Listeners Folly

A teeth, tongue and lips do not equate to a solution. A thought made manifest through this instrument will not always provide an answer.

What we think and what we say need to guarded with utmost diligence and discernment. All too quickly our opinion and prejudice falls in the way of the truth of the solution.

How often do we sit in silence and listen the the problem of a friend, colleague, partner, sister or brother? Very rarely. We believe we must conjure up a solution. Help. Give an answer however foolish it may be. But perhaps our mere presence and light touch of the hand is all they need.

I challenge you. Are the words you utter going to progress or prevent the situation or problem?

Be present. This is the key to great relationships.

Daily nothings.

It would have been lovely to stay under the protection of my feather doona. To listen to the rain making gentle patterned sounds on my attic roof. Smile to my self as the family head off to school.work.uni and wake up later when my body wants to.

Instead I peeled myself to an almost upright position, mumbled my way downstairs to the coffee machine and sat staring out at the cold winter sky writing my Morning Pages. An attempt to clear the subsequent writers block which has created havoc in my life. I am currently entering the final Act of my script. You'd think the home stretch would be empowering and a downhill glide.

The hours drift by while I sit at work. I pretend to be doing work when the Bosses come past, instead of on Perez, Team-Twilight, Fashion Blogs and Facebook. I wish I had something other to dream of then Jackson Rathborne, Twilights Jasper, who is the hottest thing since Hot Cross Buns, and perhaps R-patz, who is consistently being voted Hottest Man.

My blogs seem to reflect the boredom and lack of obscurity of my daily activities. I am an adventurer. I love experience and thrill and romance. I am a hidden and suffocated Bohemian.

I heard on Triple J last night, in the centre of Paris is a bookstore, Shakespeare and Co. where you can get a bed for free. Between the reference section and history books, beds are available for the travelling wanna-be writer, at the $$ of working an hour a day in the book store. The rest of the time is devoted to writing, reading and musing. Bring it on I say. Now just need at ticket to Paris!

When the weekend is perfect

This year, I made a decision. It would be different. It would be fun. It would be adventurous. Something to write home about.

And it has been. I am happy.

Friday night my high school friend Chez and I took the hour and 15 minute flight to Byron Bay to see Kylie, the missing piece in our 4, (Rachel jetted to the UK for 2 years). Chezy and I decided, being ladies of leisure, we really should drink a glass of red...however, empty stomachs, a flight deadline, and sculling wine is not conducive to sophistication or ladies of leisure. I needed a medium fries from McD's to soak up the alcohol that was impairing my vision, while Chez followed a man into the bathroom, noticed a pilot, whom she considered asking if he was flying us to Byron. Thankfully she noticed that urinals are not meant to be in the same place we go to the bathroom. Normally shy and awkward Chez spun on her feet and retreated, tapping a strange man on the shoulder on her way out; "Wrong bathroom" she claimed as she found her way back to the females.

We barely made it on the flight, sitting momentarily in our giggles, before realising the FINAL CALL was flashing for our sake.

Byron Bay was perfect. Friday night was spent sipping cocktails and devouring tappas in a Cambodian inspired terrace overlooking the dark beach. It was good to have the 3 of us back together again. Even if we were freezing in our dresses and barely there gloves.

We managed to pull our heads from the pillow Saturday morning, and slide into the spa by the pool, wishing soy latte's would appear in our hands. Later we enjoy a brunch of gourmet organic Byron style on the deck, once again gazing at the beach. This time it is crystal clear and perfect.

The Lighthouse, destination of tourist and locals alike, proudly and prominently over looks Cape Byron, protecting the residents from the foes of pirate ships and liners. We park our car, don our Haviana's and shorts (it's a lot warmer then freezing Sydney) and apply the suncream. A policeman pulls up in his car beside us.

Me: "Are we allowed to park here?"
Police man: "No, that will be $400 each." We pause. "I just wanted to warn you, there's a man along the walk flashing he's dick at people." A little taken back we giggle. "Nothing to worry about, just ask for a closer look than knee him. I'd love to be a chick for a day and inflict some pain. Unfortunately I carry a gun for a living. Have a good walk girls".

We embark. Half laughing at our macho policeman, half searching the bushes for WatchDickMan.

20 minutes in, gossip over old school friends and scandals is flowing, as we climb the hundreds of stairs. Down trod a pair of shoes, then some knees, blue shorts, and OMG, the tiniest little pin dick I've ever seen (not that I've seen my share), flopping disgracefully out his shorts. We stop talking, mid sentence and pass in silence, our eyes diverted anywhere but the sad little man, with a poor excuse for a member. If your going to be flinging it everywhere, at least make sure it's a descent size. Seriously!

The light house and view was breath taking. A rescue helicopter was hovering close and low, while boats searched the rocky grave bellow us. Someone was lost. We said a silent but pleading prayer.

Our walk took us along the heavenly beach, which saw me strip off and dive between the waves and white sand. Mid winter ocean swims that aren't cold. Is it better in Heaven?

We ambled through the hippy shops, snacked on sushi and edemame on the beach and drove towards the country with the sun setting over the mountains. We fed horses, and played with dogs. Watched chick flicks, drank copious amounts of red wine. Video-ed a hello for Rach in far away London and snuggled into bed, relaxed and tired from a perfect day of 4km walking and love advice between fitting rooms and red wine.

Sunday we visited the hippy markets in the hills, where pot and tarot were as common as chemists and camera shops at the local mall in Sydney. I wished for the morning I had been born into a hippy commune, and had dreads and sang folk songs on a colourful pillow while sipping chai.

It was sad to leave, but the sun was setting over the mountains, natures way of reminding us gently, the perfect weekend was over. The plane to reality was waiting. As we were boarding, the captain, who was welcoming us on the 'helicopter' of a plane, expressed a keen like for my bonnet hat with pink bow. I in return made mention of how I liked his captain hat, and would he like to swap. I spent the majority of the flight with the captains hat on my head, while holding Chez's hand through the turbulence.

When we were safely and landed in Sydney, I ducked to the bathroom at the back before we got off. Suddenly, mid wee (squat wee - cause no one sits on plane seats), the lights went out. Not only that, but it was up there with the longest wee of my life. There I was, in pitch blackness, wee-ing my heart out with no light. I heard voices coming from outside, and commotion. It took a split second to realise, the male voices were inches away from where my bum was held high above the seat, naked. I wee-ed faster, convinced they were about to open the door, and reveal my humiliation to the crew. Thank goodness my body obeyed and I escaped the black hole and found my hat again.

There really is nothing like a weekend with girlfriends to relax you, give you a tan, and make you happy for friendships that span school days, boyfriends, heartbreaks, new jobs, a parent's death, moving away and the fear of the future.

Still Alive in Winter Moonlight

I am very aware of my absence.

I wonder if I have any readers left?

I wish I could wake up and it would be summer. The crystal blue water would be swimmable. The enemy of the wintry darkness would be a memory of the past.

The curtains remain down, I get afraid to lift them. I ignore the weather man, and don my self in the warmest woollies, desiring to ignore the shifting of the breeze. Today it is blowing in from a snowy mountain somewhere south.

I have writers block today. My feature film is but 6 scenes out of first draft completion. My short film cannot get beyond the Meet Cute.

Do you feel the anxiety rip through your chest when you want to express every emotion in you, but the words are so locked up they can't even be forced out.

Does anyone have a suggestion for writers block? Or a bad dream. A bad dream might cause a new revelation.

I danced in my room the other night. It was late. The house was sleeping. I wanted to express this feeling to someone, and my feet carried the rhythm.

Lack of

I spent Saturday night making coffee for some of the prostitutes hidden in our sparkling city of Opportunity.

The first group I made coffee for were a bunch of young guys who I just assumed were drug addicts on the streets. I later found out they were male prostitutes. One of them had a girlfriend with a 7 month old baby.

We went to four stops. The 'gay' strip, the 'normal prostitute' strip and the last two were for transgender prostitutes.

I saw one girl as young as 13 with several old men. Another lady I met looked like she could be a librarian.

I had been out the previous weekend in that exact area, clubbing in my brand new shoes and designer dress. This week I watched as girls dressed just like me trotted past, drunk and ready to party.

I feel like I've been eating a 5 star meal enjoying every bite, but suddenly turned the plate over to see it infested with worms, magets and disease. This is our city.

Beneath our glitz and glamour of the 'fabulous' and the wanted is a decrepit world.

I ask myself, what will it take to change this society. How can you pull people out of an addiction that consumes their life and gives them purpose?

The only way is through Love. Without Love we perish. Without the touch of another human, we search for it in the meaningless.

From the pimp to the addict prostitute to the john their is void of Love. From the alcoholic parent to the abused child to the abandoned family Love has not been learnt or cultivated.

What have I to offer to a world in need?

The touch of my hand, the word of my heart and the smile of a friend.

The Red Door

I shut down my computer, put on the voice mail, collect my bags of possessions and walk to my car. Ah, the preparation of home time. Home to my bedroom of shabby chic and walk in wardrobe, and comfort and money. To my warm bed in winter, cool in summer and yummy every afternoon bathing in the sun.



But what I over look as I walk to my car at 5:01 (and not a minute later) is the pillows and blankets hidden in the trees. Disguised so skillfully, with the art and precision of someone who does this daily.



At night, the darkness engulfs the city and the shadows are no longer shadows from the light. They are our realities. The truth of our city and what we have ignored as a society and what we continue to perceive as the fault of the victim, rather than a problem with a basic solution.



Every evening they come and gather their blankets and pillows, with relief for a dry day creased on their foreheads. Outside of my office, beyond those red doors, on our doorstep sleeps a person or two, every night. Literally on. my. doorstep.


When you chose love, you give up the right to be right.

Attacker in the station

Have you ever seen something and turned a blind eye? Or thought someone else would interject on the injustice you witnessed? Or assumed another person would make that call to the police so you didn't bother?

Bystander effect.

We are all guilty of it. And it makes me think.

Our generation has access to more information than ever before. We know more than our parents sometimes. Our world view is being constantly shifted and challenged by the media and other peoples opinions.

So really, we can not blame ignorance for our inability to act or move because we know what is happening. We see and hear it.

I experienced this in a life altering reality that took place several days ago.

Myself, B and my friends G and A were running through Town Hall at 450 on a Sunday afternoon to get to a shop before it closed. Let me set the scene. The city, bustling with people catching the train home after a day of shopping. We had left our bags in the car with my friend, as we were literally running into a store and out again to pick up my phone. After a 1 minute run G and I realised A wasn't actually with us. Assuming she had fallen behind and would be waiting for us we got the phone and went back to find her. An hour and half and increasing panic later, we still couldn't find her. With no money, no phone and little knowledge of the city we had no idea where she was. Security guards in several shopping centres and train stations were looking, her husband hadn't heard from her and we had called in a group of guys to help us look. It was like an ugly thriller movie. The night grew dark and the sky poured piercing rain and my heart beat in my mouth as my knowledge of human trafficking and drug rapping ran unprotected through my mind.

Our last stop was the police station. They told us, as unavoidable tears spilt down our cheeks we had to wait another hour to file a Missing Persons report. I could not believe where my night had lead to.

We headed to sit in the protection of a fast food joint, with nothing left to do but wait and watch the streets. Her husband finally called, telling us A was OK. She had gotten on a bus and made her way to her restaurant where she called him. I wish that was the end of it. Unfortunately the ugly truth reared its head. While we were running, she fell behind and called out to me, but I didn't hear. Before she knew it, she had a hand around her mouth and was being dragged into an alley by a Lebanese man. Her panicked eyes scanned the sea of people, as they watched as she attempted to fight off her attacker before being shoved into an alley and his brute power forced upon her. I hate to think what the out come could have been, but thankfully one decent person was to be found in that see of bystanders. A man came and punched the guy and told her to run. Disorientated she found a cop and through sobs and panic begged to use his phone. He refused but offered compensation of a free bus pass. Rarely do I swear but when I heard this, every swear word I have ever known found my throat and like vomit to the stomach these words poured out and I wished they'd found that Dick Head cop.

What kills me more than anything though is not the cop or even the Leb who shamelessly attacked a girl in broad day light, but the people who watched this happen. How do we see something like this, and stay immobile? And would I have the courage to react in this situation?

It is not ignorance we will be punishable for. We are not longer ignorant because we hear and see whether we want to or not. It is our complacency to act and do something. Whether it be a girl being attacked in a shopping centre or a child dying of starvation in Africa, we forget to put legs on our words and knowledge.