The Search for Enlightenment and Creativity

I'm reading Perfect Madness by Donna Lee Gorrell. Very thought provoking book detailing her journey to enlightenment with numerous quotes from zen masters and the like. There is much to be learned from her book yet there is something that doesn't quite ring true - like how should I know as I am far from enlightened? Still, and perhaps it's the innate weakness of the written word which always fails to convey real meaning (describe the colour yellow for instance), there is always this quiet and insistent jangling underlying the text, as if it is written by someone who has done extensive research but doesn't really know the unknowable. I don't know. Maybe it's the cynic or the green eyed monster (I'll have what she's having). Maybe it's just guilt as I've done nothing creative or constructive in weeks. My book languishes on the hard drive. I haven't even looked at it. I'm not painting or drawing anything. I read, play with Dimitri and hide from the dust (a second dust storm swept through yesterday and everything is again covered with a reddish brown film). It's self-disgust- such a useless emotion except when it gets to be too much one is finally motivated to get off one's arse and do something. Ah, notice how I went from using the word 'I' to the word 'one'? A quick and easy way to distance myself from aspects I don't like about myself. Okay, so when it gets to be too much I am finally motivated to get off my arse and do something. Much better. I'm not meditating either despite many opportunities to do so. What is this self-defeating system that I believe I share with many other people. Lack of self-discipline? Perhaps but I suspect it stems from fear. Not doing anything means I'm not putting myself out there. I can't fail because I haven't tried. Each time my days off roll around I swear it will be different. I'll get stuck in; write, paint, meditate, do yoga, all the things that make me feel better for having done them. And then I disappoint myself. It is easy to stay busy with housework and things that appear to be constructive but are really empty. Creativity is akin to God (I still have trouble with that word, that concept - I like the Power That Is, The Source, etc. but they are wordy). God created the world and the universe and God created me with the ability to create. Isn't that a terrific gift? The most marvelous gift - and I sit on it and do nothing.
I work with a kid once a week who is in a band. A heavy metal band. This school holiday he and his mates are putting together a clip to put on You Tube. We were talking about it and he said I probably wouldn't like his type of music. I said he was probably right but that didn't matter. The most important thing was he was making something with his friends that hadn't existed before. They were creating something totally new. Each of us has wisdom to share or we teach best what we most need to learn. So on that note, I'm going to go do something creative even if it's just a pencil sketch of Dimitri leaning into this dusty dry wind.

Dust Storms, Dimitri and The Eternal Now

September 25, 2009. Have to hurry as we've company coming for drinks and munchies in a bit over an hour. We had a dust storm come through a couple of days ago. It hit Sydney and moved north through Brisbane and further up the coast. I looked out through the surgery window and it was like I'd put red cellophane over my eyes. Very weird. Not scary weird like the light looks before a tornado or a severe storm, or even during a partial eclipse, just weird. 18,000 tons an hour dropped over the land -- all from South Australia so they say. The dust covers everything. In this old Queenslander, full of gaps and holes, it entered without any hindrance despite the house being 'shut up'. In a house over a 100 years old you can't make it airtight. I've dusted and mopped and dusted some more and sort of succeeded in smearing it around a bit. I cleaned the keys on this keyboard yet can still feel it, slippery like talcum powder, beneath my fingers. I can smell it too. When it is dampened it smells a little like it does before rain. Apparently it is possible we'll have another one coming in the next day or two, hopefully not as severe. What drove the dust was the wind.
I'm concerned about Dimitri as he took a header this morning from the perch and bit his tongue (I think). His beak appears intact but there was blood dripping from his mouth. He will take the odd sunflower seed but very tentatively. I've piled padding all around the perch so if he decides to try and fly at least he'll have a softer landing. R says take the tree perch away and perhaps it should be removed yet it is his favourite spot. He is up high (when he's on it he's just above eye level with me) and can see out and about. I think it's important that he learns to live effectively with his disability. Perhaps I'll change my mind and remove it but I don't think so.
I've been trying to live consciously, my mantra (when I think of it!) The Eternal Now. The eternity of the present. There is no other time, no other reality but this endless Now. It does help to center me when I become agitated. Like when Dimitri hurt himself. I was bitten this week by a dog suffering from tick paralysis who just went beserk. I was trying to lower him to the ground from the table as he was thrashing so hard I thought if he broke free he'd fling himself to the ground. I had him by the scruff but he managed to twist around and lock onto my arm. I didn't center myself very well then. It bloody hurt too much. Later however, when it was aching and I had trouble flexing my hand (bruising to the tendons I think) I did much better. I do believe one can heal oneself through the power and energy of thought. I know I have done so sometimes. I'm pretty useless with headaches and nausea but have had success with other things. Anyway, I sent healing energy to my arm and it's looking pretty darn good now. And feels pretty darn good too.
Best get cracking and feed up. You know, it's quite a miracle being alive and breathing. Makes me happy.

More Dimitri and, darn it, the quarry

This could get a bit boring for non-bird people. I have Tachimedes, the normal male cockatiel, sitting on the CPU singing. I've just sat down after 15 minutes of working with Dimitri, the new Little Corella I wrote of in my last post. Having to work for two and a half days interrupts the training/getting acquainted. Only get to say hello in the morning. He's in bed by the time I get home. Yesterday, however, was a half day and that was most fruitful. I used the Power Pause, found on You Tube. It is a method of gaining the trust of fearful birds. Basically it means when Dimitri shows any sign of nervousness when approached, I stop moving until his body language indicates he has relaxed again. I also incorporate some of the body language I use with horses. I look around with soft eyes, soften my leg joints, move my legs about a bit (without shifting my feet), use my arms in a relaxed low key manner. Most importantly I stop staring. It is so easy to become fixated on gaining his trust, it becomes a competition; fixed hard eyes, fixed hard body - looking exactly what I don't want to look like, a predator. This morning he was taking seeds from me while on his tree perch. Yippee. He freaked a bit when I moved to the other side (is it like horses, that you have to introduce new things to both eyes as each eye is aligned - in a sense - with the two halves of the brain?). Anyway, he threatened to jump which is very bad as he just crashes. He could shatter his breast bone doing that so it's very important that he never has any reason to feel that afraid. I moved as far away as I could and when he was still upset, just left the verandah altogether. Later, I tried again but only asked him to take seeds while I was directly in front of him. That worked much better.
Dimitri has been sitting on his tree while I've been in here. The office is off the verandah, like the short end of an 'L'. He didn't know it existed before as the door has always been shut. Thought I'd let him know there was another room so went out, said g'day, gave him a couple of seeds (no big deal attitude mirrored beautifully by Dimitri) and then returned. He just walked up this end and looked in. I said hello and he left again, too much pressure. Would've been better if I'd just glanced and said nothing. He can roam around the verandah without supervision as it's pretty bird safe, even from his strong beak, but in here he must be supervised as all the computer wiring is on the floor.
We have a new hiccup in that the released Sulphur Crested Cockatoo, Algernon, who's been free for four or five years now?, has taken interest in Dimitri. He hangs off the gutter looking for all the world like a white bat. He has even tried to chew his way through the screen. We are sitting on this problem for the moment. We hope Algernon will recognise that Dimitri is a corella and not a S.C. Cockatoo. If he doesn't then we may have to think about capturing Algernon and re-releasing him at the original release site -- where there are many local cockatoos, unlike here where there are none. The pressure is on Algernon as we approach breeding season.
Just got the very bad news that the company which applied to quarry the mountain has appealed against the decision by council to refuse the application. We are registering as respondents by election to appear in the Planning and Environment court to fight this. So it goes on, as it has since 1993. I'm so tired of it but think there's a reason it's happening now - because we have endured, we have fought it and will continue to do so. There are others who care and who fight but no one has put as much effort and time in it as R. I've done my bit too but he has been phenomenal. Of course, the council will bear the brunt. Most of it is out of our hands. We can only add our voices to those who wish to see the end of this saga. In the grand scheme of the world it is only a little thing - but that remnant vegetation is worth the fight. The word remnant is the key. Lose this piece of endangered habitat and remnant may change to extinct.

bare eyed corella

Writing has come to a halt. Most of my days off have been spent on the verandah trying to reassure and befriend a Little Corella I've named Dimitri. He was captured with a broken wing (dead bone protruding from the wing) after spending a week in a park, earthbound. The wing could not be saved and was amputated. He appears to be a juvenile and although understandably wary and shy does not panic when approached. He lives in a cockatoo cage with the other birds on the verandah. At night, because it's so cold (real desert weather, clear skies and minimal humidity make for warm days and frigid nights) he is taken, cage and all, into the spare room with a heat lamp. Because of having his wing removed a palm sized area of skin is exposed to the air so he can't control body temperature. In the mornings, when it has warmed up, he's brought back to the verandah.
R has built him a ladder which leads from the cocky cage to the ground, and a 'tree' made up of a branch inserted into the stand of an old floor fan. I wrapped the bottom of the stand with rope so he can climb it which he did finally today.
Taming birds is a study in patience. It's a very good prescription for me as I'm not the most patient of people. But birds motivate me. If I can be patient for anything, it's animals (and conversely the most impatient, especially when a dog which knows the command to come, nicks off anyway!). So rather than writing, or doing anything 'worthwhile', I've spent most of my days off sitting on the verandah with Dimitri. Just sitting for the most part. Sitting near him reading a book, lying on the floor near him (hiding behind a pot plant) gazing out at the torelliana trees, perched on a doormat gazing at him. It will take weeks, perhaps months before he trusts me. Even though he takes sunflower seeds from my hands and will allow me to touch his feet and breast (preparatory to the step up command) and has even allowed me, albeit reluctantly, to scratch his head it is more good manners and a mild temperament rather than trust or friendliness. I have to prove myself to him, not the other way around. The carer said he bites but he hasn't bitten yet. He 'mouths' my fingers sometimes, a way parrots have of exploring something new.
Tomorrow is a concern. Dimitri doesn't like it in the cage - and why would he? He's in prison in a prison. Even when he's loose on the verandah, the verandah is still enclosed. He doesn't know why he can't fly. He doesn't understand why he's gone from a wild free flying bird to a flightless bird in captivity. He doesn't know that these huge upright beings mean him no harm. It's a prison sentence without reason. When I'm home he spends most of the day loose because I stay out there with him. R is unwilling to let him out of his cage while I'm at work because he, understandably, doesn't want to hang around monitoring him all day. If I was the kind of person who took a sickie because of having other plans I'd do it. Dimitri is a strong reason to do so but I can't. Not fair on my workmates. Anyway, he'll just have to tough it out. The interesting thing is he didn't get into any trouble today. He doesn't show any signs of wanting to chew - not that there's much to chew on anyway. He wants to sit quietly and I think with the tree that's exactly what he'd do. Just sit and be as close to a wild bird, sitting in a tree, as he could. Might be an idea to rig up food and water for him somehow. Poor Richard, I always come up with bigger and better plans.

Antares to Arcturus, its a matter of perspective

Windy Sunday. Howling wind Sunday. I knew the exact minute this change came through. We were outside with guests yesterday. A friend, her husband, their daughter. She is a vet at at the clinic where I work. Showing them the aviaries with the galahs, greenies and rainbows when this hot sharp wind charged in the from the west. It burnt all hint of moisture from the air. The tiny leaves of the poinciana shot into us like rat shot, driven by this ferocious wind. My skin seemed to frizzle and even my eyeballs dehydrated.
The wind continued through the night. A hot summer night in late August when officially we're still in winter. This is the second heat wave this month. What is happening with our weather? Could it be, can it be, global warming? The pundits are still out there saying global warming is a huge conspiracy. I don't know. Every spring our storms are fiercer, more damaging. We're getting less rain in the summer when we need it and now this. I know two hot spells don't make a catastrophe but I think we're naive to assume we are not making an impact on this planet.
If I could operate a computer with any kind of grace, I'd be able to upload photos (I can hear the guffaws from here, thank you very much, but it's true I am completely bamboozled by the simplest of technological tasks). Someone sent me an email entitled The Universe, How Big is It? It starts with a comparison of earth to the other planets, then the earth to the sun, the sun to Arcturus, which is relative to comparing earth to the Sun, then Arcturus to Antares, which might be comparable to comparing the moon to the sun. In the last shot of the sun and Antares, the sun was one pixel, so not visible, to this huge ripe tomato of a star called Antares. It was huge and earth and all of us, only a memory of matter. In the scale of things earth, and me least of all, to quote Joni Mitchell, did not exist. The last shot is of galaxies made up of billions of suns (stars from Arcturs' to Antares') in deep space. It does tend to put things in perspective.
One time, when I was really depressed about how we were slowly but surely crapping over this miracle of a planet, my sister reminded me that although we may be destroying one miracle, there are billions of other miracles in the universe. It would be a catastrophe for this living ecosystem and all the things on it but just because we got it wrong does not mean creation and change and opportunity would end. We would just be one little experiment that went wrong.
I try and remember that. Everything dies. I'll die. Hopefully having done something life-enhancing and creative while I'm here. It won't be the end of creation if Earth dies. Energy means change. Everything changes but energy is not lost. The next experiment of sentient intelligence might get it right.
Don't want to spend this day whinging and whining about how bad things are. That just pepetuates the problem. Just watched 'Who Do You Think You Are' on SBS. Ian Hislop researching his great grandfathers who came from Scotland and fought in the Boer War, among other things. Then I think I know nothing of Dad's dad, whose name I share. My middle name is Boyer. He died when I was an infant so I never new him. Dad didn't talk of him but then being a self-involved teenager I didn't ask either. Now that I'm older I am curious about my relatives. There are question marks about my maternal grandfather, that he came into Canada being born on the 'wrong side of the blanket' in the UK. My sister and I think he has a resemblance to the late Lord Mountbatten, Prince Philip and less so, Prince Charles in the shape of his head. So it's a tiny romantic notion that means nothing. Just had a quick look at some genealogy websites. One could spend a heap of money, which I'm unwilling to do at this point. My third cousin once removed sent over reams of paper detailing her side of the family tree. She was a diligent researcher. Unfortunately most of it was double greek to me especially as we were so distantly related. I'm ashamed to say that after years of shifting it from one disused drawer to another I shifted it into the bin. Perhaps it's wiser at this point in my life to look where I'm going rather than where my forefathers (and mothers) have been.

shame and anger

Shame. Even the word is ugly, it starts with a hiss and ends with a sneer. Ugh. I don't like the word. Nevertheless I find I am never too old to feel it. Which brings up another problem. Regret and letting go. I find it's easy to say 'what's done is done, now move on' but moving on is a little more troublesome. Certainly one has to feel the shame, to know that it isn't something one wants to experience, so that it can be learned from. No point in rolling it around and around, reliving it ad nauseum. That doesn't help. So I am hopeful that in writing it here I will have finished with it and will actually move on.
And the shameful act? I lost my cool, my temper, my equilibrium. I raised my voice. I ordered someone to leave the building. I was very angry.
Anger. Such a dangerous state of being. I want peace in the world. I want peace in my workplace, in my home, and especially in my soul. Anger, such sudden anger, overwhelms me, reminds me that I am only as civilized as my self-control. It has been many years since I've been that angry. That I was verbally abused and accused is no excuse. Others may resort to shouting and comments arising from emotion, but not me. Or so I thought. It was a very humbling experience. The veneer is thin. I've coasted along not because I'm such a *good* person but because I've not really been challenged.
I am hopeful that if this sort of experiences arises again I will remember the shame I felt afterwards and behave differently. And that I'll remember to breathe! So much for yogic breathing in times of crisis. I completely forgot. I was breathing all right, more like hyperventilating. A co-worker, who was also being verbally abused, said the skin on my face was vibrating. A real visceral experience. Wore me out. Adrenaline rushes are one thing, uncontrolled emotion quite another. I know people who are always angry. Maybe one gets addicted to that sort of emotional rush. I don't know. I don't think anyone ever seeks out shame though. Live and learn. Live and learn.

a different perspective

Sometimes you see something, while not unusual in itself, touches you in a surprising and unexpected way. I was driving home from town this morning. We are having a heat wave in the middle of winter so the quality of the light was hazy and hot. If I was plonked down in my air conditioned car at midday and not told what season of the year I would've guessed summer even though the sun is still too far north. The light bleached colour from the paddocks, from the sky, from the bitumen streaming to infinity from the front of the car. There was a flash of white to the west. I looked and it was gone. Then it came again. I watched and saw a column of birds spiraling up a thermal. White then blue, white then blue. When the sun wasn't reflecting off their whiter than white wings, they were invisible.
For a moment I was with them, silent and still, riding a current of air with the vastness of the earth diminishing beneath me. The vision didn't last long. I was driving after all.
I have often played the shifting of perspective game. There'll be a blowfly touring the rooms like a fat house detective, on the hunt for contraband food. In those idle moments I'll pretend I'm seeing what the blowfly sees as he buzzes from one square bordered space to another. Or one of our cats, or an ant or even trying to sense the consciousness of the poinciana tree outside this window.
There's something about trees, that slow steady life, their experience of time. Humans must look like film on fast forward to them, scuttling about in seconds before the vastness of their existence. Of course, one could argue that trees aren't conscious. They're alive but dumb, having about as much consciousness as a fence post. I can't explain why I feel differently but I do. It's a feeling. Like trying to define love. We know love exists but we can't prove its existence in a lab. It's a feeling. With the same faulty reasoning I know that trees are so much more than mere trees. Trees know the answers to the big philosophical questions. It's there in their shape, their bark, the movement of their leaves, the roots hidden beneath the ground. Trees are deep.