Sadness revisited...

 I still, miss everything about you. Nothing can replace you, nothing can fill the space you left....My life will never be the same without you. It's not that I wont experience love or joy again, but I won't experience the love and joy WE shared together. I won't touch you again. I won't ..... For a moment I go deep into the sadness, I feel like I'm breaking in two - then it passes, gone as quickly as it came. I know it will come again. The only way I can heal the loss, is to feel the loss. I never know when it's coming, that intense heartbreaking pain...Do you ache like I do??

 It's times like these that I desperately, achingly, need art. This place, this "reality" I find myself in is so cold and sterile, I need to soften the edges. Maybe lose this world altogether for a while. Sometimes when there's a sickness of the heart, art is the only cure. I know that if...if I share my life with a man again, I have to be able to speak "art" with him... art and heart are so close together for me. I have to be able to speak magic and poetry and all those things that don't make sense. I have to be able to lose "this" world.... Just shake it loose for a while, or forever....

 This world is painful for me, this world of straight edges, sharp lines, parking tickets and politics. I have to have an escape route when the thought police are after me, and that best route to freedom is the creative one. How could I ever have thought the path to freedom was through money??? Through bricks and mortor.... when art was there all the time showing me the way...

  I couldn't handle going all the way down to homelessness....to living on the street with my art.... so I gave up my dog. The one that I love more than just about anything, just about any one, but not more than my need to have shelter and security. I could have gone all the way to the street for my love for my dog, but I couldn't go that far. The street means no privacy, no walls. Being exposed to the public everyday. I could have done my art on the street with my dog next to me, but I couldn't go that far.

 I went as far as living in my car, with a mattress in the back. For over two years.... We camped by parks, beaches, and reserves. I sat on a rocks at the beach, and under trees, sat by rivers and lakes playing my violin, while you chased seagulls and made friends with other dogs.  I had you, and I had shelter, a small world I could control...but slowly my car rusted, and slowly my walls collapsed. I couldn't afford the car repairs, my registration and warrant, became out of date, my car became illegal..I clocked up fines for then, and then finally it died. Outside my friends house, but parked illegally on the street.

 In down times I berate myself for being so stupid as to get in this position? How could my love for my son, then a man, and finally a dog, drive me so far from the home I once had? And why?? No one appreciates me for allowing the slow erosion of all that held me together, in their name, at least not the man, and not my son. The only place any of this makes any sense is in the realisation that deep pain, deep loss, deep challenging of all that holds identity into a form, is the birthing place of great art. And the loss of something, 'someone', in this case a dog.. that I love so so deeply and unconditionally, takes me to the place where I can no longer live in this world, without creating, or attempting to create, great love and great beauty.

 Someone, perhaps the policeman when I try to justify my unpaid fines, is going to say I'm crazy when I say, I can't make this world make sense anymore. I can understand art, I can understand the heart, that's all..

 And I have to say that - I need to be what all this pain and confusion has created. I feel closer to my soul than ever. Aligned to my true self. I feel truer, freer, more real than I have since I was a child. I feel closer to knowing what is real and what is important. I feel less divorced from the truth in this place. And I know that because of this people, may say I'm crazy. Because I can only do art from a place that is coming from deep within my soul. Not for a career path, not for the dollars. I believe the dollars will come. But art has to be for the purpose of evoking joy, or allowing release of pain..for the purpose of transformation, for sharing, for inspiration, for healing... - NOT .... not for money.

 Paint what deeply moves you, paint what gives you joy, paint and allow the tears to flow, paint sorrow, paint love.... paint for the joy of colour, to express, to share... or paint simply, paint a feeling, paint a single flower with love...paint like a child, forget all the rules, make up a few of your own. Paint , not for the dollars, (they will come, in their own time if they want to) but to move, first of all yourself to a better place, then maybe someone else will come for the ride.

Paint magic, worship magic(not money)... trust (the money will come, but let it go for now - just paint, or write, or play music...). No one will believe me, but this is only for me, I can't take anyone else on this journey. How can I say to anyone to follow my path, when for me it's taken me all the way to staring homelessness in the face, and sacrificing the one I love the most to avoid that?

 I say not for money, but what I mean is - only paint from being aligned with the soul. If you can paint from there, and stay focused on there no matter what, then money or the thought of it and focus on it, cannot interfere, so always paint from there. Remember, you are the judge. Your work may be crap to anyone else, but if it lifts your spirits to a higher place, if it feels good to do it, you're on the right path for YOU. That's what my inner guidance is telling me.

 Somehow my path is not to follow anyone elses drumbeats. Right now - I can't , not even if I want to. I've taken myself so far down this path, that no one can join me where I am, and I can't join them either.
 

Goodbye Sunshine.....

 Last night was my last night with my dog Sunny. We went for a walk in the dark, Sunny running ahead as usual, not really walking. Tears were pouring down my face as my heart broke quietly on the inside.I thought about all the good times we'd had together, so many of them. So many sparkling moments that shine in the dimness of most of my life. I remember how I brought you home the first time as a puppy, how you sat on my lap and cried, and I tried to comfort you and drive at the same time. I snuggled you in my bed under the blankets, and you leapt out excited and so full of life first thing in the morning. You knew never grew out of loving to snuggle up, or the sheer excitement of being alive that made you leap into the air...My cat max, the odd one out, the big fluffy black tom cat, loved you straight away, although you weren't sure about him....you both ran after the ball together. But Mr Sox, a slim black and white cat, didn't want you around, he hid behind a curtain and lashed out at you as you bounded by in typical puppy fashion. He aimed for your eyes, and he found one...ever since then you've been my beautiful one eyed dog. It was snowing that day, we had to wait for the weather to clear, to take you to the vet, and you lay on top of my boyfriend all day and cried. Mr Sox took off, but my other cats, Kokomo and Midnight came to love and trust you over time.Years later we would all go on long walks together, with your best friend a mastiff staffy x called extra.. and sometimes with a couple of the neighbours dogs in tow.

 I have so many memories, so much love and so much joy... I can't write them all just now. I just know I love you from the bottom of my heart. So for it to come to this, to have to voluntarily give you up, my best friend ever??..you kept coming back to me last night, as I walked and you ran ahead..seeing my anguish, looking at me with puzzled eyes and concern on your face....

 When we climbed into bed for the last time, I stroked your body, really feeling it for the last time. And I prayed for you. I dreamt of you running with beautiful, happy dogs of all shapes and sizes. In the morning we got up early and went to the park. You chased the birds on the playing field with the same joy and enthusiasm as ever.....

 You were so brave when I took you to the shelter to be rehomed. Your tail was high as the handler slipped a lead over your head, you were eager to find out more about the dogs you could hear and smell just around the corner. You walked away from me for the last time. But you will forever, ever be in my heart. I feel your spirit so strongly, you are part of my medicine. The pain and the love that force my heart to open up. That sends my spirit searching to the heavens for answers to those seemingly unanswerable questions. You are the most love I've ever known.

If you don't like swearing - Don't read this!!

 
 Aaargh!! What the F**K am I doing??!! Why am I doing this?? Why am I throwing my life away in pursuit of something so intangible? why Don't I get a real job?? Today hasn't gone quite how I'd like, today the mouse couldn't find its way off the wheel....and just went round and round all day... I tried to come back to myself by feeding the birds... there's something about watching happy sparrows and pigeons that makes me feel good - But EVEN THE BIRDS DIDN"T TURN UP!! A little sparrow was chirping on a lamp post, but he sure wasn't telling anyone else about the handfuls of rice I'd thrown on the pavement - I'm looking like an idiot now because there isn't a single bird showing any interest in it. Two pigeons wandered by, pecking at miniscule crumbs as they ignored my offering and kept going in search of something better??? Even the seagull circling above the feast I'd laid below flew off in the opposite direction. If I was trying to not feel like a loser, it wasn't working. I gave up and unpacked my violin, started playing without the inspiration of the sweetness of birds to guide me. There was only a wind blowing my skirt and hair to keep me company, and a distant photographer, I guess the wind blowing my skirt and hair appealed to him too. I kept playing longer than I wanted, just because he was there. When I finished he gave me $2, and smiled blankly at my comment - no english..So with the $7 I made in total, I went and bought a drink and wandered off to Queen St.

 I wandered straight into that African guy whose name I will never remember, let alone be able to pronounce.. The cute one who wasn't home when I turned up today, cause I saw him again yesterday and he invited me for a jam. The window was open, the back door was wide open... the lounge was full of dirty ashtrays full of cigarette butts, and the general squalor of a genuine bachelor pad. As musicians, when they step out in town, they look fresh and washed and stunning at all times, but home is another story. They say you can tell a musicians home, by the lack of toilet paper and light bulbs.. There's always though, a supply of the essentials - drugs, tobacco and alcohol..

 It was lucky I got a ride to his house, since he wasn't home. On an earlier wild goose chase, I was innocently feeling genuinely inspired up on K rd, playing in the wind again, when someone came up to me and told me that my friends band was playing in the domain from 3 - 5, It was 2:54. they weren't playing between 3 & 5, but I didn't know that...so I packed up and headed over grafton bridge towards the domain. I stopped for a while outside the kebab shop near the hospital...weighing up the pro's and cons of a $9.50 kebab on rice over a $2.50 pie. By the time I got to the band rotunda the kebab and rice was cold, partly because I bumped into Mike on the way. My friends Gypsy band had finished playing an hour earlier, someone was rapping instead to some cool acid jazz. Mike noticed me before I noticed him...in fact I wouldn't have noticed him at all if he hadn't leaped out of his flash black car and yelled out my name. I was watching the cricketers on the field down below, I was noticing how many of them looked Indian. Mikes a drummer and a surfer who doesn't drum and doesn't surf. Instead he drives trucks and drinks alone in the domain in his car. He tells me he's always working to pay bills. None of it makes much sense. He works so he can afford drugs. Mike gave me a ride to the African guys house, and when he wasn't there, he dropped me off in town. we sat for a while in his car while he grumbled about the other drivers, and the multitude of people who had ripped him off, freezing his life in an ongoing post traumatic stress disorder, from which it seems he may never recover.  But he's been number one worker at his job 2 years in a row. Work is fine, it's just life he can't handle..

 Anyway the African guy tells me they may want me to play at Raggamuffin with them. He's got my number, and he'll txt me, but he doesn't have a phone, no sim card or something, so it doesn't sound that hopeful..I've always wanted to play at Raggamuffin, not the first time it's come up, our no.1 reggae festival. will see what the music God's have to say on that one. The music God's give me inspiration, but not quite enough to overcome the lethargy on the street today. They don't give me much money,  I guess I can't complain since I landed a $50 note a couple of days ago..

 Still as I head towards home I wonder what I'm doing, and why I don't get a real job?? This obsession with music - is ruining my life, but giving me so much joy at the same time. I just can't seem to give it up.

aaargh......squeezing the life out of life...

wanted to feel hot, wanted to feel full of life, instead I feel shot, 
and not a lot ... of juice left...
what a challenging, balancing act this is...
a single moment of bliss, from a simple kiss, then this....
the day after low down blues, you choose, I lose
Just confuses me, I blow a fuse and leave
I trust in all that is, even in this
yeah back to this moment of peace
back to just selling each piece
each note is release
each phrase is fierce,
piercing the silence with harmonic sound
the bow is my weapon, on the strings I take aim
and fire with inspired melody - I aim for the heart

Music, it's such a rocky path I tread, stick and stones may not break my bones bones but twigs and tree roots can trip me up..I'm always searching for music, like looking for treasure, I have to dig deep for it. I catch a phrase here and there of someone elses music, and I toss it from hand to hand, between my fingers and my bow, weaving something new from the threads of sound that remain. I choose some of their colours and add some of my own, the colors begin to sing their own tune. I've just got to know this melody...then it flies away, it's no longer mine...as I look up into the sky, watching it disappear into the clouds, I trip over my own expectations...

 Landing with a thud in the mud.... I leave the sky behind, want to cry but then, with eyes still dry I find, in
the earth beneath my feet again, another friend. I embrace the bass again, the story ends - for now...

Magic is why I'm here....

Just be happiness now... I remind myself. The contrast between where I am, and the beauty of my magical inner world, can be great - but it's the contrast that provides the inspiration to create beauty and love where sometimes, it's feels like there isn't any. The world can feel dry and clinical, lacking in imagination...the law can feel oppressive and ...love can feel like it's being squeezed out of existence in the the never ending quest for money in this world. But art is the place where all the pieces of the jigsaw fit back together for me. I wake up in the morning to the confusion of my life...and if you knew my story...you'd know just how confusing it is...but clarity comes back when I connect with the source within that shows me the beauty and magic that was always there, waiting for me to find it... I realise I've got to pay more attention to the magic within, and less to the clamour of a world that demands attention, but gives back only more confusion.. so.. I'm losing the confusion,

and drinking a profusion of my spiritual cup of tea.

I only feel right, when I follow the light..

paint a world that's bright enough to see

....all those people bent out of shape

following the path that leads them out the gate

to an out of shape kind of fate
people bent out of shape,create

a prison out of freedom

a world of despair

but beauty is always only ever right here

even in the midst of tragedy, is everywhere

Moments of Magic on the street....

Living and working on the street can be hard, I spend so much time out there, I feel like I live there, but unlike some of the people I walk past daily, I'm just a visitor. There's always group of people camping outside the farmers store on Queen St. They sit on folded cardboard boxes, with a sign asking for change. sometimes I can't face what they represent....often I take a detour and cut back to High st till I get past them... (and the guy at the kebab shop, but that's another story...). But strangely, when I do connect, there's only beauty and love in the exchange. Yesterday, I forgot until it was too late, to veer left into Victoria St, then past the windows full of cakes on High St....So I armed  myself with a smile, and dropped 50c into the hat as I walked by. I imagined I was walking by, but next thing I'd stopped and was playing a few tunes on my violin, and they were singing along in Maori. We exchanged hugs and the customary kiss on the cheek, and one of the women smiled the kind of smile that comes from the bottom of the deepest heart...and I felt warmed and heartened by the aroha (Maori word for love), that was shared. Beneath the tattoos, and the smell of glue, the wairua (spirit) of the people was strong....strong enough to lift my spirits for the rest of the walk up the steep slopes of upper Queen st.

Lost in Inner Space

I

 Cut gluten out of my diet a couple of days ago. Living on a budget has meant $2 pies and bread. Today I had that familiar feeling of not being able to move, not being able to talk - for most of the day. I hope  it's just the gluten coming out of my brain, and that the also familiar feeling of gluten free clarity will return in a day or two. So much I wanted to write about, all vanishing as my fingers meet the keys. I'm in the $1/hr internet cafe at the top of Queen St. My brain hurts.It's good though to know I've still got one, sometimes I wonder?? I long to escape back into the dream world of my paintings... Become lost permanently in inner space. The guy next to me is looking at photos of girls, another way to get lost, I guess. I like to get lost in color and fantasy. Like a kid, I paint a world that isn't real enough to get confused with this one. But sometimes, to me that world feels more real and more comforting than the "real" places I often find myself. The inner world is where the magic is, where rules and boundaries of the outer world disappear.I can find that world here too, looking at a beautiful tree, or playing with a kitten, or watching the waves wash up on a remote shoreline, I need that sense of magic like some people need alchohol. I remind myself to find space for magic every day. It's been too long...