Spirit Bird

I have continued writing and developing the story that I outlined in my previous blog post. With the federal election announced for September 14, it is becoming a more and more relevant story to tell.


The night is still
My friend, the night is still.
I feel the cold in your despair
The night is long
My friend, the night is long
I feel hope suspended in the air.
The day is nigh
My friend, the day is nigh
Lay down your arms
Surrender, until daylight breaks the sky
The day is bright
My friend, the day is bright
Today is not the end
My friend, your heart will heal
And soon your tears…
Will run dry




The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him - G.K Chesterton



PREFACE

My good friend Kari once told me that in Aboriginal folklore, the Kookaburra’s laugh at the break of dawn was a signal to the sky spirits to light the great fire that would illuminate and warm the Earth for the day. It is believed that he is a messenger of the great spirits and as long as he laughs, there will always be a brand new day. Sometimes he is known as a spirit bird.

I have often found solace in this story when tough times have been upon us. Sometimes heartbreak and isolation would permeate every pore of my being. I’d sit in stark, brooding silence and wistfully remember the Australia I once knew, the Australia we all remembered. The one we grew up in had been fanciful and carefree. We were the lucky country; a land ‘abounding in nature’s gifts, of beauty, rich and rare’.

Then all at once it was gone. The only thing we could rely on was that every day the sun would rise. Kookaburra would guide us through the night and deliver daylight once again. He became more than our spirit bird. He was our symbol of hope.



1

It is nigh on impossible to be certain of a great many things in this world, and yet I can state without so much as a skerrick of doubt, that the year 2042 will be ensconced in my brain until both feet are firmly in my grave. I’m not often one for obnoxious, over-embellished tales of heroics and tragedy. Mine is one of cold hard facts; facts that still, years later, send a chill down my spine. It was the year my parents were killed and worse, the year when freedom was lost for so many of my fellow countrymen.

When I look back, I can almost pinpoint the very moment I realised things had begun to change. Until then I was a relatively normal kid really. Well, mostly. I was always the rebellious type, inclined to do things not ordinarily accepted just to go against the grain. I didn’t like to do what other people expected; my parents fought hard for my carefree, unbound life, and I intended to make the most of it. After escaping a life of terror, for them the town of Willoughby was something of a sanctuary. It was a place where they, and I, could be free of fear. That is, until it wasn’t.

In 2042 I was 15 years old and in year 9 at school. School life was typical. I’d catch the train at 8am and hang out with my friends at school until classes started at 8.45. When the bell went at 3pm, if we didn’t have other plans, every day my friends got on the DART - the Willoughby District Aerial Rapid Transit railway shot from one end of the city to the other in 15 minutes - and they’d disembark in their various suburbs and make their way home. Every day however, I opted to walk the eight kilometres to my house in the northern suburb of Miles Grove. It was a sometimes treacherous walk; one that my parents were always telling me was too dangerous. The crime rate had really shot up in recent years; muggings were frequent and so were break and enter robberies, even during the middle of the day.

“Zafar”, they’d beg, “you must not walk by yourself. You should take the train with your friends”.

Despite their pleas, I continued to walk. I lived for the adventure; it gave me a little rush of adrenaline knowing I was sort of living life on the edge. But more than that, I loved the liberating feeling of watching the world go by in my own little bubble. All the noises, big and small, from the drone of the traffic, to the rainbow lorikeets attacking berries and tropical fruit in the lush trees lining the street, were like the most wonderful symphony. It was almost hypnotic to listen. Little did I know I would relish the relative safety of those peaceful afternoon walks within a matter of months; they’d soon be swiftly and abruptly snatched from under my feet.

Willoughby was always a dynamic and quickly changing city. The southern end had once been home to a number of historically documented cane farming families –as well as the odd cow- but these farms had gradually been replaced with an assortment of housing estates, freeways and bypasses. In the north, the sleepy beach suburbs had become hotspots of pulsing entertainment and local business. Somewhere in the middle, lay the town’s central business district. It was the nucleus of the whole town as far as its government and authority buildings were concerned, but it was not so much the epicentre of the city any longer in terms of the buzz of local business. In fact, in recent years it had really failed to thrive. Over time it had become increasingly crowded with high rise office buildings where stiff and highly strung business people worked at sumptuous desks overlooking serene views of the coastline; outside on the Promenade people wandered lazily and relaxed under palm trees, in a tropical haven strangely juxtaposed by screaming traffic and hustle and bustle. My school, St Martha’s, was an independent catholic school nestled in the outskirts, just close enough to the action to absorb the sterile feel of the inner city.

All the older locals often described the inner city as having been leached of all its warmth and character. And they were right. If you walked through it at the busiest time of the day, you were still overcome with a feeling of being lost, lonely even. It certainly wasn’t the safest town to wander around in either. By all anecdotal reports, it was once safe enough to drunkenly stagger home after a night on the town to the skirting suburbs quite unaccompanied and never feel at risk of being bailed up by a gang of knife wielding youths. Although my own parents weren’t around to bear witness to this unthinkable phenomenon of perennial safety, the parents of many of my mates were. It was this that had once afforded Willoughby such appeal to young sea-changers around the country. Sadly, that time had gone.

I, however, was sure I was as invincible as they were back then, until one warm afternoon in early April. As I usually did after school, I walked my friends Kari, Iris and Finn to platform number 4 and waved them off, then went on my merry way. I walked to the train station exit on Lawrence Street and made my way down the stairs and across the sandstone pavers out onto the street front and stopped at the traffic light to wait for the green signal to walk. The air was particularly humid and the palm trees lining the median strip were barely moving in the almost invisible northerly breeze. It was sultry weather typical of the tropics during the summer, only the summers seemed to have been getting longer and longer in recent years. It felt as though this year summer would go on forever.

My school uniform of maroon shorts and white cotton short sleeved shirt with the top 3 buttons undone gave me a distinct teenage school boy appearance. The only thing that would have set me apart from anyone else was the green bandana I was wearing on my head and the steam punk clock pendant hanging around my neck. Or it should have been. Despite the culturally diverse nature of Willoughby, the fact that I am Afghanistani –my heritage and my coffee coloured skin- has, on occasion left me open to racial vilification and bullying. I recall one boy, Blythe, at school picking on me for wearing my bandana. He was quite short in stature and, in turn picked on himself for having a girls name, buck teeth and a lot of pimples.

“Hey Za-fart, is that a turban?” he’d snickered one day.
Being a collected sort of a person, I answered calmly.
“No, it’s a bandana”
“It looks like a turban. Hey turban-head are you a terrorist?”
“No!” I seethed, beginning to get impatient.
“But turban-head, aren’t your parents in the Taliban? Everyone says your family are terrorists”
“No!” I shot back, trying to keep my cool.
“But turban-head, that’s what everyone says. They say your parents got kicked out of Arab Land for joining the Taliban. So when’s the next terrorist attack?”

I lost it.

“My parents were nearly killed by the Taliban, you shut the hell up! And it’s not a turban, moron. My family doesn’t even wear turbans”


I had been standing at the cross lights lost in my own thoughts when the signal changed to green. It wasn’t until I reached the other side of the street that I first noticed a middle eastern man about the same age as my Dad and an Aboriginal man who somewhat resembled a taller, billowier and hairier version of my mate Kari, on the opposite side of Lawrence Street ahead of me rushing in what looked like panic. They were in those last stages of walking before it becomes running and their pace was quickening. The Aboriginal man glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to his friend and in an urgent, hushed tone told him “oh man, quick they’re coming”. As they broke into a run, a police vehicle roared from behind me.

..........

Go Back To Where You Came From

Today I was inspired. I am fed up with the federal government's position on immigration and asylum seekers. First they wanted to excise Australia from the migration zone and do all processing offshore, with some vague excuse that they wanted to save lives from being lost in the perilous journey on board unsafe boats. Now they want to issue refugees with non-working visas for up to five years and make them live off $200/week, when they could encourage them to learn English and integrate into the working community, where they'd be contributing huge amounts of tax to the economy.

Every time I read an article about these policies, I feel angry and ashamed to be Australian, particularly when I read the comments which are always ignorant, uneducated and narrow minded. People just do not seem to understand the realities of what asylum seekers and refugees are faced with, and I fear that they will pass these views to their children.

So today I was inspired to start mapping out a story for teenagers, about an Australia in the future that is turned on it's head. A story designed to make kids think critically and consider the implications of ignoring the direction our country is heading in.

Here is a taster of what has started to form in my head:


2042 was the year from hell. I’d often just sit and wistfully remember the Australia I once knew; the Australia we all remembered, the one we grew up in, was but a memory. We were the lucky country; our lands were supposed to be abounding in nature’s gifts of beauty, rich and rare. Despite the same old political debates about health, education and immigration policy, the swings between left and right were quite rhythmic and predictable. We felt secure. My future then, was without a flicker of doubt.

I was 14 years old when the New Progressives Party burst on the Australian political stage. Most people I knew, including my parents laughed at the irony of their name and never believed they’d come into power. They couldn’t have been less progressive if they tried: they made the old One Nation party seem tame. Their policies were so close to the White Australia Policy that it was alarming and it really seemed inconceivable to us all that we could possibly regress to that way of thinking - especially me, an awkward teenage boy with skin the colour of iced coffee milk.

My parents came to Australia in 2023 from Afghanistan. They fled in terror as their war torn country fell apart again. The Taliban had instated a new leader and their surge to power left many families either destitute or dead. My Hazara parents did the only thing they could to survive and sold everything they had to board a rickety boat in Java, Indonesia. They believed with every last drop of hope they had, that Australia would offer them a safe and secure future. They were amongst the last to be taken in by this so called lucky country. I was born in 2025 and my parents did everything they could to give me the childhood and the opportunities they had missed out on.

While racism was a problem in Australia, I had a great childhood and felt I had everything to hope for. I wanted to be Veterinarian and hoped to get into Sydney University when I graduated high school. In 2039, everything changed and I was no longer the boisterous young man I once was. That year, the Prime Minister was assassinated and a by-election was held. Voting was no longer compulsory, and as a result many Australians, despondent with the political climate, failed to vote. Our worst nightmare was realised when on August 28th 2039, the New Progressives won 74 per cent of the seats in the House of Representatives. It was the biggest landslide victory this country has ever seen.

After the election victory, there was a sudden spate of violent riots and shootings, and people began protesting the racist government policy that was flooding the media. Soon people began disappearing. Anyone who didn’t fit the government’s ideal of Australian was facing real danger and many went underground to protect themselves. Within months, we had become the war torn country my family had given up everything to escape all those years ago. Our family, together with two other Afghan families eventually had to follow suit and go underground as well. There were refugee camps in PNG to the west of Port Moresby, but most knew that these would lead to certain death. Some sold their belongings to try to penetrate the borders of New Zealand, but were soon deported to PNG for offshore processing. New Zealand’s Foreign Affairs minister, Willis Leary had given a statement that they felt that the rise in Australian asylum seekers was a cause for concern and that he did not want to compromise New Zealand’s national security by processing onshore. Australia had become a volatile nation and nobody wanted to show hospitality to the country who had excised itself from the migration zone to keep “boat people” out. Some said Australia was facing the ultimate karma. Where did that leave me? I was facing a future as certain as the one my parents had back in Afghanistan, and I knew I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. 2042 was set to be the worst year yet, and I just couldn't watch. I had to fight to save what was once a beacon of hope for the people I loved most.

Would you read this story? What do you think of the federal government's latest policy proposal?

Reach for the Sky

This time last year I was unemployed. I was unsure if I wanted to continue writing my honours thesis, didn’t know what type of job to apply for or if I wanted to work full time. The financial burden was really hard, but the emotional burden of not knowing what I was doing or if I was going to be able to commit to any job for long was even harder. I suppose I was a bit lost.

This time last year was also the time that I emailed a number of organisations that specialise in marketing and professional writing, hoping that I may be able to tap into freelance writing. It was only via this channel that I was able to begin writing resumes professionally on a freelance basis. I found I really enjoyed finding out the skills and qualities of a job seeker and being able to syphon it into a single vibrant document designed to sell them to a potential employer. I learned that a good resume makes the difference between an employer seeing what a candidate actually has on offer, or reading the first page and tossing it in the bin. I also learned quickly that not having a resume that is effective holds many job seekers back. It is a very big barrier.

It isn’t the only barrier though, and I am soon to discover just how severe and debilitating some of those barriers can be. Writing resumes professionally really tapped into an interest in the employment sector for me, so much so that I have taken steps to further explore it. When I found out recently that I was required to complete a 50 hour placement volunteering in the community as part of a university subject, I decided that I could either treat it as an inconvenience or as an opportunity to learn something about an area of interest, and to learn more about myself. And so it has eventuated that I will spend time in two sister organisations, one which assists job seekers with disabilities, and one which assists job seekers with mental health issues. The DES and Worklink, work hand in hand with one another, and I am very excited and grateful for their willingness to accommodate me and support through a meaningful experience. I hope to keep you all up to date on this placement as I go.

As I’d also like to further pursue professional corporate and resume writing after I finish university – I have a facebook page, Sky High Professional Writing – I want to start offering job seeking advice and resume tips on this blog to support the process of entering in to such a venture. To start, here are my top 8 tips for applying for jobs:

1. Your resume is your personal marketing document. Make sure it reflects who you are. It should be 3 pages at most unless you have 30 years’ experience and everything is relevant. No employer will read it if it is 10 pages long.

2. Start broadly from the top of your resume. Key competencies or qualities first, career objective, education, career history, key skills and achievements, community involvement, and then specifics like computer skills if relevant. Only put in work experience which is relevant for the job you apply for.

3. Tap into qualities and assets that employers love, for example your superior problem solving skills, your ability to relate to internal and external customers on every level, your ability to acquire knowledge rapidly, your commitment to ongoing professional renewal, your passion for social equity or going above and beyond to deliver exceptional service.

4. Adjust your resume for EVERY application. Make sure it speaks to the organisation you are applying to work for.

5. Re-write your cover letter for EVERY application. Employers can tell when you have done a cut and paste job. Address the criteria in the ad. Visit the website and show that you know the organisation by telling them how your skills align with the services they provide and how your qualities and previous experience reflect what is in their mission statement. They want to know why you want to work for their organisation, or your application will end up in the bin.

6. Write letters and send your resume to organisations that aren’t advertising. Most jobs are not advertised and most organisations love it when you take the time to show an interest in their business or service. But again, write specifically to the organisation. Cut and paste is a big waste of time.

7. Apply for full time jobs even if you want to work part time, and part time jobs even if you want to work full time. If you get their attention and present well in an interview, you never know what they may be willing to offer you.

8. Check your spelling and grammar. Your job application is not Facebook. Recruitment officers can and WILL throw your application in the bin if you have careless spelling errors and don’t know how to use an apostrophe. They can and ARE that picky. Your professional literacy matters to them even if it doesn’t to you.

Hopefully this might help some stressed out job seekers out there. Don’t forget to check me out on Facebook and recommend me to your friends. It’s a cut throat world, but a good resume is a secret weapon!

32, Single, Childless

I have not blogged in quite a while; life has been somewhat busy and so writing has fallen to the wayside this year. I have been working hard, planning and teaching a Kindergarten class, completed my final teaching prac, switched centres and begun teaching another Kindergarten class and have launched into my final university subjects. After this year, I will be a qualified teacher and the world will be at my feet.

Or will it? I guess that is the starting point for resurrecting my blog. I feel a need to write. I always have. I write about current affairs and topics of interest online in certain forums, I get a nerdy kind of buzz from finishing assignments, and I have slowly but surely been plodding along with my novel. It may or may not ever be published. Sometimes none of those things are enough though. Sometimes I write poetry and sometimes I write my feelings out, just like this but never hit publish. It is hard sometimes to put yourself out there, but it is also one of the best ways to get it out of your system. I wish I had the courage to do it more often.

I digress. Going back to the world being at my feet, or not: I have come to a realisation. I will probably never feel like it is. And there is a reason for this. A highly personal one. No matter what path my career takes, or how much I write, there are things I just cannot see changing. I am 32 in a matter of days. I am single. I am childless. I can’t afford to be a parent on my own. I’ve secretly stopped believing I will meet the love of my life. I feel as though I’ve missed the boat.

It’s funny. I expected that the longer I worked with young children, the more I would grow to appreciate my peace at knock off time. I thought I’d be able to hang out with the kiddies, have my patience tested daily, and then go and home and be grateful to have time to myself. I thought maybe I would want children less. That I’d stop waiting for love. That’d fix me up, right?

Instead, I appreciate my peace and quiet, but somehow want children more. Having other people’s children drown me in cuddles and tell me they love me; watching them reach milestones proudly and learn so much - from me - seems to serve only remind me of what I am missing out on. There are babies and children around me all the time. So many friends are having babies now. I am at that age. By the end of the year I won’t be able to count on both hands the number of people I know or am acquainted with who have had babies, just this year. In fact I feel like every time I log in to face book I am confronted with pregnant bellies, new babies and announcements of engagement. And then I go to work and spend all day around kids.

I guess I just wonder how long I can keep ignoring the feelings of inadequacy and pushing them away. How long can I ignore the pangs of strong hateful jealousy I feel toward anyone pregnant or newly bestowed with a baby? I’m happy for those people at the same time… but, is it healthy? I’m just doing my best, but I still feel like I’m not doing enough. What did I do wrong in my life to be alone and childless at 32? I don’t think any ambition I ever had was as strong as the one I had to be a mother. Yet it may end up being the one ambition I never fulfil. I think I understand how people with fertility problems feel. That want and urgency pokes at your insides daily. When people say “oh you have plenty of time”, and “it’ll happen when the time is right”, I feel even worse. It may not. I haven’t got plenty of time. I have very little. My biological clock might chug to a halt before I find myself in a position to make it happen.

How do I accept that this may be the case? I can’t find peace with that outcome yet. I can handle being alone. But I can't imagine living my life without my own children.

Am I just being dramatic because I turn 32 in less than 2 weeks? Or is this a normal feeling?

The Science on Climate Change is Unequivocal

Climate change is a topic which constantly surfaces in the media and provides much fodder for fierce debate. Today however, this debate has been taken one step further by Adelaide University’s Professor of Mining Geology, Ian Plimer with the release of his new book “How to Get Expelled from School: A Guide to Climate Change for Pupils, Parents and Punters”. The climate change skeptic has outlined 101 questions to ask teachers to challenge their collective environmental activist stance which apparently has no basis in science. This publication is being backed by ex Prime Minister John Howard.

I’m no expert in the field of climatology or environmental science, but since when were “environmental activism” and “science” mutually exclusive concepts? Also, moreover, why do some people feel they are above scientific fact and choose to disbelieve something for which there is overwhelming evidence for? It almost seems as though people are frightened that any research, reports or policies which are funded by a governmental body might be a conspiracy and designed to brainwash the masses into believing a specific agenda. The Chemtrail Conspiracy is a perfect example of this. Yet I for one find it difficult to believe that the world’s science professionals, who devote their lives and careers to research, and whom are trained to analyse and synthesise data using very specific methodology which accounts for all kinds of variables which can affect overall results, would be contriving research evidence to fit with government agendas. I’d go so far as to say I think science is the one thing we can rely on to be clear and evidence based.

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) spend years researching and compiling reports based on “unequivocal evidence” suggesting that humans are impacting global climate trends more and more every year. The IPCC’s 2007 report stated that numerous experiments have been constructed (and many more since this publication) which clearly indicated that the steep trend in global warming cannot be explained by natural causes. Though there are, of course, natural trends such as el nino and la nina which occur irrespective of human activity, it is almost bewildering to suggest that human activity (namely the dramatic increase in carbon emissions) is not impacting the delicate balance of the Earth’s atmosphere and stratosphere. Really, how could it not be affecting us? The Earth’s population has increased in the last 50 years from about 3 billion, to 7 billion. Folks, this is an extra 4 billion peoples’ worth of waste, as well as use of utilities and services, and most importantly electricity. In this age of technology and more extreme weather, the use of electricity has probably quadrupled or more in the last 50 years. There is no possible way that this is not having any effect on climate trends.

In May this year Professor Kurt Lambeck of the Australian Academy of Science affirmed this notion of human contribution to global warming in science/health journal The Lamp.
‘The role of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere is qualitatively well understood. It is known that increasing the atmospheric concentration of CO2 leads to higher mean global surface. It is known that CO2 has increased very substantially during the last century to the highest levels seen in the last 800,000 years,’ he said. ‘It is also beyond serious question that some CO2 from human activities remains in the atmosphere for a very long time, as is the message that unless greenhouse gas emissions are reduced, an upward trend in global temperature will continue.’
(No Doubt about Climate Change, The Lamp, 2011)


The global temperate has risen over 0.4 degrees Celsius since 1979, and 0.74 C in the last century. This means that more than half of this rise has been in the last 30 years. Eleven of the last 12 years “rank among the 12 warmest years in the instrumental record of global surface temperature since 1850”. If this doesn’t concern you, this is what our future could look like if we don’t act soon, and act big:




We need to act. We need to be open about how we can collectively make changes that will reduce our emissions of Carbon. The UNFCCC climate change pact is a great step in the right direction. And in my opinion, even the newly passed carbon tax has its positives. Small steps are better than none at all. But when are the naysayers going to admit that science is proving them wrong again and again?

What do you think about climate change? Do you think we are doing enough?

When the wind changes...

It's funny how things change... but then again, so do people. Feelings. Desires. I guess life wouldn't be a journey if they didn't. I hate the word journey. Remind me next time to use the word quest. Or voyage. Ha! We are all on life's voyage to the Nether Islands of Infinity.

Ok sorry, I've kind of lost my point. I really just wanted to say that the following is a piece I wrote about when someone turns out not be who you thought they were, and when you wake up one day and realised that something has shifted and you've moved in a different direction to where you expected. Probably for the better. It is about that moment of wistful nostalgia. Or is that nostalgic wist? Wait is wist even a word? My trusty dictionary says the word is whist, meaning silence or hush. Well this would have to be one of the most random blog entries I've ever written. Maybe I'll write up a big spiel about the carbon tax next just to mix it up.

Here it is.



You used to take my breath away
You couldn’t have known how much I cherished you
I held onto your words like they were pearls
But the wind changed
Time flew
I used to give so much
That at night I’d dream of you
You were always inside my heart, my thoughts
But the wind changed
Who knew?
You used to get inside me, underneath my skin
You were something magical and new
You gave me hope, and vision
But the wind changed
And so did you
You used to be my reason to believe
A grain of integrity and truth
To love you was an honour
But the wind changed
Time flew
Now I don’t even know you
And you haven’t got a clue
Somehow I’m still submerged waist deep in this dream
But the wind changed...
Have you?

A Little Body Love

“Right, that’s it!! I’m going on a diet!!”
“But Mama, are you coming back?”


That was the conversation that took place with my mother when I was just three years old. I didn’t know what a diet was, the word ‘going’ meant to me that a diet must have been a place. Oh how innocence is lost quickly. Mum was often on diets when I was growing up, she struggled with body image and the more she tried to control her weight, the harder it became, especially after having my two younger sisters.


We are not a lean family naturally, but nor are any of us big exercisers and we all love eating. I was always a smaller framed person and at 5”1 most of my adult years have been spent teetering between about 50 and 55 kilograms. I can’t honestly say I have ever been happy with my body, but I didn’t used to want to do any exercise to obtain my ideal body either. I hated the fact that genetically, even at a lower body weight, I’d always carry extra weight on my face and arms and I’d look like a hideous fat person in every photo because of where I carried that weight. I hated the ‘love handles’ around my hips and I hated my flabby arms.


At my heaviest, after leaving a job that I hated and being unemployed for a period of time, then another job that made me unhappy, I think I weighed about 59kg. I was still only a size 10 but I didn’t like my body at all, I didn’t like where my life was going and I didn’t really like myself very much. For me, Body Love is all about a journey of gaining self-esteem and confidence. Something that has been a struggle my whole life. In 2008 I finally returned to full time study and though life is never easy, I think it was the best decision I have ever made. I believe in myself so much more than I ever did before. The last year has been tough to tell the truth. I have suffered with some depressive episodes that have forced me to actually face and deal with my tendency toward depression, anxiety and poor stress management. I’ve realised that you can’t hide from something living inside you.


I think for me, dealing with these things has been the catalyst for my journey to the land of Body Love. I have finally lost the dreaded few extra kilos that had bothered me for so long. I have learned to enjoy exercise and not give in to the chocolate cravings quite as often! I know, it’s a miracle! I’d be lying if I said body image was no longer an issue for me, I think it is for many women for their whole lives. At 47kg, I still have days when I look in the mirror and see non-existent fat and cellulite. Days when I feel myself slip. I think about how many calories I’m consuming often. And I worry that I’ll put weight back on.


And that is why I decided to participate in the I heart my body 2011 project. I haven’t had babies (yet), or a bad childhood or a chronic illness. I’m just “Lucy in the sky with diamonds”, often “elsewhere” as someone put it the other day, and I’m just learning to be me. And be okay with me… mostly on the inside. But on the outside, today, I am going to celebrate my little curves and my cheeky smile and realise how lucky I am to have a body that is healthy and works just the way it should at 31 years of age. What do you love about YOUR body?

Come on baby light my fire...

Men. We love 'em and we hate 'em. I have had a lot of intense contact with a man I have let myself like too much in the last couple of months. We live in the same city,yet have had little physical contact because he has a girlfriend he is apparently unhappy with, yet not willing to leave. Our contact has been reduced for the most part to a mixture of light hearted and flirtatious banter via text messages and phone calls.

I know, I know. The alarm bells are going off right? I know this contact is not very healthy,yet I have just been rendered completely irrational every time I speak to him or see his words. The attraction is in the fact that he has never said a single thing that has left me wondering if he is the right kind of person for me. He ironically comes across as completely honest, he is kind, has a sense of humour so identical to mine that he has laughed at my jokes for five or ten minutes straight, even bad jokes. He is smart (a hippy environmental scientist)and articulate and very easy going.

He's not an addict, he's not suicidal, bi-polar or schizophrenic, he is not unemployed, he's not into prostitutes and he is not an arsehole or lacking social skills in any form. Unlike some of the creatures my poor friend Carly Findlay has happened upon lately!

Yet, he just doesn't quite seem to have it together.He would rather be with a girl he doesn't love and just flirt and play with fire on the side. Arghhhhhhhh!! I guess there comes a time when you just have to accept that he is just not that into you... and you have to walk away.

This kind of sums up how I feel:



FIRE


If you want to feel warm
Then light a fire
Ignite the flames
And watch them flicker
Inside her hungry soul
If you want to feel free
Then roam like a lion
On the open savannah
Stalk your prey
Then pounce
At the peak, opportune moment
If you want to let go
Then dance like a shadow
A silken silhouette
Surrendering to the moonlight
And the rain
And the sunshine
Wait for her to mirror
Your every calculated move
If you want to feel light
Float in the ocean
Let the sun kiss your spirit
And the current drag you away
From life as you know it
If you want to dream big
Then reach to the sky
And hang your hopes on the stars
Hang your hopes on her
She lives on the moon
Waiting for a fellow moon dweller
To join her in holey matrimony
If you want to feel warm
Build a fire
Then watch the flames flicker
They’ll dance inside her
Like an orchestra of sweet scented words
Dazzle her
Then stand far away
Safe from being burned
And watch her get away
Just like you’ve done a million times before

Persmission To Give Up

Sometimes all you want to do is run. From the task in front of you. From the problems in your life. From other people. From yourself. I can hear the collective sigh of everyone reading. We all feel like running away and giving up sometimes, and the general consensus of the world we live in today is “never ever give up”, because giving up is failing. It is losing face. It is letting ourselves down. It is showing weakness. But is there ever a time when it is okay to just give yourself permission to give something up and let it go?

I had a good talk with my mother last night. Like all mothers, she always knows better even if I think I’m managing to hide how I feel about something. A mother’s intuition I guess. It has been a difficult year, financially and with my studies and trying to take that step into the next chapter of my life, in a nice, easy, smooth glide. But life isn’t about smooth, easy glides from one thing to the next. It is bumpy, often blind, and sometimes scary. I have been to the edge and back a few times. I have crumbled. I have hit some low points this year much lower than I ever believed my circumstances would have warranted and felt so unlike myself I didn’t particularly want to look in the mirror or face the day at all. Crying spells unfortunately featured quite a lot this year.

For the uninitiated, I have invested the better part of four years into my university degree and really am on the cusp of becoming a teacher and leaving the long nights of study and caffeine overdose far far behind me. I have also invested two years into dragging my feet along with my honours thesis, trying to find a way to make it all come together and make sense. I have spent many an hour sitting in front of my laptop staring at the screen, writing 3 sentences, then deleting them, then researching some more, reading, writing another 3 sentences. Delete. It has been the death of me really. The research topic kind of fell into my lap at the start. I wanted to do research in the area of literacy and the use of multiliteracies and popular media in the classroom. So when a professor at the university walked into my research class looking for people interested in doing a literacy based thesis focused on a literacy program called MULTILIT and the perceptions of how effective it was in making gains in academic literacy achievement in one school, it seemed like the stars were sort of aligned.

Until I realised that MULTILIT was an acronym for Making Up For Lost Time In Literacy, and was actually a Direct Instruction based phonics program and nothing to do with Multiliteracies. Still, I thought, it is a topic handed to me on a platter and there is some hands on research in there which is good. It sounds interesting enough. It could work. Then time passed and life’s stresses and the sheer complexity and involved process of applying for ethics approval to conduct research in a school, especially with Indigenous students sent me into flight mode. Eventually the study was reduced to a document study with MULTILIT still as the main focus, but more a genealogical study of literacy instruction. I was a long way from my initial interest in using multimedia, pop culture and technologies to enhance literacy learning and instruction, and I was stalling with it more than ever. After my final practicum turned upside down and left me facing doing it all again with no Austudy payments to support myself, my Thesis became even harder to focus on despite the tiny window of time I had to complete it in. When my laptop recently decided it was time to call it quits and go to computer heaven, I could have given up there and then quite easily. Fortunately my parents did come to my rescue and I have a new laptop for which I am very grateful. Though I can only admit that it did cross my mind that if I didn’t have a computer then I had a good excuse to give up. Still, I kept going.

So the question I am asking myself now, is, is it time to give up? Can I give myself permission now to let it go and move on? Because I no longer qualify for Austudy, I am on unemployment benefits and under massive financial stress. The stress of knowing that time is of the essence and that I need to find work as well is impacting my health. I bemoaned my health issues on Facebook last night and claimed I must have diabetes or be a hyperchondriac. But even on Facebook, where everyone else struggles to know how to interpret things other people have said, mothers can read between the lines immediately. She phoned me and told me I was too stressed, not eating properly and getting thinner (I’d have debated that but weighed myself this morning and found I was 46kg). So after a good talk with my Mum, I think I can finally give myself that permission.

I will give myself one week to make some significant gains on my Thesis and if I can’t, then it is time to say goodbye to the task which has become unenjoyable and not the piece of writing I thought it was going to be. When have you given yourself permission to give up? Do you regret it?

The Sound of Silence

Depression.

Sometimes it is a dirty word, a thing better off being swept under the rug.

Sometimes it is hard to talk about, both for the person suffering, and the person trying to help the person they love.

Sometimes it is the darkest and most isolating place you could imagine being trapped.

But it is always better to reach out than suffer alone, or let a loved one suffer for lack of knowing how to help. "Speak" is the mantra for those caught in the horrendous web of despair that depression can weave.

"Speak" is something I want to do. For all those that have suffered and are suffering. I have a in my precious little mind, a novel which I hope one day will speak to those people who might feel they have lost their voice. I intend to write it. And, as a believer in raising awareness, I have set myself a goal to become an ambassador for Beyond Blue (www.beyondblue.org.au) within 2 years.

Here is a little teaser for my book:

The Sound of Silence


Four people. One song. One tragic link buried in the past is about to resurface. Will history repeat itself? Or does someone have the power to stop it?

........

Felicity Free is a twenty-something, unlucky in love girl, who tends to march to the beat of her own drum. Struggling to build up her PR consultancy business in her not-so-flourishing North Queensland hometown, Flick seeks business from a wide range of clientele. Excited to take on rising local band Venus Fly Trap, she soon discovers that there is more to the eccentric rock outfit than meets the eye, especially the charismatic young lead singer who has an obsession with performing an old Simon and Garfunkel song that seems to silence his audience every time.

Jack Darling lives for his pub. Set against a spectacular tropical backdrop, the sleek and stylish bar is all Jack has left of his late wife Maggie. But business is hardly booming and Jack is desperate to get more punters through the door to save the dream he and Maggie once had together. When a cute-as-a-button PR consultant and quirky up and coming local band burst onto his radar, it seems as though his prayers have been answered. But things are never as they seem and it isn't long before Jack is suddenly faced with the demons he has had locked away for years.

School teacher Lexie Morgan has everything she ever thought she wanted. Recently relocated to one of the most sought after areas of North Sydney, her husband Andy has been offered a once in a lifetime opportunity as the senior graphic designer for Sydney's leading communications firm. With their two beautiful children and perfect home overlooking the beach, life should have been sweet for the Morgans. Yet for Lexie, the skeletons in her closet have always been lurking in the shadows. Now, with her ever troubled brother in danger of going over the edge, it seems those skeletons are about to be pushed out into the harsh light of day where Lexie can no longer hide from them.

Evan Sykes is a rock star from his hat to the tips of his toes. He has the talent to take him to the moon, but enough troubles to take him to Mars. When playing regular gigs at one of the coolest new revamped venues in town leads to interest from a major record label, Evan believes his troubles are over. Even the prospect of leaving behind his latest fling, PR queen Felicity, and moving to Sydney couldn't dampen his spirits. But all great things must end and a distasterous reunion with his estranged father is about to set Evan on course to repeat a tragedy that his family has already seen before. It is too late to change the past, but for Evan the future is still unwritten. The question is: what future will he write?

.........

Four souls. One song. One sound they've all heard before, about to unravel and stop them in their tracks. A sound so quiet, noone dares speak of it's existence. One which has potentially catastrophic consequences. Dark and unrelenting, it is a sound like no other... The sound of silence.

Flutter By

I feel strongly about the lack of awareness in this world about mental health issues and emotional disorders. Depression affects something like 1 in 3 people at some point of their lives. Anxiety disorders are just as common. There seems to be an increase in the mortality rate from suicide, particularly in young men. Just recently a young 13 year old boy in Cairns, who had been missing for over two months was found dead about 200m from his home. Noone knew he was depressed. He was popular and always smiling, and he achieved well at school and had an active social life. How long had he suffered in silence?

And only days ago, Jay Dee Springbett, an A&R executive for Sony music – but best known for his stint as a judge on Australian Idol – was found dead in his lounge room. It appeared he had suffered cardiac arrest. He had prescription drugs nearby. By all reports, he was a good man, full of cheer and good humour. He was bright spirited and his untimely end is a devastating loss to his friends and family. His funeral was held today in Sydney. How long had he suffered in silence?

Too many people suffer in silence. I know what that silence sometimes sounds like... and there is no denying that the silence people suffer in leads to way too many lives ending much too soon. For Jay Dee, for Declan, and for all the people who left this life prematurely, this poem is for you. For anyone else who has or is suffering in silence, please speak up. No-one should ever have to suffer in silence. Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of feeling things more intensely than others. If you hold out your hand and ask for help... that is a sign of strength. This poem is for you as well.


FLUTTER BY

Flutter by my butterfly
Dream of the deep blue sky
Fly like an eagle
Way up high
Listen closely to the ocean’s sigh
Fight like a warrior
With a spirit bright...
Flutter by...
Beautiful butterfly
Open your arms to forever
And fill your heart with a smile
Don’t cry
Just flutter by...
Let the truth do the talking
And your smile whisper to the sky
The secrets of the heavens
Let there be no question why
Close your mind to the darkness
Let life not pass you by
For the world is much too precious
And the stakes are much too high
Flutter by my butterfly
Dream of the deep blue sky
Open your arms to forever
...just flutter by

I can see a restless soul always itchin' to run...

This week I had my final week on campus at uni before graduating, all five days filled with sessions with various people from the education industry speaking about all the vital things we need to know and do before going off to be teachers.

Mostly I erred on the side of boredom. So I drew pictures. Here are my three favourites.

This is my interpretation of Wes Carr's forthcoming album title Lions.




This is magical flower, or a cosmic flower.




Actually it kind of matches my Cosmic Flower poem from a while back. Here is the poem again just for fun.


My Cosmic Flower

Deep in the cosmos you glimmer
Next to the starry sea
Like a lurid dream
Awash with fantasy
There's no sunshine there
No rain, or day or night
There's no awake or sleeping
And there' no wrong or right
On the jagged edge of this perforated universe
All looks convoluted and dismissive at first
Yet right on the banks of infinity
Murky, vast and bare
Nothing has it's limits
Not even the darkest despair
But there underneath a solitary beam of moonlight
Stands still, the most perfect precious sight
Untarnished and emitting
An other worldly glow
Your silhouette exquisite
A kaleidoscope rainbow
Never has there been anything so beautiful
Just standing quietly there
As you my cosmic flower
...my sacred love so rare


And this picture is a serpent which lives in your chest and sometimes threatens to squeeze the life out of you. It represents fear, anxiety, doubt and restlessness. And when he tightens and tries to take over your mind and body, it sometimes feels like you just want to run... the art is based loosely on Wes' song lyric "you can see a restless soul always itching to run".

An Open Letter To Spidey

Dear Spidey

I was quietly on my way today
From A to B poste haste
When silently you crept with stealth across my unsuspecting face
The fear, it froze me to my bones
What was I to do?
I was driving along a winding road
And I hadn't invited you!
Oh uninvited guest, I nearly swerved into a ditch!
Dear Mr Spidey, I thought,
You inconsiderate son of a bitch!
I almost crashed, I could have died,
My life flashed before my eyes
And it was all your fault dear spidey
You were not a good surprise!
But as I calmed I realised
You were simply a restless soul 
Just like me, you were itchin to run
Screaming to rock and roll!
A friend was all you needed
A friend, I surely can be!
But next time dear spidey, if you want to say hello
Please don't creep all over me! 


 

Always Believe...

“Lean in closer” you whispered
So I leaned right in.
I almost fell into you
“Smile just a little” your heart begged
So I did.
I beamed, and suddenly the night wasn’t so dark
“Close your eyes and listen” you soothed
So I closed my eyes and opened my heart
I heard you like a bell ringing in the night
“I’ll tell you a story” you promised
So I waited. I believed you.
“Surrender yourself to your dreams” you seduced
So I let go of the solid ground beneath me
And looked up to the sky
“Feel your toes curl like magic has infiltrated your body” you winked
So I felt it. I trembled in a coma of bliss
“Open your eyes and see it for yourself” you sighed
And so I looked. And I saw the sweet, tranquil wonder I’d missed
“Let me show you the secret” you offered
So I took your hand and never looked back
“Lean in closer” you beckoned
Your hands cupped, outstretched
So I did. I leaned in. I saw it
It was breathtaking
You showed me something mystical
Something majestic
Something full of spright
You showed me, not the whole world
You showed me just the light
“And the secret” you whispered,
“is not to let it guide you – let your heart do that..”
“the secret” you said with a glint in your eye
“is to bathe in it”
“For if you do, you will always shine like the brightest star in the sky”
And I believed you
...I always have

Words (channeling Dr Seuss)

Words can seem far, so tiny you miss ‘em
Some are so close, you could practically kiss ‘em
Some words are empty, a jar on a shelf
But when they’re full up, they're all for myself!
Some words are quick, they’re found just like that!
They roll off your tongue at the drop of a hat!
Some words shine like a star or brilliant moonbeam
But fade rather quickly, just like a dream
Words are your friend but they’re also your foe
At times they might tell you what you already know
They get you in trouble if you don’t choose with care
Words can be cheeky, go on say it if you dare!
Words are the glue that hold your thoughts all together
They help you make chit chat ‘bout stuff like the weather!
They’re shady, they’re sunny, they’re hard and they’re runny
Some are quite bitter, and some sweet like honey
Words are the fuel that takes us to a far away place
Where wild words are aplenty, and some go to waste
Words can heal wounds, they can make us feel warm
They can help us hang on while we weather the storm
Words are the things which open your heart
So love your words! They’ll set you apart
Choose them when you’re happy, or even when you’re sappy
Choose them when you’re sad, when you’re bad, or even when you’re mad
Choose them just for you! Old words or new! Made up or true!
Choose them everyday... choose words just for you.

Copyright Lucinda Douglas 2011

The Lovestone's Destiny...

Some time ago, I watched this YouTube video. The song is written by a well known musician who was hit with a spark of inspiration after seeing the busker in the video at the Portobello Markets in London. Both Marvel and the Jonesteens are fictional.

After I watched it, the inspiration seemed to be paid forward. To me. I suddenly had the urge to write a biography/ background story for Marvel Jonesteen and his band. I felt the band was made up of Marvel, his two brothers and his sister. They were a quirky family, each with their own set of issues and challenges.

The story of Marvel and the Jonesteens began in Bali some twenty years ago. Like many stories of inspiration and triumph, it is steeped in a volcanic eruption of challenges, tragedies and melancholy. The three Jonesteen brothers and their younger sister Destiny were drawn to music from very early on when their father managed a bar and nightclub in Ubud, Bali for several years. Marvel remembers fondly the Indonesian and Balinese bands his father had playing in the bar, and was also fascinated by a street busker in town who called himself ‘Tutti’. Tutti would sit cross legged with his front teeth missing, playing his bamboo xylophone ‘rindik’, creating percussion with a rainstick, and sing all day, every day. All the Jonesteen children stopped to watch and give him money regularly.

But it wasn’t until the Jonesteen family relocated back to Sydney Australia, that their musical talents would show themselves. A troubled thirteen year old Marvel soon picked up a guitar and began to write songs that were often somewhat conflicted in content. Marvel would frequently say that “Frank” wrote them, which both baffled and concerned his family. Three years later, Marvel was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, and the song “I don’t want to die this way” was born. Marvel can proudly recall when “Frank” was upset with him for taking medication for his illness and wrote the song out of desperation. Apparently “Frank” had no intention of dying this way, and eventually Marvel discontinued the medication. Marvel and Frank still live side by side, in a somewhat volatile existence. Nevertheless, they make a great musical team.

Marvel’s traumatic story isn’t the only story in the Jonesteen family which is extraordinary. The youngest of the siblings, Destiny, was a keen pianist like brother Jacquin, until, at age 15, she had a nasty run-in with the in-sink-erator and lost her right hand. Sadly after a long fight with infection , gangrene set in and there was no choice but to amputate. Devastated, Destiny sunk into deep depression until one day her father brought home a drum kit. It was then that she took matters into her own hands.. well actually, hand. With her one hand, she attacked those drums with fiery valour. The drummer from Def Leopard may have only one hand, but so does Destiny Jonesteen...so watch out!

The story of Jacquin Jonesteen, is no less extraordinary! Jacquin, nicknamed “Froggy” was born with a congenital defect that left his arms deformed so that his hands were nothing more than stubs. Life has always been a major challenge for him, but the determined lad never let anything get him down. Jacquin would spend hours of his youth stretching his toes apart with paddle pop sticks and clothes pegs to acquire the necessary flexibility to carry out everyday tasks. It was his widespread toes that quickly gained him the nickname Froggy. This unbelievable keyboardist plays only with his toes, a feat not even Destiny could manage after her accident! With his naturally stretchy and flexible toes, Jacquin Jonesteen can do anything! Except climb Mount Everest! Although this is a sad fact for Froggy, he openly admits that climbing Everest is not worth the risk of getting frostbite to his toes and being left totally helpless. He prides himself on the fact that he can open a stubby with his toes.. a skill worth hanging on to!

The eldest Jonesteen brother has had a somewhat less eventful life. Prior to joining the band, Xenos (otherwise simply known as Xen) was a painter by trade. Sadly Xen lost his job for excessively sniffing paint stripper and mineral turps on the job and still battles this addiction today. But every cloud has a silver lining, just as every sniff of paint stripper burns a few hairs out of one’s nostrils. Xen picked up the bass guitar for the first time in two years and chipped away at it, rediscovering his undeniable passion for music. Xen insists that the inhalation of toxic liquids has enhanced his musical vision and gives him a head start over his brothers and sister, creatively. Marvel and Frank fully disagree.

Marvel and the Jonesteens have been on a strange and tragic, yet epic journey, and they invite you to join them. From Bali, to Sydney, to the planet Mars, this is a ride through some wild unpredictable terrain, but one you will not forget. With musical sounds combining the mellowed out Indonesian vibes from their humble beginnings in Bali, and an obvious influence of greats such as Led Zeppelin, The Doors and The Beatles, this is one band that will leave you salivating for more.

I pondered and dreamt up many other background facts about the Jonesteen family, all of which are very silly and over the top. For obvious reasons, I will never be able to use the name Marvel, or Jonesteen if I ever write the story and I will have to streamline the ideas and make sure that I write about any disabilities or mental health problems in a sensitive way. I envisaged a mock up of a memoir mixed with rock and roll autobiography written from Destiny’s perspective. I also think the subject would be better targeted to teenagers, which means the content would need to be toned down.

It has evolved a little since the original spark of inspiration, but I wanted to share it because I think it is a story I would one day really like to write. I am playing with changing the family’s name to Lovestone. Marvel will be Merlin. Yep, Merlin! I imagine his given name will be Neil after his mother’s love of Neil Diamond. Destiny will be the only one who goes by her actual name, as all three of her brothers have chosen to give themselves silly names. Merlin, Xenos and Titan (which titan are you then, douchebag? “Beeros of course! God of the almighty golden ale!”). The characters will be a little younger than I originally dreamed up, probably teenagers except for the eldest, Xen. Destiny, despite being the youngest, will be the “responsible” one. I imagine arguments over the name of their band, which is going to be born one day in the family garage. Merlin would like it to be Merlin’s Apprentices, Titan votes for Titan’s Warriors even though he plays keyboard and doesn’t sing. And Destiny and Xen both vote for The Lovestone’s Destiny with Destiny up front on lead vocals.
The winning name, and working title for the book, since it’s an interesting play on words is The Lovestone’s Destiny.

Now all I have to do is go on tour with a band and hang out with them to see what happens for research!! So what do you all think???

Oddball Ballet Duo and other stuff

I was looking through a pile of stuff of yesterday from years ago and came across a folder which I used to use for note taking when I had retail skills training for a retail traineeship many moons ago. I was pleasantly surprised to find this picture of the "Oddball Ballet Duo" and another picture I will show you in a minute, amongst the rubble, because it reminded me that my inattentive mind has been dreaming up stories and living in the world of my imagination for a long time. I'd forgotten that I used to do things like this.

I'm sad to say that these are some of the very last remnants of my creative mind from years ago. I once had a very weak moment and ripped up all the old diaries and notebooks I had kept from about the age of fourteen, after deciding it would be really good "therapy". I had thought that I would rather not read through them ever again and nor did I want anyone else to if I happened to get run over by a bus or something. Some of the stuff was definitely enough to make me cringe! I have done the same thing a few times with my computer files - purged them and made the decision that they need not be read again, or kept. It is water under the bridge now, but I regret it a little bit, because my head has always been a minefield of words and stories and thoughts and poems and little doodles and pictures, and some things should be held onto and cherished.

I'm not sure what was going through my head when I thought of the Oddball Ballet Duo! But I do remember they were an eccentric pair of brothers who were inspired by eighties glam rock/punk/pop. We'll call the black-haired one Jonno and the red head Jimbo. Jonno was a multi-tasking man who could dance, play a keyboard and smoke a cigar at the same time. Apparently, by the looks of his star of David pendant, he was a jew. Or maybe he just thought being a jew would be cool. His brother Jimbo is a cross dresser and thinks that is part of his appeal. It looks like he must be catholic. Oh the sins he has committed in this one picture!!

The other picture I found was a picture of a little girl begging. She has darker tones and green eyes... maybe she was middle eastern (Persian)? I'm not sure, but I think she was looking at rich people walking past, heavily laden with gold jewellery, and amazing silk clothing and knowing already that she was never going to have what those people had.



I'm not much of an artist... but it is kind of cool to look back on this kind of thing and wonder where the inspiration came from.

Be careful about what you choose to throw away guys. Once it is gone, you can't get it back.

Wigglin' Wesley and the Jitterbugs

I wrote a story quite a long time ago. It is still undergoing editing whenever I get around to opening it up and looking at it. Writing in verse is difficult. The lines never seem to sound quite right - what sounded right yesterday sounds wrong today, and sometimes what sounded wrong yesterday sounds much better than you first thought, now that you read it today. I have amazing respect for any author who writes in beautiful, perfect verses. It is a special skill.


This is a story about following your dreams and being yourself. Wigglin' Wesley is a worm who loves to dance and wiggle about the place, and when the Jitterbugs dance troupe come to town, he wants nothing more than to dance. But a lifetime of being bullied by two scorpions for the way he moves without any legs has left him hurt and scared to be himself. Until now...

Here is an excerpt:


‘Twas an unfashionably cool morning in the middle of June
The leaves glistened with dew and the birds chirped their sweet tune.
The wind whistled soulfully, to the winter’s blithe song...
And the sun blazed warmly, ‘twas though nought could be wrong.

‘Sweet Mystique’ was the fragrance of the flowers in bloom -
The Jasmine and Ginger, and the Orchid’s perfume
The big fig tree’s branches swayed in the breeze
And the forest folk hurried about, as busy as bees!

It was though a spell had been cast over the canopy, far and wide
Excitement crept over the trees; Honeydew Forest was alive!
The air felt enchanted, none knew what was in store,
Except the teeny tiny critters, down on the forest floor

The commotion in the forest, at its bottommost layer had begun.
The bugs were in a tizzy about the night about to come.
“Oh what shall I wear?” squeaked Gretel, distressed
Said her gruff green ant husband, “You’ve a million things Gretel, and you’re always well dressed!”

Piper the paper wasp, turned perfect pirouettes in the air
“I can’t wait” she sighed dreamily, “what a splendid affair!”
Piper’s friend Juno, agreed, “What a magnificent do!”
And he flicked his damselfly wings, of bright, electric blue.

Madame Tempura, with her golden orb charm
Sipped her tea and leaned in to tap Mr Whirlygig’s arm
She told him excitedly about the night’s great barrage
Of amazing entertainers and their full entourage

But not all were in high spirits, or bouncing with glee
In fact, one quite the opposite, sat very quietly.
Beneath a beautiful ribbon fern, luscious and green
Wesley hid from the fuss, where he couldn’t be seen

An earthworm all sullen, Wesley cried in despair
He was totally woebegone, and felt life was unfair
“I just want to go tonight” he sobbed, “But I feel like a fool”
“The others will laugh at me, they’re always so cruel”.

Tears streamed down his face; his heart broke in two
Wesley was miserable, and not a single soul knew
He was so full of dreams; he hung his hopes on the moon
But little did he know, life would change VERY soon.

Tonight was Honeydew Forest’s great annual shindig
Everyone would be there – even cheeky Mr Whirlygig.
Special guests were to appear, as part of their tour en route.
They were famous forest wide; the “Jitterbugs” dance troupe.

Wesley was ecstatic when he first heard the news...
Until he saw Sally the Stag Beetle polishing her shoes
More than anything, dear little Wesley wanted to dance
But with no legs at all, he was sure he didn’t stand a chance!

Wesley could wiggle and squiggle and jiggle and squirm
But couldn’t jump, skip or hop, for he was only a worm!
When the others played games, he was always left out
And teased by nasty Scorpions, Saxby and Scout

They pointed and laughed at Wesley’s wormy wiggle
“Wigglin’ Wesley!” taunted Scout with a sneer and a giggle
Saxby joined in with Scout’s cruel hearted fun
“Hey Wesley”, he squawked, “Let’s see you run!”

........

copyright Lucinda Douglas 2011

You Can Change The World

I'd like to change the world. I would really like to spend time in a disadvantaged community, and in an under developed country like Cambodia or somewhere in South America as part of a volunteer program. New Hope Volunteers has a great program available. I really want next year to be THE year for it.

We can ALL change the world in our own way, just by doing small things. As an aspiring children's literary author, I am writing a story about doing that. Changing the world, one thought, one day, and one step at a time. It is still a work in progress, but here is an excerpt. Tell me what you think.


YOU CAN CHANGE THE WORLD

Stella worried about the world. It was so very big and there were so many things to worry about, her heart couldn’t hold them all in. There were sad people, bad people, angry people and sick people. There were people who were hungry, who had nothing to eat and some without homes who lived on the street. Stella worried about them all! She worried far too much!

Sometimes Stella wondered how she could help, but the world seemed so big it was impossible.
“How big is the world Mama?” asked Stella
“Almost as big as your heart” said Mama, “but not quite”.
“How big is my heart Mama?” asked Stella
“Bigger than you could possibly imagine my darling” said Mama “with a heart as big as yours, anything is possible!”
“Mama, do you think I could change the world?”
“Stella, my darling”, said Mama “You can do anything you imagine.”
So Stella imagined...


Copyright Lucinda Douglas 2011

Dreams...

[source]


If you dream about something enough, how long before it comes true? Does it ever?

It seems like I’ve been dreaming forever... should I wake up now, or just let the tide sweep me away to Neverland?

In Neverland you never have to grow up... or do you?

Dreams become visions, and visions become great achievements. But if you keep dreaming, do you risk staying suspended in another time and place with nowhere to go?

Just a thought... what do you think?