a new home ..

One of my old abstracts is making its way to a new home on the weekend … I’ll miss it … it holds a shitload of memories and feelings … but, time to let it go I feel ❤


eulogy for my undies

ode to the undies

that have held


in place ~

that have comforted

and hugged

the ass cheeks

on a long winters night ~

that have been the forever


the ‘go toos’

the reliables.

May you rest in peace,




They are to be

cremated …

this evening





365 reasons to smile ~ 45.

45. The fuck-it bucket 😆
Facebook: Enchanted Minds


“We talked…well sort of…now please just listen to me for a moment…don’t respond, just let me say what I need too…listen…process later.

When you were little…like in the photos of you and Grandad, that little…

You were cautious…but inquisitive. That’s what you should have been.

You were trying to find and occupy your space.

And I was right there with you…that little voice that said…

‘go on…touch it…break it…say no…scream…laugh…have a tantrum…’

Yep, that was me.

And you listened to me…for a long time.

But your still trying to listen for me. And I’m not that little voice on your shoulder, in your ear…anymore.

You know where I am?

I am what got left in the dark that day…I’m the one who stayed.

We’ve spoken of this before and you didn’t really want to hear it.

But you need to.

Understand this…I stayed for a reason.

I stayed there, to suffocate and to absorb. I stayed to take on what you didn’t need.

I stopped breathing. I felt the skin. I smelt the smells.

I did that so you could remain intact.

But you caught a glimpse and misunderstood what your purpose was.

Your purpose was to survive. To carry us to the next level.

It wasn’t my intention for you to carry guilt or remorse.

It wasn’t even my intention that you see or recollect anything of those moments.

They are MINE.

Let me keep those.

I want you to remember all those things that you’ve looked at recently.

All the good.

The memories of Grandad…going to work with him.

His stories. The smell of bacon frying in the morning.

The smell of frying tomatoes.

The feel of lots of ripe peaches…those ones that Grandad used to get in the sacks and spend eons bottling.

I want you to remember the smell of Nan’s flowers. Remember what they looked like when they all blossomed at once.

Remember the smell of the dirt that would come inside with her after she had been out there for hours.

Remember the bread you used to go and get for your Mum on Sundays…the one you’d hollow out and eat before you got home. Remember the smell of it? The feel of it.

Remember the sound of the old concrete mixer Grandad had…the smell of the concrete churning.

Remember the smell of toast and macaroni cheese.

Remember the Jelly Tips you didn’t like…but the chocolate bit inside that you did like. Remember that taste.

Remember the smell of the rain on the concrete and stones…and the sound of it on the roof.

And when you remember all these things…remember how they made you feel…and how they make you feel now.

That’s what I wanted for you.

I didn’t want you to remember what you do.

That’s MINE. I stayed there to retain it so you wouldn’t.

It’s not yours to hold…it’s MINE

You didn’t leave me behind…I chose to stay.

I stayed because one of us had too.




You owe me, for the sacrifice I made…

You owe me

You Owe Me Life

You need to live

Not in the shadows…that’s my place

YOU need to live in the light

I sacrificed me so you could be

So, BE.

I’m not Jesus…I’m not some super-duper hero who came to save you

And there’s no one coming to save you now.

I – ME

I already did it.

YOU – I, already did it.

You are way way stronger than you realise

You have my strength…its your strength

You have to live for me…for you

The way I always hoped you would

Because when I stayed there, I had a vision

Do you remember that?

In the blackness? Do you remember what I said to you?


Well I made a deal with you…

I said that If I stayed here, you could close your eyes and imagine where you would be in 10…15…20 years from now. You didn’t understand that concept, but I did.

Remember…I said…watch the sunrise…watch the sunset…laugh…walk in bare feet…dance…eat…swim…smile at every opportunity…listen…and love

and then build…like Grandad…plant…like Nan…argue…like Mum…Love…like Uncle Jimmy

Remember that?

You’ve done some of this…but you forgot the last thing I said to you…

I said, don’t ever be afraid of man…don’t ever be afraid of being you.

Remember that?

Live it.

I love you

I love everything about you

You owe me a snap shot of your new world

And the new world that you are going into.

I want to see it all.

Are you listening?

Peace and love and light and ice cream and concrete and frying bacon and tomatoes and music and dance and flowers and soft fluffy blankets and baking bread and sunrises and sunsets…




the struggle is on…

We’re counting down the days now; 5 more sleeps…but it’d be nice if we were counting down to Christmas or a birthday or something…else, rather than moving.

But I try to remain positive…we both are.

I went to see where we are moving to yesterday. It is a shit hole…for reals. But we can clean it up…sort of. And we’ll put our stuff in there and it’ll feel a bit better…I spose.

And as we clean up this place ready for the move…I can feel myself unravelling. I think it’s a good thing…and not really what I’m used too. Grieving as I go I think. So I don’t take it with me.

And as I clean the mokos fingerprints off the windows and pack up their pictures and the little things that the partner has collected over the past year…sea shells and bits of wood lol…I can feel tears…and again, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. Sad because of loss…but then you focus on the new? Fuck knows…but that’s what I’m holding onto at the moment…

So it doesn’t feel like I’m being forced to do something I don’t want to do…cos that just opens a big fat can of ptsd shit storm…

But the body is feeling it…strange, because it usually doesn’t feel anything. But I guess, that’s what got me into this bundled up ptsd, panicky mess in the first place…not facing it…not processing it as it happens…holding on when it really needs to be let go of…

The bod is collapsing slightly…feeling sick and sore…shaky and slightly panicy…and swinging from, trying to take it as it comes and wanting to smash everything in sight to wanting to bawl my crusty eyes out. Geez…I’m not even due for my period yet! Lol.

I feel like I’m taking the ‘mauri’, that we’ve put into this place…taking it back. We’re probably leaving a bit of bad vibes for the fuckwits the come after us…but oh well…that’s what they get for being racist bastards. But the good stuff…our mauri…we’ll take that.

So…I’ll get back to cleaning and swinging and packing up and processing and singing. Tomorrow the mokos come to say goodbye to the house and see where we are going…they’re neat like that…they want to know everything, so they can make peace with it…and design themselves a little picture in their heads of what is taking place…

I should probably take a leaf out of their little books 🙂 … they are way ahead of me!

ready?…part two

Okay, are you ready to continue with our conversation?

Not really…sort of…I feel like a psycho, talking to myself.


Yeah alright, I’m avoiding it…

So…do you want to have this conversation?

Yeah. Yes.

Because it’s not going to be forced on you…like everything else…you have a choice…

Okay. Yes I get it. It’s a conversation I need to have. And I’m not going to have it with anyone else. And yes, I have a choice…and as much as my insides are cringing…I’m here.

Alright. So, the last conversation ended with the knowledge you were being incongruent in areas and then you shut down because you felt like you left her behind…alone.


Do you think you really left her behind? Left her alone?

Yes I do. And I get why. But I left her there. And by forgetting her…or forgetting, or letting the whole thing go…where does that leave her?


Well, where does that leave her? It’s like it never happened and she’s fucked over for a second time.

So what do you need to do for her then?

I’ve done it…I’ve forgiven myself…I know that I was to young to have done anything different…that I survived. I get all that. But its like she never existed.

You haven’t answered me.

I need to lay her to rest…I think. Acknowledge what she did…But it still feels like she never existed!…if I forget her…

No one’s asking you to forget her.

Yes they are. They all want me to forget her…forget me.

Really? Do you really think that’s what they’re asking of you?

Yes. Well that’s how its perceived. They don’t want to hear about it…they get that glazed glassy ‘oh for fucks sakes, not again’ look.

Do you think it just makes them feel uncomfortable?

Uncomfortable? Uncomfortable???

Yes. Uncomfortable.

And that’s why I call it a mundane horror. It is real…everyday…everywhere…and I don’t really think anyone gives a shit.

That’s not true…those that give a shit, do. Those that appear not too, are uncomfortable with unwelcome truths. But that’s not the complete point is it.

No….no its not. Its, like…

Like no ones listening?


So if no one listens then how will they remember her and what she did?


They don’t need to listen yet, because you’re not really ready to let any one touch that piece of you. You talk about it…you write about it…but you still can’t acknowledge honourably, what she did, what both of you did…to survive…and then let her go.

I suppose.

Have you heard of Veterans or Soldiers Remorse and Survivors Guilt?

Are you trying to compare this to going to war? Me being like a soldier or something? Because that would just be crass!

Have you heard of those things?


I think you have remorse associated with leaving her…disassociating. And guilt for surviving…living.

You think so do you.

Yes I do. I think you don’t live because your scared and you feel guilty. Remorse for switching off and watching her suffer…knowing that the act of degradation she endured led to your survival; but her demise.


Do you ever think that maybe she did that to save you…this part of you?


And by not living you aren’t honouring her memory, your pissing on it?


How do you honour someones memory? How do you remember what they did…how they did it…and what was accomplished by doing it?

You write a fucking song about it…

reality check, self

I’m a 3 shower a day person. If I can’t do that, then 2 at the minimum. I scrubbed myself in the shower, from head to toe, with a pot scrub type thing, for as long as I can remember. I stopped using that when my hair started falling out…pot scrubber on balding head…hurts! According to the sexual abuse therapists, this ‘excessive’ showering thing is pretty normal for someone with ‘my issues’. Pfft.

Ensuing conversation with self:

Do I believe this?

Well aside from the pot scrubber, I don’t think it hurts to be clean.

Am I hurting myself by showering ‘excessively’?

No, I don’t think so.

If I don’t shower 3 times a day, can I function?


What about 2 showers?


What about no shower?

No. Definitely not.

So what would happen if I don’t shower in a day?

I’d feel dirty. Unfinished. Unclean.

Ok, so the first and third answers are pretty much the same. Are you really dirty though? Physically?

Yes. It feels like it.


Ok, probably not. Ok, not.

So what is dirty then?

Me. Ok, not physical me. But, me.

Me, where?

My head. My insides. I don’t know…just, Me.

Logically, is your head and insides really dirty?

Well…no. I get what your doing…and I don’t fucken like it.


I feel dirty alright. ‘I’…’Me’…I feel dirty…wretchedly filthy.

Do you think that is why you dream of open sores and puss?

Of course it fucken is.

So that’s how you see yourself? Puss filled and contaminated.

YES. And your line of questioning is starting to piss me off.

But, do you see a flaw in your reasoning and the belief that you need to shower not twice bit thrice a bloody day to remain clean?

Yes of course I fucken do. But I like being clean.

But you’re not getting clean. Do you understand that?

Yes. I understand that.

So why do you believe that all those showers will actually get you clean?

Because it makes sense to me. If it’s dirty, then clean it. Like the fucken house and the laundry and anything else that is dirty.

It makes sense that if it was physically dirty, it needs to be cleaned. But you’re describing your insides…your feelings…your being. Why do you think that is dirty?

Because it fucken is.


It’s filth.

So your filth?

I suppose.

Why do you suppose you are filth then?

You ask a lot of fucking questions you know that.

Yes. So why?

Because…my fucking history tells me fucking so.

Have you ever thought about the fact that your history may be inaccurate?

What is that supposed to mean?

Inaccurate, as in, just because that’s the experience you experienced, doesn’t mean that is YOU.


Would I be right is surmising that those who harmed you did so because they were wrong?

I suppose.

Do you believe you did something to bring about that harm?

Ahhh…yes. Yes I do.

How do you suppose you managed that?

I…was to small. To quiet. To vulnerable.

Those aren’t reasons enough to harm someone.

And, what is your fucken point.

They harmed you, not due to anything you did, or are. They harmed you because they could. Because they felt like it and they did.

And that’s supposed to make me feel better is it.

For whatever reasons they had that made them how they were, and do what they did…it wasn’t because of who you are as a person. It wasn’t because of your being.


And just as showering 3 times a day won’t get you any cleaner than 2 or 1 times a day, so believing that you are filth and brought about the events that occurred to you, are also inaccurate.


You know this. You could not have changed the event. Nothing you did brought it about. Nothing you did or said during could have changed the outcome. You did not do anything wrong. Nor did you bring about by the essence of your being, the things that happened.


But there’s more to it than that. Why you can’t let it go.


You can’t let it go because you would be leaving her there, for a second time.


You heard. You left her there. You didn’t save her. You left her there, frozen and silent while you fucked off to never-never land.


You disassociated fool, and you’ve been doing it ever since. Half of you is in the past, the rest of you is trying to control your future, and you are left here excessively showering and cleaning shit up. Your doing the do. But you’re not here.

I am here.

No you’re not. Your trying to be, but you’re not. Your anxious when your required to be present.


So? That’s not an answer.


You left her for a reason. You want to hear that reason?

Well your on a fucken roll so fire away.

You left to survive. Can you imagine being present for that? Don’t answer. You can’t, you can’t physically be enduring that and be present. Your psyche, your adrenaline, your powers of fucken brilliant insight, told you to remain still and not resist. You survived. But now its time to stop surviving and live for fucks sake.

I’m trying.

Your blogging. Your blogging in your safe little house, with your safe little safe things going on around you.

Yeah, but I am trying.

And yippie to you. Yes it’s all progress its all helping. But no ones going to tell you what I’m telling you. Your fucken alright. You are OK. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your not filthy. You don’t need to shower 3 times a day. You DO need to be on your side. You DO need to use all that intellect of yours again, and figure it out. You didn’t do anything wrong. You think you believe that, but you don’t really. Your actions say otherwise. You are incongruent.


Yes you are. You love congruence. Where the in matches the out. But you are not that.


You believe one thing, really. But say and do another.

I don’t like this.

The point is really, you used to self analyse, properly. But you know your just scratching around the surface and hiding from the truth. Everything you’re doing is positive and it’s helping, but your shrinking away from the core of it. The point of it.

I don’t want to talk anymore.

That’s fine. You shut down. Like you do. Go and nurse your puku.

I will.

But tomorrow, at 1.30pm, you WILL get over it.

Why 1.30?

I can make it 10.30am if you like.

1.30s good.

You will go for a walk, do your breathing, do your raw food and plan your weekend. You will move. You will get up and keep going. You will. Tomorrow at 1.30pm. Alright?


And this conversation isn’t over.



…..she let go

She Let Go.

Via on Feb 24, 2014

sisters jumping

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev. Safire Rose