I was made for Afternoons

cups of tea this morning and my routine is gone and I am only just awake kiddies watch the box which I know is bad but theres no drugs or guns or naughty bits this time all too soon the light is up in the sky and I’m supposed to get moving somewhere to something but it would be good to stay here with you my ever observant friends But the techno elegy May let me down again and my words not be heard and that’s OK tis my therapy here my take on things which I write to you this week I will travel to the lower coast of our fair state To spend a week with da familee Mon ma and mon pere Et mon nephews and nieces Should all be grand me thinks But too much too much words too much noise too much humanity all together so think of me doing all this and needing a rest maybe I could go for long swims and walks at least get up early and just sit with it before the little uns hit the boards and pray but were all out of here breakfast and coffee at a little ol cafe eggs and sourdough and ambient sounds

3 hours until freedom peace children all gone home and laughing two weeks stretched before them like a sparkling sea and I will stand here and my weariness will vanish momentarliy reveling in the silence in the emptiness and I'll try not to just grab all my things my junk and jewels and run out the door bye bye classroom the world awaits no, i might just linger for a second or more go slow have some pride man! enjoy the ambience of learning I hope so I hope these kids are getting something from me what not to be! what not to say! maybe a hint that learning is only part of the answer of the journey how to take time out put your feet up and laugh but old CK here learns too ya know! how to be passionate about football or horses and smile nicely and say yes and do the exact opposite! how to keep on going even though you can't do it and I know it and they know it but we play the circle game but they can surprise too pull something out of the bag produce a painting of great beauty or

my friends would say i'm not the mosty cohesive thinker in the world i have trouble with clarification and facts and i seem to enjoy confusion and alleyways and candles especially purple ones and i have trouble keeping all the moula together in one place but theres food on the table music to hear wine to drink the little uns wear the nice stuff we have books to read friends to luv so a bit of confusion never hurt anyone and a bit of lostness is quite attractive i think and my littles have that lovely confusion were it all runs together mystery and fact fun and learning sun and water and moon and stars day and night they experience it all in wonder and don't ask for a return at all and for a moment we can share it and then its gone and we are adults again having to be real and rational and religious rigorous or rigid and I don't want to most of the time. I want lostness in the moment in the book the song the girl the play the concert or in creating something Yep. Thats good

I spoke last night to a group of teenie somethings about mystery about the beyond about us. And I used really nice words I thought like postmodern and dialogue and truth. And it all seemed to go swimmingly and they asked questions twice as good as the ones I had thought of and 10 times better than the ones i would have had at the same age and they seemed really keen to find out some answers and now I wonder if I miss led them or perhaps even myself and should have talked more about darkness or process or discipline or perhaps not have spoken at all just have been quiet an ancient indian guru sitting cross legged on the floor chanting Om They wouldn't have got that! But they'll find out anyway we all do we can't resist the touch of the divine it calls to us like that last glass of wine or a lovers kiss and we have to go back and seek and find it again but it surprises us by being always new always what we don't expect even if we sometimes loose track of what we're se

Do you long to be understood to have it all out in the open to be bare and cold and naked fragile? Or are you a night spider only appearing in the warmth of the summer when it is safer and surer and you can see a way to escape if you need to or want to. I'm caught here in between creating and believing and turning my inside out but a warm blanket is covering me stopping me from breathing and working. The challenge is the redemption the process the journey inspiration the mystery silence the answer Love and respect to the musical and spiritual brothers and sisters and families who read this stuff and don't get it but love me anyway.

Last night we watched The singing merry go round Oztralian idle It was a waste The favourite boys Were off form Tired no doubt beyond belief Or bored Hopefully angry With the lack of artistic process. And the girls Chose music with Nothing. The young man of faith With the hand reminder and the head of angular hair sang of his faith of his belief without judgement without a look at me and he gave it his all and the judges in their powerful stupor couldn’t cope and told him his performance was nothing new he was nothing their implication. He fought And told of words Of message Of connection The reasons we sing And write and paint and dance anyway to be mystic. The rat faced boy With the awful hair tore him down People don’t care He pronounced ex cathedra They make up their minds And then discuss you for the rest of the song. Well maybe you mate But not me Nor my friends Nor any artist I know. Its not about the look or the dance But the music Cave, weller, finn, townshend, otis, kilbey, T

On and on Saying nothing. Words can enthral Enlighten Enthuse Entrap. But the mystery Beyond the mystery Beyond my words gives light. Light to feel warmth Light to live by, to see. to love. Light To be myself And see the light. It demands my presence But not my words. If I sit still long enough today I can feel the light. Still my silence and stillness Are not the light. It is always beyond me A laughing shadow. A children’s game My future My past And yours.

I met a man who said he knew the truth. He delighted in telling me, leading me. His words merely confused, though he spoke of liberation Of peace. His face was grey And heavy, I felt the breath leave me. My heart raced. I was confined. And the darkness of which he spoke Enveloped me. But of truth There was nothing. Only words And demands. So I ceased to hear And turned my face away But the wind was relentless Battering Pushing Tickling Begging. I relaxed Hearing its call Followed And here I am.

Breathing. Silence before the dawn. Waiting. Trying not to watch, but only to breathe. A wakeful weary slumber which hits like a tidal wave turning me inside out. Breathe. Open your eyes. Yawn. Settle again and sit. Just sit. Still. Why do I wait here? What good does it do me or anyone? I am not better this way. My love doesnot flow more freely. And yet.... It is more stifled if I am not here If I don't anticipate the dawn. I feel the battle for the cosmos within me Tearing at every part of me Pulled in this direction and then that. Until my shape is lost and I am left alone. So I sit. and breathe. And wait.

I was made for afternoons. For long lunches, and wine before 5 pm. For sitting in the sun with a coffee Reading Russian novels, or painting with watercolors. And perhaps later, Sleeping in the grass at the bottom of the garden. Or perhaps taking out ink and paper and drawing Zen characters while listens to Mahler. But I am stuck Here There Unable to do that but which I am paid for. My "employment". Which saps me dry Of all my reflection my gifts and my desire.