I don’t want to be a Zombie…. I don’t want to be a conspiracy theorist….
I don’t, didn’t, want the jab…..
Plus, it shits me a bit it has a nickname – The Jab. This is serious stuff. It has been normalised by a great campaign and people rolling their sleeves and looking ‘honestly’ into the camera.
How about we ‘normalise’ all serious matters?
I hate that word ‘normalise’ almost as much as the phrase ‘the new normal’….. and another one “moving forward”….. and ‘two times’ – IT’S TWICE!!!!
How about we change all language to be trendy and woke (I hate that word too!) and start with getting rid of the word ‘rape’ and use ‘struggle snuggle’ instead, so much less harsh; change the “Make a Wish Foundations” name, as it is a bit misleading, to “Make a Wish, Except that One, Foundation”; get rid of endemic normalised sexism in our drink driving advertisements with terrible discriminatory slogans such a “Drink Drive You’re A Selfish Prick’ to ‘Drink Drive You’re a Selfish Prick and/or Bitch and/or Non-Binary Arsehole”…..??
Just saying: not a fan of ‘The Jab’ phraseology.
I’ll say, right up front, that I am a ‘doomsday prepper’.
But, I am an intellectual ‘doomsday prepper.
I watch apocalypse movies and never want for toilet paper. I yell at the screen “NO, NO, NO…. NEVER SPLIT UP!!! DIDN’T YOU WATCH EVERY HORROR MOVIE EVER MADE?!!”
I have some cans of baked beans, just in case! …. and I did once write a little pamphlet called “Ian’s Manifesto for Surviving the Apocalypse’. And, okay, I did give it to all my children…. … and, okay, the ‘manifesto’ was enclosed in their individual ‘Survival Packs’ which I gave them all for Christmas one year….. okay, I do insist that they always carry them in the back of their cars.
And, Okay, last confession: I am writing a novel called “Prepper – My Dad’s Crazy”: and I stuffed up real bad by not finishing it in 2017 when I started it. It is/was, about a Pandemic… yeah, wont be many people writing those stories in the next couple of years.
I watch the ‘Walking Dead’ and can’t believe their biggest challenge is that their hearing is terrible; they never appear to hear the snarling, growling Zombies, until they are less than a metre away.
And, my all time favourite apocalypse movies, are still, the Omega Man and Soylent Green (which is apparently next year?).
But, lately something is wrong…. no, not wrong, but weird.
I make notes during the News when I am not yelling at the TV and intently listening to the ‘local resident’ Jim Bob from Number 37 who said nothing ever happened like that before in their street and he was terrified and it is terrible and horrific and somebody should do something about it (and he obviously has no dentist or dietary plan).
So, I watch stuff, listen to stuff, listen to people and broadcasts and statistics and reassurances from everyone…. including, remarkably the Media (the ‘Merchants of Misery’). When they are on the same side as the Government that really worries me?
And… it’s on the tip of my mind; the face you can see, but can’t remember the name; the place you left your car keys and can’t quite remember where, that sense of ‘deja vue’ about something that hasn’t happened yet; the phone ringing and the person you were just thinking about being the one calling…..
I am certain I right; if I could only think what is was…..
Hopefully, ‘The Jab (Part 2)’ will have the answer.
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….
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.
I just wanted to write a quick post as I have been thinking why am I so confused about what is happening in the world. To me it is just weird. Old models of politics and economics don’t seem to fit. People have been at their best and their worst.
Grandpa Presidents
Today is the US Election. I think this is the catalyst for ‘something’? I don’t think it matters who wins the outcome will be the same.
I said sometime ago during the pandemic when our economies were collapsing that usually politicians get a country out of recession, well in the west anyway, by starting a war.
No matter the result of the US election I just feel that things might get a bit worse. In this weird time it is not unreasonable to think it will get weirder and worse. I find not joy or even evil glee in any of this. We, the people, are always the ones that ultimately pay the price: the foot soldiers sent to slaughter by politicians sitting in their offices.
Oh, I am really feeling the doom and gloom in this post … I suppose this is why… because I think…
America will fall into civil war
Europe will fall into total social and economic disorder
England will stand out and close its borders
Australia will stand out and close its borders
Russia will stand and watch with China and pick up the pieces
China will invade and take over Taiwan and escalate hostilities with Japan
There will be a war somewhere and it will be someone else fault.
The Middle east will be forgotten
North Korea is liable to do anything and invasion of the south is not out of the realm of possibility
The pandemic will always be in the background (pray for no mutation!)
Sorry, but this is just what I think. It is not based on years of study but just a feeling that the world is coming for ‘correction’.
I am lucky. I live in the country, in the Riverland, in South Australia, in Australia. Our safety will only be compromised by our politicians. I think they may get a surprise if they continue to ask the people to follow them blindly.
….and always right in the mix of mayhem will be “The Merchants of Misery” (The Media) who have set themselves up as the ‘unelected aristocracy’ ruling from the pages, screens and their images and back room voices, as they see fit.
I think we will all find in days to come, our best friend is our neighbour, our community and the friends we have not yet met who live down the street. Our history was firstly written by the people, then the politicians and the rich and powerful; I believe, and feel in my heart, it is the peoples turn again.
I have spent a few days considering writing a post. I still have a lot of poems to share (groan I hear!) but think by posting one today I would be losing half my audience, and then you would be sitting there reading this all alone!
I am pretty sure my “Better Man Project” is dead. I think constant improvement is often used as an excuse for not being the best you can today; it was certainly an excuse I used.
In addition my daily Mantras have not given me the guidance they were supposed to. I was always going to follow all of them… tomorrow, and just do the best I can today, instead of being my best every day; I think there is a difference.
Those of you (well both of you) who read my blog, may have suspected I was insane; and no doubt feel vindicated after my recent stay in the Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside Hospital. But, to me this was not the greatest indicator; it was my obliviousness to the fact that I was living my favourite quote from Albert Einstein.
As we all know, me more than some I would suggest, is that the insane person does not actually know they are insane. This was me.
I wrote blogs about Mantras and Being a Better Man; but, I was not improving, but just justifying the way I viewed the world and interacted with it.
I was rarely, the best I could be each day; which could have translated with a little effort and dedication into everyday.
I so often could not control what was happening to my life. I can only control how I react to it – this was more of a revelation than any Mantra or personal improvement process. I have always had excuses for the reactions to things in my life; I see now I was mostly wrong. Rest easy I now accept this.
In accepting this I worked on a little theory of how I felt about myself and my past action:
Guilt is awareness that our actions have injured someone else.
Shame is how we feel about ourselves.
I have a lot of regrets; but little shame. I am incredibly embarrassed and regretful for many things I have done and a lot of the things I have said.
My greatest, latest, all in living colour and 3D stereo sound revelation is that I historically have not been me; the true me. I have been sold, and resold, solidified and worshiped the gods of power, anger, consumerism and possessions (No, you can’t have all my stuff for free; I said realisation, not I am becoming a monk!)
A mate recently started calling me by my birth name and he said I was dead. He said:
We all loved the 70% of our mate who was loyal, generous, smart and helpful, but the other 30% would take our heads off, rip our hearts out and destroy with a word…
There was plenty of regret in my heart plus real admiration that he had the courage to tell me. I must admit when he told me the 30% he identified, it felt like 99% of what I mostly felt; I was lucky as I think I faked about three quarters of the 70% he actually liked!
So why did he tell me? We have spent a bit of time with each other lately and he said he didn’t see any of the 30% – okay, lets call it what is; he didn’t see; an angry, controlling, abusive, malicious, self centred prick!
Why?
Because I almost died. Because the love of my life left. and… I broke.
The first two, precipitated the last one; the first two were a realisation that all was not good in my view of life. I actually cringed at what my epitaph may have been if I had died and shake my head at how I treated love.
The breaking was the making.
Now I am here with all the pieces, but, I am lucky and grateful that I am still here. I am lucky and grateful for the love I had – and live in hope for.
I live one day at a time. I still have food in the fridge and pay my bills but mentally I am just in this day. I have hope and realise the world is not all about me.
Right, so what? Well fantastic that I am all better today, but there will be a tomorrow.
I am still on my trek. And it is a trek which I have just started. Up until recently I have been going through life as a ‘journey’. I may actually say I was on a ‘cruise’ with occassional fact finding missions into consumerism, power and surveying the battle grounds of my self justified victories!
These ‘journeys’ through life; the constant excitement of smashing down the rapids in my rubber raft driven by barely qualified guides and being with all the other tourists who pay for cheap excitement and gratification. These were my journeys in life, but now I am on a trek.
What does this trek entail that differentiates it from my life journeys to this point?
I have a lot of baggage that I have to carry (I do so gladdly but have packed them better)
There will be deep valleys (some like ‘the valley of the shadow of death” in the Bible!)
Highway men will constantly be trying to rob me (Read the Media, the merchants of misery; Advertisers and the Government!)
There will be wonderful scenery if I bother to lift my head
I will be with new and old travelling companions
I have a destination
I am determined to overcome all obstacles
I am doing it for me
I do it every day and don’t have days off
I now trek through life, some days the hills are steep, the wind is against me, it’s raining, and I am tired. On days like this I need only to take one step – that way I will always be going forward.
I don’t blame the weather, the steep hills or dark valleys or bad travelling companions for my progress, for it is my trek.
Each day I will choose how I see the next step; and I will take it.
I has taken me a while to getting to write this post.
Because, it is important, humbling, embarrassing; but, mostly life changing.
After a major health scare in December; let’s say it for what it is, it was a brain aneurysm and I almost died. Staring the Grim Reaper in the eye a couple of times can give you a bit of a scare and be life changing!
In recovering from that, and then having massive changes in my personal circumstances, there is no other way to describe it… I broke.
A really good psychiatrist said to me there were a lot of medical terms for my condition but basically I had a ‘good old fashioned nervous breakdown.’
As my spiritual guide Russell Brand would better describe it “I was a bit fucked.”
As a result, and only through the absolute love and dedication of my ‘Band of Brothers” and my wonderful daughters, they got me the help I needed. Thank you, you saved me.
I was admitted to the “Rural and Remote Ward” a Glenside Hospital. The only experience I had in the ‘Glenside Mental Hospital’ was dropping crazy people off in my career in the Police and my old Mum often saying “If you kids don’t behave I’ll end up in Glenside!”
I was humbled and grateful for all the care and treatment I received there of several weeks as an inpatient.
Also during that time I found a little blank notebook in the bookshelf that had a floral cover and the words ‘Life is Beautiful’ printed on it. In this little book which I found by coincidence I started to write poetry.
Now those who know me and have heard me recite “Clancy of the Overflow” about 1000 times and threatened to punch me will know, I have always been a little interested in the wonders of verse and poetry. I have written a few before and love a verse or two in my homemade cards which some of you have been subjected to.
Plus I have to thank my late buddy of 30 years Des Steele for his love of poetry and it’s inclusion in many of his ‘Desisms’. (I still miss him and you can read about him in a post I did a few years ago when he passed away – click here).
So I filled this little book with poetry during my recovery. I filled that book and a few more pages since!
The poem below was the first I wrote in Glenside. It is basically the first draft, are a lot of my poems, which I don’t change in typing them up so as not to lose the moment they were written.
The poem below has recently been published on a United Kingdom site – www.theperspectiveproject.co.uk – which has a lot of works by people recovering from mental illness – worth a look I think.
So, I haven’t written here lately, largely because I have been writing in another way I love with pen and paper in cursive (much to the horror of my daughters and their inability to read cursive!)
I will include a little heading, not like this rambling, for each of my posts where I publish another poem; I may even read a few on my YouTube Channel Being a Better Man.
But, mostly I want to share my trek, as I experienced it, and wrote about it.
I will share my posts on Facebook etc (which is probably how you got here anyway) and appreciate your comments and feedback – there is a comments section on the bottom of this post and all my posts if you want to use that on this site to comment or provide feedback or suggestions.
By the way, I love doing this, it has helped a lot in my treatment and recovery. I hope you can find something for you.
Enjoy. (and No, hardly any of my poems rhyme!)
“In Times of Mind – Hope”
In times of mind, Through experience, I lose myself.
I see, and think, and feel, And lose to myself.
I circle and dive, I resurface; To a confused sea.
I struggled against The currents within; And the steep mountain ahead.
I swim and climb; alone: Against the winds within.
In the blackness, Without light, I turn searching, For landfall, or the smallest foothold.
I am alone.
I reach out my hand, In one final grasp at survival.
…And suddenly, I feel The grip I have been seeking.
I am held afloat, A firm foot hold found,
It is love, And family, And friendship; It was there all the time.
The light of the beacon, Always shines; My blindness was from within.
The light now guides me; The light now fills me.
I now sail and trek forth, In light, in love; With hope.
I was looking in the book shelf the other day to find something to read…. okay I know you are thinking I am looking for a book to read on the toilet…. WRONG! Let me assure you I do not read books on the toilet – everyone knows that toilet time is YouTube time!
Anyway I was standing there completely underwhelmed by the majority of the books which were mainly self help books (Note to self: Write a self help book about finding self help books in your bookshelf!) when I saw a little book called “The Ultimate Gift.” Well I actually saw two copies of it and wondered why I would have two? So curiosity got the best of me and I had a little read…
Without destroying the very basic plot of this self help book which is written as a story so that you don’t feel as if you are being preached at because the loser in the book is fictional and not a complete representation of you and your life…… there basically is no plot.
There is however, a very interesting chapter called:
The Gift of a Day Life at its essence boils down to one day at a time – today is the day.
Pretty profound beginning to the chapter (you have to have snappy headings when you have no plot… it really needed pictures as well!). In essence our hero was telling a young lad about his idea of “The Gift of a Day” which he summed up as:
“When you face your own mortality you contemplate how much of your life you have lived versus how much you have left. I know at some point I will live the last day of my life. I have been thinking about how I would want to live that day and what I would do if I had only one day left to live. I have come to realise that if I can get a picture in my mind of maximising one day, I have mastered the essence of living because life is nothing more than a series of days.”
Well, I have faced my own mortality just recently so this sentence rang a bit of a cord with me. Not that I haven’t contemplated that one inevitability in life, that being death, a few times in the past.
I know we all wander into this life with an unknown amount of life. We get to spend our time (the only real commodity) any way we wish to. Some may spend it quickly and buy all the big ticket items and live like a rock star (especially rock stars)…. and others may spend frugally and find that all their savings can’t be cashed in when they are needed.
I actually thought ‘that day’ had arrived a few weeks ago. I didn’t get to spend it how I planned – actually as there was no time to plan and the day was thundering ahead towards my demise and I wasn’t thinking about my bucket list, I was only thinking about the kicking of that bucket I appeared to be about to take….
It would appear that death didn’t always come a knocking and say “Hey you better get your shit together because you need to get a couple of perfect days under your belt before I come swinging with my sythe!”
As it turned out death wasn’t something I was fearing, I have my beliefs, and they sit well with me. If you have watched the movie Crocodile Dundee you will understand my take on the after life as being a bit like Mick Dundee when he is asked if he believes in God and he replies “I reckon we’d be mates.”
It wasn’t my fear of dying, it was my fear of not living that worried me. I didn’t get to plan my last day and there was still some shit I had to do. So, I now have the time to do it…. but, life gets in the way… and unfortunately it appears to be getting back to normal… important shit is happening everywhere and my days are getting full again… I just don’t have time to die there isn’t a gap in my schedule.
And as I wrote not long after ‘surviving’ when my main priority in life being filling out forms:
Afterglow of tragedy, Fades in direct comparison to the minute by minute Requirement to deal with the mundane
I realised that my almost death was not that important, or after a few days, probably wouldn’t even be noticed. I realised that I had a bit more life to live because I realised that the gift of a day, is everyday.
“DING”
I lost the moment of the profound life When mine almost ended And it was not profound.
I saw it, My friends and family saw it Not only in my life, But in their own.
It is not a sad moment But a lonely one. At the moment where you almost sleep For eternity You wake To the booming sound of nothing.
And your muses are silent And the profound extension of your existence lost You are nothing
Your achievements and possessions dust Your struggles but the small ding of the triangle At the back of the orchestra,
Yesterdays blog was about forgetting the ‘better man project’ and just being a good man – everyday.
Everyday is a long time – it is now and it is always.
You can’t have a bad day as a good man and hurt people and then say sorry and think it will be okay. Saying sorry is a good start but that taking responsibility for your actions is the actual action that you need to take.
I remember when we were all saying sorry for something we didn’t think we were responsible for… I always used the analogy of having a cold….
“Sorry you feel bad with your cold” – as opposed to…
“I apologise you have a cold” – but it’s not my fault so why apologise.
An apology is taking responsibility for your actions – “sorry about that” is all very nice and really has no answer, or complaint, but is it taking responsibility – I vote no.
I want to be a good man and take responsibility for my actions on a daily basis. But, there is a catch. Apologise freely, or better still stop and don’t do that thing that I might have to apologise for in the first place – that is the good man.
The good man today does not wipe out the not so good man of yesterday. It does also not wipe out all the ‘sorries’ when there should have been ‘apologies.’
In thinking about this, I wondered is is all that apologising and saying sorry really doing anything – is anyone really any better for it?
The answer that continued to boom through my head was ‘Yes”.
Not that long ago I was contacted by someone that I had wronged a long time ago – for all those years I put it down to good old youthful exuberance. They told me what I had done had hurt them for years and it was a horrible time in their life. I said sorry… I hope I apologised. But, most of all I realised that neither of these things seemed enough. I dont know what to do to make up for this wrong – but, I do know the universe will tell me when that time is and I will have to pay the piper – and I will pay him gladly.
Taking responsibility for your actions can be a hard pill to swallow – you can choke on it and it may kill you. It may kill the construct of the person you thought you were – it may kill your ego. These are things we don’t risk in our modern dog eat dog life.
But, and there is always a but….
In my ‘Dr Google’ research I came across something interesting in all my searches about taking responsibility for your actions… and it was in the Alcoholic’s Anonymous 12 steps program… (these are a few of the 12 and in actual order but with a few edited out – do a search and next time you may be kinder to someone who you think is, or is, an alcoholic – they are undertaking something much harder than any pretend better man project…)
Admit to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Make a list of persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
So, the battling drunk up the street may just be a good man (or woman) trying to undertake the recompense for a life not so well led. … and if you want to baulk at the God bit, just think about editing that out instead of trashing the entire sentence – perhaps it is easier to not get passed the ‘God bit’ because you then can avoid the ‘ourselves’ bit.
When you think about their list it can be overwhelming – when you think about your list it may be a surprise – when I think about my list, especially those closest to me, it is staggering.
I am following the 12 steps and it may not be God even to me, but the Universe is always watching – it is where we came from and where we will go back to. Remember there may be one molecule in your body that was once the heart of a star – and that is a legacy that deserves recognition and somehow, somewhere, a sense of awe!
I want each day to not be about being the better man sometime in the future and to hell with my past in getting there, well getting there tomorrow.
I want want each day to be about me being a good man and acknowledging that yesterday has a whole lot of responsibilities that I have to also take responsibility for and when I can ‘I apologise’ and do what I can to make amends.
Some days this may sting, but often the acknowledgement takes no more than will and acceptance … and that may not be pretty.
I have been a good man today and I accept all the responsibilities for my wrongs of all the yesterdays to here… I will be a good man tomorrow and make amends where I can.
Bye the way – I do not think this is a task, I think it is a privilege – because we, I, am still here to do it.
Don’t know if I mentioned I almost died from an aneurysm a few days before Christmas….
If I had have died imagine how that would have stuffed up Christmases for the entire family for…. well, forever…. What a terrible day that would have been “Oh, here’s the new blouse you wanted, and oh yeah, this is the day Dad died!” Horrible!
I know I am going to die before my daughters. Well that is what all parents wish and I can’t imagine otherwise…. I have a mate who’s 24 year old son recently died from cancer…. the world will never be the same again and most definitely never seem fair.
….. and I must digress here …. by saying that friends do not show up when it’s convenient or easy but they are just there when it is hard…. I am trying to do that for my mate above.
So I spent a few days in hospital, well actually three weeks, and although it wasn’t exactly a piece of cake for me, I know it was hard, maybe more so (as I was zonked out on oxy most of the time – the only time I ever had access to that many drugs was after midnight down Hindley Street talking to a bloke called Guido!), for my friends, family, wife and daughters.
I can’t thank my wife enough…. but that is another blog and probably a bit more between me and her. A lot of the people I have to thank have received a little special thank you in the post – well maybe not yet as the old mail with a pen and paper really is as slow as a snail. I often ask myself why I still write letters and send cards – but then again I did have a brain aneurysm so talking to myself has become somewhat the norm – and I agree!
My little blog today is also not about my friends – who many fulfilled the above little saying of being there when it was hard. … and a lot were smart enough to not be there and fill my hospital room, read my magazines and steal my chocolates…. but called later when the dust settled and I could actually remember them either being there or talking to me!
My daughters… the ones that I thought I was here to protect, suddenly were there
protecting me, holding me up, making me proud of the young women they had become… so one night I wrote the following:
My Daughters
When I was on the edge of life, When I wavered, When I was scared, When I feared for the future,
Angels appeared, … and they were my Daughters.
They lifted me up, They led me back, I am alive, and I am grateful.
My daughters, … such strength … and grace … such unconditional love.
Their gift of my life, I am humbled and proud. Thank You.
… and more so, I am grateful that I am here to write this and tell them in person, everyday.
