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ATTEND TO BUSINESS

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

Photo on 20-02-2014 at 5.48 pm

This looks harder to me. Business to attend to. Izzy attended to almost all of it and with a lot of money to spare. Now – it has come to this.

Electricity first. Let the Soul lead.

$1000 in credit. We will see what we can arrange.

WESTNET – cancelled the mobile.  The  June payment was made somehows.  Looking good.

The Girls came and we shopped online. The IMM took a load of outside rubbish away.

Shaz and her little one came a-visiting and the day passed smoothly.

I have my daughter’s cooking to eat – spinach and cheese pie and macaroni cheese and ACAT have called and come Thursday to assess me for the Hostel.

Soz tried to fix up things re the Kombi and death certs etc but we are stalled. Ah well and my.

Izzy, I had a bad cramp today and you were not here to…

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THE BUDDHAS IN THE FOREST

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

MARGMONT

We did it. We went into the Forest and we put 3 Buddhas there and we had a picnic followed by a Witches’ Kitchen here in my home after the rain started to fall on us. Ha. Ha. Ha.

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February 11, 2013 | Becoming a Trappist Monk or Nun

An ancient mystic described perfect human fulfillment as being “alone with the Alone.” Why should I not like being alone? I came from the Alone, but all rivers flow back to the sea. It seemed, no matter where I went in life, what I did, or who I met, I felt the tug of that current flowing deep inside me, drawing me back toward the original solitude – my home.

via February 11, 2013 | Becoming a Trappist Monk or Nun.

You cannot escape so easily, Dragon. It is not done between us. It will not be done until the end of time.

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

― Robert Jordan, The Eye of the World

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“Heroes take journeys, confront dragons, and discover the treasure of their true selves.”

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SATURDAYS

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

Classicfm and memories of Key Largo.

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I like it in here – tucked in and warm. In old clothes with a butcher bird on the front fence. I spoke with Peter, my landlord today. They would like me to stay but understand the reasons I am considering moving. They have offered me all the help I need in yards, moving stuff etc .

How odd it is to sit at a point like this wondering where this next thing will lead me. Will I make it through or will I decided I am done with life on earth ? Will I become old and weary or vital and energetic ? Will I become ascete again or wildly in the world out there ?

Monks know things that other people don’t.

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“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

― Edith Sitwell

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Kathy Earsman

A MODERN AUSTRALIAN POET

A Final Toast By Judie Peet

To tracks I shall not walk
and trails I’ll never blaze,
to sun-kissed hues of far-off views
on which I’ll never gaze.

To birds I didn’t see,
and those I didn’t know,
to folk I guess I won’t impress
with bird lists I might show.

To trees I failed to save
and those that I have grown
to forests where I breathed the air
that Eden might have known.

To men I didn’t kiss
when I was young and shy,
to those I would now if I could –
to dreams I’ve let float by.

To those I might have helped
and good I might have done,
to happy tears and love-filled years,
gee whiz, I’ve had some fun.

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I THINK ITS GOING TO SNOW ON THE MOUNTAINS TONIGHT

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

Today, I sat on folding chair on my front lawn with Brett and Sandra and food from Hearthfire. Brett made cuppas and we talked and wept and laughed. Its a blessing to be able to simply mourn for a day and not worry about money and where I shall live and all the undone things we had planned to do. Sunshine and good people.

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CONFESSIONS OF A FUNERAL DIRECTOR » Working at the Crossroads of this World and the Next

10. A funeral director knows how to stretch a dollar so far beyond capacity that extreme couponers would be seething with envy.9. Funeral directors can get any stain out of any fabric.8. Funeral directors understand the importance of paperwork. In triplicate. And filling it out is just par for the course. Tax season doesn’t compare to corporate budgetary reviews.7. A funeral director is meticulously clean. From an unwelcome speck of dust on the end table to a mortifying bit of grit underneath near-perfectly manicured nails this applies to the women and the men.6. Have you ever not introduced a current flame to your family because you’re afraid your kin’s special brand of crazy will scare off any potential mate?A funeral director is like a “crazy person whisperer.” They have to be just to get anything done. Bring on the monster in-laws.5. A funeral director can’t be grossed out. Ever. There is literally nothing you could show one that would churn the contents of his stomach. This applies to noxious odours as well, so snag yourself a funeral director and feel at ease passing gas whenever the urge hits. They’ve smelled worse.A lot worse.4. Funeral directors are masters of illusion. Need to impress your boss at a dinner party? Stage your home for sale? Conceal something from your parents until you’re ready to deal, or the issue has been resolved? A funeral director thrives under one credo: Smoke and mirrors.3. A funeral director understands how important it is to live for today, but plan meticulously for the future.2. A funeral director is an expert at burying secrets. Yours are not as bad as you think they are, and the funeral director’s training ensures that your skeletons not only stay in their closet, but that the closet is sealed in a concrete vault under 8 feet of dirt and the paperwork has been properly “sanitized.”1. A funeral director knows how to give you a delicious, full-body, invigorating massage that gets your circulation working overtime and leaves you feeling, well, like you’ve risen from the dead. How did we acquire this particular skill?Don’t ask.

via CONFESSIONS OF A FUNERAL DIRECTOR » Working at the Crossroads of this World and the Next.

Forest Birds of Northen NSW, Australia

Originally posted on xdarkxlightx:

If you told me six months ago i would be today creeping through the coastal forests of NSW hunting birds i would have rolled my eyes and laughed at you. I have always been interested in photography and image making but I  now  have bought a decent DSLR, a super telephoto lens and find myself  instead of getting up early to catch waves, getting up early to catch Australian native birds in the view finder of a camera! What started as the desire to create a nice photo is quickly developing into an obsession. Every time i get a good shot of a new bird, i race home to refer to my field guide, i then slip the SD card into the computer and see what i really have – the sense of anticipation is almost like watching an image emerge before your eyes in the days of film and…

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9 JULY 2014 CORONERS AND SUCH

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

2 phone calls today. The Death Certificates  will come in a week or so and then the coroner’s report. He had heart disease. Bigtime. With all major arteries clogged and blocked. The heart muscle damaged.

And so he died in the Forest.

izzys spot

OK Grief, my well dressed Friend. I will not be using the generic, 80s-90s-00s pacifying placating woolworths techniques on you, despite the good intentions of some of my acquaintances and officialdom combined with .orgs online. You have encountered another of the old anarchist feminist radicals of the 60s and drug fiends of the 70s with a taste for the melodramatic. I am not afraid to wail and mourn and scream OCHA. And sob unreservedly in my bed at night. Nor am I afraid to look like a dickhead. I am bringing out the big guns on you today. Try to survive this treatment, why don’t you ?
PS…

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8 JULY 2014 – THE DAY OF THE BENCHES

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

Dare you to wait one more day, Lynne. Do NOTHING at all today which could hurt or harm or distress anyone. Watch bad TV. Play crummy games. Eat gross food. DO NOTHING which appears sensible or constructive – and definitely – IF IT SEEMS URGENT DO NOT DO IT.

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The next day is underway.

OKAY Dare you to wait yet another day. Before acting on anything much at all. Just benches and babies. And Fairy Tales.

Now – lets go someplace beyond the domination of Logic.

You know what, Lynne. Dare you not to do anything if the voice nudging you goes by the name of Fear. Fear is always Urgent and Corrosive. Dare you to wait one more day. Drink tea in Royal Doulton and don’t be afraid.

Today, Annie and Warren are bringing 3 benches to take up to Izzy’s spot. Up in the forest. Kate’s bringing the…

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when mandolin plays, my heart melts: One wet morning- I heard, someone playing mandolin and wept.

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

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Bind me—I still can sing—
Banish—my mandolin
Strikes true within—

Slay—and my Soul shall rise
Chanting to Paradise—
Still thine.

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I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible and when I leave you will finally understand why storms are named after people.”

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

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The storm

My mind swirled
like a storm that day:
my mouth the wind,
my heart the rain.

The fire scorching in her soul,
the deluge poured and did annul.
Her ship awash on eddied seas,
the wind a breath to bring her peace.

Dark thunder broiled with bodies toil
as Thor did rend from sky to soil.
I gave the girl a quenching passion
and left a rainbow in refraction.

 David Donovan

http://www.independentaustralia.net/australia/australia-display/the-repellant-australian-poetry-scene,3868

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What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator 1830 – 1890

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“Shut up, you fat water buffalo, rolling in the mud of other people’s lives, is what she wanted to say. But she bit her tongue and reminded herself of how Mrs. Mahmoud had held her hand through Abdul’s birth, which made her think that if she had found strength enough to push him out, she could hold her meanest comments in. At this moment, it seemed harder.”

― Amy Waldman, The Submission

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Ask A Physicist To Speak At Your Funeral | IFLScience

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy is created in the universe and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, ever vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid the energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

via Ask A Physicist To Speak At Your Funeral | IFLScience.

KATHY EARSMAN JOURNEY AT A TROT

JOURNEY AT A TROT

I’m very busy now. I’m scaling heights,
I’m swimming after dark from winter shores;
the fishers know my name, and there are nights
when ragged people warm my heart, because
they share the little that they have. I’ve slept
upon the beach, sung jazz up on the stage,
and wandered wild for days where sorrow crept
to snuffle at my heels. I know the cage

that is my isolation. Here’s the door.
Just watch me run! I gasp, my body aches
but still I must go on, there must be more!
I’ll find the energy although it takes

its toll of me. My love has passed away.
I push to just get through another day.

Kathleen Earsman 2004

This poem is another from Australian Poet KATHY EARSMAN. A woman gifted with words and with soul. 

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FOR ALL OUR LOST TOMORROWS

FOR ALL OUR LOST TOMORROWS

Through all the long strong seasons of the moon
I’ve wandered wistful, yearning for his touch.
In all the empty spaces placed in front of me
where he can never be, I mourn.

For all the poems he will never share,
for secrets, songs and sounds he’ll never know,
and for the moon that shone in glory when he died
I’ve cried the many months since he was gone.

Through all the bright bold silvered nights
the moon has dressed in loveliness he’ll never see,
and all our lost tomorrows wrapped in sorrow
I will still love him tenderly.

KATHLEEN EARSMAN 2004

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3 JULY 2014 : CHILLED MORNING.

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

Julia Hardaker

I have discovered grief just IS… Nothing exotic or elegant at all.

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IZZY AT THE BIG BANANA IN COFFS HARBOUR 2014. APRIL.

Keltic Ken reminds me of the odd analogy I carried away after 30+ years in radio:

Way back when, we edited recordings on tape–our tools were a grease pencil, a razor blade and editing tape to stick the pieces back together after removing the desired section...it was a very imprecise method which was sometimes hit-and-miss. If we made a mistake it was not fun trying to retrieve the edited piece from the floor and stick it back in again.

That was analog.

Today, thanks to the wonderful world of computers (just like the one we’re both using right now), sound editing is a breeze–I ‘see’ as well as hear the sound…I’m able to remove the tiniest bit of audio with no problem…and if, by…

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2 JULY 2014 : A ROUGH DAY AND SOME MORE MEMORIES.

Originally posted on THE SILVERBIRD:

SAFFY ADDING CHOP SOCK CHOOKY TO IZZY’S COFFINsaffy coffin

Annie Dodd 

We decorated the coffin (at the Emporium) of a good friend of mine a few years ago. She loved pink and they had a foster son who was very challenged with her loss, as were the rest of us. We spent the day talking, sitting, being quiet, eating and drinking coffee and more. The coffin arrived in an old Kombi, and decorated it left the building the same way. I treasure those hours with family and friends of a very special woman. I don’t know why I need to share this but through tears I feel that I’m just a little bit grieving for lots of people no longer in my life

I have almost done one more day. My voice is rough and my body and mind fatigued. My son is feeding me and attending to the…

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Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?” -

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

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“He hesitated, but then stepped beneath the tree and knelt, depositing me gently on the ground between two giant roots. And he stayed there, kneeling beside me, holding my hand in his. Something splashed the back of my hand, cold as spring water, crystalling to my skin. A faery’s tears.”

― Julie Kagawa, The Iron Queen

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Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.”

Originally posted on THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY:

― Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden

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If a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it,
I should not mind a bit.
but if a friend of mine had a sorrow
and refused to allow me to share it,
I should feel it most bitterly.
If he shut the doors of the house of mourning against me,
I would move back again and again and beg to be admitted
so that I might share in what I was entitled to share.
If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him,
I should feel it as the most poignant humiliation.
- Oscar Wilde

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DAY 9

Allannah Wooloughan Morning Lynne, I guess you still have people around who care about and for you – let them ‘do the day-to-day stuff’ today – you just need to retrace steps around your home, touch things, smell things. Put Izzy’s things aside for a later time – his comb, shaver, etc. etc. You are still in a state of shock – suspended animation and are seeing things from outside of yourself, it is all a coping mechanism. So just be kind to yourself

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This is the place i first took everyone to. Turned out it was more than a kilometre short of where he fell. We carved his name in the wrong tree.

I don’t know the steps of this dance of death. All I can think to do is dance the dances I do know. That means writing and photos and blogging and gathering wisdom and seeing where it leads.

Keltic Ken This post reminded me of this:

“There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in (what are called) ‘thin places’ that distance is even smaller. A thin place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God. A contemporary poet Sharlande Sledge gives this description.

“Thin places,” the Celts call this space,
Both seen and unseen,
Where the door between the world
And the next is cracked open for a moment
And the light is not all on the other side.
God shaped space. Holy.

It is no wonder that thin places are most often associated with wild landscapes. A thin place requires us to step from one world to another and that often means traveling to a place where we have less control and where the unpredictable becomes the means of discovery. Rugged seacoast like the Cliffs of St. David’s, windswept Islands like Iona, and rocky mountain peaks like Croagh Patrick were thin places in ancient times and still call out to pilgrims today. These sanctuaries of creation help us as, John O’donohue writes, “to anchor our longing in the ancient longing of Nature.”

IZ SAF NB POOL

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