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the unfucking of thyself. myself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

Little bit of a cluster fuck today, but seeing as this is my blog and I can cluster-fuck it if I need too … here we go:

As I have been going on about our river trip for the last few days, and the convent that we stayed at, I’ve noticed I’ve been avoiding the photographs of the church and the actual convent.

Therein lies the cluster fuck and the unfuck.

I don’t like churches. I don’t like the way they make Me feel. And when We went into this church I was approaching it purely from a ‘lets take some good pictures’ point of view … and still felt horrible going in there.

These are the photos from the outside only … tomorrow I’ll do the ones from the inside. So in essence this is a 2 part cluster-fuck-unfucking-of-thyself lol.

I don’t like churches for a lot of reasons. One being, that I was brought up having to go to church every sunday (not a church like this), and I have some ass hat memories from that ordeal that have taken half a lifetime to come to terms with. Part of that unfolding has been separating religion from ‘god’. The two are not even remotely related.

The other part of my angst with this particular iconic building, is that it overshadows the settlement that was there long before the missionaries arrived on these shorelines. And whilst the nuns that set up shop here, may have actually been quite righteous individuals, they are themselves the ‘icons’ of our colonial history. They came, “the great white hope”, and they ‘saved’ the natives from the other colonial parasites and the diseases and alcohol and rape and perversity, they bought with them. They set up an ‘orphanage’, which is honourable … missing the point that We never needed ‘orphanages’ before they arrived.

The land that this big iconic building sits on, is ‘gifted’ land. As in, tangata whenua of this area, ‘let’ the catholic church build their buildings on the land. The idea was they would help the church and the church would help them. The nuns have done that: again, thats an honourable thing.

But the whole building smacks of the colonial history that has diminished or is not so obvious anymore, everywhere else in our country.

When I stepped into this building, I couldn’t hardly breathe and felt dizzy as fuck … more so than normal.

I could feel the weight of grief Tangata Whenua (people of the land) had bore. The disbelief, that a ‘visiting’ peoples could wreak so much havoc in such a short time. And then I could feel the angst of all colonised people … the disbelief … the horror … the clamber to find solutions … the grief. It makes everything tight and quite unbearably sad and desperate. All in those 4 walls where the pakeha come to ‘worship’ the gods of their ancestors.

Anyway, thats part one. The best photograph, in my opinion, is this one because it is just a silhouette. If only that was true of the indentation that they have left on this land.


kpm ©


 

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me & thyself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

As beautiful as it is, there is something quite eerie, but kind of majestic about the river. It feels like it has history … has stories to tell … if you’re willing to listen. It feels like it commands respect and remembrance … a kind of ‘thou shalt not fuck with me’ sort of feel, but nicer lol.

I found as I was photographing the River, that no matter where I stood to take a shot; how I leaned or shaped my body to get what I thought would be a nice shot … I ended up with something completely different … like it wanted to tell it’s own story.

So this shot was supposed to a little to the left … in my minds eye … but when it came out, it was perfectly in balance with how It wanted to be. The River always seems slightly hidden, but it perfect balance with its surroundings.

It was Us that were the intruders … the on lookers … the passer-bys. But non-the-less, I still felt connected to it in a strange but comforting way.

<3


kpm ©


 

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the unfucks.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

I loved the wildflowers on our trip down the river .. they were everywhere … just hanging round, minding their own business, looking free and beautiful and shit …

No worries, no cares … thats the feels I got off’ve them. They didn’t over shadow and weren’t obnoxiously ‘out there’, they were just green and white and simple and elegant and beautiful – and could be easily missed if you weren’t really paying attention.

<3


kpm ©


 

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definitely unfucked.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

It doesn’t really need a pretty little mindfulness explanation. Suffice to say I could watch this all day …

And I’ll just leave it right here … :)


kpm ©


 

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the unfucking continues:

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

One of the things I loved about the River and the land surrounding it, was the layers. There were layers upon layers of beauty and sound (or lack of sound) everywhere we went. The colours, or lack of colours, were beautiful too. Everything seemed as it should be. It perfect sync with everything else. It was quite obvious when you came across something that had been ‘altered’ by a human lol … but everything else was just as it should be … and of course, just how I like it. ‘Overgrowen’, aka ‘growing naturally’ … Quiet, except for nature sounds … No intrusive smells, just grass, trees, clean air.

I thought my place was quiet but this was even quieter. No noise pollution at all.

And guess what … Not difficult to be all mindful and shit out here … in fact I’d say it’s the epitome of mindfulness, without the effort!

Absolutely perfect.

<3


kpm ©


 

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getting to it: the unfucking of thyself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

It’s been an utterly amazing journey up to Whanganui and back. I’m still tired but happy … or content … I’m not sure which one … or both … oh whatever … I’m good!

The River.

Me and my Mama went up to find our tipuna (ancestors). That was the mish anyways.

We didn’t find her.

But we found the start … or end … of the journey She took to end up where she did.

Slightly mysterious I know … but that seems to be the way. And talk about mess with my sense of ‘achievement’, ‘getting it done Now’ and all the pedantic shit!

Thats not how this is going to get done we’ve discovered.

Like the Awa (River) … it’s a slow, methodical, unfolding and emotional process. It’s not going to be a matter of googling it and it’s done.

We met peeps … we talked … we told our story … they told theirs … they talked about ‘the River’ and it’s people … which is Us too we’ve realised …

I did all the things that I usually can’t / won’t / don’t like doing!

Anywho … this photograph was at the top of some bad ass cliffs that lead onto the road that takes you up the River. Scared the living shit out of Me! But I got my pic … and surprisingly, many more after that.

To say the Awa is majestic is an understatement. It’s something I haven’t quite got the words for yet.

Over the next little while I’ll post the pics from our trip … the whole dam experience was one mindfulness mind / heart / emotion fuck! A good one though …

<3


kpm ©


 

 

peeling it back: one miserable layer at a time

This has been sitting in the ‘to post eventually’ pile and now seems gooder time as any I reckon …


Heres the conundrum …

I note:

  • the anxiety (general and specific – to certain things) has increased incredibly since just before the end of last year
  • therefore, my sedative consumption has also increased

Before 2010 I was reasonably fit, healthy-ish, could socialize and actually enjoy it, could walk for an hour or so by myself and unaided. I also note however:

  • I was always tense as fuck
  • I was always dizzy as fuck
  • Couldn’t hold much food down
  • Couldn’t hold onto any weight

So even though I ‘appeared’ healthy, there were things brewing.

Upon reflection, after being medically discharged from my job in 2010, I am almost certain that what I was having for the 4 years of working there, were increased anxiety and big ass panic attacks. The result of those going undetected and undiagnosed started a long battle with myself, the ‘specialists’ and doctors and their medications and of course an actual diagnosis.

In hindsight, all their ‘diagnoses’ were symptoms and their medications inaccurate.

From 2010 till now I have spent more time incapacitated and bed and house ridden than any other time in my life. I have watched more movies than I can remember and tried more medications than I care to remember. I’ve spent nearly half of that time trying to wean myself off’ve those medications and another space of time recovering from the after effects of those medications.

My muscles are weak. My mind feels weaker than it ever has. My nerves are rattled more times than not. My thoughts are scattered and my guts is in knots.

What has always kept Me going, is My Fight.

So what happens when the Fight feels like it’s being sucked out of Me? What happens when all the movies have been watched? All the ‘alternative treatments’ have been tried? All the reflection and mindfulness is dried up? What happens when all the plans and re plans have been done, re hashed and hashed again? What happens when theres nothing left to photograph and no more stories to tell?

Where the fuck do I pull the ‘Fight’ from when it feels like theres none left?


And then there was this:


I learnt the other day, that the pedo cunt who violated my tiny being; terrorized my tiny world; imbedded fear and mistrust into my tiny little soul; who invaded my tiny body and soul and spirit …

Yeah, well that cunt …

It turns out that he is now old. Obviously.

He doesn’t leave his room.

He stays locked away and doesn’t come out.

Do I feel sorry for him?   …. Nope.

Do I care? …. Nope.

Do I hope he rots away in his own evil for whatever is the rest of his miserable life? …. Yup.

….. Then I Pause …..

….. And it occurs to Me ….

That that cunt … and I … are living pretty much the same existence. And I feel repulsed.

*******

Now try swallowing that one whole.

*******

Thats some serious fuckery that needs to be addressed.

Soon.


kpm ©


 

the next part was my mauri.

I learnt from ‘365 reasons to smile’, that some shit takes time … that I’ve been conditioned a certain way, and all the talking in the world hasn’t changed the facts, and never will. But the slow, subtle chipping away at it and reconciling it technique … well, that’s working for me.

I’ve learnt that pts(d) is part of Me. It’s part of everything I am. Some of that’s good and some of thats … not so good .. so to speak. The bit that I really really don’t like is the panic attacks and the nightmares; and whilst they have minimised over the last couple of years, they are still ever looming. Both of these, I’d gladly kick in the asshole just to be rid of them completely.

I’ve got shit that I want to do this year … and every year thereafter –

  • Drive.
  • Go to my Art collective.
  • Go out for dinner and possibly get rotten drunk.
  • Go shopping for clothes – by myself.

They’re not huge things … but I actually want to do this shit without having to cringe every time I head out the door.

So here I am, at it again. And the intention, this time, is for Me to start to learn to appreciate who I am; who I really am. What it has taken Me to be Me. Where I’ve come from and what makes Me who I am.

Now this is a doo-zy for Me.

I realised part way through last year, that I don’t really understand the strength in Me, that has gotten Me this far. Oh, I get it; in increments … but I don’t really, really GET IT. And I think that if I got it, then I wouldn’t give myself such a hard time. The love, acceptance and encouragement that I have pumped into my kids and mokos over the years … yeah, well some of that needs to be pumped into Me.

So, this “who I really Am” thing; this essence thing … is called “Mauri”:

mauri
1. (noun) life principle, vital essence, special nature, a material symbol of a life principle, source of emotions – the essential quality and vitality of a being or entity. 

It is my hope, my attempt; that as I unfold and inspect who I am; my Mauri; I will be able to reconcile this element of Me.


kpm ©


 

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dear ex

You didn’t own anything.

Not even a toothbrush.

And you had never owned one.

Your mama bought silk sheets.

Not toothbrushes.

I know life fucked you.

In more ways than one.

I know that you were always destined for.

The life you live now.

It was your goal.

I don’t have regrets.

I don’t even really get us.

But you taught me a Shitload.

About what neglect looks like.

What the absence of any care, Looks like.

And what it grows up to be.

God I hope you are not the complete.

Asshole you always wanted to be.

You know, not everyone deserves to be punished.

For the neglect of a few.

I get it though.


#throwback Jul 28, 2015 @ 01:16