I became interested in chess when I was four years old - after I saw a beautiful carved chess set at friend's house - large pieces of lovely soft wood with felt base that were wonderful to touch, to hold, to caress even.
My Dad taught me to read when I was about five - that is - he taught me my letters. I naively hoped that knowing the letters would open all books to me. It wasn't until I tried reading Alan Moorehead's The Fatal Impact, that I realised what it really meant to 'learn to read'.
So I read The Gingerbread Man many times, and then Dad got me a slim volume called How to Play Chess - easy to read, and small in size, and telling me how to play Chess using simple images with moving icons and linked text. I loved it - it was just what I needed - an early positive reading experience.
Obviously I needed my own set, so there came the day when Mum took me to town to buy my first chess set. Because Chess was God's game, we had to ascend a huge distance up these vast wooden stairs at David Jones' Dept store, but eventually we reached a heaven filled with Chess sets of all sorts of sizes, styles, and materials.
Of course I'd only seen one set before - the set that drew me in, that first attracted me, and so I wanted a copy of that perfect exemplar, and simply sought out the one that looked most similar to that original; with a bemused salesman tagging along with Mum.
But it turned out that the pieces of my new set were not quite identical to my exemplar - the bishops had no slot cut in the head. This omission was so serious to me that I insisted my Dad cut slots to match. I mutilated my new set to match the one that I fell in love with. But the cut slots were not very deep, and used a very thin blade, and now over the years the slots have grown over - nature returning the pieces to their rightful state.
I would play Chess with the neighbourhood kids, but somehow it didn't seem to work out that well, and Mum was always rushing in to break us up, reminding us that Chess was a non-contact sport.
Thursday 1 November 2012
Friday 19 October 2012
The day the lights were all green
Many years ago, I did a weekend course - one of those personal development courses, this one was about getting into a relaxed alpha state and useing creative visualisation to learn about oneself or about other things, or to help bring about useful future outcomes. By that I mean getting into the alpha state (rested meditative state) and visualising in the mind's-eye the outcome desired. This technique is pure 'magical-thinking' to a psychiatrist, but it seems to work for me often enough. I can get car-park spots when I need them to this day.
I learned a lot from this course and it was that weekend I had my great Cosmic Consciousness experience, but that's not for now.
On this particular day, my friend Jeff Gray and I were heading to a meeting for the course and we were a little late - late enough that a bad ran of traffic would get us there after the arranged time, but a good run of traffic would see us there on time.
So we set off together on our motorbikes, side-by-side in that unspoken road-dancing camadarie of bikers riding together.
As we approached the first set of lights, I did my thing - I imagined in my mind's eye the light being green for us, and so it was. I said nothing to Jeff about it.
The second set I did the same, and once more, it was green. 'Wonderful' I thought to myself, perhaps Jeff is helping?
The third set of lights were perfect green for us too and I guessed that Jeff and I were both doing the very same thing, although not a word was spoken about this until this very day. Two of us using our mental magic in unison to get green lights when we needed them.
And so it was that on a long ride from Scarborough to Welshpool, a long ride right across the city, at least half an hour, through maybe 50 lights, that literally every single one was green for us. Not a single pause for a light slowed us down. And sure enough we arrived perfectly on time.
That's real magic :-)
I learned a lot from this course and it was that weekend I had my great Cosmic Consciousness experience, but that's not for now.
On this particular day, my friend Jeff Gray and I were heading to a meeting for the course and we were a little late - late enough that a bad ran of traffic would get us there after the arranged time, but a good run of traffic would see us there on time.
So we set off together on our motorbikes, side-by-side in that unspoken road-dancing camadarie of bikers riding together.
As we approached the first set of lights, I did my thing - I imagined in my mind's eye the light being green for us, and so it was. I said nothing to Jeff about it.
The second set I did the same, and once more, it was green. 'Wonderful' I thought to myself, perhaps Jeff is helping?
The third set of lights were perfect green for us too and I guessed that Jeff and I were both doing the very same thing, although not a word was spoken about this until this very day. Two of us using our mental magic in unison to get green lights when we needed them.
And so it was that on a long ride from Scarborough to Welshpool, a long ride right across the city, at least half an hour, through maybe 50 lights, that literally every single one was green for us. Not a single pause for a light slowed us down. And sure enough we arrived perfectly on time.
That's real magic :-)
Tuesday 24 April 2012
Three Strikes and You're Out of Luck
Falling
Back in my twenties I met a nice young couple, the young bloke was in a band, and his girlfriend would go along in support. They say that a woman often chooses her next man before leaving the last one, and I was getting on pretty well with her. So there came a day when we were hanging around the pub while he played, and we shared a drink in the quiet lounge, away from where he was playing. Things were 'going very well', as Kaylee said about Simon Tan in Firefly.
It seems she had chosen me as her next man, and she looked me right in the eye, and cast her romantic net over me, she wanted to catch me. At that moment I actually experienced falling - suddenly the ground seemed to drop out from under me and I felt in my gut like I was falling into a bottomlesss pit. This feeling only lasted for a few moments, but now I know why they say 'falling in love'. I literally felt that falling experience. And the result? I let her slip through my fingers.
Morning Coffee
As a young man I studied Japanese and like many of us Japanese students, we met many Japanese tourists, a natural match - we wanted to practice Japanese and learn, they wanted to interact with sympathetic Aussies. I met one particularly nice young Japanese lass and we shared some nice experiences, including a drive to Northam. I pulled out a joint and had a smoke as we drive along this narrow country rode - but she was terrified as I drove along this winding tiny aussie rode while stoned.
One night we went to a party together, it was a nice relaxed event, some music, some dancing, some talking, some dart games - it was a pleasant night. After a bit, I felt my energies flagging somewhat, so I thought a coffee might be nice, and I asked her "would you like a coffee?" She looked at me in horror, a confused pause of disgust and amazement. I had no idea what was wrong, so I repeated : "I'm going to the kitchen to make a coffee, would you like one too?". Her relief was obvious and palpable and she happily agreed, her shock and horror faded, and we shared a coffee in the kitchen. It was not until later that I realised what had happened - it was common in young Japanese culture to ask something like "shall we share morning coffee together?" as a way of politely asking for sex. Of course, we never did share morning coffee.
See you later
One day while working at the casino, I had a dinner date with a female friend - I don't remember who asked who out, but she was a nice friend and I was happy to spend dinner with her. During the dinner, one of my female work-mates dropped by to say hello, and my date made a point of saying "hey - he's mine for tonight". Well, I was sexually conservative, inexperienced, unconfident, and I didn't really grasp what she meant or intended, and didn't have the confidence to open up about what the evening may involve. I also had a girlfriend in another city and wasn't sure if I had told her - and I would never even consider being unfaithful. I said nothing. Afterwards, we went back to my room, and she had packed her nightie. We got into bed, said goodnight and simply went to sleep. Next morning we politely said goodbye, and that was that. To this day I think of that lost paramour and hope I meet again - not to have sex, but to apologise for my letting her down without explanation.
Back in my twenties I met a nice young couple, the young bloke was in a band, and his girlfriend would go along in support. They say that a woman often chooses her next man before leaving the last one, and I was getting on pretty well with her. So there came a day when we were hanging around the pub while he played, and we shared a drink in the quiet lounge, away from where he was playing. Things were 'going very well', as Kaylee said about Simon Tan in Firefly.
It seems she had chosen me as her next man, and she looked me right in the eye, and cast her romantic net over me, she wanted to catch me. At that moment I actually experienced falling - suddenly the ground seemed to drop out from under me and I felt in my gut like I was falling into a bottomlesss pit. This feeling only lasted for a few moments, but now I know why they say 'falling in love'. I literally felt that falling experience. And the result? I let her slip through my fingers.
Morning Coffee
As a young man I studied Japanese and like many of us Japanese students, we met many Japanese tourists, a natural match - we wanted to practice Japanese and learn, they wanted to interact with sympathetic Aussies. I met one particularly nice young Japanese lass and we shared some nice experiences, including a drive to Northam. I pulled out a joint and had a smoke as we drive along this narrow country rode - but she was terrified as I drove along this winding tiny aussie rode while stoned.
One night we went to a party together, it was a nice relaxed event, some music, some dancing, some talking, some dart games - it was a pleasant night. After a bit, I felt my energies flagging somewhat, so I thought a coffee might be nice, and I asked her "would you like a coffee?" She looked at me in horror, a confused pause of disgust and amazement. I had no idea what was wrong, so I repeated : "I'm going to the kitchen to make a coffee, would you like one too?". Her relief was obvious and palpable and she happily agreed, her shock and horror faded, and we shared a coffee in the kitchen. It was not until later that I realised what had happened - it was common in young Japanese culture to ask something like "shall we share morning coffee together?" as a way of politely asking for sex. Of course, we never did share morning coffee.
See you later
One day while working at the casino, I had a dinner date with a female friend - I don't remember who asked who out, but she was a nice friend and I was happy to spend dinner with her. During the dinner, one of my female work-mates dropped by to say hello, and my date made a point of saying "hey - he's mine for tonight". Well, I was sexually conservative, inexperienced, unconfident, and I didn't really grasp what she meant or intended, and didn't have the confidence to open up about what the evening may involve. I also had a girlfriend in another city and wasn't sure if I had told her - and I would never even consider being unfaithful. I said nothing. Afterwards, we went back to my room, and she had packed her nightie. We got into bed, said goodnight and simply went to sleep. Next morning we politely said goodbye, and that was that. To this day I think of that lost paramour and hope I meet again - not to have sex, but to apologise for my letting her down without explanation.
Saturday 21 April 2012
Cosmic Consciousness
In my twenties I went along to a spiritual growth weekend course - largely based on relaxing into an alpha state and using creative visualisation to learn, or to project a desired outcome. It was a positive experience, and I learnt about myself and the power of visualisation.
And, at the time I was also into astronomy, I had a nice 8inch Meade telescope, and often used it to view the Moon and planets and stars - even Halley's comet when it came past again in the 80s.
I liked to follow the movement of the planets, imagining their orbits and their distance from us. The two planets inside our orbit and thus never seen in the darkest hours - Mercury close to the sun, moving fast and rarely visible; Venus a little slower, a little further out and thus more visible, both the morning 'star' and the evening 'star', depending on it's position.
Then the outside planets which could be seen by naked eye even the darkest hours of the night - Mars, slightly red; Jupiter large and bright and slightly yellow/brown, Saturn less close, with the rings a wonderful sight in the 'scope . I got to know their orbits and movements fairly well over this period - and one night I had a wonderful experience of sight and understanding.
As I looked at several planets, the sun just having set - I saw it - I saw the solar system. I could see the sun was just below the horizon, I could see several planets and their relative distances, and their movement through their orbits. It all fit in my head, and I apprehended the whole solar (almost) system in my mind. It was a wonderful moment of seeing large.
And this moment of seeing large lead to one of the great experiences of my life in the alpha course shortly afterwards.
One of the exercises in this personal development weekend was to visualise one's consciousness growing larger and larger, to imagine one's 'self' was larger than merely the physical body we wear. First we imagined our consciousness expanding to fill the room - to be the room. Then to expand further and be the suburb, then be the city, then Australia, then the solar system. And it really 'clicked' for me - I surmise that the experience I had had in seeing the solar system was the trigger that made it work so well for me. It worked - I was the solar system. I went further, and I was the galaxy, then the whole universe. I had the experience of Cosmic Consciousness, one the sublimely great moments of this incarnation. My consciousness encompassed all of creation.
Afterwards, coming back to the room I was filled with energy and joy to such an extent I could not stop grinning with joy for a good hour or more - indeed my face ached from smiling so long.
Thank you Luc.
And, at the time I was also into astronomy, I had a nice 8inch Meade telescope, and often used it to view the Moon and planets and stars - even Halley's comet when it came past again in the 80s.
I liked to follow the movement of the planets, imagining their orbits and their distance from us. The two planets inside our orbit and thus never seen in the darkest hours - Mercury close to the sun, moving fast and rarely visible; Venus a little slower, a little further out and thus more visible, both the morning 'star' and the evening 'star', depending on it's position.
Then the outside planets which could be seen by naked eye even the darkest hours of the night - Mars, slightly red; Jupiter large and bright and slightly yellow/brown, Saturn less close, with the rings a wonderful sight in the 'scope . I got to know their orbits and movements fairly well over this period - and one night I had a wonderful experience of sight and understanding.
As I looked at several planets, the sun just having set - I saw it - I saw the solar system. I could see the sun was just below the horizon, I could see several planets and their relative distances, and their movement through their orbits. It all fit in my head, and I apprehended the whole solar (almost) system in my mind. It was a wonderful moment of seeing large.
And this moment of seeing large lead to one of the great experiences of my life in the alpha course shortly afterwards.
One of the exercises in this personal development weekend was to visualise one's consciousness growing larger and larger, to imagine one's 'self' was larger than merely the physical body we wear. First we imagined our consciousness expanding to fill the room - to be the room. Then to expand further and be the suburb, then be the city, then Australia, then the solar system. And it really 'clicked' for me - I surmise that the experience I had had in seeing the solar system was the trigger that made it work so well for me. It worked - I was the solar system. I went further, and I was the galaxy, then the whole universe. I had the experience of Cosmic Consciousness, one the sublimely great moments of this incarnation. My consciousness encompassed all of creation.
Afterwards, coming back to the room I was filled with energy and joy to such an extent I could not stop grinning with joy for a good hour or more - indeed my face ached from smiling so long.
Thank you Luc.
Friday 13 April 2012
The Butterfly and the Rock
I stood upon the rock, the big red rock at Australia's center, Uluru - usually called "Ayer's Rock" by most of us white-fellas. The sun beat down from almost overhead, I could see for miles - the tourist's cars and buses like toy cars below me, the lumpy Olgas in the distance, endless plains of red stretching in all directions. It was hot and still, with very few flies, and just an ocassional bird-call.
I was on a mission. A spiritual mission for The Brotherhood of Angels and of Humanity - a small group dedicated to helping the spirit beings of the mountains. My mission was to plant a talisman, a specially prepared sealed brass tube which contained fragments of various crystals - diamond, emerald, rubies, sapphire etc. all blessed by the elder of our group - our leading Bishop.
My goal was to find a place for the talisman deep inside the rock, where it could radiate for millenia, helping the Angel of the Rock to spread it's energies to the land and the people.
But I felt not at all spiritual, I felt no connection with the rock or its spirit, I could see no place to plant our talisman, and the gaggle of noisy tourists made the atmosphere the very opposite of quiet and spiritual. I looked for a place to plant my talisman, but all I could find was a little hole full of rubbish, not exactly the right type of place.
I felt silly and insignificant, I felt small and powerless - I was a gnat on the rump of an elephant, I was a grain of sand on a vast beach, I was a mote in God's eye, I was 30 year old child on a rock that was millenia old. I was as nothing compared to this vast rock. I realised I would have to dig deep to make the connection I sought. It was approaching Noon. (Generally I am sensitive enough to feel morning change to afternoon.) Fortune smiled on me, and just then, all the tourists left, and I was alone on the rock, minutes before Noon.
So I lay down flat on the rock, head to the east, undid my shirt, lowered my trousers just a little, so my spine was presssed against the rock, and the sun beat down on all my chakras, my centers of energy. I drew in earth energy, I basked in Sun energy - and I called for assistance as Noon occurred, waiting for a sign.
It came in the the form of a lovely butterfly - I followed him some distance, and it lead me to crack in the rock, a sloping gap where a huge flake of rock was peeling away. The lower end of the crack narrowed and lead down deep in the rock. I knew this was the place.
So I held the talisman in my hand and reached as far and as deep into the crack as I could, and then flicked it down into the crack. I heard it 'tinkle tinkle' as it tumbed down deeper into this crack, ending up deep inside Uluru, where it would be undisturbed for millenia. My mission had succeeded, the butterfly had lead me truly. The talisman is there decades later, helping humans and angels to spread the light.
I was on a mission. A spiritual mission for The Brotherhood of Angels and of Humanity - a small group dedicated to helping the spirit beings of the mountains. My mission was to plant a talisman, a specially prepared sealed brass tube which contained fragments of various crystals - diamond, emerald, rubies, sapphire etc. all blessed by the elder of our group - our leading Bishop.
My goal was to find a place for the talisman deep inside the rock, where it could radiate for millenia, helping the Angel of the Rock to spread it's energies to the land and the people.
But I felt not at all spiritual, I felt no connection with the rock or its spirit, I could see no place to plant our talisman, and the gaggle of noisy tourists made the atmosphere the very opposite of quiet and spiritual. I looked for a place to plant my talisman, but all I could find was a little hole full of rubbish, not exactly the right type of place.
I felt silly and insignificant, I felt small and powerless - I was a gnat on the rump of an elephant, I was a grain of sand on a vast beach, I was a mote in God's eye, I was 30 year old child on a rock that was millenia old. I was as nothing compared to this vast rock. I realised I would have to dig deep to make the connection I sought. It was approaching Noon. (Generally I am sensitive enough to feel morning change to afternoon.) Fortune smiled on me, and just then, all the tourists left, and I was alone on the rock, minutes before Noon.
So I lay down flat on the rock, head to the east, undid my shirt, lowered my trousers just a little, so my spine was presssed against the rock, and the sun beat down on all my chakras, my centers of energy. I drew in earth energy, I basked in Sun energy - and I called for assistance as Noon occurred, waiting for a sign.
It came in the the form of a lovely butterfly - I followed him some distance, and it lead me to crack in the rock, a sloping gap where a huge flake of rock was peeling away. The lower end of the crack narrowed and lead down deep in the rock. I knew this was the place.
So I held the talisman in my hand and reached as far and as deep into the crack as I could, and then flicked it down into the crack. I heard it 'tinkle tinkle' as it tumbed down deeper into this crack, ending up deep inside Uluru, where it would be undisturbed for millenia. My mission had succeeded, the butterfly had lead me truly. The talisman is there decades later, helping humans and angels to spread the light.
Thursday 12 April 2012
The Little Red Book
It was 1972 when I was 11, just old enough to start understanding the real world, but still too young to understand society in any meaningful way. The Adventures of Barry Mackenzie was on at the drive-in in Dowerin. It was the start of the Gough Whitlam era. Cigarette packets began to include health warnings.
We lived in a tiny country town called Minivale on the railway line in the wheat belt of Western Australia. The population was under 100, it was so small there wasn't even a pub, just one single shop.
There came a day when I over-heard my parents talking with a visitor about some dangerous book. A red book. Apparently The Red Book of Chairman Mao, (who at that time was leading the Chinese in a cultural revolution that was sweeping away the old, and causing great destruction in China.) They spoke of this book in hushed tones, furtively looking around to see if someone was listening - someone like me that is. Apparently it was full of dangerous knowledge, it was evil and subversive, and it must be carefully restricted - especially kept out of the hands of children in whom it might corrupt and even inspire communism. Reds under the beds was the fear of the time !
Well, I had never heard of this book, and would have never been interested until I overheard that talk about keeping it away from children - but obviously I kept an eye out for it - not that an 11 year old had much resources in a tiny town with no library, and it was long before the internet.
So sure enough - one day I found myself alone in a room with that book for an hour or two. So naturally I immediately read it from cover to cover. Wow - what an eye-opener it was - I was astonished.
Of course - it wasn't Chairman Mao's book at all. It was actually The Little Red Schoolbook written in 1969 by S. Hansen and J. Jensen. It was a highly controversial book, which was even banned in some countries. It was targetted at school children, and was designed to inform openly about subjects such as drugs, sex, advertising, and authority. It was shockingly open and direct in a way that I had never seen before, and not often since. I learned a great deal about the world from that book - but to this day I have no idea who made the confusion about which Red Book it was.
The full book can be read here :
The Little Red School Book
We lived in a tiny country town called Minivale on the railway line in the wheat belt of Western Australia. The population was under 100, it was so small there wasn't even a pub, just one single shop.
There came a day when I over-heard my parents talking with a visitor about some dangerous book. A red book. Apparently The Red Book of Chairman Mao, (who at that time was leading the Chinese in a cultural revolution that was sweeping away the old, and causing great destruction in China.) They spoke of this book in hushed tones, furtively looking around to see if someone was listening - someone like me that is. Apparently it was full of dangerous knowledge, it was evil and subversive, and it must be carefully restricted - especially kept out of the hands of children in whom it might corrupt and even inspire communism. Reds under the beds was the fear of the time !
Well, I had never heard of this book, and would have never been interested until I overheard that talk about keeping it away from children - but obviously I kept an eye out for it - not that an 11 year old had much resources in a tiny town with no library, and it was long before the internet.
So sure enough - one day I found myself alone in a room with that book for an hour or two. So naturally I immediately read it from cover to cover. Wow - what an eye-opener it was - I was astonished.
Of course - it wasn't Chairman Mao's book at all. It was actually The Little Red Schoolbook written in 1969 by S. Hansen and J. Jensen. It was a highly controversial book, which was even banned in some countries. It was targetted at school children, and was designed to inform openly about subjects such as drugs, sex, advertising, and authority. It was shockingly open and direct in a way that I had never seen before, and not often since. I learned a great deal about the world from that book - but to this day I have no idea who made the confusion about which Red Book it was.
The full book can be read here :
The Little Red School Book
Monday 26 March 2012
How I nearly missed the flight, but saved the day
Years ago I worked on computer systems for casinos, our company was in Perth, and we supported casinos here and in Adelaide and elsewhere. As opening day for Adelaide approached, I was more interested in being with my girlfriend in Perth than hanging around for the opening day. So 2 days before Adelaide casino opened, I caught a flight back to Perth - "she'll be right" I thought - what could possibly go wrong with a complex computer system involving hundreds of networked parts in the 80s? Even if I had made a software change to the system 30 minutes before I left!
On my return to Perth my girlfriend met me at the airport - fully dressed up in a beautiful pink dress slit to the thigh, magnificent beehive hairdo with pink feather, shiny leather boots, and even elbow length pink gloves to match. Wow.
We spent the day in various debaucheries and dissoluteness and were at one of my friends place when oddly, a phone call came through - for me. For me? Here? Turns out I had left a bug in the code and they desperately needed me back to fix it, with only 1 day to spare, and my boss had spent the day ringing all over Perth trying to track me down. They had managed to get me a midnight flight to Adelaide connecting through Melbourne which would get there a few hours before opening time.
Naturally, I spent the rest of the day in various excesses - which, as I recall, involved a whole bottle of baby oil and two ruined sheets and a ruined matress. But somehow time seemed to slip away, and later, checking my watch, I found it was 11:30pm! Oh my God! it was 30 minutes to the airport and the flight left in 30 minutes! I have never moved so fast in my life! My heart was thumping 120BPM as I threw everything into my suitcase, ran to the car and drove at break-neck speed, not even stopping for red lights. Fate was with me and I drove into the airport at 11:58 pm.
I ran full pelt into the departure lounge - it was completely empty. Except for one staff member behind the counter - he looked up as I ran pell-mell towards him, and he realised instantly who I was - the missing passenger. As I ran towards the counter, he furiously started writing and stamping on a bit of paper - my boarding pass. When I reached him, I threw my suitcase onto the conveyor and he shoved the pass into my hand and said "gate6 - Go!". I sprinted off towards gate 6, and behind me I heard him call out "your luggage won't make it though."
I ran through gate 6, out onto the tarmac, and saw the boarding ramp vehicle was literally just pulling away from the airplane. I bounded up the ramp 3 steps at a time, and the thumping of my footsteps clued the driver to stop - I arrived at the top to find a gap of 3-4 feet between the ramp and the plane. I swear to God - I jumped full sprint across the gap into the plane, colliding into a very surprised looking stewardess. I had made it!
So I settled into my seat, very relieved indeed, until I recalled that my luggage had the EPROM programmer in it - the device needed to change the bug in my code inside the EPROM computer chips in the Keno terminals. Oh dear.
I arrived in Melbourne just before a threatening storm, but made it onto my flight to Adelaide - the last flight before Melbourne airport was closed. Fate smiled on me again. Finally, I arrived in Adelaide early morning, no luggage, no EPROM programmer.
So I rang around a few tech stores enquiring about an EPROM programmer, and actually found a place which was prepared to loan me one to see if it 'suited our needs'. With 2 hours to spare, I had the programmer in my hands, and the code on my screen, with the obvious bug staring me in the face. I fixed the bug, programmed all the EPROMS and then walked around the madhosue of a casino about to open in one hour and replaced all the EPROMS in all the Keno terminals. (We then sent the EPROM programmer back - "sorry, it wasn't quite what we wanted".)
One hour later, the casino opened and the very first Keno game began (a game which involves drawing a selection of numbered balls from a big spinning cage - not unlike Lotto.) As all the casino big-wigs stood and watched, the announcer started to call out the numbers as they popped out of the machine one by one : "number 15", "number 6", "number 28" ... etc. Suddenly the announcer stopped in confusion, and then said with some embarassment "Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, we have a slight problem, we'll be stopping this game". For one panicky moment I thought I had really ballsed something up, even though ball-drawing was nothing to do with my area.
It turned out that the ball mechanism had a small place where a ball could get stuck inside the machine without being noticed, and a ball number 6 had become caught there from the previous practice run. The announcer was about to call out a SECOND "number 6", but realised he had already just called a number 6 and so had to stop that very first game. Phew - this one was not my fault after all. Lucky he spotted it, otherwise any bets with number 6 would have won twice the odds till they sorted it out.
On my return to Perth my girlfriend met me at the airport - fully dressed up in a beautiful pink dress slit to the thigh, magnificent beehive hairdo with pink feather, shiny leather boots, and even elbow length pink gloves to match. Wow.
We spent the day in various debaucheries and dissoluteness and were at one of my friends place when oddly, a phone call came through - for me. For me? Here? Turns out I had left a bug in the code and they desperately needed me back to fix it, with only 1 day to spare, and my boss had spent the day ringing all over Perth trying to track me down. They had managed to get me a midnight flight to Adelaide connecting through Melbourne which would get there a few hours before opening time.
Naturally, I spent the rest of the day in various excesses - which, as I recall, involved a whole bottle of baby oil and two ruined sheets and a ruined matress. But somehow time seemed to slip away, and later, checking my watch, I found it was 11:30pm! Oh my God! it was 30 minutes to the airport and the flight left in 30 minutes! I have never moved so fast in my life! My heart was thumping 120BPM as I threw everything into my suitcase, ran to the car and drove at break-neck speed, not even stopping for red lights. Fate was with me and I drove into the airport at 11:58 pm.
I ran full pelt into the departure lounge - it was completely empty. Except for one staff member behind the counter - he looked up as I ran pell-mell towards him, and he realised instantly who I was - the missing passenger. As I ran towards the counter, he furiously started writing and stamping on a bit of paper - my boarding pass. When I reached him, I threw my suitcase onto the conveyor and he shoved the pass into my hand and said "gate6 - Go!". I sprinted off towards gate 6, and behind me I heard him call out "your luggage won't make it though."
I ran through gate 6, out onto the tarmac, and saw the boarding ramp vehicle was literally just pulling away from the airplane. I bounded up the ramp 3 steps at a time, and the thumping of my footsteps clued the driver to stop - I arrived at the top to find a gap of 3-4 feet between the ramp and the plane. I swear to God - I jumped full sprint across the gap into the plane, colliding into a very surprised looking stewardess. I had made it!
So I settled into my seat, very relieved indeed, until I recalled that my luggage had the EPROM programmer in it - the device needed to change the bug in my code inside the EPROM computer chips in the Keno terminals. Oh dear.
I arrived in Melbourne just before a threatening storm, but made it onto my flight to Adelaide - the last flight before Melbourne airport was closed. Fate smiled on me again. Finally, I arrived in Adelaide early morning, no luggage, no EPROM programmer.
So I rang around a few tech stores enquiring about an EPROM programmer, and actually found a place which was prepared to loan me one to see if it 'suited our needs'. With 2 hours to spare, I had the programmer in my hands, and the code on my screen, with the obvious bug staring me in the face. I fixed the bug, programmed all the EPROMS and then walked around the madhosue of a casino about to open in one hour and replaced all the EPROMS in all the Keno terminals. (We then sent the EPROM programmer back - "sorry, it wasn't quite what we wanted".)
One hour later, the casino opened and the very first Keno game began (a game which involves drawing a selection of numbered balls from a big spinning cage - not unlike Lotto.) As all the casino big-wigs stood and watched, the announcer started to call out the numbers as they popped out of the machine one by one : "number 15", "number 6", "number 28" ... etc. Suddenly the announcer stopped in confusion, and then said with some embarassment "Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, we have a slight problem, we'll be stopping this game". For one panicky moment I thought I had really ballsed something up, even though ball-drawing was nothing to do with my area.
It turned out that the ball mechanism had a small place where a ball could get stuck inside the machine without being noticed, and a ball number 6 had become caught there from the previous practice run. The announcer was about to call out a SECOND "number 6", but realised he had already just called a number 6 and so had to stop that very first game. Phew - this one was not my fault after all. Lucky he spotted it, otherwise any bets with number 6 would have won twice the odds till they sorted it out.
Monday 12 March 2012
Dreaming the Melbourne Cup Winner
It was 1963, the year the British stopped testing nuclear bombs in Australia, the year Whitlam and Calwell were photographed standing cap-in-hand under a street-lamp outside in the street , waiting for the Labor caucus inside (the 36 "faceless men") to decide their future without them.
The Queen visited that year, prompting Prime Minister Menzies to sycophantly proclaim "I did but see her passing by, and yet I love her till I die". The Queen responded with an odd smiling shrug - almost a grimace of embarassment.
My parents had just married, I was about 2 years old, and we had an odd stroke of luck that year - a family story that is oft-remembered, but yet never really understood. My mother does not dream at all, she says; but my Dad does from time to time. He is not at all religious or spiritually minded, being quite down-to-earth and practical. But on this one occasion something rather odd happened.
One day in early November 1963, my Dad dreamed about the Melbourne Cup - indeed he specifically dreamed that it was won by a horse called "Gatum Gatum". Dad laughed it off, but Mum took this very seriously, and insisted they actually bet on the horse. She scraped together all the florins and shillings and pence which could be found, a total of some pounds, and took it to the bookie for a bet on Gatum Gatum to win.
Gatum Gatum was far from the favourite - indeed his odds were 25-to-1 for the win.
But sure enough, exactly as Dad dreamed - he came in to win at 25-to-1.
The story goes that when Mum went to collect, the poor bookie shovelled piles of notes at her - even including a few 'blue notes' (the rare 5-pound note.)
The money went on various bills, but also paid for our first pedigree British Bulldog - "Dallymore Tiger", a pet I remember with much affection who lived with us for ten years to follow.
Now-a-days Dad shrugs it off as a "just a fluke", as just "one of those things" - to which I wonder "one of what things, exactly?"
The Queen visited that year, prompting Prime Minister Menzies to sycophantly proclaim "I did but see her passing by, and yet I love her till I die". The Queen responded with an odd smiling shrug - almost a grimace of embarassment.
My parents had just married, I was about 2 years old, and we had an odd stroke of luck that year - a family story that is oft-remembered, but yet never really understood. My mother does not dream at all, she says; but my Dad does from time to time. He is not at all religious or spiritually minded, being quite down-to-earth and practical. But on this one occasion something rather odd happened.
One day in early November 1963, my Dad dreamed about the Melbourne Cup - indeed he specifically dreamed that it was won by a horse called "Gatum Gatum". Dad laughed it off, but Mum took this very seriously, and insisted they actually bet on the horse. She scraped together all the florins and shillings and pence which could be found, a total of some pounds, and took it to the bookie for a bet on Gatum Gatum to win.
Gatum Gatum was far from the favourite - indeed his odds were 25-to-1 for the win.
But sure enough, exactly as Dad dreamed - he came in to win at 25-to-1.
The story goes that when Mum went to collect, the poor bookie shovelled piles of notes at her - even including a few 'blue notes' (the rare 5-pound note.)
The money went on various bills, but also paid for our first pedigree British Bulldog - "Dallymore Tiger", a pet I remember with much affection who lived with us for ten years to follow.
Now-a-days Dad shrugs it off as a "just a fluke", as just "one of those things" - to which I wonder "one of what things, exactly?"
Tuesday 28 February 2012
The Day the Bombs went off in Perth
Perth is generally a peaceful place, essentially no terrorism or serious violence - apart from a few examples like an rogue M113 APC once driven through the city, or a crazy with a rifle in an office block one time.
But there was one occasion when a series of bombs went off in Scarborough, and they never even caught the culprit. The date was 29th August 1985, and it was quite bad day for me.
Firstly I had a car accident - I was driving south at about 50km/h along a minor road in North Perth, when suddenly Bang! I experienced an almighty crash of noise and pain. After a moment I recovered with a painful head and right knee to find myself stationary and facing north! With another damaged car nearby. The driver had gone straight through a stop sign and collided with my right hand side, causing my car to swing around a full 180 degrees and come to a halt. She was not much hurt herself, but distraught and worried - worried, that is, for what her boyfriend would say about her ruining his car! She didn't give a damn about me or my car though, and my un-insured clunker was a write-off.
Anyway - later that night I went to bed nursing a headache and a sore knee - in my flat right opposite the construction site for the new Observation City hotel that Alan Bond was building in Scarborough.
Then about 1:20am in the morning there was an almighty explosion! I've heard explosions before - this was not a truck crash, not a sudden weather event, but a high-pressure explosion nearby. Instantly awake I lay silently in bed thinking "WT? was that!". There was complete and utter, and very pregnant, silence - I could sense the entire neighbourhood was awake and listening and wondering what was happening.
Some unknown few seconds later, another huge explosion shook the building, and I heard my lounge-room window shatter and spray shards of glass all over the room. I was already feeling pretty sore and abused, so I decided this was bad day worth ignoring - and I just put my pillow over my head and went back to a fitful sleep.
It turned out that someone was unhappy with the new high-rise development right on the beach at Scarborough and had attempted to bring down the construction crane with 3 bombs placed against it's legs. Luckily it failed, and the crane remained standing, although the area was evacuated while it was checked out. To this day, no-one knows who did it.
Next morning I got up early to see my main room covered in glass fragments, and a gaping broken window. Just then, there was a knock on the door. I was surprised, not expecting anyone, and I opened my door to see a glazier standing there! He immediately saw the glass and said "Ah - can I fix all that for you sir?". "Um, sure", I replied. So he came in, swept up all the glass, quickly and expertly fixed my window, then left with a cheery "bye now."
I had no idea who sent him - but now I assume it was Bondy and his lawyers being pro-active. Perhaps I should have said "Ow, my head hurts from the explosion" :-)
But there was one occasion when a series of bombs went off in Scarborough, and they never even caught the culprit. The date was 29th August 1985, and it was quite bad day for me.
Firstly I had a car accident - I was driving south at about 50km/h along a minor road in North Perth, when suddenly Bang! I experienced an almighty crash of noise and pain. After a moment I recovered with a painful head and right knee to find myself stationary and facing north! With another damaged car nearby. The driver had gone straight through a stop sign and collided with my right hand side, causing my car to swing around a full 180 degrees and come to a halt. She was not much hurt herself, but distraught and worried - worried, that is, for what her boyfriend would say about her ruining his car! She didn't give a damn about me or my car though, and my un-insured clunker was a write-off.
Anyway - later that night I went to bed nursing a headache and a sore knee - in my flat right opposite the construction site for the new Observation City hotel that Alan Bond was building in Scarborough.
Then about 1:20am in the morning there was an almighty explosion! I've heard explosions before - this was not a truck crash, not a sudden weather event, but a high-pressure explosion nearby. Instantly awake I lay silently in bed thinking "WT? was that!". There was complete and utter, and very pregnant, silence - I could sense the entire neighbourhood was awake and listening and wondering what was happening.
Some unknown few seconds later, another huge explosion shook the building, and I heard my lounge-room window shatter and spray shards of glass all over the room. I was already feeling pretty sore and abused, so I decided this was bad day worth ignoring - and I just put my pillow over my head and went back to a fitful sleep.
It turned out that someone was unhappy with the new high-rise development right on the beach at Scarborough and had attempted to bring down the construction crane with 3 bombs placed against it's legs. Luckily it failed, and the crane remained standing, although the area was evacuated while it was checked out. To this day, no-one knows who did it.
Next morning I got up early to see my main room covered in glass fragments, and a gaping broken window. Just then, there was a knock on the door. I was surprised, not expecting anyone, and I opened my door to see a glazier standing there! He immediately saw the glass and said "Ah - can I fix all that for you sir?". "Um, sure", I replied. So he came in, swept up all the glass, quickly and expertly fixed my window, then left with a cheery "bye now."
I had no idea who sent him - but now I assume it was Bondy and his lawyers being pro-active. Perhaps I should have said "Ow, my head hurts from the explosion" :-)
Sunday 19 February 2012
A little nature friend
Recently I was out in my Mum's Aussie garden, being with nature - feeling and smelling and seeing the plants, enjoying a informal drifting nature meditation, as lately I've been trying to open up more to the various worlds of nature...
And so it was that a little friend joined me - a mid-size tree spider crawled around my tee-shirt and arms. I did my best to grok his spiderness, made myself into a spider friendly tree, sent him spider love, and we made friends easily enough.
Now the sun was just setting over the ocean, it was a lovely moment, so I did a little meditation about energy up the spine and focussing at the crown, like the sap rising up the trunk of my tree. I invited my friend to climb up my back to the crown of my head where I created a sort-of 'spiritual spider-friendly parking zone'.
Sure enough he crawled up my back, right up the back of my neck, running his legs thru the hairs on the back of my neck - quite an interesting feeling. He walked to the top of my head, and stopped right at the tip of my head, in my spider-friendly parking spot, for a little while as we shared a little happy moment together while the sun set into the ocean. Man and beast. Spider en-crowning my Stick of Brahma.
Next thing Mum comes running out with a thong in her hand - "Aargh! look out ! a spider is on you! I'll get it!" Don't get me wrong, my Mum is kind and caring, and she was doing exactly the right normal thing.
But somehow my life is not always about the 'normal thing'.
Perhaps spider-crawl spinal-meditations are not everyone's cup of tea.
:-)
And so it was that a little friend joined me - a mid-size tree spider crawled around my tee-shirt and arms. I did my best to grok his spiderness, made myself into a spider friendly tree, sent him spider love, and we made friends easily enough.
Now the sun was just setting over the ocean, it was a lovely moment, so I did a little meditation about energy up the spine and focussing at the crown, like the sap rising up the trunk of my tree. I invited my friend to climb up my back to the crown of my head where I created a sort-of 'spiritual spider-friendly parking zone'.
Sure enough he crawled up my back, right up the back of my neck, running his legs thru the hairs on the back of my neck - quite an interesting feeling. He walked to the top of my head, and stopped right at the tip of my head, in my spider-friendly parking spot, for a little while as we shared a little happy moment together while the sun set into the ocean. Man and beast. Spider en-crowning my Stick of Brahma.
Next thing Mum comes running out with a thong in her hand - "Aargh! look out ! a spider is on you! I'll get it!" Don't get me wrong, my Mum is kind and caring, and she was doing exactly the right normal thing.
But somehow my life is not always about the 'normal thing'.
Perhaps spider-crawl spinal-meditations are not everyone's cup of tea.
:-)
Tuesday 7 February 2012
Brass memories of my grand-pa
My maternal grandfather, Stavely Erskine Johns (usually called 'Johno',) died when I was about two years old. I'm told he held me and sang to me as baby, and although I don't remember him personally, I do have a special childhood memory which connected me to him, a memory from when I was maybe three or four years old, a memory which I never understood until nearly fifty years later - a memory of mysterious brass objects - slightly tapered brass cylinders, open at one end, heavily closed at t'other.
Grand-pa served in both world wars - he retired a Major, and I still have his Major's crowns carefully stored to this day. And the mysterious brass objects in question were empty shell casings - of various sizes, arranged neatly in a row on grand-ma's mantel-piece - from big ones inches in diameter, down through some an inch or so, to the smallest .303 shells. Not that I had the faintest idea what these mysterious brass objects were, nor understood the secret symbols and codes imprinted on their base.
Grand-ma lived in Melbourne, and we lived in Perth. I can only vaguely remember her from our occasional visits before she died when I was about four. But what I do remember with great clarity and reverence were those mysterious brass cylinders.
I don't know how or why, but somehow these mysterious brass mementos were important to me, and I was allowed to hold them, not to bang and throw and play with as toys - no no - just the opposite. I would hold these casings lovingly in my arms and clean them and polish them with Brasso till they gleamed like gold.
I had never understood their importance - they were just a strange childhood memory. But now, nearly fifty years later, as I follow that growing urge to connect to my ancestors, I finally understand - I was holding them like a baby in my arms, and caring for them just as he had done for me.
Thank you grand-pa Johno.
Grand-pa served in both world wars - he retired a Major, and I still have his Major's crowns carefully stored to this day. And the mysterious brass objects in question were empty shell casings - of various sizes, arranged neatly in a row on grand-ma's mantel-piece - from big ones inches in diameter, down through some an inch or so, to the smallest .303 shells. Not that I had the faintest idea what these mysterious brass objects were, nor understood the secret symbols and codes imprinted on their base.
Grand-ma lived in Melbourne, and we lived in Perth. I can only vaguely remember her from our occasional visits before she died when I was about four. But what I do remember with great clarity and reverence were those mysterious brass cylinders.
I don't know how or why, but somehow these mysterious brass mementos were important to me, and I was allowed to hold them, not to bang and throw and play with as toys - no no - just the opposite. I would hold these casings lovingly in my arms and clean them and polish them with Brasso till they gleamed like gold.
I had never understood their importance - they were just a strange childhood memory. But now, nearly fifty years later, as I follow that growing urge to connect to my ancestors, I finally understand - I was holding them like a baby in my arms, and caring for them just as he had done for me.
Thank you grand-pa Johno.
Thursday 2 February 2012
The Million Dollar Bra
Around the turn of the millenium I did some tech support work in Adelaide on a cruise ship docked there for some maintenance. I met a young lady on that job - I didn't know her well, or for that long either, but I liked her, and here's an experience I'd like to share. I feel a certain connection to the Divine Feminine, and I'm also a single man in whose breast hope still springs eternal. So this story is partly about me, partly about average aussies, and partly about a young Aussie woman - and also partly about something rather special.
This young woman was attractive and slim and blond - she looked somewhat like Lisa McCune, and in my mind's eye she has the grace of Gigi Edgly in Last Train to Freo, the loveliness of AnnaSophia Robb in Bridge to Terabithea, and the spunk of Rapunzel in Tangled.
I thought she had a special something, a je ne sais quoi, a smooth and warm quality, a simple and comfortable niceness. To be with her was like having on your favourite comfy shirt that made you feel calm but manly. Her female friends would probably laugh at my fantasy image, but it seems that somehow I saw her best side. I'd like to think her friends had some of these qualities too, without realising it.
She didn't act like she was special or superior at all - just the opposite. She was in many ways a normal young Aussie woman, mostly friendly and nice, positive and often funny. Not perfect, not necessarily good at everything, not always successful. But she had what they call the 'girl-next-door' quality in spades. Remembering her is like those 24 years spent Living Next Door to Alice.
Perhaps her je ne sais quoi lay in what she didn't have. She didn't have arrogance, she didn't have barriers and heavy defences, she didn't slash at any man who might come too close, she didn't play games and faces. I obviously never had a chance with her of course, largely due to the age difference, (and perhaps a little, um, quality differential.) But that of course gave me the pleasing freedom to be openly warm to her - I'm old enough now to realise the magic lies mostly in the giving.
Not once did she choose to push me back, make it clear she wasn't interested - because it didn't have to be said, because we understood, and she wouldn't want to cut me for no reason. That is until the sad day I heard the ship was leaving, and in a strange whirlwind of panic I asked her out. She let me down gently "oh, that's very sweet of you - but no, I'm sorry". A lovely humane capacity for empathy and communication in a slightly awkward moment.
No doubt she would be embarrassed to hear herself described this way, thinking of herself as just a normal girl with her own issues and weaknesses and dramas, mixing it up with her hopes and dreams and assets. Nor would I want to pretend I was close to her or anything - I'm just a friendly old codger she worked with once - and I really like to write about nice experiences (and yes, the bra is coming soon - patience, grasshopper.)
But first - I too, have a dream. I have a dream that indeed this really is a normal young woman. The modern normal young Aussie woman.
Australia has come a long way in recent decades - in the way we have treated our children. A century or so ago - most children were chattel, slaves, treated like animals. Whilst there was much improvement by the 50s or so, a lot of children still suffered hell from an early age (and not just those in those terrible institutions.) Not to mention the smoking and the drinking of that era and earlier. Most children were beaten as normal procedure. Getting through childhood without major damage to the psyche was still a hundred-to-one shot.
But eventually - things changed with the 60s or so, and into the 70s and on. There was a sea change in our society in so many ways - sexual freedom, human freedom, more information, more open-ness, more acceptance of different things and people, and a better understanding of people, of emotions, and of children's needs.
So we stopped beating children, we learned how to damage them less, we moved on from Dr Spock, we had many parents who really tried to learn how to care and bring up good persons - which seems like an obvious norm now. And now we are starting to see children who were brought up by people who were not beaten and damaged as children - the second generation of decent up-bringing - with the third one coming along. I believe modern Australia is paradise, Australia is the New World - many of those tired and poor huddled masses dream of coming to Australia now. There are few places better than here for living and growing. This is where many quality souls are choosing to incarnate now, because this is where quality up-bringings can be found to birth into.
Perhaps that's the quality I saw - the normal Aussie girl, a decent normal soul who grew up what a fairly decent, normal, nice person should be. Not un-flawed, not perfect, but not critically damaged. Not that she's alone either - indeed I see many wonderful young people coming in now. I see children with amazing abilities, I see people who can see deep realities, and many who want to help others and just be a good person. This is truly the Golden Age, my friends. (OK, OK, the bra!)
So, one day I wander into my friend's office on board ship, and she had on a lovely blue silk dress. Not in-appropriate for the office, not too revealing or provocative, no-no. But figure-hugging and attractive? Oh my Lordy, yes-yes-yes!
As I walked in with my friendly greeting, she responded with a happy 'hello', and she leant back in her chair, arms behind her head, big warm smile, eyes twinkling, hair gently swinging, open and pleasing. Now I don't think it was anything more than genuine friendliness - she was just being nice to a cheerful and non-threatening guy. Perhaps she just felt good about herself that day and just chose to glow, to radiate.
And the bra? Well, I don't really know much about bras - but there are obviously different types and qualities etc. - your basic everyday bra, your quality bra, and the special expensive French bra when you really want to knock-him-dead on Friday night.
And then - there is this bra.
This is the bra that Vulcan magically crafted for his lover Venus on Mt Etna.
The bra that Boticelli snatched away from her just before he snapped her picture on the Half Shell.
The bra that Helen wore which inspired a thousand ships to go get that pair back again.
That Cleopatra wore as she popped out of the rolled-up carpet in Julius Caesar's tent that day.
Wow.
Not that the bra itself was obvious or crass or even revealed. In fact the bra was completely and utterly invisible - I didn't see the bra at all - nor any VPL either. Princess Di herself would have been impressed.
What I did see was this complete lovely young woman, dressed simply yet truly beautifully, arms open, big smile, pouring out warmth, a heavenly figure, and perfect breasts akimbo - in that million dollar bra.
Now, I've had some unusual experiences - I've travelled the planes, I've battled demons, I've stood in the Lightning Flash, and I've heard Mother Mary. And on this day a special little something happened too.
For a tiny flashing instant - the Glory of Venus herself shone down on me. I swooned - I swear to God.
My head filled with a rushing sound, my heart raced, my vision blurred, my knees started to buckle. I was overcome - not with desire or arousal - but with the pure bliss of the Divine Feminine - as the gates of heaven opened just a crack and the shining light of the Goddess burst briefly through.
But the moment did not last long, and as I recovered I was still quite wobbly. It seemed rather uncool to actually faint, so I surreptitiously leaned against the door as if the ship had rolled in a little swell, looked away and bit my lip, until that bittersweet moment of being fully back in the Earthly.
Thank you my Lady - there's a story for my glory book.
This young woman was attractive and slim and blond - she looked somewhat like Lisa McCune, and in my mind's eye she has the grace of Gigi Edgly in Last Train to Freo, the loveliness of AnnaSophia Robb in Bridge to Terabithea, and the spunk of Rapunzel in Tangled.
I thought she had a special something, a je ne sais quoi, a smooth and warm quality, a simple and comfortable niceness. To be with her was like having on your favourite comfy shirt that made you feel calm but manly. Her female friends would probably laugh at my fantasy image, but it seems that somehow I saw her best side. I'd like to think her friends had some of these qualities too, without realising it.
She didn't act like she was special or superior at all - just the opposite. She was in many ways a normal young Aussie woman, mostly friendly and nice, positive and often funny. Not perfect, not necessarily good at everything, not always successful. But she had what they call the 'girl-next-door' quality in spades. Remembering her is like those 24 years spent Living Next Door to Alice.
Perhaps her je ne sais quoi lay in what she didn't have. She didn't have arrogance, she didn't have barriers and heavy defences, she didn't slash at any man who might come too close, she didn't play games and faces. I obviously never had a chance with her of course, largely due to the age difference, (and perhaps a little, um, quality differential.) But that of course gave me the pleasing freedom to be openly warm to her - I'm old enough now to realise the magic lies mostly in the giving.
Not once did she choose to push me back, make it clear she wasn't interested - because it didn't have to be said, because we understood, and she wouldn't want to cut me for no reason. That is until the sad day I heard the ship was leaving, and in a strange whirlwind of panic I asked her out. She let me down gently "oh, that's very sweet of you - but no, I'm sorry". A lovely humane capacity for empathy and communication in a slightly awkward moment.
No doubt she would be embarrassed to hear herself described this way, thinking of herself as just a normal girl with her own issues and weaknesses and dramas, mixing it up with her hopes and dreams and assets. Nor would I want to pretend I was close to her or anything - I'm just a friendly old codger she worked with once - and I really like to write about nice experiences (and yes, the bra is coming soon - patience, grasshopper.)
But first - I too, have a dream. I have a dream that indeed this really is a normal young woman. The modern normal young Aussie woman.
Australia has come a long way in recent decades - in the way we have treated our children. A century or so ago - most children were chattel, slaves, treated like animals. Whilst there was much improvement by the 50s or so, a lot of children still suffered hell from an early age (and not just those in those terrible institutions.) Not to mention the smoking and the drinking of that era and earlier. Most children were beaten as normal procedure. Getting through childhood without major damage to the psyche was still a hundred-to-one shot.
But eventually - things changed with the 60s or so, and into the 70s and on. There was a sea change in our society in so many ways - sexual freedom, human freedom, more information, more open-ness, more acceptance of different things and people, and a better understanding of people, of emotions, and of children's needs.
So we stopped beating children, we learned how to damage them less, we moved on from Dr Spock, we had many parents who really tried to learn how to care and bring up good persons - which seems like an obvious norm now. And now we are starting to see children who were brought up by people who were not beaten and damaged as children - the second generation of decent up-bringing - with the third one coming along. I believe modern Australia is paradise, Australia is the New World - many of those tired and poor huddled masses dream of coming to Australia now. There are few places better than here for living and growing. This is where many quality souls are choosing to incarnate now, because this is where quality up-bringings can be found to birth into.
Perhaps that's the quality I saw - the normal Aussie girl, a decent normal soul who grew up what a fairly decent, normal, nice person should be. Not un-flawed, not perfect, but not critically damaged. Not that she's alone either - indeed I see many wonderful young people coming in now. I see children with amazing abilities, I see people who can see deep realities, and many who want to help others and just be a good person. This is truly the Golden Age, my friends. (OK, OK, the bra!)
So, one day I wander into my friend's office on board ship, and she had on a lovely blue silk dress. Not in-appropriate for the office, not too revealing or provocative, no-no. But figure-hugging and attractive? Oh my Lordy, yes-yes-yes!
As I walked in with my friendly greeting, she responded with a happy 'hello', and she leant back in her chair, arms behind her head, big warm smile, eyes twinkling, hair gently swinging, open and pleasing. Now I don't think it was anything more than genuine friendliness - she was just being nice to a cheerful and non-threatening guy. Perhaps she just felt good about herself that day and just chose to glow, to radiate.
And the bra? Well, I don't really know much about bras - but there are obviously different types and qualities etc. - your basic everyday bra, your quality bra, and the special expensive French bra when you really want to knock-him-dead on Friday night.
And then - there is this bra.
This is the bra that Vulcan magically crafted for his lover Venus on Mt Etna.
The bra that Boticelli snatched away from her just before he snapped her picture on the Half Shell.
The bra that Helen wore which inspired a thousand ships to go get that pair back again.
That Cleopatra wore as she popped out of the rolled-up carpet in Julius Caesar's tent that day.
Wow.
Not that the bra itself was obvious or crass or even revealed. In fact the bra was completely and utterly invisible - I didn't see the bra at all - nor any VPL either. Princess Di herself would have been impressed.
What I did see was this complete lovely young woman, dressed simply yet truly beautifully, arms open, big smile, pouring out warmth, a heavenly figure, and perfect breasts akimbo - in that million dollar bra.
Now, I've had some unusual experiences - I've travelled the planes, I've battled demons, I've stood in the Lightning Flash, and I've heard Mother Mary. And on this day a special little something happened too.
For a tiny flashing instant - the Glory of Venus herself shone down on me. I swooned - I swear to God.
My head filled with a rushing sound, my heart raced, my vision blurred, my knees started to buckle. I was overcome - not with desire or arousal - but with the pure bliss of the Divine Feminine - as the gates of heaven opened just a crack and the shining light of the Goddess burst briefly through.
But the moment did not last long, and as I recovered I was still quite wobbly. It seemed rather uncool to actually faint, so I surreptitiously leaned against the door as if the ship had rolled in a little swell, looked away and bit my lip, until that bittersweet moment of being fully back in the Earthly.
Thank you my Lady - there's a story for my glory book.
Wednesday 25 January 2012
Sing for Goal !
Here's a musical form I've been thinking about lately, I call it "Sing for Goal". It's a sporting analogy like "Shoot for Goal". I had basketball in mind, but other sports may fit too.
There's a common little rhythm in some sports - a certain rhythmic sporting burst of action as we approach a goal. I see it in five steps :
So now, consider how some songs have a similar structure :
I'm not saying all songs have this, I'm not saying all songs should have this. And the analogy doesn't hold that well in all cases, but the central core of the pattern is the sudden climax of the goal! That sudden leap to the high note. I like that form, that sudden reach up to the peak, the high note, the mountain top - that's what hits my spot.
So, here are my first examples (hey, I'm old, sorry for songs from the stone age.)
Exhibit A: Golden Slumbers, The Beatles ...
Exhibit B: Down among the Deadmen, Flash and the Pan
Exhibit C: Mascara, Killing Heidi
Exhibit D: And We Danced, The Hooters
Exhibit E: Daydream Believer, The Monkees
Exhibit F: Aerosmith - I Don't Wanna Miss a thing
(Thanks to '$uPeRUnKnOwN' of Whirlpool.)
There's a small mellow instrumental goal early -
There's many soaring lyrical goals e.g. :
Of course, having put those two ideas together, the obvious third analogy is the male orgasm - but I'll leave that as exercise for the reader.
There's a common little rhythm in some sports - a certain rhythmic sporting burst of action as we approach a goal. I see it in five steps :
- First we have the initial regular passing and movement around the court, slowly towards the goal, no pressure yet, plenty of time to get there.
- Then a short burst of more complex steps as the athlete dodges the guards and winds up for the shot. Will he get past?
- Now the shot for goal - a sudden upwards climax of energy. Quick and straight up to the goal in a soaring release of energy. Is it a Goal ?
- Shortly afterwards - the rebound or two, quick, probably arhythmic as the ball hits the hoop and rapidly bounces a few times before sinking. Will it pop out ?
- Finally we have the recovery, the slow down slope - the other team has the ball in their territory, no pressure, they smoothly pass up the court. A brief respite before for the next one. Phase five is phase one again.
So now, consider how some songs have a similar structure :
- The lead-up, the verse, setting up the key, walking along the comfortable valley,
- a little burst of speed or complexity - will there be a high-note soon ?
- yes! a Goal! the sudden reach up to the high note - was it quite the tone you expected ?
- the rebound - after the high note is a some quick following notes - perhaps there's a higher note still to come ?
- the release - back down to the comfortable valley, no high-note for a while.
I'm not saying all songs have this, I'm not saying all songs should have this. And the analogy doesn't hold that well in all cases, but the central core of the pattern is the sudden climax of the goal! That sudden leap to the high note. I like that form, that sudden reach up to the peak, the high note, the mountain top - that's what hits my spot.
So, here are my first examples (hey, I'm old, sorry for songs from the stone age.)
Exhibit A: Golden Slumbers, The Beatles ...
- steady approach from 0:15 "once there was a way"
- perhaps a slight increase in complexity just about 0:19 with the piano
- Goal! at 0:22 "Sleep"
- Rebound follows "...pretty darling", slowing down "do not cry"
- Back home smoothly with "...and I will sing a lullaby-y"
Exhibit B: Down among the Deadmen, Flash and the Pan
- lead up from 2:22 ... some smooth steps as we approach
- then a couple of two-steps at about 2:30
- Goal! at 2:35 "all the way..."
- No rebound - a short hang time of a second or so
- Smooth steps down the valley from about 2:37
Exhibit C: Mascara, Killing Heidi
- lead up from 0:00
- tempo increases at 0:04 for a bit
- Goal! 0:05
- Rapid rebound is immediate - 2-3 bounces
- followed by regular steps from 0:06
Exhibit D: And We Danced, The Hooters
- steady lead up from about 1:26
- Brief tempo increase at 1:38
- a quadruple Goal! at 1:40 "danced" and 1:42 "wave" and 1:47 "danced" and 1:49 "wait"
- rebounds at 1:52
- back comfortably home around 1:54
Exhibit E: Daydream Believer, The Monkees
- lead up from 1:50
- tempo increase at 1:59 as he starts reaching up "Quee-ee-ee..."
- Goal! at 2:00 "...EEN!"
- long hang time, no rebound
- back home comfortably again from 2:02
Exhibit F: Aerosmith - I Don't Wanna Miss a thing
(Thanks to '$uPeRUnKnOwN' of Whirlpool.)
There's a small mellow instrumental goal early -
- we have the ball at 0:00
- at 0:07, tempo rises, we pass up the court
- Goal at 00:14 (maybe a 1 pointer only? :-)
- couple seconds of rebounding
- smoothly down the comfy valley
There's many soaring lyrical goals e.g. :
- smooth passing from around 1:54 or so
- pressure builds, from about 2:15
- Goal ! at 2:21
- downward rebounds till about 2:24
- back home to our happy valley
Of course, having put those two ideas together, the obvious third analogy is the male orgasm - but I'll leave that as exercise for the reader.
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