My dreams give me no quarter. When I've been slack, and I have been so very slack, my night life reveals the truth though I may day dream my failings away during the daylight hours. Dreamed I was in a wheelchair desperately trying to get out in the rain. Crippled and yearning for aqua vitae which I could not have.

But it's here all the time. Lay in bed this morning (not for long thankfully, this day WILL be better) and thought about the fear factor. I think it plays a part in my meditation and I think it plays a huge part in any creative endeavour and in my life.

What if? What if I let go? What if I really got down and dirty with creativity? What would I have to give up to have it? What lies would have to stop for me to swan dive into the well of Self and record what I found there?

But does it have to be painful and searing and gut wrenching? Just to do. Isn't that all there is? I use the opiates of tv and spider solitaire to keep me dull. Instead of writing, I play. Instead of doing, I watch tv. Hours and hours wasted when I could live. Creativity is not about giving up, it's about giving freely.

So now that's off my chest. My interest in the horses has been reignited by the two days spent at Peter's playing with Monty. Have researched the 4 point trim and sent information about it with a friendly but firm ("I'm very keen to have my horses trimmed this way from now on") to my farrier. Lloyd used it when he was my farrier with great success. It might be the way I can ride Balthazar without having him shod. If not, it will at least put Drifter's feet right. For years now they resemble bedroom slippers; long underslung heels, long toes and flares. If the 4 point trim doesn't work with Balthazar, in that he can work happily on rough surfaces, I will get him some easyboots. Also reaquainted myself with clicker training for horses. Would like to amble about on Balthazar when I feel like a ride without having to 'train'. After years of endurance riding and training I don't want that kind of committment.

Started a painting using the new Van Gogh oil pastels. Huge mistake. Should have used the hard oil pastels first and the soft VGs on top. Now I have this rich buttery layer that won't take any more colour. Going to dig out some turps and use a brush to blend the colours. That should thin it as well. It's not a lost cause. It's a learning process. The painting is derived from a dream image. Spent an hour or more trying to get this particular colour, a orange tinted teal. Didn't get even close. Frustrating as I can see the colour clearly in my imagination.

I've got a greenie staring at me through the window. They know where we are when they want food. Yesterday Suki and Felicity were fighting with two rainbows over the tree holes in the poinciana - out this same window. Went out to 'help' but realized they had to sort it themselves. They are ready to keep house and raise a family. The rainbows are bigger and pugnacious. The greenies didn't stand a chance. We have hung a nest log for them under the gazebo. It's not ideal but it is an option.

dream art, Jack, The Other and the Love of Bikies

Have almost finished the Blake inspired drawing, in colour this time (pencil). It's a poor facsimile of what was seen in the dream but it's okay. Have got to get better at layering colours, building them up to a rich deep finish. I get too heavy too quick and then have no where to go when wanting to change them. Had to resort to some pastel over the top to get the effect wanted. It's not quite there, the three dimensionality is lacking but it's coming. I rather like it. Rather like a jeweled parrot - a parrot of my imagination. There is no such parrot in the wild.

Waiting in the imagination wings is another drawing whose origin is a dream. It's a surreal one. Don't know what these images say about me but I think they are worth exploring if for no other reason than they are unsought after images so are images straight from the creative part of me or at least the dreaming part of me.

Matisse, although a wonderful Siamese, is quite spoiled and demanding. Nairobi has the favourite spot in the sun atop a padded cat house which they squished down by sitting on the roof and making it a doubly padded basket sort of thing. Matisse wants to remove Nairobi and sit in the sun but Nairobi was there first. Heard the hissing, looked around the corner and saw them both with pinned ears. Growled at Matisse and he stopped his standover tactics. He knows when he's in the wrong.

R is working at the annual local show for the next 2 days. Went into town this morning to get groceries. Saw two heavily tattooed black clad bikie types enjoying the winter sunshine on the pedestrian crossing. One removed his hat to shade his baby from the brightness. Even those who wish to portray themselves as hard men are subject to the love of family. It was a sweet glimpse of the power of love.

Had the best time with Jack yesterday. He took treats without hesitation and with less of that I'm going to gouge your eyes out with my talons look in his eye. Still won't eat pellets although he shows interest when I ooh and aah about them as I said yesterday. If he'd only crunch them and have a taste he'd know they are quite delectable. Even Algernon, who has been released for several years now, still likes pellets as a change from bird seed. Have been searching the net for Roudybush and Harrison pellets. I know I can get roudybush from Toowoomba but it's a long way to drive - and the price, knowing Doneley, will be exorbitant. Provet no longer stocks it. Dimitri will have to make the change to Vetafarm. I put it in his dish with Roudybush crumbles. So far he hasn't touched it. If only I could explain the difficulties to be had in trying to get their favourite.

Was sitting outside with R yesterday having a morning cuppa. Looked over at him as he was talking and it hit me that here is this person I'm sharing my life with and he's a complete stranger. I love him. That's not the question. It was just as he was talking I realized I had no real idea who he was, who he is. This 63 year old man, wearing a wool beanie against the cold, a man I've lived with since 1987, shared intimacies with, laughed with, cried with, fought with and made up afterward with was suddenly as foreign as that bikie shading his baby with a hat. How completely Other he is still. It doesn't seem to make a difference how much you think you know someone they are still Other. The only true companionship, true knowledge is the knowledge of Oneself and even that most of us, including me, are only on the pleased to meet you shaking hands level.

On Catalyst last night was a segment about transcendental meditation. Used to have a book about it but haven't seen it for years so probably gave it away. Sounds like basic meditation except in its use of a teacher given mental mantra - and the cost which can be $1500. Guess I'll just stick with my bumbling attempts at meditation after yoga.