My father died in the summer of 1984. At least, it was some time around then. There was no funeral. No grave. It was like nobody really noticed. My brother and I went to school that day, and the day after. Our father died on a rainy night in Sydney, and took his own body, … More Daddy’s Little Secret
So, you want to be a shaman? Or you think the one who advertises those ‘services’ has safe hands for your journey. Stop. Become still. Listen….. The beautiful truth of the wisdom way is that it can never be bought or sold. It will come to you, if it is your time, softly on featherfeet, … More So, you want to be a shaman…
‘I’ve got work to do,’ he says. ‘Me and the other writers and song makers. We’ve got to clean up the story, get back to the land, let the dark stories in so we can pass on a better future to our grandchildren. If you want to say it’s too late, that the whole place is going to hell, well, tell that to your kids and see how it feels.’ … More An Absence of Stars – the Dark Art of true story.
For a week now I’ve been in conversations with a bird. She is a small thing. A perky little honeybird who steals from Leonard Cohen … Oh darling, little, sleeping one, what if the wound is really the crack that lets the light come flooding in? I want to write the story of the soulbird and her magic. It may … More The Way the Light Gets in ~ song of the soulbird.
Today I met a rich man. He was packing up his 4WD after a long weekend at the country house, over-looking the ocean, nextdoor. His face was heavy with several decades of Camembert and expensive Shiraz. He seemed embarrassed about his dog. He shook my hand as if he were going for a home run, … More Letter to a rich man at dusk.
Bob came to mow the lawn yesterday. I saw him creep through the side gate while I was sorting out my shell collection. He slunk in hunched and filthy. His sticky white legs poking out of saggy King Gees. Bandy ankles thrust into ratty Blunstones, raw with mud and ash and spit from years of grubby labour. … More Good Men, Hurting… a message from the Jasmine King
Come with me for a moment, away from the roar of mad thinking and the crush of despair – there is a voice in the garden, a song in the rice field… I fled back to Bali with a face sucked dry by the Antarctic winds that gnaw on the bones of remote southwest … More Voices from the rice field… how Bali lost it all
I hit the boy in a daydream. He strolled his motorbike straight out onto the highway where my 50km an hour cruise in flipflops and sun dress was abruptly confused into a squall of bent metal, shredded petals and grating skin. It was a bright morning, the scent of papaya and grass smoke on the … More Through the window
How Charles Darwin’s ‘Struggle for Survival’ theory produced a sick-minded, hell-bent humanity which has failed to notice that… the scum also rises. Jetting into the Galapagos Islands is like taking a slow-motion swan dive into the infinity rock-pool of the cosmos. You rise out of the hell that is Guayaquil – with its horrendous infestation of … More The Scum Also Rises… Galapagos Diary # 2
Could the wounded human love story be the tearing open of the bud to a truly Divine Romance? Huge, hard, kinky, tantra, boots and whips and puppies. Ice creams, gags, wax and weird conjugations of the kundalini…. since when did sensuality form this venomous helix with suffering? And where, on our wounded Earth, is all this going … More The Beautiful Suffering