Sunday, September 23, 2018

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A courageous rooster crows in the sleepy village below. I’m on the southern island of Kadavu. Spirals of smoke rise from cooking fires to a lazy sky of Fiji blue. I clamber up concrete stairs by the dining room and along a spur straddling huts of palm frond thatch and sheets of rusted iron. Monster mango trees throw a shroud of welcome shade – cool and dark – over ragamuffin fence posts and loose strands of random wire. Motley chickens scratch along the path.

On the highest knoll I sit by a wind-bent palm, sun on my back, gazing across the Pacific at Nabukulevu; an extinct cloud-topped... Read More

Cars and trucks wait in orderly lines, the Sørvågen-Værøy ferry still an hour away. I'm on the Lofoten Islands inside the Arctic Circle, and the northern autumn brings rain as I leave my car. The church I pass is small, the wet bluestone black. Behind, a mound rises to leaden skies, its sides shrouded in bush and drizzle. Not far now. My wet face and hands are cold.

I’m told she tread this very path – a young woman from Tennes, near Reine – religious hymns on her lips, tall and straight; wedding-white dress, dark hair falling on strong shoulders. I imagine the Arctic air heavy as now,... Read More

‘Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.’ - JM Barrie

There’s a large page-4 headline and a small picture. His face is olive-brown, tilted slightly towards me, the hand of a close friend across the back of his bare neck. In his early 20s, his eyes are coals with a certain spark; windows to the soul they say. His teeth are ivory white, his mouth wide open. I hear a cheer, a joyous yell. The foreground is blurred; the merriment of happy goings on, a bit of action. Good friends hamming it up. There’s a shock of dark windswept hair above a high... Read More

Outside there's a neon finger-sign soaring skyward, the oversized letters reading `ASTOR'. The building’s not much to look at; the high facade brick, of cream and red. The veranda is low and squarish, the fascia lined with a string of bare light globes. From a street clogged with trams, trucks and cars, we step up and push through the bank of glass doors.

The door swings shut behind us; the clatter of traffic replaced by ambient music and dimmed lighting. We’ve gone from a mad Metropolis into an art deco opera house. The grand foyer is ship-like in warm beeswax tones; a colonial ocean-going... Read More

I had to call myself out last week. I found my self thinking wrongly , and doing something I would not do in good conscience . I had gone out after digging myself out from a huge snow storm, so perhaps my mood was not quite right at the time. This is not an excuse that I will allow myself though. I arrived at the grocery store I normally shop at. I go there as I find they have a great selection plus very reasonable prices. I personally hate wasting money when shopping for food, as I am very aware of so many that do not have enough to buy the proper food for themselves or their family.... Read More

Dreams and nightmares are elusive. They play hide and seek with our rational intellect because they rise up only when our cognitive brain shuts down. Dreams are one of the languages of the subconscious and our deepest soul but the language is not logical. It is intuitive, creative, and one of the languages of the Spirit, using imagery, symbolism and deep-rooted, strong emotions.

The right brain cannot be understood with our left-brain. We love our left-brained life because we can control and train it with our wills. Our right brain simply laughs at our feeble attempts to rein it in.... Read More

Boerne is 51yrs old, handsome in a rugged sort of way; olive skin, high cheekbones and black straw-like hair. He’s never been a talker and we sit on the veranda drinking beer instead, our eyes drawn to a 2 x 6 metre recycle bin out front. At the end the day the sun is uncanny and low, the sky scarlet as summer bushfires rage in the western ranges.

“Good of you to help out,” says Boerne, flicking the top from another beer. “To be honest, you know, I’d rather be somewhere else.” And for the briefest of moments, his dark eyes leave the recycle bin. “Maybe we just got married too young.... Read More

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