His feet fall with purpose,
And strike the red earth,
Leaving foot prints behind,
On the land of his birth.
At places they wash,
Leaving no trace,
With the touch of my hand,
I remember his face.
A man of the earth by his hands
He has tethered,
Wild storms on the land by his strength
He has weathered,
The red earth of Oz .
By the grace of his hands,
He holds fast to the earth,
His beauty defined,
By the winds
Of his birth.
Well, much to my horror, I see it has been over a week since I last posted. Since then I have had to live through a computer crash that nearly demolished my hard-earned research material and essay’s that I have spent hours, days and weeks to write. Without extensions provided by a few prof’s I am not sure the light at the end of the tunnel would have illuminated any light on the papers I am so busily filling with words. It has been a royal stuggle to finish my Master’s degree and I am no where near the actual end. But still I battle on…
It becomes a daily trial against time and patience. Hours and days are spent inside my “dungeon”. A 10 by 12 foot space that rarely sees the light of day. It might be the sunniest Sydney day outside but I would never know it from my dark room that has become my permanent residence. My diet has descended into “cookies, tea, candies and chocolate”. I get to sample carbohydrates represented in every refined carbohydrate group. Whatever takes the least amount of time goes into my mouth. Oy Vey.
There is no vending machine that has missed my visit in the last week; often been raided at four in the morning. I have begun to lose weight as food becomes the least of my worries. I have become a virtual recluse. At times I have thought I would not be able to come up with what is expected. The papers at times seem endless and most unkind to write. It feels as though I am pulling a rabbit out of the hat. Yet still I struggle on.
But still there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I have two presentations and one essay left and then I will have fulfilled the requirements of a Master’s degree at the University of New South Wales. It has been a long personal and psychological battle to reach the end. But nothing worthwhile is easy and so I struggle on knowing that it will be worth the effort and pain.
It is with these thoughts that I write “Metamorphosis”. The beauty of a butterfly begins in the dark and unforgiving world of the soil. There it is dark and quiet. The butterfly larva is the embodiment of what is ungraceful. It is helpless, blind and vulnerable. And yet a transformation takes place in the soil. The blind and helpless larva transforms itself from the safety of its cocoon into a beautiful creature with wings. And it is these wings that enable it to take flight.
And by flight it finds freedom. There is a message in that transformation. The possible exists from the impossible. Beauty can exist from even the most unlikeliest of sources. Never give up hope as all things are possible. The miraculous transformation of the butterfly is a metaphor for life. Which is probably why I am so fascinated by butterflies…The world is indeed a mysterious place.
Upon the wings of a butterfly,
There I shall be free,
And by the will of God go I,
Towards a dark and stormy sky.
And on these wings I shall be free,
The hand of God shall temper me,
No wind nor rain shall break my flight,
As wings spring forth beneath the light,
Of early morning dawn.
And by this flight in starry sky,
Transforming,
What is you to I.
Metamorphosis as one,
Between us both,
The moon and sun.
And by our joy these wings unfold,
The mystery of life,
Untold.
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —
Edgar Allan Poe
They say that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…Well, there are some days I think I would rather be killed off by a raging lion than take one more footstep on this journey I call my life. They say that “attitude” is everything and mostly every self-help book tells you that remaining optimistic is much better than being pessimistic. But I suppose I was born with a dark cloud over my head. I revel in being skeptical about everything and generally have to challenge every problem that comes my way…I think we are born with a way of looking at the world that doesn’t change over time. They say that nurses working in labour and delivery can desribe the personality of the babies in their care. Whether they smile or not or whether they are coping with life outside the womb.
For myself? I know for a fact I would rather be swimming around in a warm pool with free meals and not a care in the world than facing the harsh, cold reality of real life. I often think about going back to that wonderful place and protesting my release from heaven. Hey! Is this what you had in mind God? Put me back dammit!
So, life is about pain and struggle. But from this pain comes greater knowledge and understanding. About yourself, about others and about life itself. Without darkness we would not need the light. Without pain we would not appreciate the beautiful moments that life has to offer. Without darkness, these moments would essentially be meaningless. So I have written the poem, “There are flowers” to remind myself that from pain and strife comes knowledge and understanding. That beautiful things can come from darkness. And I suppose in the end that is what life is all about; to find meaning from our struggles and to appreciate every beautiful moment that comes our way.
Restless as a honey bee,
You gather on your legs for me,
A pollen sweet and oh so rare,
The gift of life for us to share.
And from the flower to the vine,
You pour a nectar sweet as wine,
And place against my open lip,
Crimson drops for me to sip.
For you have flown across the land,
To place these flowers in my hand,
And begged for me to hold them tight,
Whispering into the night,
Hold on, hold on,
Do not let go!
For what we reap,
We also sow,
And in this secret that is life,
Come flowers from the pain and strife,
Beautiful beyond compare,
Like life itself,
So rare, so rare.
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day-star?
Edgar Allan Poe
I must admit I do enjoy a fine glass of wine. Or two or three…One glass serves to remove the residue from a long and stressful day. That first glass seems to lessen the sting created by someone’s nasty comment or that interminable meeting that went on too long. This frees up your mind for more esoteric thoughts. However one glass falls short of the therapeutic range, so you pour yourself a second glass and begin to forget about your bad day and that annoying co-worker. The third glass, well, that just leads to a headache the next morning as you curse through a dry mouth and vow never to do it again. That is, until supper time rolls around again…
Dionysus or Dionysos was the god of wine and inspired madness, and was a major figure of Greek mythology. He represents not only the intoxicating power of wine, but also its social and beneficial influences. He was also known as Bacchus and the frenzy he induces, bakcheia. He is the patron deity of agriculture and the theatre. He was also known as the Liberator (Eleutherios), freeing one from one’s normal self, by madness, ecstasy, or wine. The divine mission of Dionysus was to mingle the music of the aulos and to bring an end to care and worry. Scholars have discussed Dionysus’ relationship to the “cult of the souls” and his ability to preside over communication between the living and the dead. Yes, I suppose having one too many glasses of wine may induce you to think you could talk to the dead.
But what kind of wine to drink? With so many varieties, it would take a lifetime to sample each kind, but it does come down to individual choice. Grape varietals are as unique as the people who sample them. Some people prefer red wine, others white and of course there is the consideration of which wine to drink with which food? Some wine can be incredibly expensive to buy and not be any more fabulous then that ten dollar bottle, so taste is in the bud of the beholder.
There is a very funny scene from the movie Sideways in which one of the characters, Miles, is sitting in a fast food restaurant eating a burger and drinking an expensive and beloved bottle of wine. He had been keeping it for a special occasion. The scene is ironic as it is obvious that sitting alone in a fast food restaurant wasn’t the special occasion he had in mind.
And that is exactly how I feel about wine in general. A good bottle of wine is not ornamental, it is meant to be opened up and enjoyed, preferably in good company. I still get upset when I see the 1978 bottle of Chateauneuf du pape I gave to my brother some odd years ago. It has become a permanent fixture on his wine rack and the dust it has gathered over the years makes me want to cry…Dear brother, that special occasion may never arrive…Enjoy it as you would enjoy life; you never know what tomorrow will bring.
Three reasons to crack open your favourite bottle of wine tonight:
1.) To watch the movie Sideways. You get to laugh hysterically at the character’s foibles and learn valuable lessens about wine at the same time.
2.) For sitting at the beach and watching a fabulous sunset. Or, while sitting at the Bacchus Lounge in the Wedgwood Hotel, Vancouver, BC, Canada. An excellent place for meeting friends and experiencing good conversation in a sophisticated setting.
3.) No particular reason. You never need an excuse to open up a good bottle of wine.
Best bottle of wine to sip? Monkey Bay, an irresistible Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. This is a wine that goes with just about anything. I believe that New Zealand has the best Sauvignon Blanc in the world. But don’t take my word for it, give it a try yourself.
Now where did I misplace that cork screw…?
tarabridgetmoore
The Red Earth of Australia
Tags: Austalia, Author Comments, Humour, Mystery, Romance, Travel
Well it has been almost a year since I left Canada for Australia. I have not had a chance to travel much but I am hoping to this very shortly. And of course I will be blogging about it. With study, study, study twenty-four seven I haven’t had a chance to see the land.
When people think of the topography of Australia they envision the land that typifies the northern parts of Australia where the cities drop off and the land becomes vast and remote. I think that this land defines the true romance of Australia and I think of the kind of people who would have come to populate something so remote.
They would have had to be strong and resourceful to weather the extremes of weather. And I think the land in which a person lives often cultivates the people as sand and sea water do to a pearl. This kind of polishing creates a particular way of thinking, which in essence is what defines true culture.
It is in this vein that I write the poem, “The Red Earth“. I absolutely love the weathered faces I have encountered during my travels and the charming ways that all Australians have with their words. What I have yet to write about is the easy-going humour that tends to infiltrate any conversation. Usually it is “a little something about nothing” but I find myself laughing hysterically anyways. In my next post I will list all of the humourous “ozzisms” I have encountered, once deciphered, they truly are funny.