Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods. We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey. She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating “bee stings.” Of course, there could have been nothing under the bandaids but the visual was pretty impactful. This was a woman who almost died trying to bring us authentic , natural honey. She also had pollen hanging from the end of her nose. Again, no-one scientifically PROVED it was pollen … but we all hoped. When a whole community closes its eyes tight and pretends not to see something or agrees it is something else, it pretty much is. It is called mass imagining and I am pretty sure that it is the explanation behind why anyone thought it was a good idea to vote Tony Abbott in as Prime Minister. I have to believe that or else I have to go kill myself.
The bee woman swore her honey was raw and natural.
You are just a little boy with an impish face but the features of a man are there, hidden in the cuteness, like a almost transparent overlay that every so often catches the light just right and you can see the picture of you decades from now. You are being brave because your momy sold you on the whole idea of a hair cut. You don’t like hair cuts. You don’t like the strange smells, the scissors near your face, the buzz of a clippers and the feel of them against your skin. Most of all, you don’t like that someone else stands between you and your mommy and holds your face, but not in the way mommy does, stroking and smoothing, kissing and loving, but in a way that says “man” and “business” and wants you to turn your head or hold still . . . when all you want to do is slip out of the chair and run.
I see you weighing up the cost and doubting the process. You traded a haircut for some chocolate. You wince as the hairdresser squirts water all over your head and it drips down into your eyes. Your hand moves up instinctively to wipe it away and instead of fixing the problem, you have now transferred all the little cut hairs that were on the cape between your hand and your face, onto your face. Now, you are desperately wiping harder to get the hairs out of your nose, your eyes, your mouth . . . and every movement makes it worse. Mommy steps in and tries to help, wiping your face and kissing your forehead, trying to reassure you. She tries to make you understand you have to stop wiping with your hand, you are only making it worse. You just feel frustrated, but you try. You sit, and you struggle under the cape to be ok, but you are not. No-one seems to understand, and so your bravado, the shell of your future manhood that is so newly formed and still somewhat fragile, crumbles to the floor and you cry.
The Pez annual Easter Egg Hunt for Children, in Connecticut had to be cancelled. It wasn’t because of “the kids these days” either. Nope, it was because of the people in charge of raising “the kids these days” – their parents.
Adults suck because they are always painting their own agendas, fears, insecurities, beliefs, etc . . . all over the innocence and fun of children. Children are capable of running and playing and having fun with all the other kids. They win, they lose, they share. When they don’t share, the natural consequences of the herd take care of that. The other kids stop wanting to play with you until you learn to share. No-one gets killed or trampled in the process, you just learn that “friends” require give and take.
This Easter, one family of grandkids arrived at our home for an Easter egg hunt. It contained an older sister and 3 very close in age, very aggressive, very male, little boys. They ranged in age from 2 – 5 and are constantly competing for all things life. As they ran back and forth on the lawn finding their eggs to put in their “baskets” there were shouts of happiness and good natured taunting. There was some impromptu racing for the egg spied across the yard in the birdbath, a little bit of shoving, but mostly laughing. In the end, all tired and sweaty, proud of their efforts, they handed over their eggs to be put into the fridge to keep them from melting. No-one cared about counting who had the most. In the end, when they came out of the fridge, the children wanted them divided between them all, regardless of who had found them. Kids are capable of a heck of a lot of decent human behaviour when the adults can just back off and not project all their own crap all over them. Continue reading →
I have recently started colouring, blaming my daughter Tina who gave me a colouring book and crayons for Christmas and unleashed the monster. Then I joined a couple of the groups on Facebook and it was kind of like baptism by a dunk in the deepest ocean . . . while holding a heavy rock .. . . . duct taped to your hands. Suddenly my life was everything colouring and the passion and intensity of people driven to colour every day, in every way, endlessly, over and over, buying and consuming all things colourful rip tided me way out into the deep beyond all rescue. My life was taken over by the raging river of nonstop posting on my Facebook. My phone sounded like it was having an epileptic attack with all the dinging to notify me of another post.
I couldn’t even see anything my friends or family posted on my feeds.
Best week of my life.
And most of the work is exceptional and beautiful beyond what you could imagine possible with a coloured pencil and those that are not quite up to that standard are just beginners who will nail it and surpass their teachers in no time.
I spent a lot of time researching, as is my way, and learning about the terms and the supplies etc. I always figure, if I suck at colouring, I can impress them with how they make those prisma coloured pencils or which paper is the best to use and why. I am never sure if people are impressed with what I have to say or just that any human being can talk that fast and for so long without breathing.
We are born completely connected to source. We explore the world around us with joy and each experience is taken so deep into our being that it shapes us and directs our actions long after we have abandoned our childhood. We pinpoint things that did and did not happen as children that cause the troubles we experience in childhood. A baby that is not loved and nurtured at birth may never be able to properly attach to another human being. Our experiences are THAT important.
As children we believe we are capable of anything and everything. Watch a child as he interacts with the adults in his life. He wants to do and try everything they are doing. It does not occur to him that he might not be able to or that he might fail. He won’t hear that his legs are not long enough or he lacks the strength. He insists on trying. Even if he fails he will try, and try again. A child seldom internalizes failure as something to do with his ability, but more often as a sign that he needs to have another go at it. And he does.
A child shouts with anger, laughs out loud, cannot contain their sorrow or disappointment, have feet that dance and hands that wave with joy. They feel things. They express what they feel with their body’s actions, their facial expressions, and their voice. You don’t often have to ask a child how they are feeling, the whole room is aware of their current emotional state. Continue reading →
I received a phone call this morning from a young woman who asked me to check my email. She had sent me a copy of Family Law Reform Coalition press release. I was impressed because in her little corner of her world, where much of life passes her by on a regular basis, she was awake enough to care about what is on her plate. She is not likely ever going to be anyone that the world will know, but with each event in her life, she is waking up, paying attention and engaging. I admire her for that.
An overhaul of Family Court is due in most countries. The only people who do not understand the need for this, are those who have never had to use it.
Family court, unlike any of the other courts, makes allowance for people’s emotions during a difficult time, which is the only excuse I come up for as to why they do not enforce the basic rules and codes of conduct that are upheld in the other courts. The most blatant of which is the amount of lying that goes on. People lie in their affidavits. They lie to the court ordered psychologists and psychiatrists. They lie in their testimony. They lie for themselves. They lie for their families and friends. And those lies are often proven during the course of the case that is being decided, and NOTHING is done about it.
By nothing, I mean I have never heard anyone being charged with perjury, despite the same wording being on everything people sign regarding swearing that you are telling the truth and it being a criminal offense to lie.
The problem with this is that it leads to people lying to the Police, to Social Services, and to Maintenance. In some instances it is even teaching the children involved how to lie and that our courts do not deserve respect. Making you swear to tell the whole truth doesn’t actually mean the “true truth.” Based on these lies people’s lives are ruined, their wages are being garnisheed and charges and judgments are placed against them. Continue reading →
This is supposed to be the point in my life where I look at the long winding road that has lead me here and consider the successes, the failures, and consider my regrets.
Is it rude to say I don’t have any?
It isn’t that I think I am perfect because I am so far from that I laugh to think I ever allowed myself to live trying to achieve that, and then cried when I fell short. It isn’t that I cannot see or feel the pain, the heartache, the darkness, the problems all around me. I am not living with some rose coloured glasses on pretending the world is all beer and skittles. I recognize that every detail of my life’s journey is shaded many colours both dark and light and I am grateful for the ability I gained to use it all to grow and learn.
I don’t even miss people or places. I love that some people and places touched me on such a level that I only have to close my eyes and I am there again. I can feel them to the point that I give away my present moments to their honour. What a gift to have had those types of experiences. Even the painful ones, that are so sharp they can make me bleed, remind me that I will not repeat the actions that placed me there. They are jewels of a different kind. But I don’t wish that they were here or that I could go back because you can’t go back to anything. Even if some miracle could transport you, how would you recognize anything? You are not that person any more. Continue reading →