T : tick tock


there was a clock on the kitchen wall

tick tock the hands moved around its face,

time to leave to get the kids on the school bus,

time to go somewhere,

time to get a move on, the day is slipping away,

tick tock tick tock tick tock.


and then one day we had moved past the school years and

time was no longer so uptight so demanding so accountable,

and I had ticked and tocked in the kitchen for many a long while.

I had done my time so to speak .

I grabbed it off the wall opened the door walked out onto the verandah and threw it as far as I could.


I left a note on the wall in chalk

any time you like…



where’s the clock?


what’s it doing out there?

I chucked it out.

uh well how do we tell the time now?

good point.

to be fair a time piece is required to make connections to guide us thru the day. I had a teensy wincy digital clock that dad had given me who incidentally had before he moved from his house about a dozen clocks all tick tocking away.

he got used to me pulling the battery out of the clock in the room when I stayed with him. I went over home when Mum had her final stroke. I stopped the clock in the middle of my first night there because it was annoying me. three weeks later I was with my mother when she passed over. the time at which she took her last breath was the time I had stopped the clock.

the little digital model makes not a murmur, instead it lurks quietly on a shelf in the kitchen among the assorted leaf teas .

have you noticed how sometimes a minute is a long time and other times it fair gallops away.

a day a week a year an event can be slow or fast.

so it seems we have clock time and we have psychological time and although they come out of the same space they have different qualities.

for instance a holiday is on a different time scale to a work day.

when we meditate we enter no time which is spacious and expansive even while the clock is tick tock tick tocking .

we enjoy all manner of timely sayings:

I’ve run out of time

grieving takes time to heal

time waits for no one

they wouldn’t give me the time of day

time to move on

a stitch in time saves nine

there is never enough time

time will tell

there’s no time left


all these and many more have come as guides which lends me the idea that

time is a sage, a wisdom elder 


and from this elder we can slip thru a portal into timelessness which offers a greater depth to our life . timelessness steals us away into a moment that has no beginning and no end. we discover this space when we are creative or in nature or riding a wave or chasing a ball or highly focused on an activity or just those moments of daydream reflection contemplation and meditation.

the time to Be is now.



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S : Sorry


I am sorry

please forgive me

I love you

thank you.


this is a prayer of healing known as the Ho’oponopono from the Hawaiian tradition.



dear mother earth


we are sorry

deeply sorry for acting in a greedy violent and selfish manner, sorry for making war, for despoiling the oceans, for plastic bag islands, for polluting the air , for dumping nuclear waste, for mining  uranium coal and diamonds, for shooting weapons into space, sorry for poisoning lakes and rivers, for clear felling forests, for shooting caging and annihilating species, for robbing stealing and cheating, sorry for manipulating genomes and tampering with genetic material,  for not cleaning up after ourselves , for disrespecting all that you offer to us…….



we love you

dear mother we love you ,unconditionally irrevocably with our hearts minds and bodies.  we will learn to love each other and ourselves. we will honour and respect all beings. 

please forgive us

we acknowledge that we have acted badly and  we are ashamed, deeply ashamed. we will use this shame to guide us onto new paths.  we will use this shame to make amends and come into a new way of being. with  this shame we will  forgive our selves and  each other .


thank you

dear mother you are deeply appreciated. you are a magnificent divine and generous being and we are so very lucky to call you home. truly we are grateful for without you, we have no existence.





written in sea weed on the beach of souls this January 26th (australia day aka invasion day) symbolising our shame and hope for forgiveness and reconciliation with the indigenous australians.



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R : run rabbit run



driving home  the other night thru the paddocks we spied one rabbit and a mob of kangaroos.

once the rabbits  were thick thru the farmlands and now we see one. the toll of a concerted campaign to eradicate them with trapping shooting the introduction of  myxomatosis followed by the calicivirus.

the other night it was shooting central on the farm next to us .  it started when we sat down to eat our dinner – boom boom boom –  and continued until I went to bed. the shotguns were loud penetrating our house and our hearts. this is not an offence under law here in this country but still it upsets me and I wish it were otherwise.

run I whisper, hide if you can,  run run as fast as you can.

whenever I see the kangaroo the wallaby the wombat the rabbit the fox I tell them,  stay away from warrens, do not go there it isn’t safe. I like to think they know that I care about them and want them to survive and flourish.

the  humble rabbit has been a food of the people for a long time.  they have been a source of wool and fur  becoming gloves hats and coats.

remember this rhyme:

 bye baby bunting

daddy gone a hunting

to get a little rabbit skin

to dress his baby bunting in.

nowadays bunting applies to gaily coloured flags outside markets and shops when once it was a hooded sleeping bag for babies.

here in Australia they are despised devalued and made wrong. It should not be surprising that as we treat the rabbit so too we treat the refugees washing up on our shores seeking asylum. oh the cruelty of this government makes me weep.

this land was stolen and settled by the british crown who sent their unwanted – outcasts , convicts and trouble makers . in other words refugees. they also brought out the rabbit the fox and  the blackberry all of which are actively pursued with the weapons of genocide.

our refugee policy allows little humanity preferring to incarcerate men women and children in detention camps  more commonly these days on neighbour islands. the conditions are appalling  the treatment is inhumane and the cost to our souls is high.

here is a story of a couple of asylum seekers that had a holiday with us :

three men two rods and a packet of pilchards


symbolically the rabbit is an innocent but also clever besting brer fox at every turn. it is a symbol of fertility and prosperity and linked with the moon. a rabbits foot was considered good luck and made into brooches . my mother had one.

on the one hand a revered respected creature of intelligence and immense usefulness to humans and on the other villified as vermin except at easter, when bunnies leap into our shops dressed in chocolate with bright paper wrappings or as fluffy toys carrying baskets of  chocolate eggs.




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Q : quotes


“the threads of words make a river of understanding”  John in September 07.

when I told him I had come across this in a journal the other day he said ‘I didn’t say that’. oh yes you did because I wrote it down but unfortunately I have no idea what the reference is.


“you’re not buying my cake” Elsie middle daughter and best friend of guide dog Chloe. She was probably aged about 5 at the time. market day in Bermagui sharing a stall with her sisters. they had made a garish collection of cakes with lurid pink and blue and green icing . privately I considered them inedible but they were made with a great deal of mess and buckets of enthusiasm.


“wait for the moment of inspiration” Jess sister of Elsie and mother of Haydee and the little King . perhaps this is why she is such an excellent  midwife.


“I wouldn’t give you a quid for it” Murray father of Sandra , great grandfather of the little king and his sister, aged 91 and going strong thank you. always very definite with his views is dad.  in case you are wondering a quid refers to a pound note which was the  currency until the change to decimal in 1967. 


‘I want that one but that’s too big.’

‘I want that one but that’s so tiny.’

the big spoon and the little spoon. imagine a little child eating her porridge with the table spoon or, using a teensy spoon reserved for mustards perhaps, never anything in the mid range . that would be  Zoe youngest daughter married last year to Kean and mother of Frankie.


‘tell the river a story’  Sandra.

If I published a book I think this would be the title.


“must be time for elevenses” says Greg,  father of the little king and his sister. in other words morning teatime. got an excellent attitude to food and music and can be found at http://sugarsounds.com.au


“whas ‘at ” translated means what’s that and played on frequent rotation. Frankie aged two and a half,  a fizzing popping jumping ball of happy energy. She takes a bite out of every piece of fruit available just as her mum used to.


“you’ve got to risk it for the biscuit” Kean  father of Frankie likes to say on scrabble nights. he also says  “its all about me”.


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P : past place power and pie bird



the past is a place we visit but not somewhere we want to live. we travel there to reflect, learn and let go, leave a burden behind or, to reinforce our grudge stories so that we can carry on feeling miserable and filled with hate.

we might find that the path we were on led us in a circle and that we have returned to the beginning with a greater depth of understanding. we might discover that what seemed a terrible time actually served us in some way.

there are stories told and acting out upon this Planet that no longer serve us, not you not me not the Great Mother and most certainly not the Grandchildren . conflicts exact a toll upon the land and the Peoples, the guns are sold the missiles are fired the bombs are dropped . despite all the rhetoric for Peace this story is never going to have a happy ending.

is this even important? isn’t a happy ending something for fairy tales, for children for hollywood , surely in the ‘real ‘ world we do not expect a happy ending.

and yet this feeling of happiness contentment is as common to us as breathing – why else do we have this felt capacity for it?

with the light of the Present moment we can honour our journey thru the badlands and the sweet place of surrender and mercy that we arrive at – the place where we feel free enough of our past to choose  truth and respect for all beings.

there are People who stand up and act ,many who are not  captured on tele or facebook or make it to newsprint or mentioned in a blog, many who seek to protect place, protect the planet, protect the future. these are the invisible acts of Power .

a community saves a whale, someone stops beside a roadkill and rescues the baby from the pouch, a person picks rubbish up off a beach , a small child is prevented from running out onto the road, a pensioner gives a stranger a lift a meal a bed a smile, somewhere a parent identifies abuse and names the teacher the priest the doctor , soup is delivered to a family bereaved , a woman refuses to be hit anymore and speaks out, friends get together and make gardens hold fundraisers for flood victims, a company identifies its waste cleans up its act and plants trees in a park for the people

everywhere random acts of kindness are taking place, shaping us as humans, gladdening our hearts and healing our differences. it is a common thread woven into the fabric of human existence .

against the odds, the tragedies the horrors the violence, we return again and again to the surface, daring to live life fully, to dream magnificently, to imagine a place a world a planet home,   full of happy beginnings.



last night we visited Haydee’s house taking an apple pie that John had baked using the pie bird I gave him last year. her Nanna and Poppy are visiting, it being the school holidays and the little king is home.

Haydee takes several steps on her own between her dad and me. we applaud .her head ducks a little in surprise and then she too claps , her face lights up and fills the room looking at each of her family in turn.

even the little king is impressed even though  all he wants to do is talk fishing with granddad  John.

delighted with our attentions Haydee takes centre stage and shows off her ball skills , her new friend red doll, the chewed copy of Miffy , wobbling bouncing chatting laughing  she has a moment in the sun and we all laugh with her, delighted to be in the company of pure innocence and unfettered joy.

Watching the grandchildren explore the world  reminds of the responsibility I hold , of their need for a beautiful world to play in, to breathe in – a world of generosity  and sparkling rivers, of respect and ripe summer peaches, of love and friendships.




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O : Oh great spirit

there is a cupboard in the kitchen and on the inside of one of the doors is this prayer…….


oh vintage


oh great spirit

creator of all

blessed be the big and

blessed be the small.


oh fire that warms and

water that cleanses

light that shines and

love that surrenders.


oh earth that provides and

air that breathes

hearts that declare and

minds that receive.


oh great spirit

friend and lover

blessed be the father and

blessed be the mother.


we give thanks.



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N : Norman Kirk


1972 sitting in assembly.

I was 15 recently arrived at a new school – Onslow College.

the 7th formers a radical bunch

(the counter-culture had arrived in New Zealand)

requested boys be able to have their hair whatever length they liked.

‘no’ said the principal.

‘will we accept no ? ‘ a lad asks.

‘no ‘ we all chanted.

we will stay here until our demands are met

and so we did.

it grew warm the hall got sticky – boredom set off missiles and

whispers became shouts .

the goodie goodies left and were attending classes with a serious lack of students.

a victory – boys no longer had to have the regulation short back and sides

we felt invincible – we felt like we could change the world.

we raised our voices about school uniforms and became the only coed high school in the greater Wellington region to wear whatever we liked.

a tide was turning and we were part of the vanguard.

this was the time of the Vietnam war and

nuclear testing in the Pacific Ocean by the French.

our other cry for protest was

the all blacks playing rugby with South Africa who discriminated on the grounds of race in choosing their team.

apartheid was abhorrent to a country struggling to deal with their colonial racism – a country that was striving to make amends and come together.

today there is a march in Wellington to protest against …..

‘you may not go’ said the principal.

we went, taking over the city stopping traffic waving banners.

I was home in time for dinner.

‘what is it all about ?’  asks Mum.

‘radioactivity fish islanders getting sick

earthquakes our backyard ocean.’

‘always been too arrogant those frogs’ says Dad.

‘tut tut’ says mum ‘they shouldn’t carry on like that.

and what has sport got to do with politics?’

‘racism Mum inequality.’

‘well we have to get rid of communism’ says Dad.

‘where will it all end?’ asks Mum.

still no answer on that one .

in 1972 Norman Kirk from a working class background and then leader of the labour party became New Zealand’s 29th prime minister.

in a government characterised by action on behalf of the common people he withdrew our  remaining troops from Vietnam.  he abolished compulsory military training and in a speech to the UN  was highly critical of the U.S. and their involvement with the coup d’etat in Chile.

suddenly New Zealand was coming of age. it seemed for a brief period of time that there was a meld between the people and the  government to stand up – together.

although Norm had said in the election campaign that he would not interfere in the proposed tour by the Springboks, the passionate vocal protests and the potential for violence changed his mind.The tour was cancelled.

NZ  took France to the International Court of Justice but this did not deter them from  nuclear testing at Mururoa Atoll. Norman Kirk  sent two navy frigates in protest with a member of parliament on board ( his name picked out of a hat) along with our fervent prayer and wishes for an end to this atrocity.

there was a sense in the air of revolution,  an opportunity to right wrongs, for justice to prevail.

1974 Norman Kirk died in office and the country mourned – he was a big man with a way of looking into something so deeply that much became possible and he was not afraid to act.


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