and so, a return to what I know.

Nights like this I feel the seasonal cusp, this feels like true Spring being brought in by winds that rise and plummet as furious as a tango crescendo.

Shall I read, shall I ponder, shall I set out on a wander and watch the leaves of the Kurrajong trees whirl?

I know it’s been too long since I’ve been here Sailor Girl.

 The only problem with having ever had a regular blog presence is the guilt when I don’t write here, but just as 'Emily’s Posts' did many years ago in the first foray into ‘Web 2.0’, Sailor Lily had an identity crisis. Honestly it just felt like between here and my adolescent diaries and the two other regular forums I write to I had nothing to say.

So simply to reset, restart and begin, I’ll begin most simply. Today I was a Librarian and it was the perfect time to remember the simple calling of that profession I love. A bit too much time lately has been spent doing useless ‘fattened up’ administration that seems to serve nothing but the beast that has its head firmly planted up its own rectum…

So today I worked at the little library, the one where people almost drift inside then say  ‘ooh, I think that’s my book on the reservation shelf there’, or ‘dear can you help me with this photocopy?’ or they meet the other Mother whose bub just had that awful screaming six-week immunization at the Maternal and Child Health Centre and they open either the thermos or the cardigan and feed milk to the bub and natter to the Mum who for the next twenty-minutes is the only one in the world who understands….

An old man I recall from about fifteen years ago came in and wanted help with information on how to donate his organs: ‘I’M A NUNCE ON THE COMPUTER LUV’ so I began to help and find him pages to print. ‘MY LIVERS GOOD AND MY HEART AND I GOT TWENNY-TWENNY DON’T WANNA WASTE YUR TIME’ and I kind of signed and yelled that time at this little library was like Tardis-time, sticky-taffy time i.e. that ‘ I’VE GOT NOTHING ELSE TO DO!!’.

So we signed and yelled and somehow found what he wanted, and he left with the parting joke ‘NOT DONATING THESE EAR-DRUMS THO!’ at which I hooted with glee.  Ten minutes later he was back with a Mars Bar jubilantly extended ‘FOR HELPING ME OUT!!!’.

Yeah I’m trying to diet but sheesh, working til 2pm without lunch gets hard.  Not as hard as that Mars Bar though, which I reckon was left over from his Grand-Sons fourth birthday party back when ‘Wham’ was topping the charts…

Be seeing you.

The epiphanies of love: a tree, a rock, a cloud and bubbles

Come closer. Close enough that my love can bloom upon you. I want to talk about love. We don’t even need to talk; the space between us can just vibrate our thoughts to each other.

When I was young I had a tree-house and sitting in it surrounded by pine-boughs and the scent of sap and the cool breezes and the sky view I had my first love-epiphany. Love was beating all about us, could be drunk in through my pores and breathed out as exhalations back to the air. It was greater than loving my family or my pets or curling up in bed with Enid Blyton. It was and it was and it beat out its ebb and flow.

I learned later that this thinking was akin to that of the Romantics, but then it was all mine, my sky view/heart thrum/harmonic of love.

In year ten I read a short-story and had another epiphany. It was ‘A tree, a rock, a cloud’. It was about loving in mere moments, loving via observation and meditation until the object was close-felt, not understood exactly and certainly not owned, but felt within the viewer until their sails filled with air and billowed outwards towards the object.

In my twenties I once danced on a floor of mud in the forest with two hundred others. I had taken ecstasy and began to blow bubbles  from a child’s toy. As we dancers moved amongst the bubbles and the raindrops we merged to become one organism made of many cells, an amniotic cup of love and warmth held in the music-womb. I saw the bubbles as little moments of love, fleeting and shiny and perfect then gone.

Does it surprise you that I live this way, making myself fall into love-bubbles like a happy kid dancing in mud-puddles?  Every day so many people I work with and the moment when behind my mask of boss-girl I love them.  The patrons of my work: the smart the sane, the mad, sad and ugly. The suited, the shabby the cranky or bitchy. All of them their own universes of complexity and memory and love stories. All of them born utterly innocent then stamped or stamped on by the world. Always I seem to feel the one bright strand in their weft and weave, the one second perhaps in which to love them.

I am not a Christian; I disavow the church and most streams of ‘the spiritual’. I see, I love, I write, I love, I am harsh or not, kind or cruel, known or the other. In my tree I try to sit, to feel the air ebb and flow, smell the scent of new sap. I reach for my child’s toy and blow bubbles. I blow them because they dance. 

pyro

sometimes we fire-starters burn our bridges:

i walked away, i shut the door, i lit a match and let it drop, i burnt my bridges and the world opened and  swallowed me up.  I took acid in the morning to learn how to see the light again, it took me by the hand and together we walked in the mist down to the sand. kind men lit my fags against the gloam and we all sipped whiskey.  i lit a match i lit some fags i flicked them off and burned my bridges.  i walked away and to the pier i met an old friend i scored some gear we smoked it on the ferris wheel at luna park as the dark lifted he tried to kiss me.  the grass was green and good and i knew i shouldn’t have a minute given over to the candy man and that i had to get away. i jumped the wheel, i tipped a wave, i walked away i burned my bridges. at the palais it is end of day and I score some e because i can see but needs learn to love.  i am beautiful i am god the light is in my  fingers red and green. my feet are beat my hair is air i am tree i am love i am everywhwere iam tree i am love i am everywhere. then people look ugly again and i leave .i still hold a basss up my sleeve, i flick it out and light it  up, take a toke then burn those  bridges. i lick my hand i catch a tram still skating from the fires.