Selection of prose and poetry
Prepare to meander along the rivers of paradox
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The currawong, the leaf blower and the dog owner
New neighbours A family of currawongs moved to the neighbourhood a few months ago. Until a couple of weeks ago, I had only heard and seen four to five of them at a time – in the local park, by my window or in a neighbouring tree – and I considered myself lucky. Thanks to
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Waa
What we are about to become, dancing with the shadow of what we used to know about ourselves What we are not answering, looking for the beautiful question that refuses to rush our seasonality What we are withdrawing from, finding another ground from which to see and step into the unknown What we are transforming,
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In dialogue with life
Walking on thin air blind to your own regeneration you cannot see the path Walking on thin air losing sight of your meaning searching your house of belonging Walking on thin air freed by your suffering found, harvesting its presents Walking on thin air youthful revelation at the cliff of grief and celebration Walking on
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Integrity and integration
I spent the summer with great minds and this is what is now emerging. The Way of Integrity I was re-reading The Way of Integrity from Martha Beck – which I highly recommend reading if you haven’t yet – and I was laughing at how much this book had, without me consciously knowing it, been
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Parts of Me
“Consciousness emerges from the integration of the parts” ‘Me’-etings Last year, I wrote a book called The Writer’s Dilemma, which I am now in the process of publishing. The book is a colourful invitation into the intimate dialogues of a climate human, Joy Bark, about why she should not be writing. Fresh, spicy and warm,
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Where is the edge of me?
“Where is the edge of me?“: Nora Bateson’s provocative yet elusive words are often on my mind. They felt particularly alive lately when I was reflecting on what I/we know and how I/we know it in preparation for RM’s first learning summit. Why? What were these words waking up as I was attempting to unpack
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Bird moments
Magpie; Barrawarn* (*in Woi-Wurrung language) Your only vague points of connection to them were the numerous swooping stories, by either their bird-selves or Collingwood supporters. Until one early morning, after a Dawn Service in January in St Kilda, this relationship changed. It became personal. Barrawarn Barrawarn Barrawarn, it said. Barrawarn Barrawarn Barrawarn, you said. Barrawarn
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Birds!
[What best describes your line of work?] Birds! That’s what I should have said! Why not? Because there are unspoken rules [bird-mind-cages?] that dictate what constitutes a suitable answer? Because we all need to sound very professional and serious? Because we are not supported to create our own stories? What good does that really do
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Imagination
Imagine Imagine colouring outside the lines Imagine shape shifting until the lines are no longer Imagine mark-making by way of connecting Imagine dissolving Imagine a river alive Imagine an ancestor you could be Imagine ideas matter collectively Imagine you’re more water than land Imagine you are flow Imagine following your edge Imagine tree is river
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In service to life
Something beautiful is unfolding… That was the strong gut feeling I sensed as I was enjoying reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. What a treat this book is. An incredibly rich coming together of ideas, words and stories giving texture and grounding to concepts that often live separate lives. Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the