A Quote by Corita Kent

Love the moment. Flowers grow out of dark moments. 

Therefore, each moment is vital.

It affects the whole.

Life is a succession of such moments and to live each, is to succeed.

International student radicals…

Well, I have joined the International Students Collective. This is a group of over one hundred foreign students interested in effecting change at the University of New South Wales. Yes, an international student office does exist, but it is woefully inefficient at providing services that can meet the needs of students who are newly arrived on the shores of Australia.  Now you might ask, why would a student from Canada experience culture shock in a country that is so “culturally” similar?  Well, therein lies the problem.  It is assumed that countries such as Canada will have similar values and beliefs, and for the most part they do, however there are distinct differences. 

One overlooked challenge after arriving in a new country is finding somewhere to live.  Sydney is very expensive, and accomodation near the university can be outrageous in price and what is offered can be a major disappointment. Leasing agents could care less about you or the space they are showing. It could be old, crumbling and in disrepair but there is no incentive to upgrade the premises as they are “assured” a renter. At the end of the lease you can be guaranteed that a major portion of your bond will be in their hands. 

 After leaving my dilapidated house in February I had to yell and scream in the rental office to get back just over fifty percent of my one thousand dollar bond. I was told a series of outright lies. Other than threatening a tribunal hearing, I was given no options. Apparently in Sydney, this is a common story. Real estate agents love to take advantage of unknowing foreign students. In the last collective meeting I was made aware that some students do not speak English very well, and my response to that is, I speak English perfectly well and still got screwed. 

On my very first day back in Australia, suitcases in hand, I hailed a taxi for the fairly quick trip to the suburb of Kingsford. I made the mistake of quickly calculating the cost of the taxi given the distance. I politely informed the taxi driver and was astonished when this was followed by a series of verbal attacks as the taxi was being pulled over to the side of the road, the meter still running.  I was then requested to hail another taxi as I was being very “abusive” to the driver. The problem with this scenario? I didn’t have a cell phone with me and the roadside was the side of a busy highway…I was nearly stranded on the side of a highway with no hope of getting back to the city.    

So, in our last collective meeting I looked around at the faces of my fellow students. They are from Hong Kong, Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, India and places even further away. Some are quiet and others are more outspoken.  They are young, eager and overwhelmed with navigating a new life and juggling full-time studies. But we are all gathered for the same purpose. To support one another and to take on the real issues involved in tackling a new country. Are we radical? Perhaps, but without a collective voice we cannot be heard. 

 I remember vividly my first days in Australia. I had secured my accomodation online assuming it would be suitable.  I ended up living in an old rooming house for five weeks with a single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling.  The only other light in the room came from a small window overlooking another tenement building.  By the end of last semester I had struggled with isolation and culture shock.

So, on an overwhelmingly hot and humid day two weeks ago I made my way to our very first meeting. I was met with a sea of humanity, all there with a single purpose in mind. I began to speak and could not stop speaking until I had told my story. The room became quiet as most could relate to it in one way or the other. A mutual understanding is formed when you have walked in the shoes of another. And it was then that I was reminded of what life is all about; we are here on earth to help one another. Outspoken? Definitely. Passionate? Yes. But this is what life is really about.   

Ah, how outspoken? I have been asked to lead the next student collective meeting.  Real compassion and a genuine desire to effect change can move mountains. You just have to try.  

  

A Quote by Oscar Wilde

“I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” 

          -Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900)

One

Noah’s Ark brought

Two, 

Of every creature

That we know,

Without the pollen

And the bee,

How could the splendid flowers grow?

But sometimes,

On this earth,

You’ll find,

Existing,

By itself,

A kind,

Of

Solitary soul,

That has no half,

To make a whole,

The other half,

Of

One. 

A Poem By Sarah Teasdale

I  AM  the still rain falling,
Too tired for singing mirth –
Oh, be the green fields calling,
Oh, be for me the earth! I am the brown bird pining
To leave the nest and fly –
Oh, be the fresh cloud shining,
Oh, be for me the sky!

Now for a little “something about nothing”

As Seinfeld would say, now for “a little something about nothing“.  Therefore I don’t have a word of the day, random rant or a silly musing to share. My mind is still in cognitive overload. Completing a post-graduate degree in one year means eating, sleeping and breathing academic work. It means working ten or twelve hours a day until sleep, hunger or cerebral overload occur. There is a reason the post-graduate lounge is open twenty-four hours a day. At any given time you will find at least a dozen people experiencing differing degrees of despair and condemnation. That is, in between sleeping on couches and chairs in various stages of repose. 

Last evening I saw one student sleeping almost completely upright, eyes closed, snoring.  Without the snoring part I wouldn’t have known he was asleep. Looking at him I envisioned the tail of a sloth and imagined how it might come in handy. Curled tightly around your chair you would never fall off while in a deep slumber. You could even sleep upside down. But then strange thoughts like this only come to you after ten or so straight hours of study without food, sleep and water.  It is then that your mind begins to hallucinate and confabulate any manner of weird and wonderful images and thoughts. 

That one made me smile though.  Understand, the fluorescent lights and buzzing computers never turn off and the room is air-conditioned; so it is kind of like being in Las Vegas. Instead of “playing the slots”, you are hitting up the computer data bases and ringing up an impressive list of jargonized and unecessarily complex reading material for your reading and writing enjoyment. You could be there twenty-four hours a day and never know the time. And obviously some people don’t know the time, because they never seem to leave.  Ergo, the sleeping sloth. But I digress.  

So, the word of the day is “relationship“. I wonder how it is possible to maintain a relationship when all you are doing is eating, sleeping and breathing academic work? I am not a rote learner; I study for understanding. This I sacrifice for speed, but in the end I retain more knowledge. I truly believe that you need to expend the same amount of time and effort in a relationship to make it work. Unlike academic work though, the same tried and true methods that lead to academic success often lead to romantic failure. Because there are so many unknown variables at work. Romantic love cannot be analyzed and peeled apart in the same manner. Given these facts, I am a romantic failure. 

For example, this whole idea of attraction. I find attraction to be a nebulous concept and generally it has nothing to do with appearance. You don’t realize it exists until it presents itself to you and challenges you in ways you hadn’t thought of before. It gathers force and cannot be ignored. Is it a similarity in thinking and of minds? In values and ideas? Or is it something else? Whatever it is; it is rather indefinable.  I believe this is why romantic poetry is so popular and why people enjoy reading it so much. Because many people can identify with the sentiments written about in romantic poetry.

I remember speaking to the lecturer of a law course I was enrolled in last semester.  I was waxing philosophical about how excellent teachers are born and not made. And about how I could count on one hand the number of excellent teachers I had experienced in a lifetime, even though the concept of good teaching is written about extensively in the literature.

His answer? Kind of like relationships…Yep, that kind of sums it up alright. A pithy truism in four words. I think I will stick to writing poetry…

Cognitive Overload….

Today’s word(s). Cognitive load. Oh, yes, I know you all want to know about it. You are all waiting on bated breath for me to describe exactly what this means. Ummm….okay, basically we can only process so much information at one time before it extinguishes itself, goes the way of the dodo bird, drifts into a black hole never to be retrieved, or is retrieved with embellished and anecdotal extensions.

Think of a witness to a crime who is asked to testify in court weeks or months later. Are they telling the truth? In their minds they are telling the truth. However, their working memory is limited and vulnerable and cannot possibly allow for all of the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle to be pieced together with accuracy. And this may or may not be an evolutionary advantage. In my mind, our limited capacity to retain only seven to nine bits of information at any given time is a definite disadvantage…This theory has made me sorely aware of why I hate math so much and why math hates me back; but I leave that post for another time. 

As I take a moment to absorb cognitive load theory I will present to you one of my favourite poets, Pablo Neruda. In 1971 he won the Nobel Prize for Literature. I truly believe he is one of the most romantic poet’s of all time. If you love someone dearly, read them a poem by Pablo Neruda and they will fall in love with you all over again. Such a beautiful and passionate use of language to describe the indescribable. I hope you enjoy this poem as I do.    

If You Forget Me

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

My Love, When You Are Old

From beneath a grey and furrowed brow,

Now overgrown as thickets grow,

I see the wet and glistening eyes,

That only time and age can sow. 

And on your hands I see the strife,

Of battles fought with time and life,

And timeless wisdom well deserved,

For over time you have reserved,

The right to tell to tell your tale.

For in your book with page in hand,

Are stories small and sometimes grand,

That tells a tale of battles fought,

Of losses felt and true love sought.

Together we’ll find time to share,

Wise and knowing thoughts with care,

And sit together one last time,

To talk of life and all things fine. 

And by the stars and moon above,

I’ll kiss your furrowed brow,

My lips upon your brow with love,

Through all of time,

My love,

Sweet love.   

Random Rants…

 Word of the day, caterwaul. Oh yes, I know this word sounds rather old-fashioned; but used in the right circumstances it can be highly descriptive. A few weeks ago I moved to the lovely suburb of Randwick. I got tired of living in my dilapidated surroundings and have chosen instead to live in a highly efficient and well laid out geographic space. Okay, I am basically living in a big room. Living in a big room definitely has its advantages. It only takes about ten minutes to tidy up. However it also takes about ten minutes to feel as though the walls are beginning to speak to you…

And so you ask, what has this got to do with caterwauling? Well, unfortunately living in a tiny space requires close promixity to others.  Choosing your neighbours is not an option. Therefore you quickly get used to the rhythms of the space.  For example, like clock work, I can expect the woman that leaves an acrid and pungent aroma of hairspray to walk past my doorway. The acrid aroma wakes me quite nicely from my drowsy insomnolence.

You will be amused at the dictionary description of caterwaul.  1.) To utter long wailing cries, as cats in rutting time. 2.) To utter a similar sound; howl or screech. 3.) To quarrel like cats.  4.) The cry of a cat in rutting time. 5.) Any similar sound.  Make no mistake, the word cat forms the first part of this word for a reason.  Last night a couple decided to serenade me with their caterwauling. I believe fueled by that reliable lubricant of the tongue, alcohol. The more alcohol imbibed, the less they cared about the open windows and such silly nonsense as neighbours on the other side of a paper thin wall.

And I was met with a revelation. I didn’t realize that men could also rival women in the tone and pitch of their caterwauling. At points I could not distinguish between the two. The caterwauling went on for hours and was finally ended by the gentleman sobbing “I love you” over and over again which was followed this morning by of course, “I hate you” over and over again and the slamming of doors. My life has turned into scenes from a rather ill-acted coronation street. This on top of the fact that they decided to rearrange the furniture at about four in the morning. Ah, such drunken escapades leave furniture in wrong places when your peripheral vision becomes distorted by the effects of alcohol.

I actually thought that at one point I would stick my head through the window and yell out in my best british accent, “would ya stop your caterwauling? I’m trying to sleep”. But I am sure that would have met with resistence. Rule number one; never antagonize Aussies when they are 1.) drinking, 2.) drinking some more 3.) drinking even more than that and 4.) arguing loudly……. 

So, at around four in the morning I woke up. No wait, I still hadn’t gone to sleep, when I wrote this poem under a small pool of light.   

Lonely Path 

Breathless streams of water drops,

Form the morning dew,

And dance along a silken path,

That leads my heart to you. 

For on this path I wandered long,

Not knowing how to find,

That shining light of love so sweet,

And blessed peace of mind.  

But patience showed me how to find,

Resplendent joy of heart and mind, 

For on this path my heart found yours,

With gentle smile that opened doors,

To golden sun in skies of blue,

 Reflecting me, reflecting you,

Along a lonely path.

I guess caterwauling can be effective for creative inspiration…….

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day-Cead Mile Failte!

Happy Saint Patrick’s day to all, as my mother would say, “may you be in heaven one hour before the devil knows you’re dead”.  A fine irish saying before warming your cockles with a good irish whiskey or a pint of guinness to loosen the tongue.  Of course, if you have any irish in you at all, loosening the tongue is not a problem, reining it in may be however…

Living with an irish mother means talking too much in tones that seem outwardly argumentative to others, but is a perfectly acceptable way of conversing to us.  Getting up on the soap box is the only way to rise above the others so that you can get your very important point across.  The irish love a good yarn and conversation is the national past time.  Ireland is known for its writers, poets and scholars.  So today I include a poem by Thomas Moore called “The Harp That Once Through Tara’s Halls” which also happens to be my namesake.  Happy St. Patrick’s day.  I raise my glass in a toast to all.  Slainte!

The harp that once through Tara’s halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls,
As if that soul were fled –
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory’s thrill is o’er;
And hearts that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more!

No more to chiefs and ladies bright,
The harp of Tara swells:
The chord, alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives,
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives!

Thomas Moore