Here is the next part of Purnima (Book 7 of Waldmeer).
“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,” (T. S. Eliot)
Mr Peen’s Fire
Next full moon, Merlyn found herself not at Ajna Temple (the Manipura Dancers and Waldmeer Warriors collaboration had been postponed), nor at Purnima Passage. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere in Waldmeer. She was tossing and turning on Tom’s uncomfortable sofa bed in the city. It was Friday, and that meant adult ballet class, at the State Ballet, and then a visit to Tom & Hardy.
This short story (written in 2016) is in my newly published book, Touched by Love (Book 2 of The Great Love Affair Series).
Man cannot really live without attachments, but mostly we are reaching for the wrong attachment. (Thomas Hora)
Isobel watched Benedict walk unsteadily down his driveway towards the builders in the backyard. He hadn’t dressed properly. He had no underwear on and his track pants were ripped so that anyone who looked (perhaps, it was impossible not to look) could see his backside. Somehow, it was still a great looking backside for all that he had put his body through in recent years. There was no point telling him that he hadn’t dressed properly. He was too sick. Along the way, things like dignity get lost.
Here is the next part of Purnima (Book 7 of Waldmeer).
Drunks and Bogans
Merlyn was the last one to leave the room after her weekly adult dance class at the State Ballet. She was in a quiet corner stretching and processing her recent visit to Gum Flat.
“What’s the matter with him – mouthing off like an idiot?” said a teacher entering the room with a co-worker.
Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Merlyn. She was about to make her presence known, but decided to shrink further into the shadows as they continued their conversation.
Here is the next part of Purnima (Book 7 of Waldmeer): Gum Flat.
Have you seen the bush by moonlight, from the train, go running by? Blackened log and stump and sapling, ghostly trees all dead and dry; Here a patch of glassy water; there a glimpse of mystic sky? Have you heard the still voice calling — yet so warm, and yet so cold: “I’m the Mother-Bush that bore you! Come to me when you are old”?
Did you see the Bush below you sweeping darkly to the Range, All unchanged and all unchanging, yet so very old and strange! While you thought in softened anger of the things that did estrange? (Did you hear the Bush a‑calling, when your heart was young and bold: “I’m the Mother-Bush that nursed you; come to me when you are old”?)
In the cutting or the tunnel, out of sight of stock or shed, Did you hear the grey Bush calling from the pine-ridge overhead: “You have seen the seas and cities — all is cold to you, or dead — All seems done and all seems told, but the grey-light turns to gold! I’m the Mother-Bush that loves you — come to me now you are old”?
(On The Night Train by Henry Lawson)
Night Train
On the way to Gum Flat:
Merlyn read the Henry Lawson poem which was on the wall of the night train to Gum Flat. Written in 1922, the year of Lawson’s passing, it was his last poem. She looked out the dark window at the even darker bush running by and felt a profound sense of belonging and also a profound sense of separation – Have you heard the still voice calling — yet so warm, and yet so cold. It was the same land that Lawson saw, wrote about, and loved. This land doesn’t really change. It is too vast, ancient, detached, motherly. All unchanged and all unchanging, yet so very old and strange.
Here is the next part of Purnima (Book 7 of Waldmeer)
Urgent and Confidential
In Waldmeer:
It was late morning before there was enough sun, on this biting mid-June morning, for Merlyn to sit outside her small rented flat. She sat there doing nothing, thinking nothing, staring at the sea below. This spot was the only place, at her home, where she could see the sea. It was worth sitting in the cold – coat, beanie, scarf, gloves. Anyway, cold or not, being outside always seems to change our perspective. It changes things that can best do with a change. The wind dismantles the heaviness, the light reorients the mind, the greenness invigorates hope, and the entire majestic dynamic of nature reminds us of our insignificance and also of our absolute significance.
Eventually, Merlyn checked her emails and read one from Prana Community marked Urgent and Confidential.
“You don’t want any food, today?” asked Tom. “Only coffee? Aren’t you hungry, boo?”
“No, not really,” said Merlyn as she leaned down to pat Tom’s little dog, Hardy. “Anyway, it’s Ekadashi.”
“E-Kardashian?” repeated Tom.
Merlyn laughed and said, “Ekadashi – the 11th day after full moon. Guru Gadubanud said that we should fast. Usually, I don’t deliberately fast but, some days, I’m not hungry so I don’t eat much.”
Here is the beginning of Purnima (Book 7 of Waldmeer)!
Seeing the Totality
A full moon evening, late in May, in Waldmeer:
Purnima means full moon. Full moons are auspicious occasions for new beginnings, and so we begin; again. Merlyn and Gabriel stood awkwardly at the entrance of Twenty Mile Track. Awkward because they barely knew each other, and this seemed too big an adventure for virtual strangers. Nevertheless, there they were, brought together by some unknown force.
Here is a new video of two of my poems: A Little Adventure (written a few months before my mother’s passing) and Half-Way There (written a few days after my mother’s passing).
A Little Adventure
Why are you worried? It’s just a little adventure. There’s plenty more to come.
It won’t be long and we’ll see you again. We’re never far apart.
You’ll barely be gone and, once more, we will be uniting to restart.
The human psyche gets in the way of spiritual progress. Without understanding it, we will be fighting an invisible enemy. As soon as it becomes more visible to us, its days are numbered. Rather than trying to delete our mental chatter in meditation, it helps to look at it objectively and go into it. The chatter tells us what we are thinking and what our fears and angers are.
In the beginning years of my consciousness-awareness, during my long daily walks, I would start off just naturally thinking about all the things that were currently preoccupying the surface of my mind. It’s easy. You go with the stream of thought. However, rather than becoming blindly immersed in the thoughts, I would watch them. I didn’t stop them. I let them continue, but I would watch and ask myself certain questions:
What are my fears at this moment? Am I sad or grieving anything? Am I angry with anyone? Do I want something? What are my thoughts telling me?
