think I’d be this ‘hit’ by it…..


Now: it becomes a real challenge to make a difference when we are not able to splash cash around…  which rarely solves anything…. it just feeds egos and often attracts the wrong people…  now we have no choice, but, to have this driven, from the park bench, the shed, the blockies, the ones that need us the most….. the people we have not yet met and are wanting to meet….

Now, we work for us: for our Real town: real people and not key words, phrases and trendy idioms …. I know in this town we have wisdom and knowledge: champions and characters: history and stories …. all of which are ours, they are our community, our family, and we bear the scars.

I think we have actually won more by not getting the money: we get to not give up: we get to continue our trek with all our baggage, and the more we have collected along the way: but, we have a whole lot more people to help us carry it….  we have people, groups, an entire town who are hungry and have the appetite to make the changes we want and need….

… and I still mean this: I am tired; I have bad days where the troubles of my life seem more important than my neighbours; but, mostly, in this trek that continues, I know I can not go on without my neighbour…. even if I don’t like them; or I envy them; or they wronged me in the past; they, in some fashion, are still my neighbour, and do I want to actually go on without them…..

In the days that followed, particularly the day after, I nursed my hangover, because at the time I was drinking with my mate Wayne who had been hurt in the days before and will be recovering for the months to come…. and I walked home through my town and was glad to be there.

Fait, is a wonderful thing: so long as it is in your favour….

The next day I read this (I read a lot and a lot of what I read bewilders me and some times inspire me….)

The Best Seed

There once was a farmer who grew the most excellent wheat. Every season he won the award of the best in his area.

A wise woman came to him to ask him about his success.

He told her that the key was sharing his best seed with his neighbours so they could plant the seed as well.

The wise woman asked, “How can you share your best wheat seed with you neighbours when they compete with you every year?”

“That’s simple” the farmer replied “The wind spreads the pollen from everyone’s wheat and carries it from field to field. If my neighbours grow inferior wheat, cross-pollination, would degrade everyones wheat, including mine. If I’m to grow the best wheat, I must help my neighbours grow the best wheat, including mine”

The wise woman learned a lesson and left better for her visit from the farm: as she walked away she thought to be wise is always to learn from where you least expect it.

…. and I sat on this thought, and all my thoughts that spin around inside my head… I often say my head is a dangerous place and I never go there alone: I think any trek, whether in the wild unknowns, or inside your own head, requires the company of those you trust; perhaps the person just next door, your neighbour.

So I thought I’d ask a question of my neighbours….

“If we were on a trek and there was just the 6 companions, friends, neighbours heading for different destinations but all on the same pilgrimage; what would I do as a fellow traveller.

We had set out together, with the same goal, but provisioned differently. Four of us had 3 apples, but two had but a small portion of an apple, which to continue would have to be eaten on the first day of our 10 day journey.

Would my four companion travellers each give one of their apples so that we all had 2 apples to journey onwards together?

Each sharing their bounty, evenly; so that all could continue on the journey together; equally nourished, each supporting the other; each pollinating each others fields, so that all may grow the best crops”

I think we all have stories, we all have stories yet unwritten.

Our pervious stories, if we listen, teach us lessons; so that the next step we take is a better one, in the right direction, with the right companions, for the right reasons.

I know tomorrow when I wake up, I will move that one thing, I will take that one step, I will continue my trek; after all what else is there; there is the joy of sharing it with a neighbour who has become a friend.

Writing….

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I still actually write and dont just use the keyboard and screen.

Some of you may have in the past; and still receive my handwritten letters on real paper. I also keep a journal and have done so since I was about 15 years old; okay, I may miss a few days here and there (well sometimes weeks, months, years) but I always come back to it.

I cut up cardboard to about the size of a playing card (good recycling!) and have stacks of them around the house. I use them for making little notes, jotting down ideas or even the original reason for doing it, writing a shopping list. In the shed I also have these little cards (and in the car) but, in the shed I have bigger pieces of cardboard cut from beer and cider packaging, which I make my ‘shed’ notes on – plans, measurements etc.

And… in the late of the night, I use these larger ones to write poetry?

I learned the art of recycling little pieces of paper to make ideas bigger, plans clearer and a place to actually put a pen to a piece of squashed wood, found in a broken carton or beer box, from a friend: a lifelong friend: for which I will be forever grateful (although now I have more stacks of little pieces of cardboard and paper than meaningful thoughts!)

… and now I sit and write (very close to a friend of mines birthday?) and think about why it is that I often write, knowing, but hoping, that others may read what I …. muse about.

… in addition there are many stacks of these little cards: and perhaps tooooo many of the larger cards with my poetry, that I don’t share: I think perhaps in the new year I will post them regularly so-as you may suffer, as I have, in writing them….

I have but a few days until the celebration of the birthday of a mate (and gratefully the day before the birthday of my always stalwart sister Cheryl)… I think in this time, other than packing my bags to travel to the big city; where I look forward to spending time with friends and family, I will perhaps not trouble myself with those thoughts that seem to engulf our lives, particularly mine; for no purpose other than pain, or anguish, or regret, or the imagined sinister nature of the future yet untold… I think, I will spend that time writing things that are honest, meaningful and do not preach but tell a story, of from now until then.

I have missed writing, although I have been doing it so long… and since the theft of my beloved diary (not my Journal as that would be just tooooo harsh!); I have, well no, I am, attempting to enter a digital age of writing that travels with me, is saved in the cloud (where ever that is) and I know will be a place I can come to, hide perhaps, but always access, the writings, that I love so much.

In doing that, today I posted a letter (I think I paid too much for the postage… it changes all the time and I have outdated rolls of stamps in the hundreds which I bought with a great of expectations, and now plaster on the envelopes, of letters with as much expectation…)… the first for a long time.

I am practicing tonight, with fingers on a keyboard; not as I love, the swirl of pen on paper; to write a request tomorrow to ask for a new view of what it is like to be a member of our race, our humanity, our planet, out country, our state, our region, our community… or just neighbours:

…. and if the world is as I see it, I do not expect to fail: for in this request, there is but triumph for everyone.

I hope, pray, believe: I can write tomorrow and make a difference.

(Wow, how is that for click bait… although, I have no intention but to post this on my long lamented blog: which I love: I am embarrassed by: I am proud of: and it provides me with the solace to be, who, I suspect I have always been.)