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Archive for the month “August, 2015”

3am is a time but also a goddess leaking milk

It’s that time of night/day which feels timeless, out-of-sorts, the sound of ghost trains in the distance, that delicious doppler effect of a lone motorbike–sounds like a giant insect, animals sleeping nearby, and human voices talking, the language closely resembling the Sims.

I am sleepless while so many are now sleeping. On average following a sleeping pattern of 8 hours a night, that’s 229,961 of sleep time in a human life, a person sleeps 1/3 of their lives. And sleep is of course essential for repairing, recalibrating, downloading, re-vamping the body, I get it. But still that’s a lot of time. Now my greyhound Willow sleeps 18 hours a day on average, so half her life is spent in the realm of doggie dreams. And my cats, my old cats sleep more often now…there are a lot of dreamers in this house. But I am not one tonight.

Though…I do wonder what they dream of, the forms the shapes the colours the sounds, what moonbeams do they wander down?

Time is so perplexing to me. I think I spend too much time thinking about time…and it seems impossible to remove myself to observe it objectively…because time is subjective?wormhole Certain drugs lend consciousness a very different understanding of time, and from personal experience I have had my close encounters with the Keepers of Time. I remember being part of a rapid evolution happening right in front of my eyes and happening to my very self. I embodied ancient mythological creatures, even pre-written, like protoplasm, and then the Goddesses, then the stone monkeys, the sky itself..yes..I was some fragment of the universe giving birth to stars from my Hathor tits…for I was the horned Goddess surveying space, leaking at will the celestial milk from my tits and watching galaxies form. For me the experience went on outside of time, and yet come 7 am in the morning, upstairs humans were moving about, people were shuffling around on the footpaths near the house, and the trip was hitting that silvery metallic edge, that fluorescent flavour when only oranges and incense and Alan Stivell’s music offer solace after the long journey into deep space. So that was one experience with time, I danced barefoot and naked, not on any floors, but in the flow of creation, all in a tiny bedroom with purple walls, some books and a mattress on the ground.

And then I realise my period has arrived, I observe the blood on the tissue paper in the bathroom, another sense of time, all while still the shadows of Alice D remain, and the phone rings, and it signals the reasonable hours of telecommunications. But something so incredible has happened here. I am witness to my own timelessness, to every sentient beings timelessness. I barely have time to scribble my recollections, to meditate on them. Another kind of time trips me up, catches my arms, attempts to draw lines around my encounter…

It’s 3.50, I just saw the digital numbers change as I looked up at the right hand corner of my mac, and I hear the sound of buildings moving, my lover sleeping so peacefully beside me, my animals snoring, my fingers tapping against the backdrop of the void.

 

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the dandelions have flowers

It has many seasons since I’ve put finger pressure to keys and posted. But the dandelions are flowering and the miccy birds swoop as I walk my dog Willow in the park. Such little fierce loyal birds protecting their nests that even as I duck and avoid being attacked I admire their tenacity and their community. I’ve felt like a gypsy all my life. The urge to move is always pressing and no doubt through my father’s line the gypsy blood is strong. It is possible it lies there dormant and silent, this gypsy blood in my grandma’s veins too–for their is Irish and French great aunts and grandmas haunting the edges of family history.

I dreamt of a gypsy van all my life, of tinkering, of using all my innate creative skills–storyteller, tarot reader, singer, dancer, writer, cook, seer and crossing my palm with silver, and meeting up with other beautiful wanderers, connecting, even if briefly with other people. I understand much of the Romani/Gypsy communities around the world have been and continue to be persecuted, run out of town, vilified, because their culture is closed within itself, because they do not give up their secrets, and because they will never be owned by anyone, including a landlord or a boss. I have borrowed a book ‘Bury me standing’ and have been dipping in and out of it at varying time intervals and this book has shone an incredibly wide light on the plight, the stories and the history of the Romani people.  It’s a magnificent, and at times harrowing read, but worth every sharp in-drawn breath.

Currently we are moving in practical ways towards buying a bus and moving into it. We haven’t bought the bus yet but my partner has just passed part 1 of the Medium Rigid Licence test and tomorrow they have their practical exam. Fingers crossed!

The bus must be off-grid as we will be moving around Australia and experiencing different places and want the freedom to not have to park in those caravan places, which do not seem very quiet at all.  I will keep updating this blog with the progress or I might even start a new blog specifically related to the gypsy bus project. But now I am going to make a hot cacao on almond milk because my fingers are a little cold.

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