[Miscellany]

 It's all relative that to the rusty old Tin Man encumbered with metal joints that squeal and groan, walking a block is the same as a healthy fit man running a marathon. As to me, readers of this dusty journal, I have spent the last two years silently congratulating myself whenever I make it out of bed. I am a marvel. I am strong. I breathe. I live. One such event which caused me to think of the humble old Tin Man and his creaking joints was my venture into the ocean tonight. It was the first time in as long as I can remember that I took the plunge and did something that connected me to an action worthy of old me. Although the step came in the form of an easy decision, like a switch turned on, it was years in the making.

There was the year of sitting on the beach in my clothes feeling strangely agoraphobic. Then the year I sat on the beach in my clothes with my bathers underneath, not ever touching the water. Then a tentative step inside, just up to the ankles... then the shins.. And finally, years after the desire first appeared a walk into the deep that kept going, past the hips, past the ribs and up to the chin. I kept the panic attack and fear at bay but only just. Then the hands went out and my feet lifted, and I wondered for a moment if I remembered how to swim.

I didn't at first, if I am being completely honest. I sank, stumbling over my steps like a toddler learning to walk, but again like a toddler I caught myself and went again.

Then I did remember.

I remembered being young and free (as the cliche goes) and diving deep under the waves and spending all day in the water staring at the gulls soaring above. I felt a part of the Earth and the Earth a part of me, which is a step so important that I can't begin to describe the emotion that erupted in my heart with that realisation and connection. I wanted to write it down even though I knew my brain couldn't quite remember how to turn my thoughts into words, as required here. I floated for a while and watched the clouds swirl above me peacefully and concentrated on the sounds of the gleeful children and laughing adults and took the time to feel the gentle, warmth of the salt water all around me like a comforting hug. Thus I emerged unto the shore, birthed by the Earth and Baptized by the sea and made my way back to my towel and just sat for a long time, stunned at myself and marveling at how the enormity of my actions went unnoticed by anyone else around me.

Tomorrow I go back to being a worthless excuse but tonight I am truly amazing. Trust me, I am.

Labels: beach, God, self help

posted by M at 11:30 pm 3 comments

I haven't done one of these in a while, an age, an era - whatever, but I happened across a song that made me put my nostalgia hat on.

I'd forgotten about her. It's been a good many years since I stopped and listened. Maybe 5? I don't know. The years have started blurring into each other. I guess I'd forgotten about her in part, because she, at the time of listening to her, brought out a more introspective side of me that I have, lately, tried to muffle (as you do). I can also say with great confidence that she was never a "favourite" or a "must have" on my playlist and easy to forget. But, I do remember a phase I went through where I would only listen to her and in particular this song.

Woodstock - Joni Mitchell

You know it.
If you don't... you should. If you do, chances are you already hate it. I can see how the song would inspire an uneasy feeling. Its anguished and haunting, the vocals jarring and pitched just above the comfort level, half yodeling and backed by a lonely electric piano. It's not an easy listen, or an easy sell for that matter, and yet so many musicians have cited her as an inspiration and this song in particular as poetry. It's probably one of the most amazing pieces of music I've ever heard.

Joni Mitchell never went to Woodstock. She wrote the song after seeing the events unfolding on TV, crying and wishing was there. I love it because the song is bigger than her and bigger than music, bigger than people who made the event happen. It's a representative of something bigger than life even: Collective consciousness, universal truths, spiritual awakening, soul cleansing, hope, modern miracles, wishful thinking, longing - read into it what you will - it all applies. I think it's a powerful representation of the mentality of the era, or perhaps a projected mentality. It doesn't matter, there's a kind of truth to it that goes beyond the words.

I originally found the song sometime in the mid-90s, in an old documentary I've since watched too many times to count Message to Love: The Isle of Wight Festival (1970) in the UK. Joni Mitchell performs the song, amidst angry protests and shouts. The IOWF being, of course, ironically the antithesis to the Woodstock Festival. She tells the crowd to have a little respect, that they are acting like "tourists" and somehow tames them into submission. It's pretty amazing. I was mesmerised by the song and purchased the album soon after seeing her performance.

Something in the lyrics is so powerful to me. I doubt everybody at the end of the hippy decade saw a trip to Woodstock as such a journey into spiritual transcendence, however I know that there were those that did. And I, myself do see music as a spiritual or sacred experience because it gets, like nothing else can, right to the soul. But furthermore and most importantly, something about the song flips a switch in me. I understand it, without actually being able to articulate how. I get its meaning, without thinking about it. I feel it without touching. I knew this song, before I actually heard it. There's not many songs I can say that about. Or any others actually.

It's no mistake I happened upon the song today.
I think it's time to start being more aware of myself again.
...get myself back to the garden, if you will.

Woodstock - Joni Mitchell

Labels: 60s, defining moments in musical history, God, hippies, musical monday, real women

posted by M at 8:32 pm 17 comments

IDOL

I know the man has a slightly annoying accent, looks a good 10 years older than what he is and has basically come out and said "yeah, I know I'm a drunktard but you know what, I think I'm better ON the booze than off so fuck yars all" (may not be an actual quote) but boy am I glad Dicko is back on the tele.

I missed ya mate. I should be angry that you left but the crotchal (made up word) region of my pants is so happy you're back that I've forgiven you. Plus you've got ginger pubes on the other end of the panel totally confused about his role (if any) on the show. If I squint hard enough he's almost not even there anymore! Score!

Meanwhile I've missed a couple of episodes due to having a life (okay that's a lie but anyway) so there are a few things I need cleared up:

1)
WHAT IS UP WITH THIS GUY??! I missed the episode but after seeing this picture I wish I hadn't. Is he the bastard child of Prince and Cyndi Lauper? He looks like a Lost Boy. Please tell me he got through!


And

2)
DID MARCIA HINES CALL ONE OF THE CONTESTANTS A WHORE LAST NIGHT OR WHAT? I know she didn't actually come out and say "girlfriend yous a ho" but there was definitely a 'whore' vibe going on between that strumpet and El Blando.







not to mention

3)
Idol has been on Australian television for, what - 52 years now? You'd think that those fuckers would have worked out by now that when a judge says "sooooooooo, how do YOU think that went?" it actually means "you were SHIT" and they want you to dig your own grave. DON'T, I repeat - DON'T - say 'I thought I was GOOOD I'm soo happy' because you'll only end up looking like a complete moron. No, you were not good you were CRAP and we all feel sorry for you because you had no idea until now. Why do contestants even ANSWER that question? Ugh.


MISCELLANY

* I went and saw this "debate" at the Writers' Festival the other day. It was about God and Myth. It was two guys and a chairperson. Comedy of Comedies - two of the men had speech impediments and the other couldn't hear properly. So the guy who couldn't hear properly had to have everything repeated by the speech impediment guys. It was like God wanted to punish me for going to the seminar in the first place. I admit I went along JUST to see if anyone would start talking in tongues and/or start a punch up but I did not deserve THAT.

* Today my feet totally swelled up for no reason at all. I am certainly not pregnant (unless one of the God guys at the seminar got me in an immaculate conception type way) nor do I eat a lot of salt. The other thing it might be (according to Dr Wikipedia) is that I might be experiencing heart failure. Yay, I feel just peachy now. I just hope I'm pregnant with God's child and I implore you to hope with me. Incidentally if I did come out and say I was pregnant with God's child would you believe me?

* I completely lost it at a child today. I don't know why they love me anyway but somehow they do. It was just a really bad day filled with shitty things that went wrong and that kid was at the wrong place at the wrong time. She knocked down a clay dragon and it broke (someone's work) after I asked for the KAZILLIONTH time for them to be orderly and line up instead of crowding around the dragons. That wasn't why I lost it. I lost it because I asked 'what happened?' and she said 'I don't know it just fell off all by itself'.

...
no, it wasn't cute at the time. On a scale of 1-10 of shitty things to say at that moment 1 being "ooo here's a picture of a fluffy kitten" and 10 being "George Bush is retiring as president of the USA and moving to become the first president of Australia" - I don'tknow it just fell off all by itself ranked about 9.75.

Labels: aching feet, crap reality tele, girfriend, God, idol, pop culture, school, writing

posted by M at 8:02 pm 18 comments

In teacher-land the end of the year is always a bitch. There's a lot of stuff to do. Usually, I have my grade of little minions to do all my dirty work for me but being an art teacher means that I don't really have a grade to boss around so all the dirty work that needs to be done at the end of the year (cleaning, sorting, stacking, distributing) gets done by only one person - me. Not only do I feel like crap, as evidenced by my generally sad sack nature of late but after the last couple of days of full on cleaning I really look like crap too. We're talking paint on nose and hair sticking up on end - kind of crap. Nice.

On the plus side - I've spent less time wallowing and more time singing along to the Valley Girl soundtrack while I drag heavy boxes from one end of the AR to the other. I think I've pulled some kind of muscle in my back though because it hurts to walk at the moment - that can't be good.

Everyone has been in a typically mean mood at school. Teachers are stressed because there's a lot of stuff to clean up - if you start too early then parents start complaining that 'quality learning isn't happening' - but if you leave it too late then you're left with absolute chaos in your classroom right up until the end of school... Hence the moodiness of teachers. The specialist teachers however are less stressed about it all - because we've had the last two days to ourselves without classes (thank god).

M (the PE teacher) and I have been having many heart to hearts lately - this is mostly because she's noticed that I've been a bit withdrawn lately. She's really a wonderful person and I adore her - but she also happens to be my exact opposite (she is peppy, lovely and always excited and positive about life and dancing in the corridors (literally) - while I am cynical, inquisitive and thoughtful). We seem to compliment each other quite well though because even though we are different we both share the common bond of freakdom. Yes, we are both quirky and silly in our own different ways - and to celebrate this we are planning on catching up in the holidays to see an anime exhibition at the gallery and other assorted stuff.

We have completely different approaches to things though and mainly this boils down to religion. Now I grew up in a hardcore religious household - while my father wasn't too fussed about it - my mother has always been God's cheerleader. In the Catholic church God's cheerleaders are less "rah rah sis boom bah" and more "the hand of God will strike you down to hell if you touch yourself in the sad place". I must be going to hell but at least my sad place is actually quite happy, thanks.

M, however isn't a catholic - she is a pentecostal. I think the pentecostal is the arch enemy of my personality. I'm not really a religious person but if I was I'd be more your sit around and contemplate the world type person - not really a cheerleader for Jesus - though it does sort of fascinate me. So when M invited me to her church I laughed and told her that I would go crazy in her church and want to kill everyone and um, thanks but no thanks. Then I said that Jesus only loves the little children anyway so neh (I can't resist, sorry). She laughed her head off and denied that totally, but do you think I went too far with the "neh" bit? Do you get offended when people make jokes about God? I'm always making fun of God - is it that big a deal? I actually don't try to offend people in a serious manner or anything.

I don't think her religion is going to get in the way of our friendship except if she starts thinking that I'm in need of saving and pushing that on me (I doubt that though). Has anyone ever had that happen with a friend?

Labels: friends, God, school

posted by M at 6:58 pm 31 comments

This morning I woke up at about 4am or so thinking oh shit, reports! Every time I tried to fall back into dreams I was driven back to waking life with the nervous tension brought on by adrenaline and stress. I don't know how people function in personalities which are constant and even - living at an even pace because they are planner or whatever. I don't know how they do it, but it sure would be nice to experience that just to see.

I gave up on sleep and went for the tele instead, but as anyone living in this wide brown land will tell you, the only thing on at that time are TV evangelists. Personally I think they're a laugh riot and I'll quite happily watch them. They're very good at what they do - I'm not exactly what you'd call a devout Catholic (read: heathen) but half way through This is Your Life (or was it This is Your Day? meh) I'm usually on my feet yelling Praise Jesus! with the rest of the crowd. As I said, they're very good. I don't know if TV evangelists have a gift from God, but I do know they have the gift of the gab. There's a difference - usually that difference is money but I guess it depends on who you ask.

I don't really want to go into my own journey with religion. I am not completely taken by the devil, but I am also not one for prayer. I grew up with a lot of prayer around me and I don't know if it gets you closer to God or even is the language of God. Sometimes I think it's an excuse not to be responsible for yourself - Catholicism especially asks you to turn to prayer if you do something wrong - as if prayer absolves you somehow of the responsibility of your actions. Sorry, I don't really believe that - especially if you're reciting poetry - but I understand that it gives comfort where there might otherwise be none. For me though, official prayer is the word of man (and I do mean man at the exclusion of women) not God at all. Maybe making up your own is the way to go - if there is a God, surely he's sick of the same old Our Fathers being said over and over and OVER. I'd sure as hell want some variety.

I guess that part of me that will happily watch a TV evangelist is the same part of me that will be interested in church (err, at Christmas) despite not being a religophile (made up word). I don't see them as teachings exactly but I do like listening to people's points of view and usually it encourages me to think about my own life and own experiences - even if I don't necessarily agree with the message itself. I like explanations of everyday life, even if it is through the proxy of the bible.

This morning after the discussion: "if President Bush needed prayer to make an important decision would you know what to pray about?" - which immediately sparked a woman to start speaking in tongues (err, yes, the language of Bush - apparently) there was a woman on the tele called Beth Moore who was talking about oppression. Despite being a few short of a 6 pack her "sermon" was interesting. Her starting point:

Genesis 29:32 (KJV) And Leah conceived, and bare a son, and she called his name Reuben: for she said, Surely the LORD hath looked upon my affliction; now therefore my husband will love me.

She focused on that idea of feeling that by changing who we are and living for others because we are afraid of not "being loved" (or approved of) is oppression. She argued that affliction in the case of the bible verse really meant oppression and that real oppression is when we allow others to dictate our self worth.

Through half sleepy eyes, I wondered about all the women I know, including myself, who have changed themselves in some way in order to "be loved" and how exhausting it is to live your life in accordance with someone elses idea of what you should be. When you think that someone else is going to withdraw love, or even not give you approval because you are who you are, then it's akin to living in fear isn't it? How many of us live in that constant shadow of fear of not being loved or good enough and will sacrifice a sense of self in order to ensure that 'love happens'? A great lot of us I'd think. So how many of us are really walking around not being ourselves? Don't we trust our of sense of self worth? Does everyone measure themselves in accordance with what others think of them? And can that ever result in love?

oh - I gotta go, Benny Hinn is about to bless me.

Labels: boys, crap reality tele, dirty femmo, God, love, questions

posted by M at 5:24 am 24 comments