L o V e

Adventurous at heart

In the face of not knowing

We trust in the ‘feel’ inside

That our hearts will lead us

To a place of ease and wonder

That mistakes don’t exist

When we follow this thread

All we can do is grow

Otherwise we will never know

How to live life full of juice

I’m feeling reflective today and this poem popped out.

My boys often ask about ‘God’ and one may pipe up that they don’t believe in one and the other sometimes say ‘I do’. This discussion leads to what happens after we die or who did create the world? And we postulate about space and the unknown until it peters out for another time.

And in the end, I often find myself saying that whatever you believe, it all comes down to love. That love is a compass to guide your life.

What love means to me?

Family at xmas. Blended, motley and extended families.  All of us came together, laughed, broke bread and forged memories.We are now Queenslanders in license, rego and place. My family are still in the south. But I carry them here.

And aren’t we all part of a larger human family.

What does love mean to you?

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Finding Pl-space

Welcome to Maleny- video by Beau…

We’ve arrived in paradise. The house is cradled by a massive native fig and when seeds fall on the roof they sound like a shot gun. Quinn’s in heaven dashing around on an acre of rainforest and who lives right next door but a retired…weapons expert.

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view from our deck

We’ve got a daily ritual so far out at Gardener’s Falls. Quinn  jumps off 10 m drop, and I’ve managed to work on my fear of deep water by jumping off the baby 3 m one with Beau. Quinn is training on smaller rope swings (there’s 3 in total)  Beau tried but couldn’t reach the handle yet. Quinn’s desperate to try this big one…maybe next year.

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Gardener’s Falls, local waterhole

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looking yes/no

First day of school went ok. We had a morning circle of singing and meditation, parents invited. Lots of songs about love and compassion. Then Tim saw a picture of what looked like a swastika encompassed inside the Star of David. We giggled and thought they have all bases covered. The River School is on 100 acres of land along a creek just outside the town. It has been going for 23 years set up by the Ananda Marga community. Below is a view of the garden from the original farmhouse that’s attached to one of the classrooms.

 

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The River School garden

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Poly pipe instrument outside Quinn’s classroom

The local IGA has musicians playing right outside every time I’ve been there- from jazz piano to acoustic guitar. We even saw a teenage girl playing the harp in honour of Leonard Cohen when we came up on our reccie in November.

banjotim2016 So needlessly to say, we are feeling quite at home. Early days but bright futures. Here’s to slowing down and opening up to place and space.

Hope this finds you feeling your space too. xx

 

 

Moving and Embracing Ambiguity

The Ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus is known for his doctrine of change being central to the universe. We’ve heard the reference ‘change is the only constant in the universe’ used as an antidote whilst we grapple with the state of uncertainty that is always there, even as we do our darndest to sure up the dyke.

Risk Uncertainty

I’ve been contemplating change and how it sparks fear into motion and its charming cousin doubt. When they start popping up with something to say, I am moving forward towards the new. This has happened recently because we are on the move. We’ve decided to sell up (our house sold in a speedy 3 weeks) forcing our decision making cogs into action. That was what we hoped it would do because ever since returning from Cambodia 2 years ago (!), we’ve wanted to move on to a new chapter…we just didn’t know where or how.

So nothing like a deadline to force your hand. And it is deliciously exciting whilst being paradoxically terrifying. We’ve got to make choices. Life zooms by and I’ve had a little dream worm inside my brain for-like-ever. I’ve wanted to live on a few acres surrounded by green hills, ever since I left Armidale (a country town) as a youngster after my parent’s divorce. I went on to study agricultural economics at uni, cos I wanted to get a job in the country (this never happened). Life has taken me around the block spending the last decade here by the sunny beaches of Umina. I wouldn’t change a thing. But that little wormy hasn’t left me, it’s like an itch needing to be scratched.

So we are going to pack up move north across the border to Maleny, Queensland. With its green fields (tick) and progressive community (so we’ve heard) it has a positive vibe. No concrete jobs as yet, I’m putting it out ‘there’ and we’re a resourceful lot. We are leaving our families and that’s daunting, especially the ease and familiarity of grandparental support and understanding. But even so we want to broaden our opportunities and with land affordably within reach, off we go pioneering, picks in hand.

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Morning mist with view of Glasshouse Mountains (source: maleny.qld.au)

As a recovering idealist, I’m sure my dreams will be sepia to their imagined rose colour. But that’s ok and I am prepared for them to develop in real time now, rather than daydream. That whatever happens, there are pros/cons to all decisions made, but ultimately it’s about a life well lived. And I am pinching myself with gratitude that we will be actually living here by next month.

Quinn, our eldest has shed some tears and boy, does that pull on our heartstrings. Tim and I hear him out, his frustrations at moving schools and starting new friendships again. I hope he finds some gorgeous friends like the crew at his last school. I promised him he could have a Survivor Sleepover as a send off. 6 mates: 4 boys and 2 girls housed by in tents by the creek, trying to open crappy baked bean cans for tea. Thankfully it’s a total fire ban so one less hazard.

Sometimes a door opens enough that we glimpse a desired opportunity, and then comes the hard step of walking through the threshold with your fear in hand, because the idea of not going would be sacrilege (an insult to the universe or in psycho-speak a self sabotage saga). I imagine myself doomed to live with a metallic ‘what if’ taste lingering in my mouth….into possible eternity.

So ‘f#$k it, Amy carpe diem’ I say courageously and take my jelly legs off to bed, exhausted from another day packing boxes and overthinking.

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With that wishing you all the magic, trust and growth for a compelling and contented year ahead.

 

Making Peace with Vulnerability

Here is a piece I wrote for a wedding blog  Less Stuff More Meaning.

From our first choked exchange of words to boldly asking him to be my husband, my heart has been at risk. Part of being vulnerable is accepting the unknown and relinquishing control. It’s a challenge at times but believe me it’s worth it.

Even writing this piece about vulnerability has required me to be just that…vulnerable. What will people think? Am I any good at this? What if no one likes it? As much as I intellectualise what vulnerability means…it is asking more from me. It requires getting out of my head and into my heart. And this process can feel scary and uncertain so unbelievably different to my rational, control-all-outcomes self or even that funny joker face who plays to avoid having to go ‘there’.

Why is being vulnerable hard? Because even though we are hardwired for connection, we are scared to death of rejection. We are afraid that if we expose who we really are in all our complex humanness, we will be left alone. But the vulnerability we desperately try to avoid is paradoxically the glue necessary for successful intimate relationships.

The Oxford dictionary definition of vulnerability is the quality or state of being ex-posed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.

Does this sound enticing? No thanks. Vulnerability has been framed in the past as something to be avoided or seen as a weakness to be concreted over quickly before we come undone. Is it any wonder we find it hard to live?

I remember when I started to be more open in my relationship I had to overcome this lumpy prickly feeling in my throat whenever I wanted to express my true feelings. I’d have this negative doomsday voice…tut tut if you say that, he will laugh/be angry/repulsed/hate and run away. It seemed like this entity was always waiting in the wings to say I told you so. But as with many of my greatest fears, this didn’t come about. And the more authentic I became in expressing my emotions, the calmer I felt and the stronger I became.

So up yours doomsday, I no longer need you. Probably in your misguided way you wanted to keep me safe. But whilst I’m listening to your cautious, over-protective advice I am missing out on opportunities for connection and intimacy. Sure vulnerability can lead to hurt…sometimes it does. Some love affairs last a growing season, others possibly a lifetime. I remember an old boyfriend quoting Leunig to help with healing after our break up:

When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken,
Do not clutch it;
Let the wound lie open.
Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound with salt,
And let it sting.
Let a stray dog lick it,
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell,
And let it ring.

I didn’t really get it at 23 when distractions seemed easier but I now see the wisdom of leaning into pain. This can feel counterintuitive at first but by stopping long enough to feel and let it hang out, we overcome emotions quicker through acceptance rather than denial. And that is a real gift and a skill to cultivate over our long, inevitably challenging lives.

There are opportunities for vulnerability every day, not just in our intimate relationships. Making a phone call to someone in grief or taking responsibility for something that went wrong at work. As I sit by my father’s bedside in hospital, uncertainty is palpable and life feels fragile. There is nothing I can do to change his trajectory just sit here holding his hand and rub lotion on his feet when he feels up to it. We haven’t always gotten along and we’ve done things we regret. But as he lies groggy from illness, things come into laser focus, what’s important and how precious time really is.

Through practicing vulnerability I’ve found the courage that lives in my heart. It’s no coincidence that when a warrior needs to find courage, he/she pummels their chest. It lives in our hearts, not in our minds. It’s an unlimited reservoir that leads to compassion and love for ourselves and others.

If we are willing to be vulnerable we are capable of true empathy. Empathy is very different to being in advice giving mode or veiled pity (sympathy). These responses are driven by our mind’s needs for outcomes or an unwillingness to connect on a deeper emotional level. I find that when I am in this headspace I want the exchange over as quickly as possible. It feels awkward and uncomfortable. But as I’ve become more open to simply listening without fixing or filling up the silence with my chatter, it’s become easier. I don’t have to have all the answers and can sit with uncertainty. All I need to do is show up in a heart-led place and hold this space without judgement.

We all start out trying to protect ourselves but love cannot bloom with walls. It’s liberating to live on growth’s edge, cutting our own path. As my partner reads my frown after my repeated requests fall on our son’s mute ears, we smile and his arms envelope me. We are in this together, sharing the load of a life lived connected. It’s an illusion that we will lose in being open, it is actually the opposite. Love without expectations is infinite. It’s not a weight to carry, it goes on and on filling us up.

Writing Stuff and Getting Published

Here is a piece that appeared on Elephant Journal recently. It is kinda old news. But I write to practice but also hope in sharing my story, it may fill some space for anyone who’s been there, or going through separation at the moment.

Why Separation was the most loving thing in my Marriage?

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Image by Sandra Henri Photography

We don’t go into a marriage expecting to divorce but we all know someone who has, have been this person or a child of divorce.

I grew up in a household with divorced parents. It was quite a cultural shock moving from a rural town to Sydney, Australia. But with time my life adjusted to a new normality. My parents did remain amicable to their huge credit. My mum never said b*tchy comments about my father or vice versa, and they remain firm friends to this day.

Fast forward many years later and I have two children of my own. My relationship limps along in the wake of raising younguns. There is growing resentment and frustration on both sides, harpy comments and pinched frowns. I discover I have anxiety and putting the name to my feelings is a huge relief. I thought I was slowly losing my mind. I’m having trouble sleeping. A close friend dies suddenly of cancer and my partner slides into a silent depression. Our sex life suffers and a mattress mound grows between us.

“It’s the reality of having young kids,” people say and there is truth in that. But there is also truth in drifting apart and people changing.

I get this dream of going to Cambodia to volunteer at a friend’s NGO. I love that country and I feel it might reignite our spirits and hopefully our relationship.

So we pack up our belongings and rent our house for a year and take off. Of course it was going to be hard relocating but as an idealist, I remain upbeat and naive to the challenges. It’s a mixture of adrenaline and thrilling freedom but equally draining, as all our cracks have nowhere to hide.

It is like turning the voltage up and watching something implode. We begin criticising and barking at each other in full view, stress high with a danger-seeking three-year-old and limited medical services in the rural provincial city we live in.

We separate six months into the trip as this is the right choice to make.

We look at each other and see two people being squashed and not having fun. But more than that, we are modelling fighting, disrespecting and even at times hating behaviour to our two sons.

Something had to give and give soon before it was broken for good. So I return to Australia with the boys and he stay on for a month.

Now I am “separated.”

Now I have to give voice to that. And I can’t believe how lonely that felt at times. I was in grief and it’s such a shock to not share a bed with someone—or to catch myself looking up to see if his car is coming down the drive. It was a time of detriggering and reprogramming my way of thinking.

And it took ages.

Friends asked me questions I couldn’t answer. Equally hurtful, some “happily married” friends didn’t call at all. The shame and guilt I was already feeling seemed to be mirrored in some people’s behaviour (or so I think) and societal expectations.

In five words, I felt like a failure. Even though I knew he and I were doing the best thing for us and our family. We were actually choosing love. Love that looks like living separately to heal our hurts and not perpetuate pain.

So why do we shun separation or even divorce?

Is it a hangover from our religious days when marriage kept society’s structure together? Marriage is a worthy construct, and some marriages do last a lifetime and worked on by both parties. But some marriages are meant for a few chapters. And the reasons they end are many and varied, but to judge someone on giving up or to pity them (they feel it!) is not helpful.

We need to get down off the fairytale horse and have our feet firmly planted on the ground.

Being separated I inherited some free time. A bonus to be sure but also a very lonely adjustment. I felt like I was butting in other’s family time or that I will sit there being triggered like a pin cushion lamenting what I’d lost or hadn’t been able to hold on to.

I can see the value in sisterhood, bonding with other separates but I didn’t feel like doing that much either, especially if there was to be any man-bashing as I had no desire to perpetuate more hate toward my ex or stay blaming him. I used this time to finally deal with my own stuff. It was hard at times but ultimately lead me back to the self that I had somehow lost in my desire to be a great mother and partner.

To hold doggedly to this ’”til death do us part” ideal is dangerous.

I feel living truthfully and honestly with love is our path. So if that looks like sitting amongst your mess as your marriage falls apart, but you find yourself and a peace for what you had together and who your partner truly is, that your story filled some blazing chapters, that’s huge growth.

Eighteen months later we reconciled as brighter, stronger and wiser individuals who realised the value in our friendship and a love that still burns. Our path was to get back together. But equally worthy, was our decision to separate and potentially find love in a new partner.

Whatever path we walk, following our hearts and making peace with ourselves means even our kids come to acceptance sooner. Society is slow to catch up and we can’t let outdated mindsets put us off our game.

Maybe in separating vows can mean “‘for growth do us part.”

 

This piece appeared in Elephant Journal on October 13 2016

Life is beyond precious

Last week sunrise had risen pink and the bellbirds were making music as I skipped out the door.

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I was in a rush as seems to be our morning ritual. Quinn raced up to the school bus and I was taking Beau to school. We have to open/close gate due to our new horny pup that tries to escape to his girlfriend whenever he can. Beau got out to open the gate. I had some Himalaya chants playing in the car. When I drove through the gate there was a loud crunching noise. I stopped clear of the gate and turned around not seeing Beau in my rear vision.

I pulled the hand brake on and had this heart through the floor thought, ‘Where is he?’ I opened my car door and yelled that deep, guttural mumma howl, ‘Beau!’..no answer…again more urgently ‘Bowie?!”. By this stage I am standing out of the car and the adrenaline has taken over my body, I could hardly walk as I have visions of his crushed bloody skull. It was the most raw, shattering realisation that my life could be irrevocable changed forever.

IMG_3870Then as I get to the rear of the car, his little face appears and he sees me and says ‘Mum what’s wrong?’ and I crumble into his sweet, perfect arms. Tears erupt down my cheeks as I stutter that I thought he was hurt and he gently strokes my hair. He thought he was in trouble so he had kept quiet. His car door wasn’t latched properly and had hit the side of the gate.

The neighbour calls out, ‘Are you alright?’ and all I can do is wave her away as I collapse into the back seat. Holding him in my arms and soothing myself I tell him that I love him so much and that I am alright, I just got a very big scare. It takes ten minutes until I can drive the car.

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As I roll the scene over in my mind posthumously, I feel a huge heart swell for parents who have lost children. How inexplicably precious life is. This seems to be something people understand the older they live touched by stories of loss and chance. How lives can be changed in the ‘blink of an eye’. That maybe I should be more present, and this is a constant work in progress. That in slowing down and becoming more mindful, I would have noticed his car door was ajar. That my music was properly too loud.

But for all the ‘what if’s’ I am fortunate enough to have them fade in my memory because this story has a happy ending.

I didn’t share this to be morbid but to be awake to the thin veil that keeps our lives in place and infinite compassion and strength goes out to those when it doesn’t.

Shape Shifting

We’ve had a wintery time full of viruses and cough. Grandparental aid and soup shipments were gratefully received. It was a challenging vortex that lingered on.

But as white bells pop up in the garden, hope returns with wispy spring potential.

Thought I’d share my latest work that was featured on Elephant Journal. A post called  Love Is- Poem

May you all be warm and toasty with juicy ideas on the horizon

x x Amy

We all learn differently

I sent my first son off to school in the hope that he’d find water like a duck does. He seemed to enjoy himself and especially loved the bike ride to school.

It wasn’t until we fast forward a few years, I can see how much they have/not learnt, and how differently every individual is in their learning experience. Quinn didn’t miraculously start reading. Far from it. And it’s been quite a road to get his confidence and fluency up. And when your kid isn’t a reader, they basically don’t read by choice. So whilst his peers are eating Harry Potter and coincidentally flexing their reading muscles, my child is doing everything to avoid reading for ten measly minutes a night. So we basically do every second night at gun point. And you can imagine how happy our household is at these times.

I’ve blabbed at many school gates and sought comfort in other parent’s stories. And without any formal testing, we don’t even know if Quinn has some definable label. We can only presume and have got him explicit help that is making a difference. This is no small topic and a very personal, potentially triggering place to find yourself in as a parent. Do we worry too early or leave it too late? Should we ‘wait and see’ and let it ‘work itself out’ or get help early and make a difference but also potentially influence your child psychologically and emotionally in ways you can’t expect. Ah the decisions we face as parents. But positively Quinn is slowly improving with tutoring, remedial assistance and age, it’s a slow burn.

Nothing is straightforward in life so why do we assume learning to be. It’s very interesting to see how diverse we are in our learning styles and strengths.  With the rather homogenised learning approach that mainstream schooling uses, it is no wonder some kids fall through the cracks or lose confidence. And that’s not a blanket criticism, it’s just that it suits and inspires some more than others.

On a positive note, I wanted to share Quinn’s creativity when asked to do a recent assignment on a rainforest animal. He didn’t show much engagement at first and recoiled at the idea of standing up there with palm cards he can’t easily read…not to mention sweaty palms. So he wrote a song and played it to his class whilst he jazzed along. I couldn’t help but share. (Be warned: proud mum alert). It does help when your dad is a music producer and backing vocals by your younger brother.

We all have different gifts and it’s about finding them. This was Quinn’s chance to shine in his arena.

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Click here to listen to his song, Spider Monkey:

Ubuntu: African Philosophy

“Ubuntu” : “I am what I am because of who we all are”

This is a Bantu dialect African philosophy based on the belief that a universal bond of sharing links all humanity. It is through this common bond to our fellow humans, that we discover our own human qualities.

This saying was brought to popular culture by the writings of Desmond Tutu, Archbishop of Cape Town and Leader of anti-apartheid movement who won a Nobel Peace Prize for his work. As he put it:

“It is the essence of being human. It speaks of the fact that my humanity is inextricably bound up in yours. It speaks about wholeness, it speaks about compassion. People with Ubuntu know that they are diminished when others are humiliated, diminished when others are oppressed, diminished when others are treated as if they were less than who they are. The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.”

And the South Africans fighting for independence strove to have integrity even in the face of adversity.

Nelson Mandela when asked to define Ubuntu in an interview in 2006 replied, “In the old days when we were young, a traveller through a country would stop at a village, and he didn’t have to ask for food or water; once he stops, the people give him food, entertain him”. It’s this ‘no questions asked’ hospitality that is present often in the poorest of cultures, that many of you may have experienced when travelling to different lands. I will never forget taking a trip from Cairo to Siwa Oasis in the Libyan desert where a local Muslim man got out his food and shared it with everyone on the bus before he ate. He had no airs about it, it was simply his custom.

There isn’t a direct translation in our language for Ubuntu, but we all know the value of sharing and giving. Being more individualistic by nature though the messages we get can be more about our family or our community, rather than humanity at large.

I want to share a beautiful video made as part of Amnesty International Poland response to the refugee crisis. So they let a European and a refugee sit across from each other and look deeply into each other’s eyes for four minutes.

When people are willing to look deep in each other’s eyes, one sees no labels any more. We see no language or birth or nationality. What we do see is a soul and a soul who sees purity, warmth and especially vulnerability.

I’m going to be braver next time I’m on a train and a stranger smiles at me, braver to hold the space a little longer and feel the human-ness that connected us all.

Back in action

This quiet, lonely piece of cyber space hasn’t been used much for funnily enough about a year. Life has been somewhat quieter, both literally and metaphorically since returning from Cambodia. Their wedding season is not missed. We’ve settled back into routine life with school drop offs, footy boots, work and carving out adult weekend time that doesn’t involve AFL matches or kids parties. A messy juggle with a good dose of moronic clown laughter..to keep us sane and possibly reinforce our unhinged selves.

This past year has been about sifting through rugged relationship terrain and doing primary research- falling hopelessly at times to ultimately find myself again. Tim and I separated after returning from Cambodia.  Is this an advertisement for jumping into family sabbaticals in developing countries? Probably not. But again, it probably wasn’t just Cambodia. Even though our boss at the NGO did have a saying about ” being Cambodified”- the place has a way of working on people to face their stuff and it does change people. I can definitely testify to this. So Tim and I had 13 months apart, a valuable time to work on ourselves and we were able to still navigate the slippery separated co-parenting roles without dirt flinging. Our boys were the true soldiers here- they banded together and built a friendship fort that is unbreakable. Probably out of necessity, they’ve shown an empathy and maturity beyond their years. And also learnt that life isn’t always tied up with pretty bows.

We were one of the lucky ones. We weathered the storm. But we continue to be mindful of how easily resentment can pile up between lovers until you can no longer see each other’s face. And that eerie place of disengagement- that slick gremlin that can go unnoticed while love silently walks out the door.

It takes some conscious presence this relationship thang.

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Beau made these ‘love sculptures’ out of cable ties on the weekend

If any of you are keen to follow my new writing project- I’m over at Less Stuff More Meaning, a wedding blog soon to be ethical gift registry, talking about…you may have guessed it…relationships.

Here is a link to my latest post: Let’s raise our glasses

I appreciated your support on our Cambodian adventure and even though it’s ended, this blog is likely to morph into something new. I’ll keep you updated. Hope you are all rollicking along happily, some times falling cos that’s how it is but even then there is always a view of the stars.

Big love, Amy