Thought I might just share a couple of pieces of writing I did, instead of doing assignments, as per usual. I tend to write some rather, well, depressing pieces. I love the passionate, desperate and almost violently powerful imagery, I find it rather cathartic. And if writing about how frustrating life is doesn't work, then I'll put it to music and sing it. And I wonder why I never get any actual work done....


Fear of The Nothing

The silence is more than I can bear,
Drifting, cut lose from time and space,
Drifting, ungrounded and sinking into nothing
Swallowed up by Oblivion

There is pounding, pounding inside my head,
My body shudders, wracked by the cold,
Within and without, wracked by the cold,
I am no longer in control

What recourse do I have against this unseen foe?
Oblivion beckons, what can I do,
Oblivion beckons, it digs it's hooks into me
I am powerless

Oblivion claims me it's prisoner,
I am trapped, screaming a silent scream
I am no more yet I am still, screaming a silent scream
My screams fill the void

I am no more,
Lost in The Nothing, I cease to exist
Lost in The Nothing, there is no self
The Void is everything

Toni O'Connor.


This second one is a little bit about the struggle of going from child, or should I say 'Teenager-hood', to adulthood. It can be so frustrating simply having to be accountable for oneself.


Harsh Light of Day

Ripping, clawing, grasping
I crawl from my butterfly cocoon
Into the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

I long for the shelter of what was before
I want everything to go back to the way it was
Yet into the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

Climbing so high up this endless ladder,
Then I fall, wishing I never started to climb at all
Yet up the ladder and into the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

I wander through a barren land, unsure of where I'm going
Wishing I didn't have to face this journey
Yet into the wilderness and the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

Swimming across an infinite sea, so deep my feet can't reach the bottom
Wishing my goal were so much closer,
Yet across this sea I still swim, and into the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

I stumble blindly through a pitch-black tunnel, grazing my skin as I fall,
Wishing I'd never entered this place, wishing I didn't have to get up again,
Yet through this lightless tunnel and into the harsh light of day, I crawl
Naked and burning

Must I force my way out,
force my way through?
climb the endless ladder,
see the journey through?
Must I swim the boundless ocean, and face the darkness too?
There's a knife in my heart and I'm lying here bleeding,
Feel like I'm being dragged through life kicking and screaming
For just one second, I wish that the world would stop turning
Yet into the harsh light of day, I will crawl
Naked and burning.

Toni O'Connor.

Cockatoos Invade Lemuria

Just before the sun came up, I opened the curtains and there was the city, sihouetted against a stunning red sky with the sun poised to show itself at any second. Aah! Fabulous! what a start to the day.

And then I saw them - two big sulphur-crested cockatoos, having their breakast in my flower boxes on the balcony.
One was delving into the oregano and thyme, and the other had it's beak full of marigolds. The marigold-muncher was facing me through the window and looked quite absurd with its crest sticking up and a shocked expression on its face.

Caught red-handed! Or red-clawed. And the poor marigolds were quivering, half-mangled, the planter box almost emptied, whole plants snapped off and their petals scattered over the tiles and far below on the path.

Now, I'm all for the concept of sharing, but those marigolds were superb - in a spectrum of warm colours from yellow through to deep gold, orange, crimson and burgundy. What I really loved was the way you could look over the marigolds to a swathe of gold-toned autumn leaves on the plane trees lining our street.

Beyond these two bands of colour was the sunrise, if I was up early enough, as well as sunset, which stretches across the sweep of sky from the west to the east and is reflected in the windows of the city buildings. Layer upon layer of glorious colour as far as the eye could see.

So, the foreground of my autumn layers is a mangled mess! Grrr! Before I sent the pesky birds packing, I must admit I had to admire them for a few seconds. They are stunning to look at, with their startling white feathers and that crazy yellow hairdo.

They're so destructive - I know people who live in the Royal National Park, south of Sydney, who have had their wooden verandah rails ruined by cockatoos, whole flocks of them chomping away every morning.

Mind you, another of my autumn layer has gone now - the fresh winds of the past week have blown most of the leaves off the plane trees. Oh well, it is winter after all. At least there's still the sky colours - the wind and the cockatoos can't destroy those!

The sign said, “Welcome, come on in.” So I did. I walked through the main gate into Lemuria. Shocking. You can do it just like that. An invitation is extended and you respond. I had paced in front of the gate for hours, peeking through the cracks, jumping up and down to see over the top. I tapped lightly on the frame months ago but ran away in case someone answered. And once I even slipped a note under the bottom. It was on red paper with a gold stripe on the side. Do you remember? Well that being said I had never considered lifting the latch and walking in. But today, or was it yesterday or the day before I did it. The gate opened smoothly and creaked in a most pleasant manner.

Because my eyes were downcast and I was observing my shoes with great concentration my first sense of Lemuria was the fragrance. The air was redolent. Redolent I say. It was pungent and spicy and sweet and tangy and stimulating and soothing all at once. It smelled like home and mystery at the same time. I took breath deep from my toes to my head and looked up. Glorious. It was warm with the kind of breeze that dances upon your skin.

I reached down and took off my sandals leaving them by the gate. And I began walking and getting to know this new wonder. I turned to the left because of the little sign that had a tiny blue arrow upon it that said, “Fun ahead.”

In a few minutes I reached a most unusual place. There was a garden with huge patches of mint, rosemary, basil and lemon verbena. There was another sign, except this one was large and direct. “Take a chance. Roll around in the garden. Enjoy!” I was beginning to appreciate all these signs! I did exactly as requested. It was a bit difficult at first, so extravagant and free. I walked into the mint, than sat in it, and then I lay in it. Then I rolled. Back and forth, face down then up and then down with arms spread wide I was a mint angel. The smell was in my nostrils, in my mouth, it was under my eyelids. It was remarkable. I sat up as tears slipped down my face. I truly thought I would burst with wonder.

Deep restorative breaths shook me with their strength. I got up and returned slowly to the gate. There was a card there with my name on it. It said, “You are right where you are suppose to be. Return soon. Your fellow, Lemurians”. I picked up my sandals and slipped quietly out. I will remember how to lift the latch and return to Lemuria.
by Debra Fox

Delaying Death

My heart is heavy as I travel across my meditating desert today. There is a companion with me and I can not shake the sorrow.

THE LAST MILES


She
walked slowly
across the barren land,
rough woven cape and hood
her only protection
against the blazing sun:
step after step after step.

Her feet burned
in the thin leather sandals,
strapped loosely on her feet,
her only protection
between burning sand
and jagged stones:
step after step after step.

The limp, lifeless bundle
in her arms
weighed heavily
on her weakening body
causing her journey
to become more laborious
with every step;
on and on and on.

She knew-
somewhere-
she must lay her bundle down
and rest,
But not now-
not yet-
Just one more
step after step after step.
Jane Tilton

Last Miles Repose

They eyed her
walking slowly
through barren land.

So sad, so all alone
in the hot sand.

They walked along
her path
so gently worn.

Helped her carry
her heavy bundle
there to mourn.

Softly,
oh so softly
they all cried.

They all stood
so gently
by her side.

They wept
and grieved
for love lost
to their friend.

Then held her near
Her gentle heart
to mend.

© 2002 By Susan L. Anderson


I was moved by both the message and the way it was delivered. All I can think to add is work through the sorrow, it is the only way through, and it is THE only way to lessen the burden. It is incongruous when you think about it, and not all that appealing, because given a choice, us human beings would prefer not to be burdened by sorrow. And yet, it is that which truly makes us more compassionate, stronger, resiliant, "human" beings. Accept the burden, and then you can truly "lay it down"
Anonymous

Women

We bear
burdens
inequity
injustice
babies

We share, a collective past of
exposed infants screaming on cold stone hill sides
bound feet
bound breasts
burnings
an unstoppable, indestructible, mutual strength

Woman of grace
Who bears the honored name of Crone
A name I now thirst to learn
to fill my bones with
to wreath my hair with
to celebrate, exalt and revel
to learn one day to
deserve

Woman of honor
in roughly woven cape and hood
I do not know your burden
I cannot offer to help you carry
I cannot offer you shade or
even a place to rest

But as my sisters before me
throughout antiquity
I will not let you bear it alone

See the footsteps in the sand
I will walk beside you



Edwina Peterson Cross
(Winnie)

Nasturtiums
tough little plants
with leaves to nibble
flowers to decorate my salad

Flowers
found from north of north
to south of south
reminders
of my mother's garden
brave enough
to grow in careless colour
here
in mine. Fran

On My Way To Ithaca Fair

Finding my way to Ithaca fair
Winding my way to settle there
On whispers of wind
And rays of sun
Through billowing clouds of mist I run
To quench my thirst
To sate my soul
Oh but the mystery my travels behold
Time is meaningless
It doesn't exist
So dancing along in a fairy mist
Is what I do
Is what I love
To travel the lands so richly blessed
With mountains and lakes and streams caressed
With sunkissed oceans and meadows fair
And fragrant flowers everywhere
I drink of them all
Inhale them divine
These mystical lands I know are mine

© 6/9/02 By Susan L. Anderson


How could I forget my true destination? I am thoroughly enjoying traveling my path to Ithaca though and choose not to go in haste lest I miss even the most minute detail of my exciting journey.

It is an arduous journey but one filled with many rewards. I had heard of the Laistrygonians, and the Kyklopes as well as the Angry Poseidon but thus far I have enjoyed my travels so much that they have remained in the most remote confines of my mind, serving both my spirit and my body well. I pray to the gods daily to see me safely through my exciting journey.

Indeed my purchases thus far have been few but of the finest quality. I've happened upon the finest red silk, laced with fine gold threads of the gods, woven into the most intricate designs....those of which I have never seen before. I found them on my journey through a Phoenician trading station. At another station the most sensuous of oils infused my head! It was so powerful it almost seemed to make me drunk with it's beautiful scent. It was the scent of the finest, most delicate tearose that I have ever had the pleasure of smelling.

I long to move on and on through this wonderful land, basking in its beauty, breathing in it, tasting it, feeling it, seeing it drinking it into my very soul. I can't seem to get enough of it!

My journey through Egypt has been exhausting at times but the splendor and the joys that I have experienced more than make up for the arduous ones. I've only just begun and will move ahead on the whisper of the wind, in the warmth of the sun, on billowing clouds that quench my thirst with their fine mists as I drink in the finest of all this land has to offer, both in tangible objects and in knowledge. My thirst is endless.

I am one with the land and at peace with the gods as they see me through my journey. If it lasts for many years to come, it will continue to move me safely and I will know that my destination of Ithaca will remain my focus for it has always been my predestination. It is quenching a thirst that I've had for years....nay a lifetime...and it is both wise and generous.
Susan Anderson

Alone In The Wood - A Writing Exercise for Lemurians

It was almost summer in the heart of the wood; and soon as I scrambled through the hedge, I found myself in a dim green forest atmosphere under eaves of virgin foliage. In places where the wood had itself for a background and the trees were massed together thickly, the colour became intensified and almost gem-like: a perfect fire of green, that seemed none the less green for a few specks of autumn gold...There was a great hush over the wood; and the vague rumours that went among the tree-tops, and the occasional rustling of big birds or hares among the undergrowth, had in them a note of almost treacherous stealthiness, that put imagination on its guard and made me walk warily on the russet carpet of last year's leaves. The spirit of the place seemed to be all attention; the wood listened as I went, and held its breath to number my footfalls.
Robert Louis Stevenson, from 'An Autumn Effect' Essays of Travel, 1905

Go into the Lemurian Wood alone, amid the sprays of delicate foligae, the colonnade of slim, straight tree-stems. Sit amid the circle of trees at the end of the gravel pathway . Listen to the vague rumours amid the tree-tops and join the gossip of these elders. Write letting the spirit of this place enter your page.

Some Responses

All alone am I amongst these tall, silent trees, whose canopies sigh softly, swishing from side to side as a breeze riffles through their summer-scented leaves, crisp, like starched linens rustling over my head.

I walk along the dirt track, crunching on scented leaves and pine-needles. My feet stumble over tree-roots, looking left then right, eyes straining for the presence of another creature.

It's too quiet, and I'm uneasily aware of being watched by scores of hidden eyes, for I don't believe for one minute I am the only living thing in this forest. A sharp rustle as something unseen scurries away unnerves me. The animal life hides itself in the undergrowth as I pass, equally watchful.

Sunlight glimmers on silvered ferns, shimmers on stones slick with water, bouncing and bubbling on its way to becoming one with the spirit of the waterfall. The muffled thunder of it penetrates the forest long before I catch a glimpse of the flying spray through the greenery.

Negative ions are here in abundance. I feel a surge of energy, a wild elation well up inside me. A huge volume of water roars white and foaming over the sheer drop and thunders to the pool below, swirling as if in confusion before finding its path again. It cascades over the slippery-smooth pebbles and rushes onwards through the dim coolness of the forest. Foliage and water-spirits dance in its healing spray, rejuvenated and refreshed.

The deafening noise obliterates all other sound. Within its comforting roar I let rip a cleansing rebel yell. The torrent carries it over the precipice and bears it downstream to be pummelled on rocks then sprayed into the air, finally dispersing it on the mossy banks.

Running down the bumpy trail through light and shade, dappled, following the insistent water-chant rolling, singing, smoothing the stones; wading through the rapids with sodden, squelching shoes; in a clearing I see another figure. A man, standing in the shadows, watching me, motionless.
Jenny Aarts
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Woods, always a place of mystery
Trees of different shapes and sizes
The light varies so much
Bright to dark to soft to piercing
Sounds of streams of wind in the leaves
Calls of birds to each other
That I try to join in, but my calls are human
Is there no one else here?
A fern frond brushes my leg and makes me jump
I thought it was a spider
And there I see one but high up
In his glistening web for the rain fell this morning
Softening the ground, making paths where no paths were
Pungent scents rise to refresh me
And I breathe deep and long
And then I saw it in the distance
A plume of smoke from a house or a campfire
Now that I know I can stay longer to explore
And anticipate the meeting later in the day.
Pauline Nolan
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Whispering leaves of silver
touch her silken centre
and the long trailing branches
form a circle to shelter
a place secure
a place for my dreaming
a place to remember
and to listen
for the sound of your voice
Here, where I knew you
you come once more
to tell me
your music
will come to me
in springtime.
Fran Sbrocchi