One of the first things you see when you walk out of Terminal Three at Melbourne Airport is a sign that reads ‘Buy Skybus Tickets’. This sign is attached to an electronic kiosk conveniently located next to the Skybus bus stop. The Skybus is the bus that takes you from the airport to the city.
I love the 'Buy Skybus Tickets' sign. I love the creamy-smooth reassuring directness of the ‘Buy Skybus Tickets’ sign. I love the economy of words used by the ‘Buy Skybus Tickets’ sign. I love the thought that I could probably work out what the ‘Buy Skybus Tickets’ sign said even if I had just arrived at Terminal Three of Melbourne Airport from somewhere in the world where I wasn’t used to reading English signs.
The ‘Buy Skybus Tickets’ sign makes me think about buying a ticket. I could go in to the city and have a coffee; take the day off and sit by the river.
When my girlfriend calls me tonight she might ask,
“How was work today?”
And I would say,
“Well, after I dropped you at the airport I was feeling sad so I bought a Skybus ticket and went in to the city.”
She would be impressed.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
The Prophet and His Passing
From up here that long oblong driftwood log is a mouth on a parchment face. The sea has stirred thousands upon thousands of sandstone coloured grains of sand into the shape of eyes and left an untidy muddle of seaweed hair.
I think I hear, no, I hear. The rhythm of the waves has become a voice. Adagio.
“I want to tell you something.”
The poetry that follows is wondrous, strong, soft. It is the thing you always knew but never understood. It is the thing that soothes you and breaks you. I feel great joy and great pain as a single emotion.
The voice is inside me cleaning me, making me whole, giving me hope. I feel my preconceptions disappear and my defences reduced to rubble.
But then.
The voice, that beautiful voice, becomes suddenly harsh. “The tide is coming towards me. I can not take this pain.”
As the tide pulls away the edges of the face the mouth opens to drink and to be drowned by the water.
I am left thinking “Surely your own wisdom could have helped you?”
There is no answer to my silent question.
I think I hear, no, I hear. The rhythm of the waves has become a voice. Adagio.
“I want to tell you something.”
The poetry that follows is wondrous, strong, soft. It is the thing you always knew but never understood. It is the thing that soothes you and breaks you. I feel great joy and great pain as a single emotion.
The voice is inside me cleaning me, making me whole, giving me hope. I feel my preconceptions disappear and my defences reduced to rubble.
But then.
The voice, that beautiful voice, becomes suddenly harsh. “The tide is coming towards me. I can not take this pain.”
As the tide pulls away the edges of the face the mouth opens to drink and to be drowned by the water.
I am left thinking “Surely your own wisdom could have helped you?”
There is no answer to my silent question.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Famous
The bell rang for lunch and my friend and I strolled out on to the playground talking about space and spaceships.
“What was there before space?” I asked.
No matter how hard I tried to imagine nothingness the best my mind could come up with was blackness, and blackness seemed to be something.
When I was older I learned that we humans are atomically small in the molecule of the solar system. Some people think that there are as many stars in the Milky Way as there have been humans on Earth. Each star is a massive sun – ancient and unique. And there are many, many galaxies in the Universe.
I can not comprehend the vastness of space.
How can something so large that I can’t comprehend it come from something so empty that I can’t imagine it?
Well, maybe we are just the part of the Universe that is trying to understand itself.
No wonder we want to be famous.
“What was there before space?” I asked.
No matter how hard I tried to imagine nothingness the best my mind could come up with was blackness, and blackness seemed to be something.
When I was older I learned that we humans are atomically small in the molecule of the solar system. Some people think that there are as many stars in the Milky Way as there have been humans on Earth. Each star is a massive sun – ancient and unique. And there are many, many galaxies in the Universe.
I can not comprehend the vastness of space.
How can something so large that I can’t comprehend it come from something so empty that I can’t imagine it?
Well, maybe we are just the part of the Universe that is trying to understand itself.
No wonder we want to be famous.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Last Day on Earth
Paul woke with the warm early morning sun smiling through his window. Outside a warm breeze was making a rustling sound as it played joyously in a tree.
Paul yawned, stretched and rolled over to see what time it was. The view of his bedside clock was obscured by a note propped against the dial. The note read thus.
“Good morning Paul,
Hi. It’s me, God. Just wanted to say that today is definitely not your last day on Earth. So don’t worry about dying or anything like that just get out there and enjoy – should be a good one.
Talk to you later.
Lots of love,
God”
There are times when we receive wondrous news, or terrifying news and in that moment everything we had been thinking, every important thing we had to do, vanishes. There is silence behind and between every sound. There are universes created and destroyed in the infinity between the tic and the toc of the alarm clock.
Paul, a passionate believer that man should live each day as if it were his last, has a realisation. He has been living each day as if there had never been a first.
It wasn’t the kind of day you would expect from a man who could not die. No. It was a day filled with a lot of being and breathing and gladness and wonder and just noticing the things around him.
The first day of his life.
God watched Paul’s day and crinkles formed around his eyes. If you had seen those crinkles and those eyes you may have been reminded of the sun on an autumn day.
Paul yawned, stretched and rolled over to see what time it was. The view of his bedside clock was obscured by a note propped against the dial. The note read thus.
“Good morning Paul,
Hi. It’s me, God. Just wanted to say that today is definitely not your last day on Earth. So don’t worry about dying or anything like that just get out there and enjoy – should be a good one.
Talk to you later.
Lots of love,
God”
There are times when we receive wondrous news, or terrifying news and in that moment everything we had been thinking, every important thing we had to do, vanishes. There is silence behind and between every sound. There are universes created and destroyed in the infinity between the tic and the toc of the alarm clock.
Paul, a passionate believer that man should live each day as if it were his last, has a realisation. He has been living each day as if there had never been a first.
It wasn’t the kind of day you would expect from a man who could not die. No. It was a day filled with a lot of being and breathing and gladness and wonder and just noticing the things around him.
The first day of his life.
God watched Paul’s day and crinkles formed around his eyes. If you had seen those crinkles and those eyes you may have been reminded of the sun on an autumn day.
Friday, September 08, 2006
The Accountant
Ten years! It had been ten years since that life changing day. Life had taken a new course; from poverty to riches, from unpredictable to comfortable.
Brian remembered the lead up to the day clearly.
The artwork had taken almost two years to prepare. Intricate geometric patterns, fine lines, shapes and numbers, covered every inch of each massive canvas. The harmony of symbols and images was quite astounding.
It had taken three months to convince the prestigious Schwartz-Brakeman gallery to display his work. In the end they grudgingly gave him one night - a Monday.
He spent his last dollars buying champagne and imported beer. His then girlfriend, Mary, had agreed to waitress and his best mate had lent him a suit.
The night of the big event arrived at last.
Brian stood anxiously watching as people walked past his creations. He had poured his heart into this work; his passion was in every brush stroke. He longed to hear what people were saying as they walked quietly around the room.
One of the guests, a well dressed man in his late 40’s, seemed particularly excited by what he was seeing. This man noticed Brian watching him and introduced himself as Simon.
“You’re the artist?”
“Yes. Brian Brown – pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands.
“The symmetry of your work is astounding Brian. Your attention to detail is like nothing I’ve seen before.”
“Thank-you”, said Brian, hopping that this man’s enthusiasm might lead to a sale.
“Brian, I’m a partner in a downtown accountancy firm. I think your talents are wasted in art and I want to offer you a study scholarship with a guaranteed desk job at the end of it.”
The accountant handed Brian a business card saying. “You don’t have to decide right away, call me when you’ve made up your mind.”
Ten years! And now, as he sat looking over a complicated spreadsheet, Brian smiled.
Brian remembered the lead up to the day clearly.
The artwork had taken almost two years to prepare. Intricate geometric patterns, fine lines, shapes and numbers, covered every inch of each massive canvas. The harmony of symbols and images was quite astounding.
It had taken three months to convince the prestigious Schwartz-Brakeman gallery to display his work. In the end they grudgingly gave him one night - a Monday.
He spent his last dollars buying champagne and imported beer. His then girlfriend, Mary, had agreed to waitress and his best mate had lent him a suit.
The night of the big event arrived at last.
Brian stood anxiously watching as people walked past his creations. He had poured his heart into this work; his passion was in every brush stroke. He longed to hear what people were saying as they walked quietly around the room.
One of the guests, a well dressed man in his late 40’s, seemed particularly excited by what he was seeing. This man noticed Brian watching him and introduced himself as Simon.
“You’re the artist?”
“Yes. Brian Brown – pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands.
“The symmetry of your work is astounding Brian. Your attention to detail is like nothing I’ve seen before.”
“Thank-you”, said Brian, hopping that this man’s enthusiasm might lead to a sale.
“Brian, I’m a partner in a downtown accountancy firm. I think your talents are wasted in art and I want to offer you a study scholarship with a guaranteed desk job at the end of it.”
The accountant handed Brian a business card saying. “You don’t have to decide right away, call me when you’ve made up your mind.”
Ten years! And now, as he sat looking over a complicated spreadsheet, Brian smiled.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Safe
A long line of noisy traffic winds its way through the delicate beauty of a crisp midwinter evening.
The sun is leaving the sky; the sky is fading. Dusk.
As I drive my radio tells me of brutal wars in far away lands and petty arguments close to home.
I am struck by an idea; it is human memory that strings time together. Memory takes this present moment, the smallest thing in the universe, and binds it with an infinity of other moments to make a war, or an argument, or...
Soon I will arrive at my lovers house and I will rap on the door - brass on brass. I will barely have time to observe the first star I’ve seen that night when out will come a kiss, and an embrace, and a warm breathing in the ear. And there will be no war in the world.
There will be no war in my world.
The sun is leaving the sky; the sky is fading. Dusk.
As I drive my radio tells me of brutal wars in far away lands and petty arguments close to home.
I am struck by an idea; it is human memory that strings time together. Memory takes this present moment, the smallest thing in the universe, and binds it with an infinity of other moments to make a war, or an argument, or...
Soon I will arrive at my lovers house and I will rap on the door - brass on brass. I will barely have time to observe the first star I’ve seen that night when out will come a kiss, and an embrace, and a warm breathing in the ear. And there will be no war in the world.
There will be no war in my world.
Monday, May 08, 2006
The Open Hand
I have subjected the colourful soap bubble of life to the scalpel of analytical thought. My experiments led me to conclude that any colour in life was only illusion. My experiments led me to the deepest despair.
I have clung too tightly to people I loved; grieved the loss of them while they were still with me. How will I cope when life takes them away from me? I fear I will not be strong enough to do what is required.
For many nights I stood on top of the world and watched as cities slept. And on some cold mornings I would swim in the empty sea. Yes, it was beautiful, but I was only there because I wanted to avoid loss by hiding in open spaces. I grieved for things I didn’t have; love I was afraid to hope for.
A wise man once told me that you have to face life’s hard stuff on your own. I agree with that man. But you should know this, when life seems to be asking more of you than you’re equipped to give, look around you. I’ll be standing there, facing it alone, right next to you.
I have clung too tightly to people I loved; grieved the loss of them while they were still with me. How will I cope when life takes them away from me? I fear I will not be strong enough to do what is required.
For many nights I stood on top of the world and watched as cities slept. And on some cold mornings I would swim in the empty sea. Yes, it was beautiful, but I was only there because I wanted to avoid loss by hiding in open spaces. I grieved for things I didn’t have; love I was afraid to hope for.
A wise man once told me that you have to face life’s hard stuff on your own. I agree with that man. But you should know this, when life seems to be asking more of you than you’re equipped to give, look around you. I’ll be standing there, facing it alone, right next to you.
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