Category Archives: Better Up Against It

At times you just have to take the high road when you are up against it

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.

Brave New World

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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.

Un-Australian

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  1. The Prime Minister said that people hoarding and ‘panic’ buying were un-Australian…..
  2. He later said that people had ‘optimism bias’ and as such were not obeying the new rules…
  3. He later said he had to put in ‘social distancing measures’ to stop people doing things like going to Bondi Beach…..
  4. He calls on us to emulate the ‘ANZAC Spirit’ and all work together as ‘Aussies’ which we always do when the chips are down….

The hypocrisy….

Australians follow their leaders. The Prime Minister and all politicians are the people who set the tone of our society. They are driven, manipulated and seek the lime light with the Merchants of Misery (The Media). They say ‘panic’ buying and hoarding is Un-Australian, no, it is the Australians that our politicians are. Politicians look after number one; they stomp on whoever they can to get what they want; and during the process they hoard enough superannuation to feed a small town. No, Mr Prime Minister, you are seeing the legacy of the ‘Australian’ you are and the Australians you created. PS: The Prime Minister gets of telly about rolls of toilet paper but is relatively silent about 500 billion (about 38%) being lost on the stock marked due to ‘panic selling’….. sorry, stock brokers and investors are clever people while the toilet paper hoarders are….. the… same???

Optimism bias! Ha! How dare you accuse a few people going to the beach and or a cafe when you had weeks notice that this virus was coming to our shores like a tsunami. Mr Prime Minister did you forget you ‘optimism’ not that long ago telling everybody to go about ‘business’ as usual? While at the same time Italy, Iran, China etc, etc, had already told you it will never be business as usual again! He was going to the footy days before he started shutting down the country – now that’s not a mixed message!? …. Oh, I forgot that politicians blame us for what they have done; you traitors and Un-Australians for going to the beach…… my mistake?

Social distancing similar to the Prime Minister and the Chief Medial Officer shaking hands with everyone a day prior to the ‘Bondi Beach Madness’…. I’m sorry but the hypocracy is so blatant that you don’t notice it because no one with any sense of emotional intelligence would think that people would buy it….. but, we are?
PS: … and the difference at a wedding, funeral for one day… and school everyday is?

…. and when all else fails, call on the ANZAC spirit. Just remember these ANZAC heroes were mostly led by a bunch of dills calling the shots from safety. And, please remember that ANZAC cove was a failure and a defeat. In actual fact, it was probably the first ‘Bradbury’ – we lost, but because we retreat really good, it was a victory? Mr Prime Minister, please do not soil the memory of these heroes by pretending that you have as much to sacrifice; it is us, the ‘foot soldiers’ that keep the spirit alive by defending ourselves against you and helping each other out when you continue to fail.

Well….

Sitting down to write a positive post, didn’t quite work out for me?

I haven’t written for a while as I felt I was being harshly judged about what I was writing; so, I thought the first post back in the saddle should be as judgemental as possible!

But, lets face it, writing a blog is not exactly about being a shrinking violet and not have a degree of ‘show off’ in you?

I don’t think politicians have realised that creating an economy, and doing anything to protect it, and having The Merchants of Misery as ally and foe, does not create a community in a time of crisis; this is what WE do, most days actually; and our community will get us through, irrespective of your promises. (which gets me thinking about all those millions in aid to the bushfire victims…..?).

So, I hope to be positive in future posts and talk more about saving our ‘community’. I believe our economy will never be the same again; but, our community, our communities, US, can be stronger than ever.

I don’t want to talk about the politicians anymore or ‘firm directions’ they are giving us about what we ‘should’ be doing – we are Australians, we have the ANZAC spirit and if someone tells us not to do something, well, most of us don’t do it….. but, suggest to us we ‘shouldn’t’ do something….. well, it’s almost like a dare!

Shows how Un-Australian you are Mr Prime Minister.

The Trek

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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.

Band of Brothers

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The term ‘band of brothers’ comes from Sakespeare’s play Henry V in the King’s St Crispin’s Day speech.

From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

It is pretty inspiring stuff; there are a few YouTube clips which are worth a watch if you interested – my favourite it this one – click here to be redirected to YouTube.

During my recent mental health challenges and my stay in Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside, it was my daughters and my Band of Brothers who got me through. They talked me to Adelaide and then rallied around me. They did tell a few porky pies to get me certified and admitted to Glenside – I do have a habit of checking myself out of hospital – obviously I know more than a Doctor who has trained for years!?

I can’t thank them enough!

So, I hope the following muse conveys my love of these guys and my daughters – and all they did, and are still doing for me.

“Band of Brothers”
 
Friends,
Thank you, for accepting me,
For your honesty,
                                    Even when it stings,
 
Your commitment, is in the truth,
                                    Which you risk our friendship,
                                    To honour,
                                    This is love.
 
I am still me,
                                    But better because,
                                    Of you,
 
I lost myself in being a better man,
                                    I faltered,
                                    You were there,
 
With everything I needed,
                                    To survive,
                                    To thrive.
To come out the other side,
 
In the dark,
                                    I feel you,
                                    I am held by you.
 
You walk beside me,
                                    Pushing from behind when needed,
                                    In front,
                                    Clearing the way when
                                    I am overwhelmed.
 
Without your counsel,
                                    I am stupid,
                                    Destructive, and
                                    Trapped with myself.
 
You have been there,
                                    Through all seasons,
                                    All reasons,
And for my lifetime.
 
You are,
                                    My Band of Brothers,
                                    I love you.

“My Daughters”
 
My daughters,
Do you come from me,
They surprise me.
 
Their virtues,
Fulfill me,
And they never know.
 
… a moment,
Touch, Hug,
… smile.
 
They make this trek,
A journey,
Off the scale of fulfillment.
 
They fill my heart,
My ambitions,
I never knew I had.
 
They make me better,
Always,
And proud they call me Dad.

Churn, Churn, Churn – Poetry in Mental Health

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I wrote this poem while in treatment… and really it just about sums up the situation. The ruminating creates the rubble in our minds.

But it does have a happy ending; which I hope all your treks do.

Stare, stare, stare,
Churn, churn, churn,
The air is still;
                                    I am in turmoil.
 
Heart, brain, soul,
Churn, churn, churn,
I sit a statue;
                                    To the storm within.
 
Body, mind, spirit,
Churn, churn, churn,
Each aches for;
                                    Lasting peace and calm.
 
Alone, separate, one,
Churn, churn, churn,
Isolated in mind and body;
                                    With me.
 
Then:
 
Surrender to all,
Gone, gone, gone,
All is unreal;
                                    In thought and emotion.
 
Churn, churn, churn,
Spins into the either,
And I am here;
                                    Now is peace.

My Mental Health – Get to Know Them

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When I was in the Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside Hospital I was not alone. There were many people suffering from a variety of mental injury and illness. We had a connection as we were all from the country.

Those that know me, understand that I am not a very humble man, but being in this ward for several weeks, I faced the greatest feelings of humility I could ever imagine. The only other time I felt this was when I worked on the APY Lands – another life changing experience.

I was humble and would say “if I lost 50% of my mental capacity, 50% of my physical capacity and 90% of my wealth I would still be 90% better of that 70% of the people on the ward with me.” I was humbled and still I am.

We all had a connection in the ward of not only coming from the country but in we were all fighting our own demons – some worse than others. At meals or when chatting or even going for a walk, there was always a moment that you had eye contact, and there was that connection that is hard to explain. Perhaps understanding is the best word.

I wrote the following poems about that connection. The second one was about a lady I met who was an Aboriginal woman who had that ‘old soul’ and was what I think our first Australians are so often not recognised for.

The final poem was written by a young patient who together we shared our poetry and she was kind enough to give me a copy of this one to publish.

I thank all the patients I met in the ward – they were instrumental in my healing and recovery through their friendship, care and community – thank you.

“Know Them”
 
Abe as right:
 
“I don’t like that man.  I need to get to know him better.”
 
Where I am now,
Both physical and mental,
Is a place,
Never for me,
                                    Except it is.
                                    I am here.
 
I need to get to know the place,
I need to get to know the people.
 
As my default was “I” or “Me”,
I didn’t want or need,
The “them” or the “others”,
Ever.
 
So, remember;
The King, the “I”,
Is dead,
And he feels the want.
 
To know,
                                    The people,
                                    The places
And, their stories.
 
The King is dead,
And, I am alone.
 
I listened,
Perhaps, truly, for the first time ever.
 
Sometimes I held a hand,
Hugged the tears shed,
                                    On my shoulder,
Watched the outbursts,
Saw true sadness,
Had conversations,
Even sung a song,
Actually went to a thing,
                                    Called “group”.
 
And went for long and,
Short walks;
In doing this,
I wanted to know them better.
 
There was “Young J”,
Who was here,
From a home far away,
Isolated, as we chatted,
Of getting back there;
So much life left,
And it always shined through;
He draws me a picture,
And he is in it,
Of youth, and fun,
With hope in the charcoal,
I liked the lad.
 
Older “N” who had,
A lot of stories to tell,
Of exploits, and boasts,
                                    A stint in goal,
Always made me laugh,
With jokes and a pun, fun;
I liked the man.
 
A true soul in “T”,
With her cocoon,
Of loving daughters;
And a hubby,
Unlike me,
Strong, level and kind;
Faith held them all strong,
We cried together,
I held her hand;
Connection of pain;
To healing trust we did make;
I liked this woman of grace.
 
And “G”,
Who was like,
The cartoon “Tasmanian Tiger”,
Said, and I quote,
“I’m a morning person and a night owl as well”
Many a wise word to share,
As with her kids she said it was,
                                    “Do as you’re told”
She laughs at herself,
To hide a broken heart,
I liked the woman,
                                    But, saw her once cruel,
                                    It hurt me more than her victim.
 
In a conversation,
I met tall dark “J”,
We only spoke the once,
But it was deep,
And heart felt,
A first Australian,
With heart and soul,
I connected through,
                                    Stories of brothers,
                                    And kin,
                                    And land.
I liked the man,
                                    My respect for his thoughts,
                                    And culture,
                                    Lingers still.
 
I met an old soul,
I like the change,
                                    In me, for it,
I hope I will live,
                                    Long,
                                    Live well,
                                    Live love,
Into my old soul.
 
… and passing hellos,
… and RUOK’s
                                    Except for young “C”
                                    Who thumbed up or down,
Like in roman times,
                                    Reporting her day.
 
… many moments,
Of actual connection.
 
To much or to short,
To say the love you think.
 
It is an instant,
It is now,
My history of finding me:
… the empathy,
… my listening,
… my understanding,
It is nothing but love.
 
I got to know the man,
I got to know the woman,
The true person,
The person, I didn’t like,
                                    On judgement,
So often wrong.
 
I brought to me,
The man I didn’t like;
Me;
I got to know him better,
Through them.
 
I like the man,
I am growing into,
I like the man today.
 
Thank you,
To the people I met,
I got to know them,
And the people I have to meet.
 

“Old Soul”
 
I walk through life,
The people pass me.
 
Young, so full of life,
Those on the middle path,
And twilight in the eyes of many.
 
Today I met and old soul,
Much life was in their face,
The body no gauge of it.
 
Their eyes looked straight into my heart,
And words at moments needed,
Inspirations, connections to soul and land.
 
Fellowship kinship,
And the osmosis of wisdom,
Through a soft touch.
 
The old souls,
Are among us,
Search for them,
Find them.
 
They may find you,
In your time of need.
 
Look for the signs.
 
And in the moment,
The old soul gives,
Of time to you; 

Be peaceful,
Be grateful,
Be Non-Judgmental,
Be forgiving,
Be accepting,
Be here, in the moment,
Have belief.
 
Carry from them,
This old soul,
In your heart,
Your, Deeds,
Your new and old mantras
 
Now in;
Peacefulness,
Gratitude,
No Judgment,
Forgiveness,
Acceptance,
In all the present moments,
Of now,
Find live in the moment.
 
In journey and treks,
In life,
Find the old souls.
 
Live well,
Live long,
Live love,
Into your, old soul.

“Sylvia”

Robins are red,
My sadness is blue,
My heart is bleeding,
But, not from you.

Can you feel the atmosphere,
Can you breath the air,
Please beg me,
So I can care.

This world makes me cry,
But why should I,
You know better,
We all did,
So why am I still in this shit?

Every Day Should be ANZAC Day

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I wonder how many of us went to the dawn service and commemorated the spirit of our ANZACs and today go about our business somehow not remembering what brought a tear yesterday at dawn. Can we still remember and live the feelings we had, the pride, the respect and the some how feeling part of a community greater than ourselves.

Well, every ANZAC Day I think about these things.

What’s more I think about them most days. When I see the petty squabbling in day to day life; when I hear our politicians speak; when I see big business take from the needy; when I hear the media (the Merchants of Misery) create and ignore news; when I see someone struggling and needing help that would cost most of us almost nothing.

I think about the spirit of the ANACS everyday and a few years ago sat down and wrote the following.

I really hope that in the morning and the going down of the sun you will always remember what it really means to celebrate and more importantly live the spirit of the ANZACs.

Why can’t every day be ANZAC Day

Bravery would be commonplace
Loyalty would be volunteered
We would fight for those
who could not fight for themselves

We would love our country

We are just glad to be alive – today

You carry everything we own
We write each other letters
Good fun, is just good fun
Our leaders lead
and we follow

Coming home is the most important thing
We volunteer
Sacrifice is given gladly
Life is short, often horrific
but we face it with our mates
and we all stand fast

Heroes; really are heroes
We don’t do things to be remembered
Medals are earned
often with our lives

And probably most of all
every sunrise, and
every sunset
We would remember those that have fallen
and
every day
We would live our lives to honour the values
That we have fought and died for

 I wish everyday was ANZAC Day

The Gift of a Day

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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 have thought about our time here being the only commodity (click here to read “Better with the Only Commodity”) or what would we do if we actually got a real taste of death and how that would effect how we would then live (click here to read Better at “Wishing You Were Dead”)….  but, this little story today, and that one chapter seems so obvious yet so universally ignored and forgotten about.

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,

                            Unheard.