Echolalia

2009-04-11T04:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in ages and there is one damn good reason. I am a blathering fool in denial but compelled non the less.

Back to life, life online and off.

Found a few friends with blogs,

http://slimpickens.wordpress.com/2009/02/22/method-in-malcolms-madness/

bloody entertaining read care of Cakra.
Then there is this beauty in true Aussie style:

http://billabongasauras.blogspot.com/

care of Deva.
And of course braja the mightiest blogger of them all
http://lostandfoundinindia.blogspot.com/

and shaka.

http://itsvedic.wordpress.com/

What makes a person blog? There is thesis fodder here, I can smell it.

I have to write for uni and though I feel mildly confident I am still in hell. A squandered intellect wrapped in vanity and dissipation. I'd like to get on a roll but life just gets in the way and to fight it requires truck loads of discipline. I mean, wouldn't I prefer to have a cuppa with my young friend and theorize on the woes and ways of life while her four children wonder the house?
Don't I want to go to my older friends house and help her place her new marble stand while she tells me the ways. Or have tea and cake with the Youngs and feel the house rattle with our children thundering around looking for cheap egg chocolates. The woman sit rattling with stories and wonders. All of this and more in one day and I have to write the damn essay. Oh no I don't , I have to go to work to pay for toys and tea.

Speaking of which, I watched Zeitgeist Adendum. Brilliant watch that can be downloaded with ease. DId I say something illegal? Hahah, I don't think so.
It pretty much summarised the modes we had been engaging with but in conceivable terms. No one and I mean no one is going to go feral. Well hardly. This was still idealistic but viable for most.

Living in town is ok when I put my rose coloured glasses on and pretend it is cosmopolitan. I love the park with the huge chess set that waits, a bloody long time, to be played by the old and young of this town. The swings, the mothers, the cafe's. The library, but when I pass the bush and smell the rain, hear the waterfalls and see mount Warning, I hanker. Another life perhaps. Certainly not now. There is obviously work to be done but I can not fathom why. Still haven't really figured this "Secret" thing out.

I mean, I don't mind sitting in a funky Indian shop for ten hours straight. That can do things to a person. For the first four weeks I was getting a migraine evey time I worked. What does that say about me? I laugh.

Shaka , poor sod, is working her butt off.
Rhada just showed me how to fold a t shirt in 2 seconds. She learnt this from the internet. This is what this great medium is for. She also discovered what do to with acne and other adolescent concerns. She is feeling pretty empowered running around the house spreading the glories of the true light in t shirt folding. It is, after all, pretty nifty. I'll do this photo thing one day.

Kalki dances for youtube while the rest of us write. What is this first world we live in?

Tired ......of?

It's raining, always raining so that I worry about the mice and there wet little houses. Wet houses means company.

Get back into the space. Leave the outside behind. it didn't happen. The twilight zone tortures with its lack of productivity.

Bach remedies for sleep, chimes for cakras. Think I'll get a massage but then what?

Verandas

2009-02-28T06:10:00.000-08:00

Oh dang, my favourite new word. And I loath the intrusive and assumptive american spell check. I mean, pervert a language and then demand all others to do the same just cos you rule or rue the world.
So the meandering mind and its sensless wanderings. Painful only in perception. Heart strings and insults. Imaginings and reality. I thought I knew the difference but in hindsight, I think not. Time dwell not with thee.

I think I have got a hold on this migraine thing. I think that if I stop being a twat to myself and loosen up a little, you know, happy happy joy joy [oops, I made myself puke] then I might be able to control the daily headaches that inevitably escalate to fortnightly migraines. That is not a life. So what is? I am supposed to like myself or at least care and there by care for others. I feel myself slip into ignorant negative rhetoric. Eeeeek

Nature has been good of late. There is no dearth of sweet sounds and fresh air. Heaven. And then the sneaky sabotage that is the mind.

I have three subjects this semester. I am too gutless to do the four. All this reading and all this meaning merging so that I can't figure which subject is which. I mean, they should call cultural studies everything studies. What subject does it not cover?
God I love the vague; the vagaries of my mind.

Inlaws came today. I could have sworn my father inlaw was not that pleased to see me. I think that I instinctively affront his sense of what is right. He reckons the greens have destroyed the earth. I reckon it wasn't our fault. The education department set out to create us in the 70's and we can't help it if we are living out our conditioning. Planting trees was some kind of ritualistic experience for me as a grade two student. This is, after all, Brave New World, is it not?

They didn't tell me to Join the Hares. Not sure where that came from. Quite inexplicable to me even to this day. I'll figure that out but I really have no excuses. Gross dysfunction and a haphazard need for codependency? Perhaps.
I have to say, in all fairness I came out with something good but there is some processing to do yet before the "fruit is ripe" so to speak.

I remember trying to study on the farm and finding internal conflict having to engage with ideas that threatened the status quo so tightly held on the mind of the community. I feel more relaxed about it now.Not on the farm? You guessed.

Lalita will be studying too. Amber wants to start. Raga is. Is this some type of contagion? The unfair thing is the oldies care but the young ones have more brain power to get the deed done. If I could turn back time, I'd be afraid of the choices I'd make. I left them up to fate and I am hoping that my God had something to do with them because heaven help me I wonder sometimes.

And in the end the great Australian dream lives on. Dinner on the veranda, that is our word, and a swim in the pool. Oops, I'm wrong, it's a Hindi word. Cool eh? So where did patio come from? Bloody contrived if you ask me. Ahh, the Spanish, bunch of show offs. Give me a veranda any day.

Thank God................$

2009-02-13T10:54:00.000-08:00

Oh thank the Lord, our family tax supplement has been passed. We can service the car, get gas infact. Very practical with these petrol prices. Mattresses for the offspring. Ho hum pun. You have no idea what anxiety this takes away. We are so broke my kds can't study Spanish at school because it costs $100 a pop and those pops just aren't to be had. Mind I am patient but it gets sad when the kids wait for things like a school tie because there wasn't enough money to get one. Crickey. Hey I don't mind a dearth here and there but bailing out excruciatingly wealthy people who refuse to drop their standard of living which is blatantly excessive if not obscene then moan about poorer types getting bailed out of costs involved with educating four children. You have to wonder what these guys hearts are made of. Thank you MR Rudd for being a decent chap and that's not just because I will get a buck. Howard dished a little out, directly before the polls I might add and it did nothing to improve my feeling towards his values in life.

Dear old Howard, whose dad made a quid cheating the system, as all good business men do, has the gaul to tell us we are a bunch of parasitical losers because he is presently experiencing privilege. What an ignorant shallow puffed up turd. His main goal, seemed to be to hang with what he imagined , were important people. How very embarrassing for him and us given he was our ..........oh God, our leader. Someone put an end to it and I thank them all from the bottom of my heart. He wasn't much chop to look at either. Mind these things count for a girl like me. This Rudd chap on the other hand. His eyes look like they have little thoughts flickering behind them. Howard's were so small and squinty any potential thoughts got squeezed out and all that remained were the seed of malcontent that he happily thrust upon the soil we call home. May he reside in Texas, forever more with his true love, Heavens, maybe he dropped him for not being important anymore, likely. And if you think I am mean......go to a local school or hospital and see what the bastard has done to our country.

Ahhh but I hear the rain fall and the first bird calls of the morn. My first born' anniversary of birth in this body. SHe has to work but in this day and age, that is gift enough. I have no money with which to buy her some special momento. I tried making a basket with palm stringy things. I failed, harder than you think. I guess I could paint her a picture. Why thank you oh glary screen. I may be saved yet from child neglect. These things count in the urban world. It is all about creating the experience. Making it just right so that on our death beds we think pleasant salutary thoughts on our departure. I like my cute view of the ease with which I and possibly you , will pass this life. So collect those Kodak moments and make sure you're happy with them. Do your time and leaving may, will, be a dream. Getting random and rambling. Maybe some more time laying in stupor but aspiring for more may help me here.

I once listened to a man describe sound, the conglomerate of our surrounding sounds, as being like a song with a message. I shall lay and listen. Actually it would probably be more immediate fun to have bowel movement but failing that I will aspire for more.

There are these bugs outside that sound great. Have the begginng of natures orchestra and then, some how, due to the fact that I live in town, I have to incorporate the sound of the vehicles driving by and hope it's sound is pleasing to the heart. Wow, a whole tree of birds just woke up. It's like natures parliament in full fracas mode.

I wish I could tell you something wonderful.

Migraines in the Brave new World

2009-02-06T11:13:00.000-08:00

Why have they not invented a cure for the old migraine. Of all the things they could do with their time. I go to a doctor to obtain a prescription in anticipation of the next migraine and she tells me to use magnets. I leave her office naively hoping she is right. She must be, an old Egyptian woman with a hefty jewel encrusted gold ring on her every finger as well as being a qualified doctor. She must be right. No drugs? Weeks go by and I consider I may be on to a good thing. No,............ the mother of all migraines rolls in and I contemplate what it must be to die while chocking on ones own vomit. All the while the utter meaninglessness of my dissipated existence threatens to consume what little remains of my thoughts. I have noticed though, that an angry thought brings on a fit of retching. Now I am not sure what the subliminal messages are there but I guess I had better watch it. Looking forward to finding a doctor who WILL subscribe me some of the stuff that I am told you snort thereby releasing you from the strong hold of said migraine.

Nice eh? Well the house has huon pine floors and it looks pretty inviting with the ............yes, the IKEA flokati rug. Sucih thinks I am urbane but they remind me of a private library I knew as a child. Tartan rugs on wing back chairs with open fire and the Melbourne drizzle outside, but the flokati, oh the rug and not a pet in sight to defile it.

And I do believe God does listen. This is an unsavoury description but something rebellious inside me feels compelled. While I lay there in pain suffering spams that force union with my favoured bucket, I considered prayer. I asked Dear God to take this seemingly unreasonable pain away. I mean, what could I possibly have done to deserve this apparent torture? Low and behold, my daughter walks in with some random medication she had picked up on her travels [thankyou Pratapana] and I deposit the miniscule tablet on my tongue. With in minutes I was relaxed enough to no longer fear I was going to regurgitate my heart, or spleen for that matter.

Spent the whole day in bed negotiating my thoughts on what it means to be forced to remain an observer, while at the same time suffering. The kids went to the beach with dad. The afternoon brought a house full of happy people contemplating the next adventure, Pizza at Nrsimadeva's. Well poo, I didn't want go anyway. And still the darn thing has not left me but I am so bored I push myself knowing I can lay once more in a pained stupor after this.

We have no TV. I sometimes wonder if it is a good thing as we often haven't a clue as to what is going on. Did the government want to give us more money? Yes , no , I haven't a clue, I don't watch the news. I am sure if we get one it will destroy what little mental activity we have in this house, well the positive kind anyway. The hum and buzz of the telly that says it is all right , do not think, do not act, all is well. Speaking of lethargy and our societies inability to act on anything at all that is important. {am I wrong here?] I am wondering if this malaise has not spread to our beloved pipe dream..........ISKCON. Ok I concede, there were no pipes involved with the dream but I do wonder if there is this horrendous malaise. Actually, I really should retreat to my former safer stance of not caring. This is the preferred and fashionable thing to do. What an obedient lassy I am.

And I leave you with this snippet, well, I leave me with this snippet care of Nietszch; is that how you spell it?

"Most thinkers write badly because they communicate not only their thoughts but also the thinking of them"

Go figure that out. I haven't the energy but maybe one day. Gooden nacht.

I have forgotten how to do the photo thing...........bum

sponge

2009-02-03T18:38:00.000-08:00

Why sponge? Because I no longer have a maid and sponges are a big part of domestic life here.
My 9 year old used up the band width within 2 days of getting the internet on. Of course, if you should want speed, the middle of the night will suffice.

Feeling tortured by the prospect of having some one say something seriously mean after having read this. SHows you what a wimp I am and why I revel on the almost complete obscurity of this blog. I think I had some one apparently rolling on the floor with laughter.......at me, not with me of course.

And to start my new reinvented or reattached reality, I here by swear that I will never ever work for the Langos stall again. Brute force and a tortured reality. The horror of menial work under those that would incorporate diminution and degradation into the pay pack for good measure.

There is a Primary school across the way. And should you be looking for me........I own nothing nothing nothing so find some one else to harrass. Back to the school. Do you like the sound of children? Or better yet teenagers in the dead of night cussing their way back home for want of anything better to do. It seems a very validating thing to do, wondering the streets screaming for good measure. Speaking of screaming, has no one told those kids about the boy who cried wolf. They all scream as if if unified distress. It really is something I expect to see in the primary section of hell. Do they have IKEA in hell?

Uni starts soon. Yehaa reason to live. Poor pitiful me. I had so much to say and no bandwidth to say it with and now the stagnant stupor sets in while all the while fear prevents me from speaking lest I appear the fool I really am. That is to save you the trouble, lest you think I do not already know.

The bell went. The children retreat. I feel the cool change come and I wonder how I will invent a way to experience these sounds in a more positive light.

The difference between the hare farm and town. lets see. Farm.......quiet seclusion, nutty residents non the less intriguing. cult like demands. Good food. Nice Gods. Peacocks that will never allow a garden to grow though they crow sweetly. Primary school that is less noisy. Drop toilets. Waterfalls after the rain.
Town.............. people [I like people I think and there lies the problem] cars and trucks and large schools. High school. Park with skate boarding facility [good and bad according to my mood] shops that do not require a 15 minute drive that costs minimum $5 in petrol to get to. Cafes that I can not presently afford to go to. All up I can think of no more which makes me wonder.

Well, I will keep up the affirmations that confirm abundance and pretend that this fiscal drought is merely in interim period between mediocrity and great things.

I am so looking forward to school which reflects badly on my self esteem.
Must get into art course which will require me drawing. More self esteem issues and what a privileged life I lead to be worrying about the mind while the body grows fatter.

The contrasts are starting to wither and I blame Langos entirely. There was something about our boss that was so entirely cruel as to find my thoughts withering under her scowl. They died, a part of my perception died. What a mean hard hearted creature can do in the work place. And I say that guilt free and hope all will benefit.

But who knows, I could be obviating the need to take some responsibility and possibly rue the day I expressed such an opinion. That's how I see it for now.

Family constellations........heard of it? If you like crying it's just the ticket.

Back to Austin's Emma. And then, let the readings begin.

belated half offering that should be before the last

2009-01-30T16:25:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning and it hasn't stopped raining for days. Coffee and time.
The ikea clothes hangers stand as if sculptures. Some poor young or old designer went to some trouble to remain employed. Speaking of employment. Although I feel gainfully employed it appears it is not enough to satiate my needs as a full time western consumer.
Kids are off to school. If I could remember how to load photos on this thing.
And all my thoughts are inhibited by time and tide. When I was enthralled with my own thoughts I had no access and now I am inebriated by comfort and langour. I am enjoying it. I guess it is the family reunited. I live the last minutes of the tranquil dream.
Dreamt of a twister on the ocean moving on top of my house. I survived it and even chanted but went mad........from the chanting? Can't say but I wasn't pleased with the outcome so I switched that off. My neighbour...................

interrupted by family vying for one of the few computers we have now. What is left of it. MAc is going to hear from me. The last macbook had cheap plastic and it is cracking. I am so annoyed as my first one is still in great nick which makes me think the Chinese producers pulled a swifty and offered up second rate plastic. I want a replacement.

I FORGOT

2008-11-22T22:25:00.001-08:00

Can’t sleep though I think I want to and of course, the lap top does what it wants to as does Srimati’s antiquated key board that kills me with frustration. It’s only good point is, it is not ingrained with filth as are the Indian Key boards.
Vishaka has come down with what we suspect is the mumps. Rasa rani now has the mumps and Typhoid and with love gave shaka a big hug before leaving Mayapur. So when this fever dies down, excuse the rotten pun, I shall take her to the hospital to check for this typhoid thing that I know nothing of bar that people die of it.
It’s crazy being here. I can not abide any politics, local or otherwise. I rant at the irrelevant nonsense on the telly and amuse myself with the evident contradictions that no one seems to be noticing. We head into full stream recession which I am willing to bet will go into a major depression and the government……. the government, comes up with the genius idea to hand out money to the poorest and there by, silliest so they can spend it so, bringing happiness to industry and ultimately, the tax coffers; all for what? To continue the enslavement of man to consumerism so as to facilitate a few who gruesomely stand by and watch having lost the novelty of consumption and now gloat over the next conquest, control over those still addicted to consuming or struglling to abnegate the awareness that they, in fact, can not do so. All this while I hear Vishaka, fretting in her sleep and I worry that this darned thing is bloody Typhoid.
Of course, our darling Srimati fears technology and refuses to get broad band, the net is down and I can not research typhus. I can’t post this whine either.
So we hit a recession. I guess that is as a good a reason to be back here as ever as when it really hits the west it will be like shit on the fan for the east. India will be decimated, but that is just my view. Maybe they can wear it and become the Brave New World. There is a laugh. All they really need to pull it off is some fresh air and maybe some public bins…….eh? I mean I like the frantic randomness. I like the manic, disabled, edginess but gees guys, does it have to be so bloody filthy. Have you no regard for your mother earth? You piss shit and spit at random, you throw your garbage in the river without a care. Christ, you toss your dead and live babies in the waters that feed the next village. I think the rules you may once have had to ensure public health are just a tad muddled and religion got mixed in with blatant foolishness. Oh , I forgot, your solution was to put more crocodiles in the river. Gee, what a darned good idea.
Well, I guess you can see that I probably need to sleep as I am criticising my holy cow, India. I am resentful just now as I had a bad trot there with a few folk that live by a different code of ethics. I watched an Australian comedian tonight by the name of Adam, I forgot, but God he was funny. So damned Australian and I so needed it. He understood it as we do. This Indian smarmy political bullshit that is simply a veneer for mafia like mentality, wreaks of hypocrisy; it makes full time harsh faced cussing Aussies look like saints, humanitarians and , get this, geniuses; that’s right guys, geniuses. We are a smart bunch. I just wasn’t smart enough to know that I didn’t need to leave to get it. I don’t regret going. It blew my mind but I stayed too long and it proceeded to fracture my heart. When I watch the news now and see any human tragedy I struggle to prevent the tears. I don’t think anyone around me knows how bad I feel inside and I don’t think any of them could understand. I am trying to figure it out. Is it long term grief accumulated by a collection of things?
We moved to West Bengal, we taught and worked really hard. We dreamt and hoped but we were usurped, undermined, maligned, slandered and in the end a coo finished it off. We lost the school. We lost our children’s safe education. We lost a home, a car and our health. Hey we even lost a couple of Gurus. One to politics, he favoured it over his relationship with Sucih, he being PVS. And Jayapatak was devastated by a stroke that will have him crippled for life because no one cared to care for him. Maybe they tried but it seems, not bloody hard enough. He can’t even breath on his own and some of his ungrateful god brothers think this is some type of symptom of spiritual inferiority. Christ, is nothing sacred amongst you guys. You’d tear each other up just as soon as gnaw on each other’s bones. Descendents of rackshasa and Indians, well what resides there now, what ever they have descended from it lost its grace long ago. Hey Pramamanjari. Just wave those cheques about and the world is at your finger tips. You can even judge us if you have enough dough. Hey, do you believe in Karma by any chance?
I do , so I bow down and thank the lord for caring for me and giving me enough pain to know that I am alive which is a something because though there are a few funny live wires in Aus with God given intelligence, quite a few of them are asleep, permanently. It really is too peaceful here to do anything else.
Oh, and the colic I got somewhere between here and Kolkata. What happened in that restaurant called Fire and Ice? Or was it the plane? Or is it the lota I drank from that Gauranitai had used. He has some cronic intestinal fluke that has troubled him a lot. Bargh.
I went into an op shop looking for a top for shaka. Can’t seem to keep away from lace and silver bicky trays. Homless and hopeless eh?
I’m thinking heaven in the foot hills and an old cottage with a bit of wear that can handle us. A seriously submissive partner would make it all perfect. One power trip from him and he can ………well you can imagine what a girl might say after the shit I have been through. I do not need any more bullshit form anyone. For me, he was one of the main contenders. What an obnoxious bastard he was in the office. Such grave contempt he had for me and why? stress or an innate sense of superiority? In a moment of generosity I would say we think differently and even be glad of it, but I think it really amounts to a pricks mentality and I am sure it will resolve itself. I certainly will not take any more of it. One hint of mister prick and it is prick loka.
hey, I edited my words for the sake of a few. Sorry. Must not be too tired when writing but hey, I don;t think the kids read it.
No worries, we shall have trees to gloat over and Radha can figure out her gravy train ride out of here.
Too bitter now. Not constructive at all. Wanted to vent I suppose. Must find that great word to name my blog. You, or should I say I will love it.

The bane or bris....e

2008-11-15T20:37:00.000-08:00

I couldn't think of a more inane heading for subjects so diverse. My daughters are bickering over bloody eye black. WHo blacks eyes? Desperate measures for the misdirected.
My 9 year old son is attached to the remote. We don't have a tv and our Kolkata facility does. I am convincing myself that I am giving access to diversity. Tom and Jerry? Well, you could liken it to ..........some after your job. We could call it Vaikuntha and Sucih............lame, I know. Sucih has no cheese so poor old Vaikuntha will be seriously disappointed.
Shaka has a new ipod touch. She now knows what it means to be alive. I believe only an airbook can mean living.

Ok, this is borring. The idiot box is on and idiot waves waft through the air numbing my brain and turning my insides into a complete vacummmm, suck. I am empty. Sedated, just like Huxley predicted. And hey Braja...........you must read Huxley, you simply must. The shallow creature that I am can only be explained by he.

I love Kolkata. WHy? It has texture, it has this immense sense of community. They are alive, crazy and laughing, even the beggers.

I go to Brisbane, actually Bane is the term. the bane of our lives. Bris...........brisque brise is about it. Look it up should you not know.

God, I need a camera. I am going to obtain an iphone. All in one. I am sure I could write a book on that thing but maybe it would not be read.............

So we Leave Mayapur and this time I am not sorry on one level. Some there are just making it kinda narcky for us while others are being plain kind. I almost feel more sad for them than me.
Next chapter and from here, in all self preserving humility, it is looking good............ God willing.

And then there is the girl girl that "needs to release the thesis"

We will meet again.

slipping

2008-11-02T06:55:00.000-08:00

He is sick, so sick we may never seem as we did again. Our only mercy is he hasn't left but in the end it is simply a preparation for the inevitable, be it now or later, we all pass from each other and our connections, tentative, imaginative, real or not, will have to sustain us because our bodies certainly wont. No more smiles, glances, words and passing by one another. No more touching of the head with the big stick and that hopeful smile in my direction, faith where non other had any.

I dreamt a long while ago that we hugged. I figured then that he accepted me and he had. I liked him and grew more and more fond of his child like nature. His immersion in Caitanya Lila. His impetuous need to keep moving as if compelled to achieve the unachievable. It is over now. He has stopped and may never move again. he may never speak again. Knowing him he will try hard to make it all work in spite of it all. One of the matajies saw him indicating for something, it was not his beads or his clicker. She realised later it was his black berry. I like that.

Save the past cos the future is a question, .........but I always thought there would be more.
I rode the roof of the bus down the Nepalese mountain and shared it with him. He was concerned. It was my last letter from him. I am only sorry my letters to him were so utterly self centered. I will not do it again.

He was recently so unwell looking and yet no one stopped him but then again who could. I guess some simply don't care either. Some were so cruel as to see the departure of Tamal as a mere event to forget. Can the heart get so hard? Can the sacred be lost even in death?

At such a cost.

Good bye.

We had two weeks in Vrndavan. The sadhus are inspiring. I love that conviction to the other worldy while all the while I am compelled to engage with the world. Good bye.....is life unkind?

Syncronicity appears and I heard from Keli kundali. I was thinking of her as I was a few others..

Radha got initiated by Indradumnya maharaj as did Vrnda. They are now Sri Radha ballabha and kamlaksi respectively,
I am proud that they have made the commitment and Radha is concerned for my spiritual life. Cute. But depression will always get me, comes with the age. But I am grateful, I am not alone.

Now tell me, where to go in the this quest to facilitate the family in pursuit of the spiritual. The spiritual requires the mercy of Laxmi. I have yet to master acquiring her grace but I must humbly request it as the family needs it more than ever. I really feel that not a lot lays in wait for us in the west but who am I to know what the Lord has in plan. Never very clear though some tell me it is always so obvious. Too gutless to see.

Dhruva's house was a dream. Inspiring. Sucih sprained his foot so was unable to go on pilgrimage. Predictable given his emotional angst and tendency to resent all that does not suit him. He must give it up if he can not adapt and that he can't.

I would like to go to Melbourne to see some old friends. Maybe we can shack up with the relatives that are a little less than fond of me, my inlaws.

Say all our good byes and do not live allowing a moment to be regretted. A life of regret. In the end this project was eating my family up and my family is more important for now than the school. The sad bit is the guys who want to take over haven't a clue about education. The shitty irony that is life.

So maybe Melbourne to see my old loved ones though it may never be reciprocated. kama goes to the UAE. Bummer, never will pass through that place.

I'll spend my whole life............left over. he sobbed when he fell. He sobbed so hard, cathartic. he said he hated them all. it has become so ridiculous, ludicrous, insane, anarchy, careless, brutal. We exit with a wonder at how and why. Feeling unwanted, ungrateful for what we gave. Left over wine.

More sobbs to come I expect. We invested so much but I fear it is to dying movement, strangled by stupidity of the young and presumptuous. parents of toddlers, barely able to grasp English what to speak of any devotional principles.

We go........but where? To the land of clear air and simple folk. No desperate folk anxious to walk all over us to survive.

They say it is Karma.
What is it you want from us? Let me know..........

Kolkata

2008-10-14T11:55:00.000-07:00

Picture the car, three women, struggling to comprehend what woman hood means in the patriarchy, a most disabling place for the best of them. We sit in the four wheel drive traversing the pot holed road to Kolkata from Mayapur, all 90 kms of it and it takes about four hours, at worst. Ahhh but one woman is staving off a mild migraine and another woman seems to think speech is akin to breathing, it must be done at all cost. The migraine addled female, moi has one head phone blasting some inane madness that spouse has down loaded, some blues, some rank jazzy stuff and a few old favourites. Tanked to the roof with sedatives but unable to negotiate the disabling migraine, I am compelled to politely ask the driver to stop for the necessary puke by the side of the road. My only angst is the humour it gives to passers by as I am reduced to a pathetic huddle on the side of the road inspite of all modern comforts and facility. You can not escape the dictates of the material energy. I lean back in the car while the drone continues relentlessly trying to hang on to what little bile I have left. I remember in my mild stupor that I have forgotten my pyjamas........arghg, I lose control over the minor control I have and am compelled to vomit some more. What life can do to a girl. Nearing Kolkata I do not have the luxury of stopping the car and have to negotiate passing buses that come so close that they threaten to decapitate me while I chunder on the road to the city of Joy ever conscious of not ruining the duko of the newly acquired four wheel drive of our favoured driver.

But we stop and where else but the Hyatt to give little glamour to our trip to what used to feel like hell but is becoming more and more tolerable to me. Either Kolkata is improving or I am acclimatising. My first trip to this city was in 86 and I was horrified. There had been a rubbish strike but I was not to know this. I believed this was the natural state of the city and felt all human existence in the city to be some sort of mutated perversion on the natural sequence of things. I watched a person eat a white ice cream I had two thoughts, how did they get the ice cream white in this city of filth and, how could anyone eat in this place? I have come a long way and will happily devour ten Pushkas on the street straight from the hands of a friendly local. On Camac street of course, one of the better streets to shop on.

The Hyatt was fine with my newly emptied stomach ready to receive a rum ball and a Latte with a coke just for good measure. What sinful acts I perform. We sat in the clean and opulent ambience of this dream like place and forgot the woes of our cement clad squat toilets and red cement floors. All the gifts of a teachers apartment in Mayapur; we are a highly valued lot.

But God is kind to me. I laughed a little and spent vicariously through my friends. Helping to choose the items of purchase is as good as spending in my book. We ate some tasty food and enjoyed the momentary freedom of doing just what we liked, when we liked; even if I went home with little to show for my empty wallet. Forks, of the lowest grade, cups to cheer me in my pursuit of the perfect hot beverage and an outfit to represent myself to the world when I hit the West again. What is this West East? It appears they are merging.

Durga Puja offered visual delights as well as a bit of wonder at another peoples source of happiness. It is a sort of prolonged Chrsitmas that goes for days and days. They call it festival season. All manner of facilities shut down and it is bugger to anyone who finds it inconvenient. At this time the Gods come first. I like this but have only ever experienced it in the form of the morning of Christmas. It seems the ether is filled with a respite from activity on this sacred of days in Australia. Our only really sacred day. I heard a governmetn spokesman criticise the Aboriginal for having such long winded rituals. I rather like that life has a time when the vicious pursuit of metrialism must and will stop for higher thoughts, even if some use it as a means to pursue pure surrender to intoxication for a week or more. Who are we to dictate the terms that a person pursues his quest for devotion to whom or what ever.

Just found a new word in the dictionary, echolalia. You know what it reminded me of? The first time I ever saw a group of people chanting their jappa at Melbourne temple.I mean I thought these people were complete nut cases. It didn't strike me as a contradiction that I had been chanting myself as I had been doing it privately. All this public stuff was a bit weird to me. I am used to it now, but the freaks that do it on public transport.....that has got to be weird for a stranger to this stuff.

Must get to bed. My space has been invaded by the gender impaired spouse and It is hard to stay cheery. What is this thing we call marriage. A caging of ourselves from each other lest we offend. This process, this Vaisnava cult has a thing called retirement from family life, bona-fide and all. It's called Varnaprasta, cool eh?

Off to Vrndavan to discover what God has to tell me there. Answers to unasked questions. Perplexed with exigencies of the soul that remain inexplicable to me but remain non the less.

If you have a job for me........I will do it. I must earn my bread and butter in shores afar and haven't a clue what to do. If I was game, I would tell a tale and hope it paid my bills and dignify it at a writers festival while the audience sips red wine in Byron.
Dream on but dream I will. My mother finally got her twaddle published, surely I could have go at it. The things you think for a laugh.

Forty five year old women emerges from her chrysalis of marriage and breeding to live and breath her own. So tragically predictable. I am gripped with the inevitable fear of new birth but at the same time possessed of the thought that if I do not do it I will remain squashed in this confined place over ridden by the more important ego, someone else's valued son. What is this thing with men? WHo said they were the bloody ants pants of society? Luckily this resident ego hasn't the slightest inclination to engage with my world........there, is the joke.

passed by

2008-10-05T01:55:00.000-07:00

Crusty old piece of news paper flaps against the window, stuck there to keep the cool in or the heat out. What ever reason, it looks deprived, rancid? Not quite, depraved. It looks plain sad. Flapping against the frame, a mild breeze, doing bugger all but looking poor and cheap. Broken down on the second floor window of the teachers building. The cheapest building of the lot. Proud of that they were. All gain and no pain, education at the bottom of the rung except for extremists and madmen. They call reform, I call it sabotage and not a GBC in site that gives a damn. Hahah, The joke is on me ............again. From the fire to Agni's lap and back again.

I write as a vent but so scared of what the world can and will do I feel impotent to vent lest it be re-construed and hurled back at me as arrows, ever disabling me from fathoming what the hell is going on.

You can read as much philosophy as you like; you can get up in the morning but that wont stop you from feeling it bad when they dismantle the house.

I'm tired and I want to sneak into some God forsaken corner to forget it all. Ok may be not God forsaken, how about his brethren?

Back to Aus to face another chapter of the unknown. The author of my own story in league with whom?

I gave the Moldavite away. Not sure if I am deluding myself by finding a way to palm off the pressure or is it that I empathise and care about the vacuity that can be experienced having bread more than the world needs and to less grateful arms than expected.

Nepal was great if you like to rough it. The austerity is immense. They know not, how to clean. But the mountains were to die for, but in this case I avoided that by sitting on top of the bus on the way down lest the breaks give out. My driving instructor of eons ago informed of the dangers coming down rather than up. Is there a metaphor there? No, I think aspiring is much more dangerous as can be attested in any religious movement you might like to mention.

Must get a job. Well, let syncronicty be my sister cos I haven't a clue. That'll teach me. Hoping to get back to Uni and study what I damn want to instead of what I have to. If not, I guess pushing trolleys will have to do.

Words of advice, do not join a club with promises. They come at a price if at all. Best jut to get on with it and let the idiots dream while the ingenious laugh.

Bitter moments of recrimination. Must pass through with self intact but I gave it up and must get it back.

SO bloody sad.

ouch

2008-08-31T06:59:00.001-07:00

This white mac I have can cook a lap and leave it burning for hours. Lucky all my descendants have already taken birth. I would otherwise risk fried off spring.

We were bequethed a fish tank with desperate, sad fish who swim in circles looking for a life that will never happen. Ring any bells? These fish depend upon the mercy of the voyers that keep them, us. A child, I suspect came into our insecure home and poured the mother load of fish food into the tank. One poor fish just ate too much and lo, a week later the messengers of death came into our home and took little black fishy away. We tried to fix him with reiki but it seems we are not masters of that. You know I had this awful feeling about the tank some days prior to the departure of our black friend but I could not pin down what it was. Maybe I just did not really care enough about these fishy fiends that look at me as I pass by. Hoping against hope that as we walk by we may be the one to solve the perenial question. Why, oh why am I here in this undersized fish tank with a snail and a sucker. Actually, there are two snails, one adolescent. How or where it came from, I do not know as there was only one snail. Do snails need mates? This is what a fish tank will drive you to.

Who would be cruel enough to buy fish as decorative items? Who would stick a bird in a cage and why?

So enough about the bloody fish that got eaten by the snail as soon as it was evident he could not defend himself. His eye ball sucked out by a voracious snail. His body nibbled by the gold fish until I fished his body out and flung it in the yard for some other creature to feed off. Do we feed off each other too, both psychically and otherwise? Is the tomatoe I eat grown in the soil that once helped the body of an interned muslim to decompose. I say Muslin only because they bury thier dead here. The rest are burnt and thrown in the Ganga that floods the rice paddies which we feed off. Feeling like a cannibal now?

Now for intelligence. There is a quote I would like to share with the the very few that occassionally read this page. Actually I am sharing it with my alter ego. Left to myself as a child, I have a whole reality going, hence the presence of my blog, my alter reality.

So Joshua Reynolds had this idea.
"There is no expedient to which a man will not resort, to avoid the real labour of thinking"
Thoams Edison used it. I relate to it as I do remember having a very clean house when essays were due. Suddenly house work seemed so awfully important and in reality it is way down on the list of my lifes priorities. Of course I like to think that I am not a sloth but in reality I am a shamed person who cleans because of fear. Fear of my obsessively tidy friends and the scorn they try to hide when entering my domain. Some are quite skilled, others more verbose. One refused to sit on my couch, but really I am not that bad. It is clean untidyness, harmless enough. And of course you couldn't care less and I know that. This is all for me, not you, ya bugger.

And local politics. Well you know what I think. I think the silly buggers in this place aught to own up to the fact that they tried to burn the place down and admit culpability. Encourage people to reject gossip in future and have the courage and decency to admit a spasm, all be it a prlonged one, of sheer stupidity. Now wouldn't that be a generous and honourable thing to do? But these men have yet to encounter greater things. The rice paddies stretch too far and the netherworld remains a figmnet of hope and dreams. Dreams of idealised material life minus the onus to be human. A human being is honest. A human is humble and most of all, a human has the courage to take up responsibility even if all is at the hand of the Lord. Spare God some things and wear it yourselves.

Let me put in a clearer light. Parents are told of heinous child abuser risking safety to all. Thief, cheat and offender to the dignity of the rightous and true who educate their children. Parents stand indignant never questioning the source of this information. Management run with propoganda and give it some real significance. Heavens, if it is in print, it must be true. If some say it then it must be done. All in all never a question or doubt.

Upon finding all is lies and false statements, what do we have? Silence and a reinvention of the truth again. Lets just pretend it was about something else. Never ever say die or sorry. Never say sorry. Just like Johny Howard eh? Saying sorry admits culpability and we do not want that. Come on guys, slander me again, bring it on and in a new flavour. Damn, poor guys can't find anything on me. I do feel for you. Must be frustrating wanting to ruin a man when he is free of real crime or henious sin. All to get your signature on that pink slip perhaps. MAybe not. Maybe you guys care about children after all and some how you think slander, gossip , innuendo and lies is an experience that is inevitable to survive this nasty world. Like fish feeding on dying fish. Or the pups i saw feeding off the dead body of their mother. Or the ants devouring the live worm. So how do we differentiate a human. At this stage of the game, we do not. Feed of me all you like guys but there isn't much flesh here. I'm straight, bummer eh? You will have to come up with more inventive lies about me to cull me. Maybe you could use my blog. Nasty piece of work so far. I figure I am simply reflecting my enviornment.

Mean while i drop my resentment but only for a minute. Kalki wants a night of game playing with the family and states we have let him down. "All you guys do is have head aches, go on the computer or do puja" I thought that was a good synopsis of our activities. Poor kid, came too late in the game to have fun with us.

The kitkats are too sweet in India and guess what guys, you can buy them on Iskcon property. Slam me for that will you.
Hey, sometimes i don't wear full tilak. Sometimes i have bad thoughts like , I want to stay at home and be away from you all. What other inebrieties can I tell you of that will help to condem me and free the children from my sinful influence.

Now I know how those paranoid Russians from the communist period felt. All is spies and destruction. A mean world of survival based on dirt on each other. A movement to be proud of.

And activism is death. Activism is evil. If only I had one leader I could be proud of. All run for cover and hide for fear of offending, but why. Is it political or is it some idea that God doesn't like confrontation. Didn't get that impression from the Gita, that's for sure. Maybe they all have so much dirt on each other they tremble at what they could do to each other. Cold war perhaps. Heavens this communism thing keeps coming up.

I want to know what a really smart person thinks of this thing we call our movement. I know there are million perspectives but surley one of them will reosnate enough with me to make sense of what it is I am presnetly experiencing.

I don't want to be pleasent for now. I want to tackle or grab the crap. I want to throttle it, propound it, reveal it and then smudge it till it can be reconstituted, redeemed and made into something good. Hiding and pretending is waylaying it and leaving it to inevitably rise again; to torture yet another perplexed human being trying hard to work for Iskcon.

Is it India, is it West Bengal. Does poverty drive a man to this madness? is it the material vacuum we experience here.

Given we all believe in Karma, we need to consider what it is we do in life and then wonder what next.
But, I think I am engaging in a more complex view of existence as this simplistic appraisal is simply not cutting it with me anymore. The answers are with some bright spark and I will have ot try a little harder to seek them out.

Radha is listening to Hrydayanada Maharaja lectures. He gives such clear explanations without simplifying or assuming we know what the heck is going on. Without negating the need to know, as some would have us endure because of their inability to adequately articulate the philosphy in a way that satisfies the modern intellect. Spare me the swans and effervescant nectre. Given me some understanding before I start jumping around like another random religious lunatic.

shite....... forgive me my trespass as I....

2008-08-16T23:09:00.000-07:00

Well, you really got to wonder who reads this. I got my first hate mail the other day and it quotes my blog to verify my hate worthyness. Gees, sorry guys. I didn't mean to hurt you or your kin. I get mighty precious and oh so rightous; it reflects my weakenss. I fear my kids following my long lost relatives misdaventures and they had a few. I am the product of one of those misadventures. Nothing like living the life of unwanted progeny. But it is neither here nor there. I do get my nickers in a knot about life style bacause we implicate ourselves through it. It's a tricky thing and again I apologise for being the insensitive, judgmental prig that I am. Forgive me.

It appears, I am incapable of friendship too. Well that is subjective and I figure freindship is a two way street. I can't really define that one. Sorry again, if I appear to have failed anyone in that regard. It is purported I have failed many. I will try and study this freindship thing more closely to better understand, what is exactly required of me.

I have been inspired by the thought of misanthropy, but I am sure that will fade, being intrinsically foolish at heart.

Too wordy , word, word, word, word. Just too wordy .

They bopped us one mean and good, and some enjoyed it just for fun. Some thought, "gees, get her while she's down and no one really cares" Eh? Is that how it goes? Or maybe the one where someone goes, " I made freinds with you because I thought you were in, and so now that you are out, I think i will let you know what a little **** you really are." I like honesty.

Eric Clapton has a song, No body knows you when you are down. I thought he was exagerating. Really thought these guys where inventing these experiences. Luckily I can crap on about it here.

I think it goes, No body knows you when your down and out. Well guys, it is pretty well near on true. And when you get back on your feet.......every ones wants to be your long lost freind. Ok shouldn't be too bitter here but do need to be more wary in future, lest I have to submit to some more of the advice.......in the form of hate mail. yuko. Keep it to yourself. No body wants to know how much someone else hates them. Awful stuff. We really need more of that in the world.

And Eric has another one where he goes, [it's playing in me ear this minute] "Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself."
No, the music isn't dharmic but neither is the subject matter. But my favourite is "Tears in Heaven." Remember guys, we will die one day and will we be happy with how we treated each other then? Having lost two old mates, I can tell you regret comes in truck loads. But I am not that smart. I don't even talk to my mother. But then, she doesn't talk to me either. That freindship thing again, two way.

While I listen to Eric, might as well listen to Layla original just for fun. Angst ridden adolescence to the tune of Layla. All gone now and I face the new phase of angst. The bit before you get really old and try to figure why it all happened in the first place. A woman fifty years old and wondering what to do with the rest of her days as her children no longer need her. Tears come down from her eyes, what can i do?

Been getting up early on occassion and facing a whole new pardigm never encountered before. Must be someone's prayers, as I certainly didn't do anything to gain any more insight. Figure it's a gift. That hard Stoic stance of tolerating the mind and finding it nearly redundant on occassion. Well mine is, cos all it ever did was get my knickers in a knott over things that in hindsight seem benign. The preverbial storm int he tea cup.

Moral high grounding. I will try to avoid it in future, it has been recently tried on me. I was, kind of aware at the time, but i figured I was coming from a genuine place trying to alert. I know our stories are our own, but we do create them. I had visions for the kids and they involved the least amount of burn. Learning from burning, speaking from experience, is tiresome, slow and more often than not, potentially dangerous. You can get lost out there. But then you can get lost in here too. But I do believe there is a process to gain a footing in sanity and it requires some application. These kids need to taste the alternative and If I have been prigish in my desire for this.......forgive me. I was a kid and there were no paremeters. I know all about freedom, too much of it. I watched those girls from good caring families with all those rules and restrictions and i would have given anything to have had that care. But it has to be full time, not spasmodic. Set a precedent and you spend the rest of your life fighting it.

Amber will be here soon with, rather large family in tow. Weather is good so all should be well.

And on that.......the nobody loves you song comes on again..........when you get back on your feet.............God, he is a great guitarist. And yes, if you are desperate to Krsnise it, he was best mates with George. Coping? Let the world in and maybe your world will be a nicer place. It's way bigger than you think. Good enough for God, oaght to bo good enough for us all.

All the kids are in Kolkata recording an album of bhajans. They are so excited.

Take care and don't hate the imperfections, it'll get you down.

A story

2008-08-03T11:46:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a man and a woman; I like those words. This man and woman being fairly mature, decided to have a family. They were blessed with four children with which they proceeded to live happy and contented lives. The man and woman were people of adventure traipsing around the world, kids in tow.
One day this family found itself in West Bengal, a place famed for the birth of Lord Caitanya, the last incarnation of God. This is where the story gets hairy but an adventure wouldn't be one without a little suspense and perhaps some drama to boot.
The real story...... starts here, on the bank of the Ganga, as she laps the shore or even the road according to her whim.

It seems the small and introverted community that the man and woman joined was a tad ethnocentric. Now this can prove problematic when declaring itself to be part of an international society of avowed Lovers of God. The small community that serves as inspiration to the world had decided one day to purge itself of all sin. The members of this isolated but internationally connected people decided that the local school was not pure enough, religious enough, loving of God enough and so the head master and board had to go. Unfortunately the man was the head master, what to do?
And so the man head master was advised by his good wife to go to the Lord and say, hey, whats the bag?
And so we are here waitng still but I fear it is evident that the bag has in it further adventures afar for this little family of six. Three girls and a boy with a man and a woman.
Adventures far away from West bengal or maybe close by but certainly not in this community. What the community is made of appears to a collection of willing participants in the dispersion of dues. The man and woman hope never to be engaged in such duties and so they are compelled to leave lest they too are commandeered to disperse some sorry and sad reaction to ones close by and dear.
Man and woman must run with children in tow and may never see the bank of the illustrious Ganga again.
Man will know that the world is made of conscious thought and that all actions have reactions in tow.
Woman will wonder why she is not growing strawberries in the mountains but then , what would her life be without a little adventure?
How the road for this adventurous family will end, no one can know but for now they go to the big temple close by and pray to janardan for release from the clutches of their loving peers who, bent on purifying and edifying forgot, .......to feed the dog.

Gees

2008-08-01T04:39:00.000-07:00

Well now I stoop and tell you of the vile stench that has permeated my existance of late. The hot hot stench of gossip, thick and fast in my village and lucky me, it's all about us presently. Flavour of the month or should I say 6 months. No worries, it has made me smile on occassion. Like the one where we score $50,000 from the temple. Pity that cheque bounced. Or the one where I eat little sheep in the dead of night. Or the one where I abuse children on occassion. Or any other thing you can think of to justify loathing me even if you haven't met me or spoken more than eight words with me. No worries mate, I will oblige you with a snippet of dasterdly deeds to satiate your desire to justify hate. As I once foolishly said to Prima Dona of education, "bring it on" and she did.

So that nasty piece of vitriol lays waiting to become history and the sooner the better. It must be climaxing as I can see random acts of stupidity becoming more prolific. Don't talk to the parents, do talk to the parents. Don't consult with the directors, your words make too much sense. Oh please you are talking sense and logic. We can not abide it and blame it on a false secualr education. We want random feelings and superstition to guide us on our mery way to hell, no doubt.
The more I think of it the more I feel a quandry between sorry pity and pure disgust. Humour occasionally gets a look in.

The good thing is that inspite of the depth of frustration and malice that people feel towards us there is a hope that relationships may, in the end be mended. JPS must be praying hard as I do feel it will resolve itself. Like kids in a kinder, all has gone mad and mum has gone to dad. Heading over here with a wooden spoon or some lolly pops to distract us from each other.

Like fish in a fish tank it seems we are stuck together so we may as well get over the stench and learn some appreciation.
Vaikuntha Nitai is having a hard time of it but it probably reflects some minor hurt inflicted upon him. Sensitive chap that one. Not prone to depth or perspective, needs a little love and attention. Who better than Sucih to give it to him since he was the one that bruised the chap, ever so slightly but it seems knocks are considered on par with murder around here.

Not making much sense eh? no specifics and certainly no answers. Another story to meet the already growing multitude of stories that go round our little heads. This one involves butterfly wings. The tiny things in life roll into the enormous and then subside into the tiny once more.

A school, a community and some staff trying hard. Some parents decieved and a teacher perplexed. To teach or not to teach and all the while anxious that anyone else should take her place while not being able to do the job herself. Not to mention a newbie who seems fit to rule ......over her husband I hear and once in a while a poor maid as well. Gees I get bitter .

I'll try again. Lets see, we are not to write to the director but merely take it all on the chin and then hopefully roll over and die. I think these guys were born yesterday.

And the asram. The den of boys. What do we make of it but a hoard of vulnerable minds open to any adult ready to perplex. All the while ignored as if it didn't matter cos the guys have got better things to do, pick on Sucih as it seems.

The sane and insane and I am afraid there is near nil of the former.

I'm sick of it all and yet again foolishly expected more. Now I see we are always in the hands of the Lord. Draupadi rules but what a way to learn.

Bach comes to my rescue and reinstills a sense of beauty where I feel I may have been robbed. It's the beautiful things that enlighten and the horror that impells or compells us to it. There must be respite from the madness, there must be feeling were non seem to be. There must be tenderness where there seems non and respite from pain. Hate tempered and a resolve to be kind.

DO you think you could drop the spear for now. We too breath the God given air as God sees fit that we do. Seems if he thinks we are ok maybe you oaght to too , eh?
Back off luvy and stick to the mirror of the mind. That way we can both progress and keep out of each others way and all the while the kids see what the show really is. A show of people aiming for personal purity while encouraging and loving others, warts and all. Try it, takes the burden of the worlds faults off your shoulders and keeps the tiny task of house keeping a little closer to home, your own mind or heart being your soul sphere of influence so leave it at that will you?

Solar eclipse. Lunch at 12 Manas insisted to satisfy the resident astrologer. What fun it is to be in a third world historically spiritual town with vestiges of archaic rituals intact.

Spite leave me now, I am wasted and leave knowing no more than a message intact. Lower than a straw and more tolerant than a tree. Dignity gone and now all I have is a hope that we will be closer after it all. With a wide door for any new comers.

2008-07-09T08:56:00.000-07:00

What a day; how to give it humour. Hours and hours at the long building,a very long building, spending hours learning the bureaucratic idiosyncracies of West Bengal Iskcon. Luckily I had two fiesty and capable highly trained Russians to smooth my way in the vaguely humiliting task of learning the ropes in efficcient book keeping. From wool spinning breeder who dreamt of bush dwelling only, to a third world dwelling religious advocate pusruing validation in things that I often cannot really reconcile with my perspective of a logically peacful existence. I am thinking that this whole record keeping set up is simply work for the sake of work. It all seems like arduous tasks merely filling time while waiting to die. I really can think of better things to do. Training kids on how to train kids to keep books on how to train kids to keep books on training. Blahhhhhhg ugh.

Maybe I am merely a lazy hippy at heart. At least I question the futility of over endevour but given the over population i guess it gives them all something to do. Like rats on a wheel. I can't help it, maybe I am merely an enjoyer and filling forms with numbers doesn't strike me as enjoyable.

I am presently torn between the class room and the office. I fear that I will miss the class room and yet the planning involved in schems of work has me utterly intimidated. So many mental hurdles that can only be jumped by application and experience. I am riddled with fear, apprehansion and a deep feeling of inadequacy. These feelings make me realise that education of children is about empowering them to fulfill their greatest potential. This is about self esteem, confidence and determination. Faith in the self to achieve anything if desired. Of course i am assuming the desires are pious and rightous, excuse the antiquated terms.

My girls are really learning so much about human interaction with each other. There is so much involved with compromising with each other and all along they are watching thier parents negotiate their own relations within the community.

I went to my room this afternoon and low and behold I was met with the stench of an animal. Perplexed i looked around thinking what can this be, do i stink that much? My flat seems to be the haven of random dogs in the area. What is that? I can only thank God he did not settel on my bed but he made a home on Kalki's clothes and kalki insisted they all be thrown in the wash. Sparing the maid of such a burden I had him wash then himself. The relatively sweet stench of a bald and very sad and meek dog; it is too cruel. As a kid I would have adopted him but it is not considered appropriate here so off he goes to fend for himself. He was so desperate, only picking him up and removing him would work. I had shaka do it as it was too revolting for me. A bald dog is just too scary, what disease does that dog have to make him bald. When he looked me in the eye I felt I was looking at a person. I hate all this conflict of obligation.

Jayaptaka Maharaja was subjected to 4 hours of school political trivia. He was so exhausted and then to patientely hear the nonsense. Faucault had a point when stating that rleativity in perception was pretty much irreconcilable. Varnasaram..... Is that about figuring out how to reconcile different approaches to reality or is there genuinly insidious intent. I think it has more to do with profound ignorance. Not to say i am not ignorant but I concede that another view is valid and true foe them. But at the end of the day pragmatics rule and decisions have to be made even if painful. I wonder if all this management stuff is merely implicating me in more karmic implication. I only hope this trascendence thing works and I can become free from the reactions of cousing disturbance to others. It is not with malice but merely driven by pragmatics.

Guilt at having caused trauma for premananda but there is nothing I can do as he chose it not me.
I am r if his heart is broken but he refused to cooperate in a genuine spirit. What to do as the cliche goes.

So no humour here eh?

We re-arranged the house again. It seems a form of Psychic cleansing for us, pathetic eh?

The first kirtan I ever went to i cried feeling I had finally come home. A sceptic would pick the experience to pieces as merely superficial but for me it was real and profound so why reject it. I am an imaginitve girl seeking more than the mundane to sustain my mirage of an existence.

Vrnda sits behind me while reading the abridged Bhagavatam to kalki.

Getting sentimental but what can I do, it's all pretty good. I whine just to temper the obscenely fortunate situation.

Days later.
Well aside from the mind bogglingly borring appreciation of my life I have as yet neglected to inform you of the true status of things. It is so mind numbing that I may just delete the happy happy lest some one think it's just a little too much. There.......gone ......with the push of a couple of buttons.

So I get a beautiful front loader to clean my clothes as the maid simply wont and low and behold the power fails me for weeks and then .......the bloody water cuts out. I mean what the hell is that?

Things on the political front are looking very Dynasty like and my solace is I actually have a country to go to or even an laternative job here. South Africa is no alternative so I pity the feelings there. I hear walking the streets there is risking ones life. Gee......what a dream. And then the race thing.......blahhhhhhrg.

If the urban village wives with small minded propensities are edging to rule, heavens what will it be like if they get their way? These gals and guys are real visionaries. While the world gets bigger their heads get smaller. Fear, ignorance and a drop of malice but what would a good day alive be without it?

Looking at alternatives lest this rabble achieve their aims. We have options ut I doubt it is true for all.

Off to sit in the temple and chant whie a bunch of others attempt the same. Lovely atmosphere but i do tend to wonder what drives us to it if the goal seems to perpetually evade us.

Who knows, our darling Govardhandari may yet have us back but ohhh how poor Ajita will feel about that.

interrupted weeks lapse into leisure

2008-06-25T00:33:00.000-07:00

The screen has a couple of pages open and I can see Badens face pocking from behind this one. It is odd to have it pop up like that. He works as an associate Professor at Southern Cross Uni in the Arts department. He was one of the lovely people there, that made re-entering education a joy instead of a terror. Egalitarian and open.....to a couple of strange Hares that bred way too much. He demands a lot but I would love to bring his rigour here. You could dismantle this place ideologically but there would still be something left. An experience intangible although supported by the structure but not really of it.

Read the biography of Goerge Harrison called Here comes the Sun. It was primarily about his spiritual quest. I'm not sure he was focusing on Krsna on his exit but maybe you don't necessarily have to to go back. Maybe Krsna wants you more than you want him. I mean the guy had more than half the world chanting hare Krsna. Thats gotta be a weird thing to do and then not commune with krsna at death? What do i know? The picture is way too big for my pea brain and when I struggle with it I get a head ache.

Meetings, meetings, meetings, to accomplish? Stagnant inability to make stands. Get along with each other so we can along. I guess we are just watching time go by so might as well make it pleasent. The day is easy on me for now. The house is clean and the kids are happy and engaged. All is going on and there are no dramas unless there is one brewing as I write. Wouldn't be surprised but I have been trying that positive thinking thing. If I am a bag of hurt then I need to fix it. Whenever I see any one that looks like Vrkadar I feel trepidation. That guy brought pure hell to my existance and quite a few others. What Karmic resolution was that?

Been dreaming a bit about the mother. She isn't scary or even in control anymore. It is quite a break through for me. When I first started dreaming about her she used to be this huge spider devouring and invading. Now she is merely the partner she was supposed to be in this life we shared for a bit. She consummed me but I figure the dreams are evident of s tronger sense of self. This self thing is so darn painful. it's like looking into an abyss of unresolved emotion.

Bhakti Tirtha's disciples had a tribute to his passing yesterday. One of his disciples was telling us about Sunday classes he would give where he would be crying, every Sunday. Bhakti Tirtha was born in Cleveland in 1950 into abject poverty. He was educated at university due to a scholarship because he was particularly bright. He was first a humanist and then a spiritualist. That's what I got from him. That's the bit we lack in truck loads. So busy thinking about our own passage back to God head and forgetting each other. It's insane. All guru while we abuse each other to attain our goals in service. What are we thinking? And if humanism comes up it is poo pooed as some deviant distraction from the goal. And yet the Lord specifically says you haven't got a hope, guys if you can't get along with each other. What God did you think you were approaching? The God that belongs to you only.

So my kids are nearly grown and I am 44. Not long to go now and with my mobile giving me the ache it does, who knows when it will be. Am I ready.........nooooooo. But I want to be, so I am torn between this humanistic thing and Krsna as I know......intrinsically know, I am not going to get away with just meditating on the Lord and be blessed with a life free of human angst. No, no not me darling; humans have got loads of scores to settle and some of them are with me, no escaping it.

The fan offers no respite to the humidity. Poor Vishaka is at the Aircon free F........

We are talking weeks later. Life bumped me away from the key board. The key board acts as some kind of test and i retreat in haste.

Reading Edgar Allen Poe and enjoying it. Tried some Maupassant, however you spell it. The french are merely hedonists, not one moment of lucid insight. It was blah blah stories of petty village existence or the disgusting antics of the empowered. Maybe it is lost in translation but I suspect the Protestant movement of Britian invigorated the spiritual perspectives of the UK while Catholic Europe fell into spiritual malais and plunged into whole sale hedonism without remorse. I see nothing in it and am sorry I bothered with Guy's efforts. It appears evident in it's literature anyway but what do I know? nearly nil.

It seems all has settled here. The kids are happy and I shift into the office so I expect next term will be easy, on my voice box if nothing else. I lost a few octaves to that class. Sucih insists that I not raise my voice but it took me a year to feel the confidence to pursue that line of action. I lost a voice.

The Youngs may come over. Dhara gets here soon and shifts into Niscaitanya's place. Shaka will try to purge the misery that still clings to the walls. Nis fell into the blame game and hasn't quite seen the potential we all have to create our own misery. Misery is usually a self inflicted concept in our priveldged positions. Heavens! What have we to really complain of? Humidity; killer stuff. Job descriptions or schemes of work? I mean, this stuff is really soul pressing stuff eh?

In the mean time all is well as the Ganga rises and Poe poses prose I fell for as a girl.
Back to my sweet Lord and a few other diversion along the way.

what is it you want?

2008-06-02T08:50:00.001-07:00

Cool breez blowing and I wish it was metaphoric as well.

Ok, so my bubble bursts and then what? I realise life is serious, very very serious. But am I supposed to sit back and watch it all go by.....inactive? Fight, without attachment. Ok, I will fight without attachment. I have done it before though I swore, after it, I wouldn't do it again. It's like telly invading your life, a really crappy telly show. Give me some banal English comedy please.

I just want happy, happy, not some wasted human, hysterical with angst at trying to negotiate life. I don't want paranoid associates with hang ups from some social fall out called aparthied. I want stupid, happy Aussies who just don't give a shit. I want them to live with a laugh, shake it off and try to enjoy the tiny fragmants that maya throws us. If going back to God head requires a serious collision with depression, I'm not sure I am up to it. I want laughter, perspective. I want reason and thought. God, take the emotional crapp out and dump it in the trash. Wasted breathes in sobs for naught.

So that's my take for the moment. You got to see this to believe it. I honestly thought the script of Days of our lives was unreal. It's bloody real. There are a whole bunch of nutters out there just waiting to make your life hell. Oh ......how terribly unhumble of me. Lets take the other stance. I have a mirror placed in front of me. I see that I should never criticise; ok, can do. I see I should be tender; that's a bit tougher but I will try. I see that I am supposed to be a punching bag........ok, maybe you lose me there. Not recalling any recent hysterical attacks on anyone bar me but then maybe my memory has strategically failed me. I know.....borring.

You work in a hot class room for 6 hours. You come home to cook for the family, make sure the boarders are ok, do the puja and entertain random and perpetual guests. It's not good enough. I never wanted to be a super woman. Why are they asking it of me? If I fail so badly, how is it non of these woman can get on board and do anything? "Oh sweety, I would love to help; all of half an hour a day" After all we have our husbands to feed and our children to tend. Bah and humbug.

I may have had it coming for whatever reason but it ain't over and i know those wheels turn slowly but they grind mighty fine. I'm feelin the crunch now and I know I shall be in good enough company soon enough. Gees, I started blaming the moldavite [rock] but in essence, I know, inspite of the pain it's good for me. If I can remain equiposed and why shouldn't I, then I will be that much closer to real tribulations......like that one about ...dying. These, in effect are really nothing at all but mental. You have to think of some poor bastard getting physically tortured to realise tribulation. What am I whining about. My charmed life is not full of well wishers. Big deal, I'm not the nicest bitch I ever knew, what did I expect?

You can tell by the swearing that I'm a bit edgy. My pride is wounded but it probably needed some fine tuning anyway.

Shaka fell down the stairs and broke her bum, so to speak. It's excusably a bummer as she was on a good roll. [Think I am reading too much Asterix.] Must focus on bannisters. They were constructed for very good reasons. I climb stairs in a state of prayer. These stairs are cement with no slip strips. You go down these and you could be crippled. No soft rotting wood for us. Hard red cement and lots of it. When you come to India one of the predominant smells is cement, strange that. Cement mixed with cheap and nasty disinfectant. Of course if you are catching a domestic flight the cabin smells of incense. It's as if all have come from their home puja and the residual smell sticks to their cloth.

Vrnda's birthday today. We were caught unawares as life has been so insanely intense lately. I offered up a fresh chapati with some pomegranate seeds saying happy birthday. Well I offered to do it, she just got the chapati, I was too busy for the rest. What with making sure I am seen to be seen as a seen devotee to please what appears to be some ungrateful Brazilians. Not fired up enough for them. What to do? I love religious nutters who get off on making other peoples lives miserable if they too, are not religious nutters. Leave well alone and each to his own pace thank you. Bunch of misfits.

I'll figure it out in time. Srila Prabhupada must have been inconcievably wise, tolerant, understanding and most of all, inspite of it all, hopeful. That is the real trick; to keep your chin up when it keeps getting pounded. Roll with the punches. I feel for those public personalities, celebrities. Everyday they are psychically attacked just because that's what people like to do. Just like Tigers eat flesh, people go for each other. Envy, malice blah blah, all those cheery things I love about uncohesive groups. We might all like Krsna but I'm not sure what we are trying to do to each other. But as Prabhupada and Krsna said, love is cooperation.

I will cooperate but not indulge. I have cooperated. I am cooperating so Please Krsna, make the uglies go away because they are turning cooperating into a painful experience. Actually, a dangerous one. They would do me in as much as look at me. Mustn't be able to cooperate with me.

So what do you reckon? Let em just go for it. Tear us apart? Because cooperating with us is unthinkable. Abhorent, amoral. Wake up and open your eyes please. These guys need to join.....I know what it is....a caste system. I think South Africa pretty much mastered that in it's most perverse sense and I think it's perversion is what they are after.

I'm crapping on too much. Not even a therapist would put up with this.

the meaning of meaness

2008-05-30T10:49:00.000-07:00

I feel utterly wasted emotionally. I am getting my quota of reaction for something or other in some obscure, meaningless previous existence. My consolation is, it is seriously bubble bursting stuff and it might as well burst sooner then later. Wouldn't want to have to experience a melt down moments before death, assuming I should be so lucky as to be conscious before the event.

Just read Tarunya's blog. She has joined the ranks of the, what to call it........ expressers.

Enjoying school like crazy, crazy as that sounds. I like those little buggers and they teach me so much. It's as if I am alive; pushed and pulled to the max but using every part of me that ought to be used. Even the God damned thighs climbing those bloody stairs in sweltering heat at 8am. I can only survive if I'm drenched in water all day. The air con goes in this week end so our hearts and minds will re-enter the human. It's not as if the heat is bad but it drains a little. I am kinda getting usd to it and even relish it at times but I think some of the kids are worse for it. I'm hoping to stay with the group next term though I figure they may want a change. I have just got the knack of it so it seems a shame to let them go. Feeling more inspired and confident.

But people, oh my God, it's enough to really do your head in. We have these South African people here that just don't operate on the same wave length as Aussies or, infact anyone I know. The trauma is so horrendous that I can only conclude I must of had it coming. How can I describe it. A jungle, I suppose, but worse. Probably best to describe the results of it. The heartlessness of it all can drive you to near total loss of faith in any capacity for sincerity or love among humans. It's a type of psychic hell. And what do I learn from it? The world needs to be medicated? I think it is a big possibility and I don't blame them now for going that way. What do you do with a world gone mad? We would have to be in a constant state of therapy for this to let up, which is what saddhana is all about, I suppose. Therapy for the enraged and insane soul.

But it hurts like hell. It hurts because I don't want to face that I am in the wrong place. That the material world is not my charmed play ground which it pretty well was until now. Australia; relaxing, privleged, retired, pleasant, beautiful, it goes on and on but in the end it is the retired mans lie. Come here with a billion people and get a good dose of humantiy. What ever went down in South Africa, look like hell from the results I see.

One of the consolations is I am living in the dham and the dham is filled with consolation therapy. If life sucks, as we eventually find it does, then you can finally consider what the great saints were trying to say. So I guess I should thank them for pushing me so hard, but I can't, it was so awful and if I think of it still it remains really awful.

But I have my kids and they are sweet hearts and I marvel at the privlege I have in teaching them. I only wish I was smarter and more experienced for thier sakes.

Another consolation is the drama of it all. Don't we all love a little drama?

There is no one to cry to so i think of Draupadi and wonder at her plight. Too horrible, and she had a shit load of attitude too. Thank God, the thought of her not giving a piece of her mind to Bhisma is just too much. I can't imagine that level of surrender at this stage but in the end it has to come if I don't want ot continue rolling in this muck. I can only imagine there is plenty more where this came from.

Is there an irony in this vaguely similar situation. I am just placed differently on the chess game this time. Can it be? I would like to think not. If I had caused this much distress to someone then I am deeply sorry. But that is just a thought I have toyed with a little. Not worth trying to figure the whys; just the similarities. And I am so tired of it and wait the days to pass, knowing it must end some time soon.

Thought about my brother yesterday. My son cried tonight for his real mother. I had hugged him during the day as he was unwell but some how I must have failed him. On the one hand it is good that he realises I am just one of many mothers but i suspect it reflects a failing on my part rather than deep spiritual hankering. Radha consoled him with a story from Krsna book.

Gotta learn to be a human......consistantly. That means be conscious and I so enjoyed being rock like. Not really enjoyed but I'm habituated to dull impersonalism.

What a whine. well I had to do it. Haven't had a reasonable whine and there is not a soul that can feel what I feel. We are all too busy and anyway, i don't want sympathy but empathy.

It all dropped out so my last words on the matter are gone. Quite fitting really.

nothing much today

2008-05-11T08:37:00.000-07:00

Jees, I'm aging just watching the page trying to load.
And Shite to my blog. Reading that stuff is enough to make me think I might need an anti depressent and a better spell check.

Storms galore which is making life just about worth living.

Class on a Sunday in Mayapur means listening to Bhaktividypurna Maharaj. Not sure if all is well there. The only thing I really like is his reference to form and substance as apposed to spirit and matter. It's made me think of how dependent we are on form. What is life without it? Hence the death dilema. I'm certain death will have its own form because, i guess I must, risking some kind of major panick attack otherwise. But, if Krsna needs Laxmi we must need form. Maybe fear of death is merely fear of s type of formless purgatory. Fear of void, fear of life without expression.

Decided I'm entitled to expression because it's part of being alive. They honestly had me believing it was nonsense. Pooie to them. I've just as much right to think and feel as anything or one. Why have this vehicle otherwise?

SO back to form. Form being the vehicle but not to formlessness. So maybe escaping form is not the way to go. Maybe understanding its mechanics. Maybe reconciling our relationship to Maya. Maya being the servent of God. The secretary, so to speak. Seduced by the form and thus expecting substance from it. If it is merely an adjunct then what is substance, or spririt, to be more specific. Purpose? Purpose of form.

Read Wilde's Dorian Gray. Liked it but I think he could have done a little more with it. If I had the skill I could play with it the way those presumptuous but apparently succesful people have with Eyre.

Time for Apple C as the curse of the bad line is upon us.

Best sleep but I think I will come back again soon. Need to chat to the screen to help sort out psychic detritus.

God, I love a key board.

Tuesday

2008-04-08T10:29:00.001-07:00

Passage to India, I love it. It's almost an antiquated version of Holy Cow but with political commentary. It would be great to actually figure out what India is. The book is making me realise the real depth of the cultural divide presently experienced by myself. My classroom has a Pole, a Russian, a South American, a south Indian, Canadian hybrid, Swiss, an Australian and an Italian, soon. I think that's it. I am sure I have missed something there. So the diversity is on the street, it's at work but ahh the sweet retreat of the net. Dominated by the Yanks I am in the purely homogenised zone. Pure, meaning free of any meaning at all, shallow and easy; what you see is what you get which is nothing much at all.

I went to the Puri math last night, a temple up the road outside Iskcon Mayapur. Intimate and beautifully decorated; it was a microenvironment compared to Iskcon. It had much more charm as they put energy into intricate detailed ornamentation. The deities were gorgeous. We were there to visit the local homeopath. Vrnda's eczema has flared up; too many plays and a festival have run her down.

Vishaka in Aus and experiencing the alarm of waking to a near naked and semi inebriated youth that the west is so fond of cultivating. Keep’em lean, keep’em in the dream; ne'er a day go by when a man or woman may ask the question, who am I? What am I doing here? What will happen after I die? That is the most foreboding if you happen to like living. I have noted that western life lends itself to a dark and distracted interest in death. In all the material distraction that is consumer life, the essence of life is absent. Without it death looks like an interesting option. That's my experience, my view. When I took up a semblance of devotion I lamented inevitable death. I am beginning to realise that death can be merged into the venture if the venture is sound.

I would like to devise new ways of describing my inner world so as not to paint it in a clichéd light thus rendering it redundant to sharing, having limited and stunted its meaning. Skepticism is rife and ridicule is de rigueur. Ones inner story had better be free of the restraints or vulnerabilities of previous perspectives. Innovative, new and creative use with language usually slows down the dismantling process by presenting alternative perspectives or an interesting rehash of an old one. New counter arguments to render those perspectives impotent of meaning need to be devised. But I ought to spend more time figuring out how to communicate the dialogue before contemplating its reception.

Moving on because that was not what I had set out to do in the first place. I will think more about Australia or India. Which is it and for whom? Vishaka I suppose.

The school goes as it always will. It provides us with endless lessons on all levels for all involved; the ultimate washer for the soul.

Sadbhuja is driven to a type of warped ecstasy with the new project. The pressure is on but so is the taste. A bit like a camel chewing thorns. We seek self-resolution in as many an interesting way as any animal.

My mac is literally cracking up. Those white plastic numbers got cheap after the first batch. Very disappointed and I shall whine like a cat on a fence in nasty cheap suburb.

Shut down, it's late and no time to write. Another day, and a hope that thoughts become more coherent

caffeine

2008-02-11T10:03:00.000-08:00

Must not drink caffeinated drinks after 12pm; oh ok 2pm but that's it. I am now wide awake and ready to face anything but the world sleeps on. Actually the facing is only theoretical. I have the energy to get from the kitchen to the bathroom to the front door and then to school when I must.

Three flights of stairs and 11 pairs of little eye balls peering at me ready to feast on the knowledge I have to offer them. I only wish I was more imaginative for their sakes. You have to give it to them for tolerance and resiliance. Even Nandu is resembling a human but i swear every time I say that he pops so I officially retract that statement.

I found an old school friend on facebook. I am so excited I feel like a sentimental old fuddy duddy. I really was very fond of her and I think growing up with some one for a bit is pretty special. I had a sister but I lost her when I was four so I never really had a sibling thing happening; a brother I took care of a lot as my mother had him 10 years after me. He was cute but I never see him these days. Thoughful too and I know how bloody rare that is.

Gurukripa came over from Thailand to drop his daughter off. Well I never did imagine God availing himself of such diversity. It never ceases to amaze me when I am actually surprised by something. Just shows you how presumptouos I am.

Gaura Purnima is coming up and I am actually looking forward to it. This 18 week term has taught me to appreciate free time and the leisure to get to the temple. I have to get to Nepal or better yet Bangladesh. Jees I never ever thought I would ever have to go to Bangladesh. I only ever heard it to be a place where people starved to death. It would be like going to Africa. What would possess you to do such a thing. Hell. I knew God would trick me with the visa thing or was it I that made that manifest with the pessimism?

Jethro Tull is better than the Beetles. I want to know how they got away with it.
I have decided I am going to succeed but i have yet to decide on what it is i want to succeed in. Death sounds a bit defeatist though I am sure it has a very good pay off.

Must sleep as i am sure I will bite some ones head off tomorrow if I don't and i think that is illegal though at times possibly warranted. Being in the class room is like processing all of lifes experiences and then hoping the stench is bearable. Uni is a means to help those contain any dysfunction that may manifest while trying to instruct the next generation. I did want to home school in the bush. Mind you I do like these little buggers.

laka in the forest as a wee lass

2008-02-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

trying to remember how to do this

2008-02-08T16:04:00.000-08:00

Lila

2008-02-03T02:06:00.000-08:00

It almost seems sacrilege to write now as a friends daughter is in the process of passing away but I am at a loss as what to do. The empty blankness that is loss. The fading hope, the damage, the grief, despair and ultimately the mournign for a daughter lost and in such circumstances. Knowing the moments of terror as the gunman accosted her.

We were just discussing today how our daughters need so much protection. My Vrindi was harrassed at a festival last night by a man who felt it was his God given right to speak with her. She is all of 14 years old. I can see now why Mohamad was so inspired to get some rules happening with the girl boy thing. My daughters are not up for slaughter to satiate a mans unrequited lust. They are not to be approached by anyone. They are the gems of the future, the mothers, sacred and should be treated as if precious, fragile. Some will think I am extreme but I know what comes from the abuse and exploitation of woman so I do not buy the freedom thing for a minute. Failed abortion that grew to become the bane of the mothers life. Left to the mercy of any lusty caste off the mother may have been too drunk to satisfy. It was a fine life, her life of freedom. Her perversions to see destruction raught again to some how justify her own putrid existence. The final result of absolute freedom, the sweet taste of unlimited material pleasure.

So Lila was shot in the head three times by a boy who thought he loved her. Her mothers grief is unimaginable. It takes a village but a village of people dedicated to the care of our children. The term global village is a farce and urban community is hell. The media is a means to manipulate ignorant people into believing a shopping docket, a tablet, a credit card or a pot plant will satisfy your very being. The beauty of that is it doesn't, so you keep coming back for more. The sad thing is the guys working on keeping it going are as much the victims as those they encourage. So it's not a plot or ploy, it's a tragedy. And you have to be a bloody genius to wise up to it. No one gets out of the matrix alone. I guess thats why the film resonated with so many.

Enough of my manic madness. Her body will be heading for a funeral pyre by now. She was a sweet girl, hard working and submissive. She wanted to marry I hear. Her mother and father work hard to help Srila Prabhupada.

mindful mundane meanderings

2008-01-31T07:52:00.000-08:00

Whats going on in my head. A million things and yet seemingly nothing as non of it connects for very long and so the impact is reduced to naught. Probably more pleasent for those around me as I wreak more havoc than construct when imagining my thoughts amount to much.

If ever I wanted to purify, purge or even prevail then teaching or at least being in a classroom seems to be the perfect medium. This sounds a little smarmy but the classromm is both ecstatic and personally challenging. I imagine it has all been said before but it is a revelation for me so bare with this novices revelations. If nothing else I feel like I am recconecting with humanity. I am not sure if another can imagine what that means unless familiar with my life experiences. Just for interests sake I will elaborate a little.

An unfortunate girl falls pregnant at 19 to a boy who does not care for her. A failed back yard abortion results in my coming into the world in 1964. Heady times for some I expect but a little strained for the young girl with the unwanted babe that reminds her of the emotional traitor that bequithed her with the burden of child. Rejected by her family and all up pretty screwed up emitonally. Ignorant, hedonistic and utterly unwilling to surrender to the tedious task of catering to a child. I grow up rather rapidly in more ways than one and though I mingle in the world I feel like an edge dweller. It was trully unfashionable to be illigitamate in the 70s. Tedious details but the jist of it is I did not belong. Brought in to the world in an unloving union by a woman who was in denial aout her subliminal resentment towards me. Kicked out at 14 and some how managed to stabalise amongst the devotees for a while before embarking on my own procreative abilities. Although I loved my babies I wouldn't say it has been easy for them or me but non the less the community has helped to temper any difficulties and Curiousity helped in seeking solutions. Some worked. But the class room being less insular than a family puts me in both the firing line but also facilitates rewards that extend way beyond the joys of the immediate family to the the greater family and that is what it is supposed to be about. My warped being has thus far revealed that I am an irritable and miserly hearted.....prick for want of a better word. I normally associate that term with men but it really denotes smug ignorants and that has been my forte.

So these have been my latest personal revelations. Torn between the pain of thrashing out the rigours of work and commitment and indulging in the rewards that no other situation could possible offer. the price is hard work but I figure the reward extends way beyond any imagined pleasure I may have been dreaming of pursuing in my consummer based existence in Australia. Sure I was at the temple and studying so was not entirely entrenched but I definately fantasised about home and hearth. When it came down to it the reality is nothing would have really satified me as I am such a picky bitch. I put that down to Eoropean lineage. I've Germans a hard lot to satisfy though I am sure there are some sweet ones about. Not my lot. Grumpy bums who dissect till there's nothing left but skin and bones.

It is bloody cold here at the moment and I haven't even a candle for heat. I still refuse to ask the Gods to bring back the heat. I can not surrender to that willingly. Wscaping the cold is one thing but the heat can not be escaped.

Kalki fell on his head tonight because he thought it would be cute to tuck his arms and legs into his jumper and play little men. Propped on a chair he promptly rolled off and smashed his head onto the cement floor. He fell asleep soon after so I am hoping all is well when he wakes up. Another event in a day of what seems is a perpetually trying existence be it mundane or spiritual. They say it is as fraught there as well minus the death bit. Politics and fanangling. I guess if I survive life in a community I will be ripe for anything. It's not unlike being in a psychic boxing ring. I am going for the dancing like a butterfly though I do get a littel over confident and try and put my two bobs worth in. I think I eed more training but one day.

I dare not attach a photo as our line is so testy.

Grey days and we all wear jackets, scarves and hats all day. I need a bigger classroom. I have 12 students now and we are compelled to remain seated when in the classroom for want of any space at all. It's a bummer but the kids don't seem to mind bar active Nanda who can't stay seated for more than 30 seconds.

Shaka who is nearly 17 wants to live a life of her own God help me. This letting go of babies does not suit me. Girls are so vulnerable too. I can see a grieving mother on the horizon. I don't think I enjoyed my babies enough and it is all almost over.

I guess having an elder would help with this next stage. The western culture of parental redundancy is a bit sad.

time and tide do not invoke connection

2008-01-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

We have had a bad trott and yet we still pay for what they call an internet service here.

I have spent many an hour prattling words out in my head and some how never hitting a keyboard for reasons unknown to myself. I guess I just got busy. That is an understatement.

I am going to attach my old offering because I did type it in even if a lot of tripe. My specialty anyway.

My class has grown to ........12. How does a person teach 25 eight year old kids, some of which speak no English? How can anyone think a teacher is anything less than a saint? I love it but If I get a hint of an idea that a parent is not behind me, well. Speaking of which, I think I may be my own worst enemy. My son is one of my real challenges in the class along with his partner in crime Nanda. Bright sparks they are but we are not in Drama school and Nanda is as a poor a reader as Kalki is in math. Both boys are bright but ironically have rather large weaknesses that I am trying to address. The fine line between urging and pressure. I shouldn't be too hard on myslef but I fear failing them as I feel I may have been failed in education myself. The arduous task of walking the aisle and making sure every child is properly engaged. By third period I am plumb tuckered out and start asking them to come to me which creates bedlem. My class room is too small.
Must have trashed my offering in a fit of pique. The heading was little pretentious, finally alone. As if I wanted that when my life is swamped in people. What a delusional state I must be in and it has been people ever since I could negotiate my limbs enough to find them. I was not really born into a family so I have been over compensating ever since. As if you care but I thought I would state it. It is part of the evolving story or purging of words.
I think my mother is a misanthrope. She has 2 dogs. People who focus on animals have usually some difficulty with people. Animals are too easy bar the hygene issue.
Talking too much and should be resting for another fun filled day of jumping monkeys. The joy of feeling I am obliged to contradict all their natural urges for the sake of a so called healthy adult life. Discipline is good but how to experience it in the best possible manner. I guess I could start with disciplining myslef. hahahahahahahahahahah Another needless contemplation. Save it for another life when the present penance or revelation is over.
In the meantime, good night.

accumulated oddments

2007-11-29T17:54:00.000-08:00

Dumbed down by a migraine.
I wonder, while typing, how the words are ordered and why.

The wonder that is my class went down to the big kids classroom as I rode home to vomit some more. My pet misfit was a challenge to Sucih. I was glad to have someone else see what it is I am faced with. I am wondering if all those psyche books are genuine. The child is undernourished in love and affection. Mum's life comes first, dad is an inexperienced young man at his wits end, and I have the result. A South American boy of 8yr's with a shit load of attitude as the world continues to do him an injustice. He is getting better but it is drawing all I can give. I feel like I am experimenting with theory and watching it work. They say these kids just need a stack of love and understanding. As I watch him try and please me while anxious to be part of th group I can see he isn't really diffierent just a little torn from a difficult start. Can you imagine the slums of USA or South America and what they are pumping out. Does it take a ton of education and care to show a human being that violence and neglect are not viable options for progressive child rearing. Some animals do a better job than humans.

I trudge off with a head still reeling and a body still quacking from the fit like spasms that migraines bring on. Actually i ride off but I wonder how negotiating the mud paths will be as I experience my half stupor like life.

It's getting cooler and I wonder if I will have to submit to a synthetic jumper from Navadwipa. They are trully awful. Glitter, who thought of glitter in winter garb?

A devotee sends a letter about meat close ups. Meat eaters are not a fussy bunch so it is probably a waste of time. It did have a lead on to colon cleansing which had a series of photos of people with their excrement. Fascinating stuff for those that have bowel troubles. Of course Sucih, the great healthy plopper thinks I am mad but not as mad as the lady standing next to a photo of her poo in her kitchen colander.

Back to the 8 year old and h is bodily needs. Back to organising the grade 2 class room. Back to performing.

Where is that cup of green tea?

baby girl gleesons

2007-11-24T04:12:00.000-08:00

Vrnda and Radha in Sydney.

Abstractions

2007-11-24T02:55:00.000-08:00

Keeping a blog is some what like going to a confest and having qualms about having to swim starkers. I sat on the side of the river for hours contemplating wether I could get in naked. I didn't do it in the end. I don't think I went to the toilet for two days either. The naked thing is a bit much and so the blog thing is really a bit much. But now I am sure no one at all reads it I think I am feeling a little better. Like I'm back in my own room and feeling safe. Must conquer own mind.....in good time.

Well the 4,000 people from Mumbai have gone and a less large group of locals has descended. I imagine it has something to do with Jayapataka Maharaj. Last four days of Kartika; if you follow a fast of grains then it is the equivalant of having followed austerities of sorts for the whole month. Cool huh? So guess who takes advantage of that one.

So I say I am glad no one reads it and yet I speak as though to some one. There is probably medication for just such a disorder.

The patio in Mayapur is fantastic in winter. The sun warming and the trees all around. Harinams passing frequently and bhajans floating about all day. All the HMIE students are here.

School has been good but now some Aussie pilgrims are here distractions are mounting and will inevitably effect my class planning. To get a really creative flow it is an all or nothing affair for me.

Sucih is in Kolkata and the phone is flat, his driver is no where to be seen and I haven't any numbers for him. Hahah, teach him to rely too much on technology. Write the numbers on a piece of paper just for fun will you.

Baby pigeons flutter on the veranda figuring how to fly but thankfully gut out while always busy depositing excrement.

Kalki is adither moving here and there. Yonder he rides with his mates to Taranpur and back. He turns eight today and if I recall I had the same adventures as he. We rode our bikes for hours all over the place. Some inovative children are holding a play with a small feed after wards for the small price of 6 rupees per head. Too cute.

As strange as it is, there are now quite a lot of Chinese devotees here. Who would have guessed that China would come so far. It is such an oppresive place. They jail people for suspected religious acts.

A bus horn was so loud that it wrenched me from me deeply desired slumber.
A Chinese flute turns the house into something very pleasent with the added ambience of absent young son and his half dozen friends in perpetual tow.

Lalita resides in Australia while the soup simmers here. Nothing changes just the spices mix differently. If it isn't one tiresome episode it is another until it gets so that the episodes cease to be so tiresome and start to resemble entertainment. Then you know you are really detached. As long as the variables steer clear of the confines of the home.

Sun goes down on the Ganga and the flute calls out as if in memory of this place as once a village of Brahmin Vaisnavas. A city is manifesting and I am not sure how I feel about it. It is as if the footy crowd is now barricking for God. All well and good if you like the roar of thousands of human voices. In actuality it is a scary affair be it footy or God.

Must bake some bread but maybe I will just boil some rice and save the act of baking bread for a more pious moment. Hay maybe I won't bother cooking anything at all.

Kalki is back. Oh God, the mozzies.

Rasa Rani Priya

2007-11-17T23:21:00.001-08:00

Rasa Rani Priya got initiated today. Formally known as Rasa Rani, daughter of Sitala and Hari Sauri. It was a very intimate affair on one of the roof top gardens of Mayapur. The garden was lovely and many deities were brought by some of the guests. Ramadevi brought her little Govardhana sila. There were sila's galore inside Pralhada Nrsima's house. And last but not least a wonderful kitchen. [ An old house wife at heart.]

It is Gopastami today and we will all be off to the goshala for a few hours of cow petting, singing and stories. Poor Sucih has to go to a school board meeting.

It has been trying inspite of the prolific nectar. Be thankful for mercies. The modes are spinning round like tornados and I wonder that my head is still on. Dramas with another teacher who percieves me as a low life and a class that needs the utmost care and dedication in teaching. Lessons from within and without. I wondered if it was the moldovite but combine that with the dham and we have dynamite for kick starting a spiritual life that has been mostly on hold. How to fathom it all.
A good start is to get up fairly early. That entails going to bed early but no matter what I do there is always something or one to keep me up. A little seven year old son is probably the biggest hurdle in this regard.

The girls, Tara, Radha and Rasa in Vrndavan. Radha wants to take initiation next year. Hopefully all will work out in that regard.

You know, sometimes if I want a word it jumps into my head and often I don't even know what it means. I go look it up and sure enough it is the perfect word, like soliloquy. How is that?

Mud flats on the Ganga

2007-11-03T09:24:00.000-07:00

We caught a boat on the Ganga to some mud flats to watch Nirguna's body get burnt.
He left at about 11 am today. The devotees sang really loud bhajans night and day. They had succeeded in turning his departure into a communal experience. I slept to the perpetual sinnging so that it haunted my dreams. It was nice and I am grateful at the communal aspects of life when things are surrenderd to the sublime.

His body was placed on the pyre and though there was a heap of wood his feet protruded. As his flesh burnt my stomach churned although it was empty, luckily for me. One of his legs fell off the pyre and a Bengali devotee picked it up and popped it back on the pyre. We left before his other leg dropped. Vrnda watched his head bake. Watched his eye balls pop and drip, his brains ooz. All up, it is enough to take the joy of any aesthetic attachment to the body right out of your head. Did I say head, let me rephrase that, mind.

I envy his freedom and I also felt the emptyness he has left though I never knew him. They go to a place beyond our reach and leave us melancholy knowing we can not see or hear it. We are disconected, out of touch, far away from it all. It is both consoling and sad.

Well that was a blow out for me. It is less strange now. A bit like the strangeness I felt when I first saw a mother feed a five year old child her breast milk. Now I consider it normal. I have come such a long way from urban aussie. Alternate third world resident traypsing off to Nepal every six months. Who would have bloody guessed. Not me when I slept in my bunk in Caroline Crescent, Bundoora, Melbourne. When I walked to school after feasting on Weat Bix and Milo. I escaped the packaging.

Speaking to Tridisa tonight about addiction to packaging. If it's in a package he is happy. Crazy world. Package me please and pickle my brain while you are it. Keep me from feeling all but what the telly allows.
Shit it is tragic and yet surrender we must to something or some one. I think I will surrender to knowing I must and be consoled that I surrendered to the more interesting God. The corporate god just doesn't cut it.

nothings

2007-10-30T20:55:00.000-07:00

Kalki is still asleep.
The Australians are descending. Bhakta and Bhakti, they are still alive? How old will we get before we do some serious dying. We have only lost two of the Melbourne crew, Jayaprada and Ananyabuk. Both cancer and both suspected mobile phones.

The holidays are nearing the end. Oh dear oh dear. 'Friends' did nothing but shodd my brain with aimless adle. I should have known better than to try and get a hit from a screen with a doubtful script and paper thin characters. But they stick like the stench of the drain, up my nostrils and in my brain.
SO my script isn't too crash hot either, so be it.

Hari Bhakti leaves as fast as she came. A record four days. I envy her jet set ways.

The neighbour doesn't know how to shut her screaming kid up in the middle of the night. It was like some kind of communal torture. That kid wanted something if only sanity and mum just would not cough up. I lay, kidding myself that I could keep sleeping while studiously avoiding what I figure the gods had intended. Get up and out, breath that fresh 4 am morning air. Feel the grit and grind of existence, embrace it, enjoy it.........at 4 am. Then 9 pm starts to look really good.

Class plans for a year to be made. I figure if I just stop asking myself to be able to do this and just kid myself into winging it I will be a lot happier. I don't think I have realised fully, how many wingers there are in life.

Spousel displeasure as the whine of discontent precedes full blown displeasure at the prospect of naught but surrender to ideas. The idea of a better place where air fares don't cost $1500 including tax and passports never expire.
My licence will expire soon. Four thousand rupees to fix that one. Only a months wage in India. Yeehaa. I would drive in India but it takes more than I have. The psychic skill to intuit what the other non law abiding driver will do while heading straight for you on your side of the road.

My class room has been attacked by rodents and spiders have enjoyed the computers generous contours.
And the ever present squeek of the fly wire to let me know if some one is coming. The jingle of the ankle bells and Vrnda announces herself with furby intow. All of 14 years old. She stands and plucks one of my four grey hairs to prove to me that I am going grey.
Vrnda suffered massive hair loss due to the measles or some such thing and now sports many short lengths popping out of what remains of her hair. At least it is growing back. The thrill that is India.

'Friends'.... watched

2007-10-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'll admit it. I have been spacing out to videos of Friends. I have never watched the show before in my life bar half an episode in Kolkata. Kolkata can drive you to desperation. And I know it is not the activity of the self aware or self seeker. hahahahhhaha, nooooo it is not. I don't think it even has plot. I wonder if any one has done a thesis on it. Taking the tiny moments in life, the insignificant and utterly meaningless ones and making a telly show about them that has a god damned religious cult following. There are people who were born after the show closed watching this stuff as if it sustained them. [Vrindy?] Thank you for the loan. [and the finger prints are not mine]

Sucih is horrified at the malais that has spread through the house as Vishaka and I disappear to corners of the building and merge with the luminous screens of our laptops. Vishaka has declared she hates school now. She must think life is as easy as it looks on the telly show. They did one show on income inequity. I mentioned this show and noted to her that the haves in the show went to uni. Ho hum. Could that be a telly lie, in this case I am afraid not. Unless you are a goer chances are no school relates to little brown envelopes with change in them. They round down in the low income arena.

Sucih reckons Johnny Howard, the pig prime minister of Australia, will cause some major terrorist dilema or other such attraction to reel in the voters. I reckon Johnny is over the job and can see the very nasty writing on the wall. His government has brought disaster to the country as all liberal governments do. They feed off the hard work in policy developement of the labour party while watching it slowly disintergrate in the reign of liberal neglect. Just a guess, I really know nothing of it. just want some one to blame for the $8 couliflower on sale in Coles.

But who cares any way, I am in Bengal and my only dilema is how to conquer my desire to never leave the house and the lack of funds that presently prevent me from visiting my opa in Germany. He is in his 90s so it might be nice to see him before his end though he seems to be a bit of a stayer. He ended up in an old peoples home after the death of his much younger wife and Lo and behold he has found a new female friend. Girl friend is too seedy a term for that age group though I don't doubt that they will be trying to enjoy as much as they can inspite of the age. So off to Italy for a holiday with friends and relatives while I stay in Bengal waiting for the highlights. I like to live vicariously. Actually my whole life is a vicarious one.

Well how I feel inside. Kinda wierd as I am living the life of the letter. all my close friends, [well as close as you can get with this nature and at this age] and relatives [I can pretty strictly say no close relos either] all live in other countries. So I type a lot. I am becoming less dependant on the hand flay to express myself though i did enjoy unmeditated witty expressions that dropped from my mouth. Either that or I had generous friends who occasionally laughed at things I said. It is not quite the same on line.

Oh, and [redacted] the blog. How can i make my life seem so insanely fantastic. Dunno, I'm a bloody celibate in West Bengal. It's just not going to happen. It is all transience and transcendance, sweet breeses and devotional melodies. Ambient air and the yodelling of the pilgrims. No shortage of atmosphere but it isn't the world I was born into. So there is inevitable conflict due to the habitual nature of a recumbant, slightly stagnant aging middle aged mother of four, in the Hare Krsna's.

My cousin reckons my grand father no longer cares that I am a hare and is just stocked that I am still married with four kids to the one guy. Well that is a bloody miracle but quite frankly, I only did it to spite my mother. She wanted me to live true to myslef and do as she did. Now this is not a sordid sight so I will spare you the details. Oh, she had the kids but no sooner did they start breathing then she would start devising means of disposal. In a spasm of honesty she once admitted she would have been best situated as a concubine. I think her mother failed to give her any kind of moral training. Her mother was from Berlin and my mother was born during the war. Any guesses what that could mean? I think the term Bohemian comes from that district and I will grant you that is a rather tame expression for the actual life that these people lived. But if you like your morals to blow like the wind then Berlin is the place for you.

Back to the placebo life while waiting for death. Friends........ahhg i know it's lame but some credit for the honesty?
I do good things too, like wash, let me qualify that, I wash my body. I look at the sky, I even sat in the sun yesterday. Hey I was brought up to be a bum coming from a long line of bourgeois bums. Actually the bourgeois worked bloody hard to fake not working but the offspring got the wrong impression. That being me, and thought life was one big sailing ship and if i wanted to do nothing all day then i bloody well could if I wanted to. Wrong message for a kid to get. So I remain to this day, a culturally conflicted adult. Torn between aught to and want to. I guess it's nothing new.

Do I need a photo?

money blurrs

2007-10-19T04:03:00.000-07:00

Told you the edges were blurred here.

And Radha waiting for it to rain money, as usual.

Pig Headed Aliens

2007-10-19T03:04:00.000-07:00

Well ‘[edacted]’ has shown me something. He is either an excellent fake or this guy is some kind of cyber superman. But like most supermen he hasn't a clue what to do with a woman. Makes me kinda smile and think, thank God. It would be otherwise too much to bare.

Radha left for Vrndavan with little fanfare from me. I suspect I have allowed her to become a predictably self obsessed adolescent. It seems being able to shop is a primary concern for young women of her caliber. Without it, what would be the point of getting out of bed? I know this from personal experience. Vrndavan with out some binging at Loy bazaar. Poor duffa, to think I have other priorities, like paying the power bill, sweet heart. Ahh well that little product of my loins will learn her lesson later than sooner I expect. if at all. What a bunch of slugs we are. Don’t get me wrong I like my kids but if they start resembling every other corrupted human on this planet then I take issue as I was hoping for more. Of course you may say what about me. Well I would say my personal path has been transferred to the off spring and I am now hoping one of them will be a better person. A better person? I guess we have lost touch with what a person is in the realm.

Vrnda wondered about the complex at one in the morning, seeking out her friends that were due to depart in the wee hours. She found non and fell asleep on the door step of Tara’s place. I’m not sure where we got Vrnda from but she is not your regular kid.

Shaka was on the roof last night and saw a …….yes……a ……UFO
Yes they are out there and if they are not some one out there has some seriously cool personal transport happening. I want one. Private silent and very very fast. Gees you have no idea how much I want one.

Dreamt so lucidly this morning I thought I might have been on an astral jaunt. I experienced colours and scenes that are a little wanting in this region. Everything is blurred here. As indistinct as an Indian head nod. It’s no wonder they had eons of spiritualism as their core feature. It is all you can do to figure out what one person is actually saying to another. SO you turn to God and hope he can reveal the **** is going on. The guy at the market has not the slightest inclination of letting you in on how it works. The only ones that may be inclined to help are the ones that are “colonized”. God I love a colonized Indian. We can meet half way. I too am colonized but only fractionally. They got to me in maturity. Can’t teach a old dog new tricks.

The old man is sick, consolation being squalor is his constant companion. Hahah
Can’t help sounding like a nasty piece of work. I just am.

Oh to be happily putrefying in my happiness and forever distracted from my ultimate demise.
One of my favourite stories is the guy in the well with the water below, a tiger waiting outside and a drop of honey coming his way. It’s all he can do to get that honey. Like a droplet of dew ready to fall from the leaf in the early morning. We too are waiting and in the mean time each day we find another inconsequential reason to get out of bed. Don’t tell me yours has consequence because it simply doesn’t if you hold it up against death.

Every time I read or watch anything contemporary they most often refer to sex as if it were the panacea of existence. I just think they might be deluding themselves and some are simply keeping the lie alive for want of company. Get to a crucial point in life……stop…..forget it and then happily fornicate as if some how it were a pill that would fix it all. Since when did that start happening? I mean some people are keeping relationships alive with sex alone…..[edacted] ?

I’m all for freedom but with some kind of purpose. If you wanted to bonk every time it got too hard to think then you might as well be a pigeon or even a pig, I hear they orgasm for a whole half hour. There you go guys [both genders covered in that term] go for it. Sounds like the right kind of birth for you. Life’s problems will be solved. Of course you will tend to desire a sordid diet of stool and assorted rotting odds and ends but I expect most of you are feasting on the rotting carcasses of, lets say, Pigs. Poor pigs, life cut short by those who do not know your true worth; the power to enjoy beyond any human beings dreams. Bring it on. Hey Michael Jackson, make your order. I’m sure pig law will refuse you nothing.

I better go now, even I feel it is a tad off.

Vishaka informs of pending death or should we say departure?

2007-10-17T06:00:00.000-07:00

Vishaka in 2006 Gaura purnima play about Lord Rama. She was the golden demon deer. Or was he infact a devotee. Never can figure it out.
One of the devotees is in the process of leaving his body across the way. The kids have been having kirtans every night. They say he will leave tonight. I don't get into stuff like that much. Gives me the heeby jeebies.
I wish him well and who knows what is going on in the air in the Holy Dhama. He was a steady book distributer. So the heaens will open up and gather him up, deliver in whole to the one that loves him. I should be so lucky. It is not my time but when it is I am hope i am in a good mood.

the moon rose early and they sing like muslims around here

2007-10-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

So I speak to myself here.
The latin is because I like it. It is the parent of English and so maybe it has a story to to tell. I found this line in an online collection of latin expressions and though I may have it slightly out of context I liked what I thought it meant.
The picture belongs to some one else and i just wonder if it is real. Staggering if it is.

Up again all night and I hear the voices of those, nuts enough to be up at this time of day. My motivation to stand in a temple professing or displaying devotion is at an all time low. I don't lament it but it will become harder to negotiate in time in this community. Complete adherence is the order of the day or pay the price. I expect every political arrangement has its price.
Spiritual, well that is an entirely different thing.
It is 4 am and I wonder who's family could be so damned noisy.
Kalki goes to play practice with his father at 6.30 am. You have got to love some peoples idea of practical. He wants to be a monkey. What I know of human nature, communities and children is enough for me to worry that he doesn't get his little heart broken. Well at least his ego badly handled. When adults deal with children the children are often merely connections to other adults. If some one likes your paretns they may be kind. If you have no family connections, chances are you are fair and square at the bottom of the totem pole if on it at all. As a kid i did not take this issue seriously as i did believe in our new world but it appears the people of my age group suffer from this abheration as much as the last generation. Maybe it is just religion that does it to people. As a matter of fact I may be on to something there. Love God and spite those who look like they may not Love him as much as you do. Gee I reckon the muslims excell at that but then the Christians are good too. The Christians are more hung up about the more superficial aspects of devotion. It isn't really about God but what God can do for the Nation. Yes that's it. Christians at heart are Nationalists. Blugh
How about Hindu's what are they. I think they are the ultimate deal makers. Mafia men. Forever pledging gifts in the hope of a trade off.
Vaisnava's, well they were once prone to independance but now that some of them have been cooped up in an order of sorts they have become a little ........ for want of a better word, lacking. Where is the inspiration if your counting the slabs of marble as I think Bhatissidanta suggested. They are best going it alone if you look at the history of the greatest. It seems the really commited ones were always subject to heavy criticism and even isolation in their time. It makes me wonder if being part of the order is always to be desired. The order requires such a heavy toll.

I hate men waking up and coughing and rasping as if their gizzards were trying to escape. Man take a worm tablet. Who can that be? Change your diet, do something. You sound like you are choking on your own mucous and you do it every morning.
Another ambient Indian experiance.

I hear the Samadhi conch blow. Maybe i could go there instaed. Much less public.

Bitter pills drop from my mouth and still I can not convince my self that anything is wrong with it. I must have been accustomed to too much harshness as a child. If my mother heard a child cry she would mock and tease it in an attempt to reveal its own silly preoccupation with its petty needs. Hey , don't come to me for hugs, they'll do you no good at all in the long run and I suppose in the long run she was right. Thank you Mother. In all the apparent dishonesty you were in fact the most honest. Humans suck and best become acquainted with the fact as early as possible. Spares you a lot of time and certainly prevents dissapointment.
But what to do with these revelations? Why put them to work in the name of revelation. Well in the hope that I will chance upon at least one or two more before I die.
The revelation that non of it is true. That this body is infact a vehicle in which I stay for some time, a transition. Spend time tinkering too long and I merely hold up the journey. And real estate, the ultimate drug. A place to hide, an account to control, some cudos to be had. Thank you God. You simply refuse to let me be part of it and who knows, I may experience genuine gratitude consistantly one day. I do admit I am addicted to beauty but Nature will suffice.

The Man

2007-10-14T11:18:00.000-07:00

Radha , don't frett

2007-10-14T10:49:00.000-07:00

Ok, slightly sedated due to pain so type errors are to be expected.
Was thinking tonight though lately have enjoyed forgetting the thoughts.
Dilema at trying to bridge the secular with religious. Out of my league and so I concede that I aught to thrust myself into to given commiment and hope for the best. Can't help my addiction to secular language and will probably not drop that for a while but I will try harder to reconcile conflicts.
Porr Radha is flipping out with my bitter rhetoric. It makes her cry. She neednt take this drama queen too seriously. i have after all been locked up in my room for weeks now though I do venture out now that the maid is here. I will never be able to go back to the life of a house wife unless of course i do not have to work full time. How do women in the work force not get seriously cheesed off. Work all day and then clean up after selfish lazy butts. Not to say my kids don't pull their weight but it's the little things that get you down. The communal things that they just don't feel obliged to do.

How is it a person feels the need to read 4 books at one time. I almost feel shocked that I am monogomous.
Reading Bhaktivinoda Thakuras autobiography today. Wikipedia is good for something. I like him a lot as he went through the whole western paradigm before embracing vaisnavism so i figure he is qualified. I figure it takes passing through the two worlds to really be quailifed to share with a peron bought up by the secularists. It is a tragically hard nut to crack and takes mountains of empathy. He had that empathy and compassion. He embraced us when no others did. He was in the association of Rabindranath Thakura. Anyway I like that he knew all the western philosophers of the time as to me it legitimises his choice. So many people are so quick to call this a mindless and sentimental cult when in fact there is much profundity within it but it is not easy to extract or I should say waiting for the revelations can be disconcerting at times. It seems our primary occupation is becoming qualified to recieve the bequest of revelation.

It is much cooler now and almost feels like an Australian summer. Livable. I can cope with the heat here if i keep the right attitude. I tell myself sweating perpetually is good for the system.

I ranted to vitriolic venom today about my pain regarding the establishment. it is almost like resnting a parent. The themes always repeat themselves.

Losing my mind to meandering though I could crap on till the cows come home though they never get let of their pens around here. Imagine neve letting a cow graze, too cruel.

Tomorrow I may venture out. I have some type of agrophobia. Always the potential mantal case.
I wonder when Bhaktivinoda Thakura looked from his veranda if it was us he saw that night.
silence.

2007-10-08T02:34:00.000-07:00

Vrnda and Radha

Kalki at school.

Vishaka has been cleaning all day. She brought food to her disinterested mother as well. They asked me to come over but I can't bring myself to come to a place that needs perpetual cleaning. I figure if i have to fight to get help then I quit and they can do it all. As it happens Vrnda is sick and so is Radha. The other two people are in gender disabled bodies.

The water is taking forever to go down but I can't say I mind laying low. That is metaphoric and possibly very accurate.

It's rainig so the heat has finally given way to some breez.
Back to class plans and a real life instead of virtual.
Anything for some inspiration.

it's cool and raining. There is a God.

2007-10-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

egress of spirit

That just keeps popping up on the screen every time I try and make a new post so I thought I would leave it for now.
Someone was a bit mean to shaka on her blog. I thought it was age related but it happens that we are not immunised from nastiness just because we get older. It actually gets worse, as more, is often at stake, but in the end nothing at all really is.

Speaking today about priviledged wealthy and for a moment felt a tad belittled by being so low on the pecking order. It took until this evening to reconcile myself with some semblence of worth beyond material facility and wealth. It was always my angle but it can get more challenging as we get older as some of the validating features of life disperse, such as youth maybe intelligence. I don't know, maybe I don't like to admit how sold out I was to buying the veneer sphere of reality. I like that, "vaneer sphere" good name for a coffe shop. Is that all I can come up with, a coffe shop?
I had hopes of a cultural centre not unlike the Universal Workshop in Melbourne, Fitzroy in the seventies but it seems no one else cares for such things so it wasn't to be.
Ironically enough it seems child care is all the rage when every one has ceased to breed. Maybe it is some kind of encouragement plan. Maybe we should all admit that life in an industrialised society is starting to resemble a kabutz.

I used to spend a lot of time to myself as a kid listening to music and reading. As I get older i now know why. I joined a religious group that has kept me away from the Whitlam sacking world and I find that whenever I do stick my head out I must quickly retrieve it before it gets chopped off. Prabhupada said chant and be happy, I reckon it aught to be chant and keep your head down. Not much of an activist eh? Arjuna go for it, it's all yours. I'll stay home and knit the socks and when it's over grieve the casualties.

Paradox, conclusion, all the while attempting to skirt delusion.

Well it is a flip flop temporary condition this state of affairs. The advice is never embrace happiness or distress too violently as it is merely an allocated bequest. So what remains in the middle is equipiosed sadnesss or madness as some might have you think. Must never tell too much.
Rubs close to a bone or makes opaque what aught to be clear, but never is because the chemicals are never quite right. Sucih said you would spend the whole of your life managing the PH in a pool and so it is. Keep that pool clear of the muck that might spoil the view to the bottom.

Hurt is always part of trust and trust is always part of foolishness.
It might pay to invest in the friends I gave birth to. Maybe that is the safe haven for committed breeders, one among them becomes a friend.
Is that it? Do we find our truths in allocated stories given us by the Gods?
Is mine in family?
I remembered my mother always hankering for some one to come and love her. A Knight was always on the horizen. I wonder if she still does hanker. I am blessed by her never to have fallen into that sorry plight. So many vulnerable women do. Maybe that's why she wanted me to believe I was loved even if it wasn't entirely true. I have been spared the relentless need to fill an unfillable whole.
It all seemed so silly to me as a kid. I knew then the guy was always a bastard and he would never really come. You had to crack a deal with life if you wanted to live in peace. A deal of sacrifice. No pedestals and no glory. How I chanced upon it is a miracle and a blessing. Oh God I sound like a Christian. They generally have a simplistic approach that irritates me. All happy, as if they were selling the product of life. It's like a bloody Coke add minus the extracarricular activities and then maybe some after all. They do, after all adhere to hard core consumption without remorse.

Action and reaction is quick around here. The relentless urge to purify me of my hipocrosy and mean hearted attitude. Well thank you. I need a knock on the head but it is always so bloody embarrasing knowing just how unaware I am.

Radha Ballabha

2007-10-07T03:56:00.000-07:00

I joined under these deities, Sri Sri Radha Ballabah.

They are like a first love really. Nothing comes near them and I think it has something to do with the circumstances surounding our initial acquaintance. Unfortunately they are in Melbourne which is a social waste land but maybe the tide will change for Australia one day.

the idiot

2007-10-05T21:50:00.000-07:00

Austerity.

Tried to read "The Idiot" by Dostoyevsky last night. It's amazing what modern technology can give you access to when all sight of book store is gone.

But about novels, do they suck up your very life or what? The Idiot is, has and unfortunetly will; I got to sleep as the sun came up and only for fear of my nervous system objecting to my evenings recreation. What am I thinking? Well a lot really. All things old world Russian intrigue me. Communist Russia is Russia minus the colour but pre is fascinating. My name is Natascha after all and I was fed a life time of stories regarding a Russian father, [lies I might add] but that adds even more intrigue. What possessd a woman to tell her child that her father was a Russian spy for the KGB. My mother gave him a name and a birthdate and even the day on which he died. Serge Michealovich. Pretty good hey?

I read last night, in The Idiot I might add, that a liar in his lies will reveal the truth. It struck me an accurate observation as my mother would transplant stories and switch them around to suit her needs or whims. Facinating really. You eventually get the jist after a while; a nutter of a mother. A brave one but I think insanity may bequeath its own courage. In all her stories and from this vantage point I can vaguely fit the pieces together and some semblance of truth is revealed. The father in the end was a banal German by the very common name of Helmut Haberer. Well at least he has a name, some unfortunates have "name unknown" but in this case I think it was a mercenary affair. That's the thing with these old world novels, they reveal the very real nature of the human condition, dogs fighting over a bone. Mothers naming fathers just to get the checks in the mail. Ah sweet poetry.

Back to The Idiot, gripping tale really and why. Well why do books grip us? Is it the gossip munger in me? Is the hope that maybe this author has the answer, a pivotal piece of information that will hinge on yet more information until my brain is damn well stuffed with information. Possibly. It is always just a window, another window into the life or mind. A snippet here and a snippet there and in the end all that time given over so freely to a book for what? I guess the poetry of the book is lost in translation as I don't even get the benefit of reading good english prose. I am hooked non the less in this instance due to my curiosity for the cultural aspects of social conduct within Russian depictions. Granted it may be exagerated but it seems they are a much more lively bunch than the english.
And who really cares anyway.

I gave up on the essay. It was causing me angst; [I am allergic to rigour] don't need more of that. Whatever it was there was a final resolution be it good or bad that I will leave the distance learning to a time when the kids are out and I am not working full time. A full time job in Bengal is a big thing given the heat what to speak of all the other likely distractions or disabilities that might arise from so vastly challenging a place. And yes folks, we thought it had cooled. hah We now drip in sweat again.

And so I post the picture of the alter and wonder what will come next in this constant evolution of perceptions. Who am I and what is my place? Well it certainly isn't in an institution but ironically I am rather deeply affiliated. Did a penny just drop? Ok Ok, what to do but rest assured I trust little if any of them. We get old, we get rancid and the dreams turn into nightmares. The institution into a burden and hope is always misplaced. And still in my infinite stupidity I still try and define myself amongst it all for fear that without any of these barometers I do not exist at all. What could have happened to me to have driven me to this state of continual unknowing or should I call it lack of confidence? Who knows but a saddhana of sorts is in call and there can't be harm in that.
From here I wait for the next chapter as I can feel a mighty big page turning, it's just taking a while.

The men in my life descend and I go.......in some hope. The little one follows the big one around hoping he has some fun in store but always thwarted while all the while shaka cleans. Radha preens and Vrnda, well Vrnda just floats about wishing, I expect that she was in a family with more indulgent parents. Kalki's hand is prickly from too much contact with the mouse pad. What an awful parent.

smirch

2007-10-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered why is it that we read from left to right or from top to bottom. If computers had been the first device we had written on it might have been very different. Or if we had been Chinese.

Shaka and the Man are back. Enough time in Kolkata and they knew what they had to come back and face. A smelly dog in the foyer and a floor that never lookes quite clean enough. I expect it is because we are home all day.

Kalki got over his vomiting quickly and I have decided adult education can wait till the kids are adults. I am sick of the half splintered life I attempt to live while allocating what is left of a calcified brain to obtuse thoughts and renderings.
With anyluck it will not result in Langosh sales at 50.
The chart says menial work so it would be silly to fight it if it was inevitable. Best not have brain filled with terribly important things itching to hatch only to land on the counter of a sales job. I should be so lucky at 50.

Despite all my efforts the dogs will come back. my neighbour is no help as she watches them break down my barriers.
It will take time to settle into new reality. Must not struggle to get ahead, to what i do not know. Must live the day. Haven't done it for a while. Driven by spouse who insists for reasons unknown to me to study and pursue, but what.

My only ambition was a cattage with a garden and he blew that one well and truly. Lines in the sand. Sand shifts of its own accord, we could just as easily have waited. It may have been better for the girls at this stage to be here. Gives them time to think instead of constantly preening though the holidays have left time for preening enough. Vrnda maybe the one to worry about, I don't know. She seems like a leaf in the wind at the moment and I wonder who is doing the blowing.

Got so tired of all the desperate pondering and mortal angst. Yes I am cheesed off with the institution but who isn't.
Take it slow and don't expect everything to reveal itself just yet. It is too late to change tunes and this one has been sung for so long I might as well figure out what the lyrics actually mean before I scuttle it entirely.

It's about relationships but in the end with what. We get older, harder, more suspicious after learning so much about our own ways. Then where does tender faith come into all of it. Almost seems obsurd at this age. I shall figure it out in time I expect and I think it aught to be my own time and not uni time. Though I am a bit slow.

Back to original identity , happy cult member, mother of 4 and home maker. Ok, presently working at school but it is close to home and filled with family members so it is more or less home. Have cooks and cleaners so all is well.
I am just not ready for big questions demanding all of me.

Here they come to get me............arrghhhh.
No the door shut again. They can leave me alone for another hour.
Think i will go back to reading a translation of The Idiot. I think it is Russian. Pretty interesting.

Gees Loise, cheer up will you

2007-10-02T23:59:00.000-07:00

The series of displacements and endings have rendered me implacable, unable to comprehend consistency or continuity, servile only to fear and apprehension.

Its placement of myself in it as only a product to consume or produce its poultry offerings, drunk in stupor with hope. Rent of consciousness that anything more may come from existence bar the animal and left only with question,. No answer forthcoming except in death or in hope, if hope can be had against such odds.

As if Maya herself had decreed the rights of the soul in possession of a body were of little choice but to join the feast of personal destruction, to her great satisfaction.

Our friend and all those who spoke and yet, submitted to the hopelessness rendered by her strained devouring demands.

Sleep now and forever scold your loss of peace
Speak now or forever hold your peace
of mind if any left after all that will be done.

uni tangent

2007-10-02T07:30:00.000-07:00

The nationhood thing is grotesque. I was sitting in a café in Murwillumbah one day when it happened that the Anzac day parade was passing by. I had been recently watching The Lenny Riefenstahl documentaries that had been made for Hitler and was struck with the profound similarities in the Anzac parade and the German parades of the 30s. I made a comment to my Australian friend who, though she be terribly new age and modern was irate that I could equate Australia with the dreaded nationalists of Germany. Ironically Germany was a fairly young country too when it decided to get an improved grip on its identity by emasculating itself with power and conviction.

We were associated with a small community school [private] that depends on government funding. The funding was to be cut short if the school did not get a flagpole up with an Australian flag waving in the wind. We were all disgusted but the school gets regularly checked. Compromised by the almighty dollar, ideologically bought.
My most treasured Australian experience was receiving a $600 check per child out of the blue, 3 months before the elections. Who said things have changed from the feudal period. And my worst Australian experience was having an elected prime minister sacked by the representative of England. Call that little episode in Nationhood an embarrassing farce.
We are all just visitors and our bodies made from recycled waste of the land. We are all Aboriginals fighting for a space, a place to call our own. Some oppression has been lost in forgotten history, some closer to the present. It hasn’t changed or stopped so how to express? Ahhhh, I see literature. Maybe. Film? Probably. The academy will train me to think, nicely of course and maybe I will become confidant and empowered enough go out and try to change the tide of human, dare I say destruction.
But I must first appease or condition my own heart. Figured that decades ago and still working on it but the academy is definitely helping me to get out of the house so to speak.
I hear it is compulsory for the business studies students to study at least one unit on ethics and Ecology.
What is left of the university in the university is helping. When they axe the indigenous department then I will know it is time to find a deep hole to escape cut backs for the sake of the Nation.

Well that said I feel pretty beastly. How is it that it takes a university outside of the enviorn of the so called devotees to give me confidence. I guess encouraging people is not what it is all about anymore. Just rule and real estate. keep the status quo going only "the state in which we live" has become almost unlivable. Can you see that. Or is catastrophy part of your daily menu.
Maybe it was never ever meant to be. I do not know but I know I am inspired else where and I am not sure if it reflects on me or my beloved institution, the one that was going to save us all.
Maybe I was being plain dumb going for that one. It was only ever offering dinghies and some had holes in them.
Some collect in the flotsam only to be seperated by the waves. Lose an oar and you are done for.
Lets see what could the metaphor for the oar be? Whatever you like, it's open slather these days.

What the Ganga in flood is doing to me

2007-10-01T04:02:00.000-07:00

Well this is straight from the heart.
The stench of dog shit wafts up my nose as I sit in the only place I can get reception, the roof.
Four dogs now reside in our building because I am too gutless to beat them away. It’s not that I am scared of them it is just it is too mean an act.
I cracked a joke at the expense of the Stool goddess yesterday. Said I didn’t really have a relationship with her. The kids were telling me about class at the temple and they came up with details on the shit goddess. Well blow me down I didn’t know there was one. I guess I was being smart as sure enough I spent the night crapping my head off as well as puking at the same time. Not a desirable experience. I imagined how undignified death would be.
Tedious stuff. If those smells come from inside my body I just wonder how thick our skins must be to keep them enclosed but then maybe I am often on the nose and don’t know it.
Well there is my deep insight into my present plight.
Flood waters splash intermittently as people mindlessly dump their rubbish in it. Since when have we started imitating ignorant villagers? Seeing it rot on the porch might make us think twice about our approach to living.
Well my head throbs and I have succeeded in completing 3 paragraphs of terribly late essay. The worst that can happen is I fail. That won’t be a new experience.
I just want to know what these dogs are eating that they can pass so much stool.
Why can’t they hang in an empty building?
Ants in my lap top. Expect they will clean the crap from under the key board. But do they have a colony in it?
The Samadhi flares up with Prabhupada Bhajans which means the sun is going down. It used to be much louder but Sadbhuja had them turn it down. Bummer, I always like the loud Bhajans pumping through the place. Spares me from listening to my own my mind.
Kalki has been in the water for so long even he is sick of it.
And did you think those asrama girls could take responsibility for anything,, perhaps cleaning. Not on your life No siry. They eat and play and leave the house trashed.
Thank you girls. May you breed 6 exceedingly ungrateful wretches such as your selves.
I have always been a nasty piece of work. Now the stench of dog stool is forcing me off the roof. I wonder if I should try and redeem the 400-rupee mosquito net they have chosen to deposit on.

Too much of a weird thing?

2007-09-28T11:04:00.000-07:00

Writing is like a psychic mirror. It can reflect what you did not know was there or at least make clear the thoughts that drift as if in a dream. Writing is an act of capture and release. In releasing you might encapsulate a disposition or a fault of comprehension.
It is not unlike hearing your own voice reverberate down through the ether on skype in the third world. You will hear your voice 3or 4 seconds later and feel them but even weirder, is knowing where they came from. There lies a hefty purport.

So honesty with myself is what it is I am aspiring for. I have been deceiving myself for so long it is a hard nut to crack. It seems I was born with bullshit mode turned on full. I am aware of it but not if ever able to control it. Part of the resolution is engagement and training for that engagement. I suppose that is the difference with being brought up instead of being dragged up. If having suffered the later one must figure out how to live effectively as the body grows out of the biological parents urge to care for it; if that should have been your plight.

I did think I would have been better off adopted, maybe I merely picked up my mothers dreams and inserted them as my own.

Told Nrs I would try to lighten up. Can’t be quippy just for the fun of it, makes no sense.

The kids are having fun splashing away from wretched snakes that are looking for shelter from the seething flood waters that are the Ganga.

I woke to the sun reflected from the waters hitting the ceiling. It was pleasant enough though my real joy was in knowing; today my home was my own. No maid or waller to invade upon it. Now I know what hiding in the suburbs really means. In the suburbs there is an unwritten law that thou shalt not visit unless absolutely necessary. I guess that was why farm life took its toll. Too many visitors and we had become the way farers stop over.

Well the Ganga has put a very definite stop to everything. Ironically it is the great big institution that is Iskcon that suffers the most from the flood.

Maybe the contradiction is fighting for static when in fact the soul or sense of self is in a constant state of flux seeking out its identity only to find it is in a state of flux forever. This flux, maybe a requisite to existence; maybe the fight against it is futile. New bodies, new identities, ever fresh, ever full of taste. Woops got duped into surety did we?

Long lusty summers of nothing but sucking in the indolence and warmth. I remember now as a gift. Those beaches and simple meals,the moon and the ever present sense of discovery that the evenings brought with them. We climbed a cliff only to throw an effigy soaked in illuminant chemicals. It was Elizabeth’s brother who came up with that one. Years later I heard he committed suicide. I heard he was a very talented mathematician; always a state of flux.

Her mother was forever in bed while her father made a small fortune with rubbish trucks. They had a darleck on the veranda, and a very good one it was too. I think Mark grew up to be a comedian. It was one of those huge Catholic families with kids stuck all over a rambling house that seemed always to be under some type of construction. The lives I was able to look on. Fell in love with her neighbour at the ripe old age of 12. His brother orchestrated it for a laugh and they all had one bar me. Always the sucker because I am so inebriated by myself. My punishment. What I’d give to be grounded and sane for more than a moment at a time. But then maybe I don’t want it after all. A lot of work. Why so averse to the work. Those indolent days by the sea have me drunk with waiting for it all to happen again. But it will never be the same as somehow the adult form brings with it a heavy weight as if dragging on the joy that might be. There is nothing quite like being young, even if only in hindsight. Always a trick.; she must get a tickle with her constant tricks. As if it were all a riddle and some of the really smart ones get to figure it out.

Read some of Jhanavi’s blog. Happy one. Having come in from the cold or the other side of the spectrum I feel there would be an inability to relate to the drivel that wanders from my brain. She makes it seem so simple and even captured the ecstasy. I can only focus on the struggle as if the snippets of ecstasy were some kind of side show or reference. Appeasing the heart but always stay wary of the trick tab. Happy and crying, sad and crying, lets look at why.

In the mean time Sucih is off to Kolkata in spite of the Ganga lapping at our necks. Nothing will stop that machine. What would I do with the equivalent amount of vigour. I think I would explode.

I fed the dog. I think I could actually see love in his eyes. See what a desperate wanker I am. Of course I get a rather harsh lecture from Giri abut the evils of feeding dogs and how Prabhupada said we were to declare war on them. Imagine what the burden must be when every word you ever spoke is taken as law for generations. Gees you wouldn’t be wanting to be too metaphoric there. Lets say you said, one day after a nasty feed, ‘these guys are poisoning me’. Then a generation later you got some fruit cake wanting to resurrect your interned body as evidence for or against poisoning. Shit I am in a movement of nut cases.
I guess it makes for suitable company given my own proclivities though not quite as stupid as those.

Nrsmadeva suggested we would return to Australia for holidays. What a bloody joke. As if our options had increased instead of decreased. Don’t mind me I will do the will of the lord thing but tempting me with a pool side pizza oven is a bit mean don’t you think? Given I rank indolence as a relevant human experience.

God I loved those mountain range cottages with views of the sea, no one to disturb you. Good company and dreams a plenty. On the verge and never cusping. How was it I gave up the option to choose? I met a guy that was dark. It got so dark I joined Iskcon for light but it has never really been clear since. It is as if I belong to something or someone. Not really wanting to be owned and especially on such tight terms. But I guess I was so lost there were no other options. Not to say there was nothing good from it but I would like to separate my sense of self from the group just a tad.
Spacing out in the lounge of a house with a mountain range banking against the veranda.
Sounds like Venu’s place and yet he sells not quite satisfied. What is the world coming to when there is so much confusion rife?

This place says, I want to engage you and I say in what. It responds with, knowing who you are, for now at least, in this body. Get cracking girl on with the work.
Way laying everything with the perplexed state that becomes a perpetual living thing, breathing its reason onto the wasted, lachrymose heart.

No I am not crackers Nrs, you're just happily ensconced in the realm of distraction. Hey I would revel too but imply my situation as perverse and it will linger.

Must have performed enough pious activities to keep me dry in the wet but no more than necessary. An astrologer informed me that this life of mine was strictly for spiritual development. Since when was there ever a question of that? Am I to take it and lump the inequities. They are not the subject, the subject is the object and the object is the exit and the exit is a phantom, it was here by your side all along.

And along came Doctor Quatum with uncle Leary to really run amuck with antiquated versions of scripts of old recited and tainted for so long that they ceased to reveal and started again to cover all that lay fresh and new. As if the barren mother had decided that no one else could ever give birth again.

An old acquaintance could not look at me when I was pregnant while she waited hopelessly to conceive her own. So much envy packed into so little flesh.

This flood could last a month. The dragonflies are everywhere and it keeps raining.
All the while the road is above water. Looking back, the cost of these continual floods is horrendous as compared to the cost incurred of raising the land. This is ludicrous because it is so isolated.

We need to get one of those long lovely black boats. Gliding elegantly along the water giving poetry instead of the dingy releasing abject comedy. Sucih tipped it over today with poor Vishaka in it..

Ganga she falls Ganga she rises

2007-09-26T20:02:00.000-07:00

Well, not a hope in hell of out doing that last whine so I will determine to try and avoid pondering and stick to pestilent.

Thoughts are skipping around so fast this morning they are like baby pike. Are baby pike sluggish? Ok baby salmon. I imagine they are fairly active as their parents are, aren’t they? See I really don’t know anything at all. I think Salmon swim up stream.
Now speaking of up stream, who is really swimming up stream, you …or ……me?
Choose your hell or imagined heaven.

The girls are back from their boat ride in the flood waters of the Ganga. They crave catastrophe as only the indulged and privileged can. Radha, the addicted to diversions kid, wants to stay with Rasa at the Conch building. I expect she wants a suite too. Profuse family of 6 is not in a position to live it up what to speak of the political connections it takes to get one of those rooms. I am afraid we burnt those bridges or should I celebrate? I can pretend it was ethics but when did ethics get you any where in a utilitarian world. As if you could call utilitarian an ethic. Unless ethic simply denotes mode of thought in which case 'Bobs your Uncle' and who cares. Hence our present position of "postmodern" fed by linguists who drank too much wine and lost the plot altogether.

The surrounding brown water has invoked a desire to withdraw as if on a cold winters day.
And my arm is going to start mutating from too much contact with this laptop. I can feel the prickly pulse as if something were creaking in there. Maybe hissing.

Kalki is in heaven trying to negotiate a dingy with one puny oar while Sharon’s daughter, lover of dogs, herds the beasties to my house. Raaagghhh. They will be shitting on my roof and she won’t be cleaning it up.

I have to make a mental marker for the water level. If it rises to just below our power box we will be ok. After that chances are, for the sake of voltage we will be shaked up at the Gada building with the seething mass that is Mayapur community.

So you think you can have fun at the 'Sugar Beat'; not half as much as we, with Langosh and all, though we are sparse on the fetta.

The milkman is wading through knee-deep water. No luxury to stop. No chance for peace, always they must work to justify their existence. I am assuming I will not face that struggle for existence again. I haven’t the heart to really commit. Just a lazy sod hiding under jabs at philosophy avoiding the inevitable humiliation that is existence. How is that for pride? Or is it lazy? 'he rolled over as the fire burnt and said, it’s getting hot in here’.

Marni is here and they all scream like banshees in excitement.
The maid rocked up thank God. She said she needed the money. In pidgon English it goes ‘money lagbe’ . I have a repertoire of 5 or 6 words and then I pray.

How could anyone think that Mayapur wouldn’t be interesting?
While it engages us it also frees us of the drain that is the west. Of course never underestimate addiction to misery and you have to consider the type of misery you choose but for now this is looking like an ivory tower only bricks and mortar.
The girls tried to sabotage the sand bag levy; not thinking the locals migth have issues with that.

So imagine the surrounds , Venice with redolent hints of Amazonian wilderness. Ok, so the snakes are not as big but the ants are.

According to Scott Adams the Dilbert comic guy, readers are not as wordy as one might think. He insists a person keep it simple. Well it don’t get simpler than some I know. According to Vishaka there is some one in our midst, over 40 years old who has never heard of Shakespeare. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It’s a bit like an Indian never having heard of Rama. Well Australian television has a lot to answer for.

I know suggest purging the screen or at least disconnecting the telly part.

Ahhh.... the sweet clatter of plates being washed by some one else.
This calls for a celebratory cup of tea to ensure I remain fixed in the need for some type sensory gratification. Have decided it cannot and will not be avoided so tea, all things considered, is the very last of our worries.
Then I have to get the desire up again to communicate something really very tangible to my tutor before it is very much too late.

impinging on life is death

2007-09-26T05:33:00.000-07:00

This maintenance thing can get you down. No wonder some have tried to make a philosophy of the fatuous aspects of existence. Placing a thousand pieces of rice stained different colours in order to then go on and destroy it. Well at that point letting go is like bungy jumping. I can simply not see the logic, especially if your eyes fall out of their sockets.

I dunno Arjuna,, you musta really liked Krsna cos I sure as hell woudn’t have done it and their lies my tribulation. It never really was going to work if I couldn’t figure on the unmitigated surrender required. Incremental measure is what it is all about. And a lot of softening support along the way. But what if?…. what if ?…. what if? No tall dude standing in front of me reminding me of the shape of things. What if I got it wrong? Shit. What if I don’t get another crack at it for a while? Don’t talk to me about faith. Enough. Life has shown me none of it can be trusted so how could I trust the big one. He can’t trust me so I expect it will be mutual.
I should buy that the love goes beyond or as my mother calls it ‘unconditional’. Well seen a lot of that lately, eh? So if everything here is a reflection of there, then maybe the mirror needs a bit of cleaning because I really do not see definable unconditional love.

Each breath I breathe is a gesture and I should count myself lucky as the droplet is hanging off the leaf and the morning wind will blow it off soon enough. Still doesn’t count as unconditional to me. You breathe on condition that you die, thus ensuring you do it again and again and again. Sounds like a deal with the devil and I suppose that is the inference, but why would someone who loved you let that happen? If there was so much love why is there so much loss? Not getting any of it and I know I sound like a whining materialist but it wasn’t my intention. Can’t deny the reality of present plight. It doesn’t ever go away I just get distracted and if spiritual life is all about distraction then I need to be worried.

The support we gave to Dhami was conditional, conditional on his guaranteed death; the great result of our supportive love. I am not with you here and don’t tell me it is because I am too attached. I have given up plenty; it is not about being detached. It is about finding some sense in the act. What is the trade off? And that is the twilight, neither here nor there. No material light and no spiritual.
Must post note on fridge, willing to make deal with God or Devil. Whoever wants to deal first, the better hand? Haven’t figured on what it is that is my hearts true desire. Revelation withheld sadistically is a cruel plight. Then again it may be that I am so retarded as to be entirely unable to grasp the obvious, the nectar.
Instead I remain as a statue sentinel to my children
as a dream that was and should be
as yet to be identified
any place close by.
I never did experience more than a handful of moments that represented freedom. Those moments vaporized and left a mark, possibly immortal but why so few in such a long life.
In the mean time I pick to pieces what is left after the act of tasting something that apparently remains on offer still. I have run out of shillings? What is the currency? I am ‘not knowing’ these things. I should study a saintly character that may be in the know instead of Foucault who died of Aids. Dying of Aids denotes a proclivity for acts that only mad domesticated animals partake of.
We had a wallaby that would harass the woman during Japa, our legs in fact.
And then you get aides for your trouble.
And you might get TB for walking bare foot but I know for some being bare foot is more beastly than enacting the more rigorous acts associated with animal life. Hey don’t mistake my meaning; all acts are inclusive of the randomness of meaning.

Always-stepping side ways trying to reconcile myself with the thought that is all a product my own aversion. I own the aversion so I can possibly buy the confrontation. Vacancy is assumed waiting, to be inhabited, but what if the place, the space has no interval for you just now. What if the train just left and you are standing in the rain. Hey it is mostly always warm here so standing in the rain is fine and the trains are not air conditioned so you wont get cold when you do enter the cabin.
Remember that scene where neo is stuck on that platform. Can’t remember how that scene resolved itself. A guy at SCU did a PHD on it. The matrix that is. I think I could do that but I suppose I can not as I can’t damn well write the essay. If I remain lucid for more than a sentence at a time I could cut and paste and then send it in…
Purpose and pulp. I wish Orwell were here to give his commentary. The farm yard is a bit ineffectual now. What would be the allegory or metaphor now? Lounge room; politics of a modern day urban lounge inhabited by nuclear family. Where does the power lie? With the remote I recall. How cryptic is that? What reveals the light.? OH God that is painfully reminiscent of the Jesus thing.
See what they have done to words or is it just the sate of my heart after having been neglected and then subjected and finally found on the rubbish heap that is the end. Alone because the stench of the rotting carcass of life is unforgivably reminding all, that they too will partake of this feast of foreboding.
Back to Metaphor, Ahhh the tv, what is that. Another dimension. It represents dimension.
Couch, slouching curvature of the spine. Crippling. The windows reveal a garden that needs weeding or curtains always drawn. How do you live like that Bhuvana?
And the note at the end of the essay suggested the story depicted a relationship that was in a state of illness. Was that not warning enough? It died its own merciful death.

When will the keys be there for me even when I cannot see them? Wow, blind and still typing. That would be cool. Couldn’t upgrade then, brainpower too small to adjust.

Must eat now knowing this serves me if not you.
This is better than adolescence.
Clouds rumbling and they remind me of Eungella. Free of something there. Maybe it was closer to being engulfed by loss and that has its consolations. Here I am engulfed by possession. Ironically I have nothing here but I am being possessed, though unwilling.
If the self belongs to you as nothing else does why do I not feel wealthy? Maybe familiarity has brought contempt as is suggested of the material. Contempt is synonymous with the material.

Why do I have to keep that bloomin floor clean. It is the repetition that kills you.
I packed grapes as a young un once. Jesus I nearly died of boredom. When I seee the asian girls rolling cigarettes in Baraka I can see living death. What A shit I am so privlidged and always whining.

The philosophy of head aches

2007-09-25T21:15:00.000-07:00

There is infact no philosophy for head aches. If there were we would no longer have them. Doesn't philosophy resolve the evils of life and death? maybe that is the trick, I am not philosophical. Just a deranged mind let loose with no tether and no structure. Maybe that is why it is starting to manifest as physical pain.

Sitting between head ache and reality waiting for the trickle of each slow painful word to manifest ......yes still on it...... the essay.

So the loving daughter brings in a beverage of instant coffee. Who drinks that stuff but desperates. Anyhow I have pain so it may fix it.
I really am tired, [well in more ways than one] of waking up every morning with a head ache. It really does put a damper on being alive.

I heard Satsvarupa had one every other day and I am now scared I will go the way of he. What ever way it was, he went. He wrote too much, to much of it was actually published and too many of us are now confused about what a head ache can do to a man. Essentially I am pretty conservative or terribly scared either way Satsvarupa is off my radar but then Sucih says they used a book of his called Santorium for some uni discussion some where. Oh God it was in Belgium. An Iskcon affiliated Uni. What did they say about it? Are they as broad as that or did they sit back and snigger at his humanity or animality?

So the head ache kicked out and I guess it was a combination of chemicals that I consummed to distract or appease the pain. I suspect that caffeine has more to answer for than we know. They say it prevents alzheimers disease. Well that alone makes it worth considering but further study may put caffeine in a very bad light.

I am not worried about the flood though I worry that my neighbour from Sweden will freak out at yet another random act of nature that will invariably torture her sense of belonging.
Sweden must be a very precise place. Nature is present but somehow they have made a pact with her. Well Bengal has not and further more she is in all out war with Bangladesh.

We checked out Aus on the Mac from far above. They have satalites that can zoom in on your house. Unfortunately I left a part of myself in that house. The dream of reclusive rural life, off the grid, drop dunny, leaking roof, pythons curled up on the rafter of the veranda. Clay as top soil. Eucalypts eveywhere, clouds cool and low drifting in always. A hamock on the veranda and an easy flow. Who wouldn't think that was good? I love what I am doing now but it requires for me to wake 'oh jiva' and this girl has got a taste for the matrix.
My favourite part of the first matrix was the part where this guy tries to crack a deal with Smith to re-enter the matrix. Hey I am with you all the way. Ignorance is bliss and the twilight zone is just a lot of bloody guess work until such time as some one above chooses to relieve you of your madness.

Ahh, why couldn't you remain a simple fellow Satasvarupa. Why did you want so bad to be a much loved bohemian poet. Don't you know that bohemia now is pushing it too far. There are no rules now so you stoop into another species and try to reflect life where there is only death. What happened to you? Did you swallow a stupid pill? Or maybe the knack for cliches in this movement got you down and you tried to find truth in another realm not knowing that truth is as elusive as love. Why didn't you stick to reinterpreting in relevant terms? You had to throw the whole book out.

Must check out this gory web site they say he has. They say it is tragically vulgar.

Must go and do needful, ring bells with love and write what refuses to be written. They are the worst. It is like going through a crammed drawer of junk and piecing the history of how the junk got there in the first place. As if I could find life in that. I shouldn't be so harsh.
Must have faith that Sarasvati might reveal. I think I don't like knowing that I do not actually know.
It takes away the justification for being an opinionated and obnoxious twat.

bypass synapse or synapse bypass

2007-09-23T02:28:00.000-07:00

Gees I think I have to reinvest some thought in my understanding of humanity. I had such a restricted view of the available life forms; telly blagh, movies, primarily American and the web. Hiding in the bush like a feral hippy has done me little service at all.

Well I have had access for years but I just never got around to checking it out. I guess with the young growing up and having a maid an all I can spend some time spacing out. I started with MySpace. Well that was enough to make any person loose faith in the human form being anything more than an animal on two legs and there are a few of those. YouTube, is that it? Well I felt like I was in a sea of madness. Entertaining, vastly but in a very sick kind of way. There is a thesis there, just waiting to happen. I was actually in shock at the vastness of it all. How many people out there colluding and collecting. I was overwhelmed and luckily my server is so bloody slow I can no longer ponder the meaning behind Yutube or whatever it is called.

But then I check out blogs, well again there are some really sick nasty things out there or should I say in modern terms things other maybe no longer othered. Best they remain other to me as I haven’t the capacity to fathom their spatium. That’s where we get the word space. Since it sounds like sputum I thought it would allude to my feelings on the matter.

Now in the But I was meant to say, gees there are some really bloody smart people out there. Is there a smart gene I missed out on? I wont call sour grapes here. I honestly think I was born minus a few required synapses. The synapses that help you fathom quickly math and the like. I can hardly count. Is it environmental or physiological?
Oh well, now I know the smart people, although verging on the nearly dull [maybe that was mean] are out there, in really big numbers and they are going to eat us for dinner literally, as it appears that is all we are good for. Soylant green. Has it come to that? Nothing better than a human sacrifice offerable only because it resembles a human but in no way has any higher thinking faculties operating.
Sat sang. Must reduce distractions. Will be smart if I reduce distractions.
Coming from a breeder that is highly unlikely.
And all I had left was the thing my body could do all by itself without any help from me. I shouldn’t be so desperate for credit. ‘I am memory in man.’ Well however Krsna manifested in me I think it was merely as observer because his offerings in the memory department are a little scant.
What shall I call this ? for suckers who can’t think?

The lap top is burning my knee. Could they spend some time inventing something that protects me from the microwaves emanating from this thing? No let me guess I got it wrong, they are not microwaves. Well what ever they are they burn and for a long time afterwards. Lucky I have finished with the breeding, of more ‘poor dumb buggers’.
May something come of it one day soon.

ticking out time

2007-09-22T00:21:00.000-07:00

I’ll be dammed if I can surrender and I fear I may fail. Must write many words on book with as many technical terms as possible uughgh. Jesus If I wanted to become a mechanic I would have. They said I would get my hands dirty irretrievably so I steered clear. There goes the metaphor.

Egress? Don’t know. I decided to type with my eyes closed and see what the dictionary came up with, so there it is.

Down to our last of the western wealth. All the dreams I ever had of an ethical life have come to fruition and I may have passed the fear barrier. Luckily Sucih is pretty upbeat about being broke. I think he is a terrible hippy at heart. Anyway I am not under the impression that I will be missing out on anything bar an expensive breakfast at the Sugar Beat. It was always a transposed joy. A mild hope that I could grasp all that was good of the aspiring cosmopolitan. It wasn’t to be. The noises were always too loud. The company varied in inspiration and sometimes reduced to discussions of telly shows or better yet on things akin to. It was just a vapid dream.

There has been a fabulous breeze all day coming in stroking my face as I sit at the desk living through the machine; if not a machine then a book. If not a book a bell; if not a bell a child. Last but not least sleep and food though food is losing its potency over me. I don’t think they use enough MSG here.
It is ambient but I dare not indulge too much. Sabotage however it manifests still has me in a mean vice like grip of aprehension. I try to make a deal with Maya. I will relent and let go if you go easy. Well I expect she hears me but I shudder to know her answer. In fact I have it clear now. Walk the talk and it was a lifetime in the waiting.
Activism was always the way it was going to work out but ironically enough it was Iskcon that suggested refraining from it. Consume to your hearts content and call it service to God or the self either way they are connected, No?
Brasso is nasty stuff but in the service of Krishna it appears it doesn’t matter. I wonder if that is so for the ocean. Of bodies of water I am the sea. Pollute me and know that in service I will readily tolerate it. Sorry I am not sold. Too much merging and I sold out.
But circumstances are putting me in a position that resembles all the dreams I had forgone. The hut could very well be the finale.

I used to practice my ocarina lest I be left without music. I would have to create my own. Maybe I felt the impelling nature of my future.
House full of lap tops and not a penny to be had. Bloody hysterical.
Once the kids are out and about it won’t be an issue. All an old lass needs is a bit of soap to make her tolerable.

Ever stood in a temple on a hot and sweaty day jammed utterly by every villager in the district. I felt like the white spot on a cow and then after a while I ceased to be white. I had melted and so had they. They have the most incredible resilience, tolerant beyond belief. It is not about being comfortable it is about being alive and all that goes with that beyond the fantasies of self.

I spent all summer watching the slow demise of the bee hive across the way. Kalki had been attacked [his fault] and I was anxious these darlings find a habitat elsewhere. Well just shows you the power of meditation. They have shacked up on our windowsill now. Is that some kind of joke? An empiricist would say the logic of it is that my home has trees surrounding it thus providing a more temperate shelter. I thought of this but I have a sneaking suspicion I might have looked in the direction of the bee hive once too often.

Thus I end up in India living some wild fantasy, adventure. I even have a body of water to look out on. Flood water but water non-the less.
It was never going to be ordinary. I knew Sucih could handle that so it is he that partners this madness.

Kalki is big now. He is off to Tarunpur to visit another cyber kid. Radha takes him for the sneak peak she gets in going. We all have our consolations. Struggling for mine. Shouldn’t be ungrateful.
Where is lunch?

Thanks to a sentimentalist that loves dogs our landscape is smothered with the barking brutes, bickering and threatening each other. I was over dogs after my 12th. It can be a bit like love. There is only so much in the way of lies you can accept before you click on. This love thing is a living lie. Desire on the other hand, well that gets more manageable with age. The desire for the most significant moment in your life to happen; it is always in the eyes. One great big eye ball of an affair in hope and yearning. Not the eyeball that rots.

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3.

2007-09-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

Vishaka is educating her neophyte mata about how to post photos.

I love you, Mum.

Drop a mac get a smack

2007-09-19T18:25:00.000-07:00

In class, accounting of all things and I am getting nearer and nearer to the due date so I figure when the term ends will face the devastating truth. I can’t think crap about bugger all. I read those eloquent posts on this person and that, his or her style, integrated with nuanced meaning, slightly obscured, cryptic just to add the spice of intrigue. Heaven knows if you can’t understand me you might not be as smart as you think, they said.
I figure it is like being whipped with a cat o nine tails.

Poor poor Radha dropped the ten ton 19 inch ego trip that was my husbands lap top. Who needs cars with machines like those? And it was a treasured masterpiece, a mac, tha mac the mac.. It had to happen sooner or later and it is later after all. What fool buys such a bloody big contraption? As soon I laid eyes on it I knew it was destined for an ugly demise. But in the hands of poor Radha who now risks staying home from pilgrimage to satisfy malice felt by daddy regarding the treasured but broken item.

Who studies accounting? Laxmi’s physique or maybe her brief case or is it hand bag. Panty closet? Who knows but in the end accounting takes you to the very ugly places of life, hey maybe they aren’t too ugly but maybe I am too generous.

The Christians got to me and sacrifice seems the order of the day. What if I were a committed hedonist? Actually I think that is half the problem; the conflict of who I am and who I want to be.

Had some pretty weird dreams last night. Moved on but in moving on I had to move back and complete something. Is that how things go?

Nandunandana wanted to be good today. He is finally wanting to integrate into the class on our terms. He only needs to be left in the cold again for it to be in ruin again.

Think I might actually read what I aught to so as to invent what I should for those who could but needn’t.

I am not obsessed with death, just hard up for inspiration in life regarding life. It seems all to point to death. It does not reflect on me but the way that lies ahead.
And I thought I wasn’t an evangelist. I was a bloody Mormon as a kid but I had a slightly rebellious and disgruntled Mormon parent so she gave the spice that offered an alternative perspective to complete surrender. At the time I was grumpy with her for not being like every one else. She is so difficult that she ponders her navel with 2 dogs for company while trying to reinvent her reality so as to swallow it hard instead of constantly puking undigested truths. Shit I am a bitch but I like the definitions it gives. Too soft and blurry and you only get innuendo.

The man must let go in incremental measures. First stop, the over priced silver mac. Second step your temper at it’s loss. Third step any hope of ever owning one of those again because you now earn nothing but a gesture to ensure you can sleep at night.
I know it isn’t the essence but then who can gurantee the directions that sacrifice offers.

It’s a waiting game so I come back to death again but that is because life keeps falling through the gutter grill. If it doesn’t for you then tell me the secret. Yeah yeah it is pretty enough but if you peek a little closer you can see the ants carrying the dead back to their lair and some of those dead are other little ants. We feed of our own dead. Jesus if that is not close then what is. So in comes the metaphor and which says or indicates we are all very very close to each other. Is that supposed to be a consolation. Depending on the hormones I expect.

Back upstairs out of the soothing reach of air con. The class has gone feral under the care of the math teacher and now the poor Bengali teacher struggles with these little westernised beasties. No fear struck into these hearts as the cane is not an option; pathetic little zeros next to names but surprisingly enugh they seem to care about that even if it isn’t enough to civilise them entirely. The big kids down stairs were such a relief compared to these munchkins that are toying so much with their identities and mine.

I have to struggle for ways to feel safe. Why is that? Is it because my childhood was filled with moments of terror. The gun pointed at my mother and I with his little one there somewhere. He only got 3 months for that and she blamed me, all of 7 years old for not being clear in court. Not smart enough for a lawyer at 7 , dear me what a failure. Her consoling words to me 3 months later were , be careful Michael gets out of Jail today. Thanks mum , and a good day to you too. You wonder why I have a sick edge. I know I chose it.
Want to hear another anecdote, lets see. Some are too sad and horrible to tell for fear you might hear them in the between the crack s of the words. According to all I deserved it anyway so how to reveal my just deserts with out revealing my true status in the world.
Practice and cull. Beloved was able to reveal horror without represnting the characters as being defined by it. Sounds trite but it is a feat to represent abuse and the abused while still giving the dignity of freedom to the abused and even a little to the abuser.
That’s the essay.
What am I to say about colonialism. In my voice. Allegory
My thumbs are seizing up and I think it is the computer combined with age and arthritis. I am not going to like disability one bit. Ganga Ganag but then what was all this for if it is all so bloody hard all the time. How am I redeemed by difficulty. Couldn’t you be gentler? I shouldn’t complain too much. It has been relatively easy compared to that lost and lonely childhood. The gift I received to ensure a responsible adult life or at least a knackered one, in the true sense of the word. No stepping out of the boundaries for me. I have seen where those roads lead and it aint for the faint hearted.
And the ghost. I had one too. A really good live one, full colour clear as day but only once.
I was helping her children play with the piano. Feeling sorry for them. Mother was unable to embrace them as fully as her own. All of 2 and 4 years old.
The house was the place she was struck down. Epilepsy was the reason he said but the family doctor knew otherwise. He was lucky then as mats didn’t dibber dob.
For the sake of respectability. Hey white men have no shame and therefore no blame. We be clean men, good men, Christian men. Union men. His father was a wharfy, maybe that was why.
The house was filled with her belongings. Electric curlers, Kenwood blender. Bed. Blankets. Children. Her youth still lay in the foundations of the house built for her lifes dreams. I don’t even know her name. Her daughter was named Yvette. She must have been a little different for such a lovely name to come to mind.
A small mirrored reflection of her former self trapped in the lounge watching her children receive a little kindness from a kid that knew the sins of the malice ridden heart of the newly implanted matriarch. She wrote of the sins of the father. Well she shore did ensure I would be free of one but she neglected to invest any consideration of the sins of the mother. I don’t blame just prattling an observation. That was her thing, her mother died when she was 8 years old. Still treasured until her mood suited otherwise later on. At least she was pretty more or less. My son is worried I will be ugly in old age so it seems that it matters.

This is good

2007-09-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

And cheaper than a therapist.
The feast was huge and so well served I give credit where credit is due. Bhakticaru Swami has good manners as so few have. Culture, most despise it as pretentious but I figure that, may be sour grapes. We haven't a clue on letting go of ourselves for the sake of another. It is so foriegn for a westerner to be concerned with anything but himself. Like the convenient gender convention there? As you please.

Westerners think sacrifice is for losers but they haven't the experiance of gain in loss. It is just loss and more loss with some hope of reclamation rather than transformation.
Surprise myself sometimes.
Where is Syrrell. What happened to the boy? I hope it ended well. Almost feel like I am part of the crime that was his fractured childhood. The neglect and near unwanted nature of that type of love.

Ironically and it is a big bloody irony, the mother goes on to write a book, "Unconditional [bloody if you ask me] Love" Hindsight is such a nice view. Invention is the mother and the mother invents. Says she only has 3 children. Which has she chosen to negate this time. Is truth pain or can it only be told in her fictions so as to avoid the accusing eye. Cryptic pointers to a past that bears on the future but doesn't really reflect the present. I choose that , not you. Tomorrow is yours but luckily that will never come.

Just morphing from one moment to the next, waiting waiting waiting but best of all I sometimes get to watch though I suffer in silent fear that I too may be watched. What will they think? How will they know I am real even if it doesn't look that way.

I dreamt that Krsna was standing in front of me. I wouldn't say indolant though I can't think of another word. Anyway I was crapping on in usual style trying to make some kind of an impression. Underestimaating him I suppose. Figured he didn't know me. That is the terror of the thing. Too dull to know myself. To dull to realise.

I do realise that I am plain bored with the body maintanance thing. Like the drive to work. God that can kill a person. Over and over and over till there is nothing left to know. Switch track before someone convinces me that a pill can fix it.

So back to the big boy. So I says, looky here GOD , I've got these here thoughts on you know this an that. Well he is about as impressed as any person might be with a basket of rotting fish. Why do i get the feeling that contemptible runs so deep.
But the eyes the eyes. Suck you in like a vacuum so that I got scared and figured it might be something dangerous though so seductive. Have a thing about the foriegn. Thanks to being one.

Why can't they get a bloody voltage regulator in this country.

So I will never know if it was God because I am too afraid and anyway how do you a bloody thing like that. That is an awful lot of bloody knowing. I think I want to be introduced by someone I trust. Why? cos I don't trust who or what God might be. S/he might be any bloody thing. Like the modern touch there. Always like to be inclusive.

It's the idea, but how does death of fear pose in the strength of the idea? Wouldn't fear itself devour the idea. Fear of death is not as heroic as you might imagine. More likely a result of a bit of a bad trott. Have a bit of fun and lets see how scared you are of death. What have ideas got to do with anything at all if they have a will of their own and float in and out as if unwanted guests. I figure being conscious is like becoming a psychic door keeper to the self. Unwanted and univited unembodied etheric energy is filtered, observed and syphoned off. That is pretty neophyt as far as consciousness goes but it beats being like a dog that goes with every new scent it encounters. what a spoil sport I am. Some call that living.

Next is discover personal detritus and divorce myself from it. Good one Dhami. Who was madder, you or me?
Then solitary life.....after divorce it always is. Maybe life really is poetry and metaphor. Maybe S/he keeps telling us all the while. Too retarded to see it under the nose. I told you scents are never observed unless there is a contrast. Bit like bad breath. How is it the owner never knows? Ahhh so that is the very simple trick of Maya. The bird does get crushed after all. Slight deviation there. It is not that hard a job when she has such undiscerning observers. A cloak here a wave there and hey presto, we're sold. But still the story is always being told in Mataphor. I am begginig to love that one. Maybe God lies in it or at least some kind of truth. Sorry for anyone out there who feels narrated and restricted by truth as a concept what to speak of experiance. No truth, no narration, no story. Gee how do you get out of bed each morning? If you don't have one doesn't mean I can't. Now that is real postmodern society. As the father said to his wife as she nags her stoned son at the dinner table, "leave the boy alone" Remember that add?
So who am I asking? nobody but invisibilty is relaxing and pretending inspires things I didn't really know were there.

Always too late and sleep is a gift. It is time to unwrap it and devour as best I can though my digestion fails a little.
I might fly one day through that ceiling. Not sure if i want to die in my sleep.

Best to do it by the Ganga to save anyone the trouble of disposing of the body. ooooh yuck. Nibbling on old dead woman for dinner. Now there is a bad birth.

cracking

2007-09-16T08:32:00.000-07:00

A night looking for old friends means i am getting old. Trapped by the bindings, that closed minds entwine around willing or otherwise...subjects.
Parochial, these words come of their own accord. Spat or divulged.
Found mother has been published, another obscure hybrid australian author. Not unlike Enid she cared more for all but those that sprung forth from her very own loins. Oh well, not much to bother about when all things seem too much.
Opa is so very old.
Would the place of birth bequeath any revelations about anything at all. i expect only that I can't afford to live there. The Rhine stinks anyway or at least it looks dirty but then so does the Yarra and the Ganga. like you care.

It takes so much courage to engage with the day. The big facade of pretending you really know who you are and exactly where you are going. I can take a little make believe but they are asking me to go for some seriously hard core mental visualisations. Who am I to desire what I may not really want after all. Measured in slow degrees, released incrementally. Only enough to know what it is I do not want. Maybe the hints and smells are so very alien there is no way of articulating to myself how or what it is I want. I'm not being pretentious, no dimensions for me and no post cards either. Who in Gods name would ask a dying person for a post card? Like I want to know a disembodied person. Give me a break, I can't even handle the embodied.
No direction and certainly no place to go. Hopelessly looking for old friends. Alice , James , Errin and I know Pavlich. never was much for laying low. Right up there with a picture and all. And Jacinta, karen. Where are you all? I want to know the stories. Breeding distracted me for a bit but they no longer need me as intensely as they did so i ponder my youth and that makes me think of someone getting ready to die.
Mark Tracey killed himself. I think about him a lot. He was threatening for decades. I wonder how that maverick Chris lorracela is doing.
It was fun for a minute, the adventure and discovery. Wild edge dwelling. We all fell through the loop of respectability. Some scratched their way back and a big bank bought them up. better luck next time. I haven't found a trader for mine yet. They say krishna wants me but i am not entirely convinced, jesus not even my family can handle me for too long. Hardly think God is going to find me much chop.
No hair dressers for me. No coffee shops. No dresses. I wanted to be a nun once but who would have thought I would bloody well go and do as good as. Third world philanthropy and my biggest realisation is sweat aint too bad after all. Ok I have come to terms with accepting short people warts and all but I still feel like a bit of a fake. hare Hare bol but please leave me be for a bit. Not quite up to avangelism as I am not sure if the house is quite tidy enough to bring guests home. Frankly I think there maybe a stench in the yard. Maybe a corpse of time gone past. A remembrance trapped and putrified, gutted of life. Gutted of meaning. Ok that was mean. Meaning being watch out for men who need careers to validate themselves.
And women who think self empowerment is becoming a man. Who needs the body odour?
My husband never could figure out how i could smell if the rat was male or female. Male rats really stink, god knows how female rats bring themselves to assocaiate with the blights. i figure there is a lot of rat rape going on. I suppose if we are to take our natural course we too will be reduced or elevated to the wild freedoms of the animal world. I keep telling my daughters to consider before breeding. It is not a pretty place to deposit yet another sodden lost pupil of hell.

what to do?

2007-09-14T12:55:00.000-07:00

Well here we are and I can dribble to my hearts content. Pity you. Pity me.
Suddenly feeling like it is not what i wanted but persist in the vain hope that it will transpire that my lack of faith will mutate and the restrictions that fear and aprehension impose will subside, to what I do not know.
Teaching......it's a good start. Lovely little cherubs except for the boy so badly brought up that i am at a canstant loss as to what to do. His sweet eyes and cheeky smile redeem him at times but mostly his sole desire is to be the sole focus of attention. Not enough hugs as a babe. What makes these things happen to little people. Is the that disorder disease really true. Does a pill fix it. It has crossed my mind i can tell you.
I have this bloody postmodern essay to write and I am too gutless to try it. I fear they lie when they say they want to truly legitimise post modernism on par with academic writing. I wish. All that technical jargon can drive me up the wall sometimes. It just feels like semantics.
Feeling less sad knowing i owe nothing to anyone tomorrow but my treasured stone. Our Saligram. It is an effort to get space in community. Having been brought up in the lonely and isolated suburbs i actually think I may be addicted to the isolation. Connecting is a truly difficulty thing. It requires faith in humanity. Transient at my age, 43. Oh God i told you. No grey hair yet but soon I will be initiated into the respectably aged, wise and forlorn.

So the sannyasi's come through and the older I get the more pity I have for them. The farce they must maintain. The living death, absurd. Instead family life is replaced with politics and position. Maybe some of them are genuine but what is that in this day of mutated meanings.
Your meaning, my translation and in the soup we swim to each other and gouge each others eyes out in the hope that one of us is blinded to the others lies.
So do you think this essay will work in pure metaphor and all other manner of literary trickery. I'd have to be bloody skilled but most of all i have to keep away from their dissections as they rob writing of its feeling. As if it were a car to be built instead of a gift to be experianced .
Damn those twaddle nosed academics who know how to wash the dishes ever so well that they take the fun out of random living. We always like to keep a few stray dishes on the bench. That lived in feel.
Worse than writing an endless letter. It has no defined reader. Almost sadistic in its continuing.
Sleep may offer respite from both my mind and my bad breath. Too much detail?