Naturally speaking :)

Posted on May 21, 2013 by

L1008210

Monday 21 May

Diamond like drops, water from last nights rain, cling to leaves in my garden. Spider webs, strung between an upright post and garden chair, sway gently in  early morning light. Birds entertain, with tunes, melodious. Distant lawn mower vies with small, overhead plane. Drops of water, backlit in the sun, fall, from my portico, to a metronomic beat. The air, fresh and sweet, full of small, white, no name, flying insects, like falling blossom. Above my head, a blue canopy, crisscrossed by pale grey, verging on white, ever morphing clouds. Some traveling east, while others, dancing on a different current, travel west. My day has begun. In my wheel chair, relaxing, tilted, reclining, for me to breath in meditation. I close my eyes and smile, nature . . . gratitude is heaven indeed . . .

“Nature harbors no opinions;

it is we who think of her.

We make sentience

 of her indifference, and we communicate

by engineering, adjectives, and awesome

violence. When I arrive

 at the island, my soul

will harbor no opinions.

I’ll stop my car

 where sea-air and sand-light

become one perception,

all the world my affections, stitched together

 by a muster of billboards, the dizzying gulls,

and a drawbridge open in prayer.”

 —Alan Michael Parker, from “The Island”

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A Good Innings!

Posted on May 19, 2013 by

20120419-F1010108Sunday May 19

10.41 AM

Sculling the news today, Stuff, BBC et al, I found an impressive article, referring to a  Kiwi artist in New York. It inspired me. It drew parallels to my own journey. It also tapped into two significant emotions as I sat pondering the words. Sadness and gratitude. Sadness that I can no longer work in film or shoot photography. That I cannot afford to live in New York or Paris. Gratitude that for 43 years I have performed, very successfully on the world stage. Gratitude for the quality of the clients I attracted. The quality of my story telling. My curiosity and my competitive nature. My work ethic and, heaven forbid :) my courage. Gratitude that I discovered and embraced, my love of photography and writing. Gratitude  for the life I live today and the love of muy partner, Emily. Max is a Budhhist, his partner, a Jew.

Max Gimblett, Len Lye, Ross Sutherland and other New York based kiwi artists inspire me. Max is the New York based Kiwi referred to in the article I read. Gratitude that I followed my instinctual intuitive self, Max would refer to this, as God. As I do today. At least the God of my understanding :) Nature the great Nurturer. This shows, is reflected, in my photographic images. This needs to be my focus today, creating portfolios of my love of the nature that is Aotearoa. My Father introduced me to this path. He taught me to draw. He was an artist in his own right. He was also lost. I will never know his beliefs. Except that he had close connections to the Jewish Community in Wellington. Where this came from I have no idea. I have been profoundly touched by friends who are Jews. They are my brothers and sisters. I empathize in ways that intrigue me. I possibly trip over this. I cringe at times. I guess it’s a hunger. I love ancient Jewish wisdom. I follow the 12 steps and 12 traditions of AA  and Al-Anon which are based on ancient wisdom, much of it, Jewish. I love to sit for hours in a synagogue, I feel at home, connected and accepted. Today, my partner is a Jew. Gratitude. I have a collection of Walter Moseley’s writing. A Black Father. Jewish Mother. I relate in my separateness. I am, by nature, nomadic. I love that side to my nature. Gratitude for listening to and following, my intuitive self.

Sadness at being buried alive. It comes and goes like the Moon drives the Tides. Sometimes a King aka high, sometimes a Neap aka low, tide. In my souls journey, my spirit life, I feel at times, like I was buried alive or am I being frivolous, sacrilegious? Under piles of bodies. Not dead but alive. I could see the sky through a narrow gap but my body could not move. Bloody scary! At times I have dreamed of being in an escape tunnel and the roof collapsing on me. I was once dug out of a snow drift that dumped six feet of snow on an ice cave I had dug. The claustrophobia was intense. That experience was real. As a child I was left in a crèche and left in a bassinet that was far too small for my body. My mother shared her pain at the look of terror on my face. These experiences and images come back today in the reality of my Motor Neuron Disease. I wanted to live to be a hundred. But like cricket an innings ends when it ends. A curved ball, a fast ball, a bouncer. Baseball is the same. Our innings are temporary. We stand at the crease of life, facing the great Bowler. My part is to simply play the best shot I can. Or simply let the ball go sailing by, a no ball moment. Solitude. Gratitude that I have played a damned good innings. And, I am not out yet. I continue on home base, facing the bowler in the sky. Spin, fast, curved, I have faced them all. Patience, mindfulness, acceptance, surrender, focus and faith, aka action.  Those are my stances today. Thanks Max Gimblett, a kiwi artist and inspiration through and through. Ciao

(http://www.stuff.co.nz/entertainment/arts/8671143/Strokes-of-genius)

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Falling . . .

Posted on May 16, 2013 by

DSC_0120

Tuesday 14 May

Senna, a great documentary, of a great human being.

We live our lives. We breath, we live, we die.

I read the following composition just now, it speaks for me . . .

Quote . . .

“07/29/2009 07:57 AM I have mentioned before that I was diagnosed with MND in October 2008. Since last August I have fallen over 10 times. Twice I have fallen against the wall and it was with such force that it felt exactly like i was being slammed against it, as it is shown in the ad.If you are falling over at speed and you encounter a hard surface, with no chance of stopping yourself, then that’s how it feels. On one occasion I fell half way into a freezer in a supermarket (may sound funny and I did laugh and cry at the same time)and was helped out by an elderly lady and a young man.That particular time was when I was still able to walk unassisted, (or so I thought) but I started using a stick then straight away afterwards. On another occasion some malfunctioning automatic doors closed on me with my walking frame and i fell backwards onto the floor,bumping my head, not having time to gather my thoughts and adjust to the situation. That time it took 4 people to get me up and i am only small.

 I have been rushed to A&E twice to check for concussion.

When a person with MND falls there is no chance to break the fall, your hands, arms and legs crumple beneath you and contact with the floor or other hard or sharp surface is always very shocking, there is nothing in your body that seems to act as shock absorbers, indeed the muscles then become very rigid from the shock of the impact. You lose confidence for a long time afterwards, as do the people caring for you. It must be even worse for a taller, heavier, older person, I am 55 and only 5ft 1.

I can’t crawl very well either, in this respect too,the film is very, very accurate. There is absolutely no way now I can get up by myself from a fall, even by holding onto something and I consequently wear a personal alarm. The disease never feels quite the same for 2 days running and a sufferer is constantly having to readjust to rediscover the parameters of their abilities on any given day, but one tries to act as responsibly as possible.

I fell over several times before diagnosis too simply by turning round. This is one reason that I went to the doctor’s in the first place.

If anyone without the disease should chose to really know what MND feels like, then watch the film and this will give you an idea but the full continued effects can only be felt by being in that place. Muscles used for balancing have been eroded you see. If I was to stand balanced upright on my two feet, you would only have to prod me on the arm and I would go crashing to the floor! I follow Sarah’s philosophy of living a full and happy life and am only too pleased that she has the courage to share her experiences. I must say that I find the lack of compassion shown in some of the comments far more shocking and distressing than the film ever could be.”

. . . End quote.

 MND/ALS . . . discovered back in the 1820

1824 Charles Bell writes a report about ALS.

1850 English scientist Augustus Waller describes the appearance of shriveled nerve fibers

1869 French doctor Jean-Martin Charcot first describes ALS in scientific literature

1881 “Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis” is translated into English and published in a three-volume edition of Lectures on the Diseases of the Nervous System

1939 ALS becomes a cause célèbre in the United States when baseball legend Lou Gehrig’s career—and, two years later, his life—is ended by the disease. He gives his farewell speech on 4 July 1939.

 And all these years later we are no closer to a known cause or known cure. It’s not like cancer where a cure is at least an option. For some cancer patients. With MND, nothing, nil, zip, nada . . .

And now, 8:07 PM tonight, after a glorious day with friends, fun and shared stories, I visited the bathroom and ended up on the floor with my legs twisted beneath me, I thought they would break. I was standing, washing my hands after sitting peacefully on the loo, I turned as is normal, and down I went. I slid down the wall as if in slow motion, and my legs folded beneath me. Fortunately my arms still have some strength, certainly more than my legs and i was able to slow my fall. If I give my legs even a slight bend, they simply cave in. These are legs that have served me well, carried me far. Not no more :) Not at all funny and yet it was, I was able to laugh. Just another day with MND. I sat twisted beside the toilet bowl, sort of wedged. I tried calling out “Emily” . . . fortunately muy Emily heard my pitiful cry. Muy Emily tried to lift me, I have retained my 60k weight and that proved about 10k too much. We had to call Bob, my carer and over he came. Bob has years of experience with first aid and rescue work and made it look easy to get me off the floor. Gratitude. Now I sit, watching the BBC, talking of working class Brits. My ankles feel tender from the fall and that is all. The day has arrived when we need to reconsider my mobility. My small motorized, indoor chair, one we bought, needs to become my in house mobility mover. It’s hard, tough, challenging. Acknowledging, accepting that I am at the next level of my disease. Bugger! And I just re-read the opening of today’s writing and it had me smile. Why did I post a piece about falling, was it my intuitive forewarning system telling me to pay attention? Possible.

 16 May

11:52 AM

today I am wiped, today I am sad, today . . . I need to bring the focus back to my self. My idea, floated yesterday before my fall, has me re-thinking, I have retracted my idea, thanked all those who offered their services and support. I am too :) old for this. I need to prioritize, simple really. Ciao :)

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Into the Mystery :)

Posted on May 14, 2013 by

20120407-L1008489

Monday 6 May

8:43 PM

Evening Dickey, I say to myself. What sort of day? What were you thinking? What did you manage to achieve as you sat bound to your chair?

Well let me see . . . Backward and forward, writing, photography, Facebook, news, reading, writing, photography, Facebook and round and round I go. A productive day. Frustrating. Not able to venture outside in the rain. My carer, Bob, showered me, dressed me, fed me, humored me even.

“so what’s your plan for the day Richard? Leap out of bed, pirouette once and run to the shower?”

Then he’s back for lunch.

Rain all day. Cold outside, warm inside. Photographs. Plowing, ever so slowly, slowly, slowly through my collection. 45000 images, snapped over 10 years. Filing, labeling, grading, selecting. Re-visiting older images has me reminded of experiences, great memories, times passed. Reflection. A well examined life. Brings me to the present. Sad that I only embraced digital ten years ago. I have reams of negatives. I do not have the energy or patience to scan the hundreds of images I have shot over the past fifty years. Images from my late teen years, images from my Australian life. My marriage, my children, my farm, my company, my sailing, exploring. Then came New York. My life changed. It is though I woke up to life and living. I snapped away with my camera and film. Sailing trips down the east coast of America. Holidays in Australia to be with my daughters. A large plastic container full of images. London. Mexico. Canada. Paris. The Greek islands and Athens. Memories on memories. A life well lived :) and now, I get to examine and write, to reminisce, to smile even.

9 May

7:18 PM

Not inspired to write.

The wind howls tonight, I am feeling like my emotions are entangled in a twister.

As I sat in my wheelchair, staring out the rear window, after the sun had died over the western hills, I noticed the leaves on all our trees still had a character. A sheen that held my attention. The sun was gone but fading light reflected on the leaves creating slivers of chrome edges to the varying shades of green. Dramatic.  Fuck, tonight I am down. I am dying, it’s that simple. I am not really dying anymore than anyone else, it’s my body that has taken me prisoner. Buried alive. I could deny that I am feeling down, I could tough it out. But NO!. I need to accept where I am. My energy, for eating the bountiful dinner muy Emily has prepared, gone. My hands cannot even hold a fork. I try but the handle slips and twists between weak and powerless fingers. So here I sit, pissed, I am picking the food up, with my fingers. The best I can do. My fingers, especially those of my right hand are curled like buzzards claws, the muscle wasted, deepening pockets appear between the bone. My skin is covered in dry lumps that I can’t help but pick at.

I have gone from writing on my laptop to plunking my fingers one after another on my iPad. Thank god I have alternatives. I need to learn, practice, a new way of doing my day.

That’s allI can do for now, amen :)

11May

5:54 PM

Back from the the local. Pub lunch with muy Emily, ouching at the price of some fish chowder and a beer. But to sit, in front of a roaring fire, being out with muy lover, out of the house, tilted in my mobility chair, all good. I fought going out and that is a disaster. To my emotions, to my thinking. Out in nature is not necessarily a healer but it certainly soothes my soul. It takes effort. The resulting enjoyment, totally satisfying. Thank you muy Emily.

Strangers, although friends on FaceBook, stop their car and introduce themselves as we motor down the road to the pub. Now I know who Helen is :) A small benefit of living in a small country village, I love it. We were the only customers for lunch. A Saturday. The day before Mothers Day. We speak to Mine Host, Ulli. Catching up, on him on him and his partner, Dean. A great couple who have turned the Royal Hotel into the heart and soul of the Community.

And, here I sit, beside our own fire, quietly reading Zane Grey’s Heritage of the Desert. Set at Lee’s Ferry on the Colorado River in Souther Utah. The words resonate, I spent time exploring Lee’s Ferry. It all comes back to me on the pages of a downloaded eBook :) One of Grey’s more powerful pieces of writing, Darwinian, Jungian.

12 May, Sunday

Mothers Day here in Aotearoa . . .

What does that mean to me? Mum died over 10 years ago. She birthed me, raised me, educated, fed, clothed and instilled her  work ethic. Not too many hugs or supportive words. But Gratitude. Her spirit remains with me today.

2:03 PM

Sitting, in the outdoor, crystal clear light of a perfect autumn day. The heat of the sun intense and . . . Life giving, life affirming. New friends dropped by. An inspiring meeting. Talk of art and future possibilities. A surprising and empowering meeting. A local, from Sweden. A child and her partner and another child due in July. We discuss what sign the new child will be born under. We laugh at the possibilities.

Silence is Golden. Sitting practicing my meditation, breathing in via my nose and out through my mouth, head cloaked in sunlight. Silence reigns. The silence of the garden, the silence of my thoughts. The silence of god, in all the details. Serenity. Gazing up and out, over the garden to hills beyond. Thoughts still. Fingers cured, for the moment. Gratitude.

“The two eyes of the soul of man cannot both perform their work at once: but if the soul shall see with the right eye into eternity, then the left eye must close itself and refrain from working, and be as though it were dead. For if the left eye be fulfilling its office toward outward things, that is holding converse with time and the creatures; then must the right eye be hindered in its working; that is, in its contemplation. Therefore, whosoever will have the one must let the other go; for ‘no man can serve two masters.’ . . . “  Meister Ekhardt

Interesting observation. A few, maybe six years back my right eye experienced a blood clot, I lost total focus, in reality and, quite possibly :) metaphorically. I could not drive safely.

It was at the time I owned a vineyard. Finally, after many local amateur eye guys, I found relief in Wellington, City of my Birth. Helen Long, a Back of the Eye specialist . Helen performed laser surgery and I was back on track, in reality and, quite possibly :) metaphorically. Helen became my sighted guardian angel. She loves photography and I became her mission.

I explore and study mysticism. I can see better the ever. What a funny little world in which I live.

“You know what he [Eckhart] said? The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won’t let go of your life; your memories, your attachments. They burn ‘em all away. But they’re not punishing you, he said. They’re freeing your soul. [...] If you’re frightened of dying and holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. But if you’ve made your peace then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the Earth.”

And, the next quote is a major lesson for me . . .

“In the book The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson, Eckhart is mentioned in a story Marianne Engel recounts to the (unnamed) protagonist about her days in the Engelthal Monastery:

[...] Meister Eckhart would not even admit that God was good [...] Eckhart’s position was that anything that was good can become better, and whatever may become better may become best. God cannot be referred to as “good”, “better”, or best because He is above all things. If a man says that God is wise, the man is lying because anything that is wise can become wiser. Anything that a man might say about God is incorrect, even calling Him by the name of God. God is “superessential nothingness” and “transcendent Being” [...] beyond all words and beyond all understanding. The best a man can do is remain silent, because anytime he prates on about God, he is committing the sin of lying. The true master knows that if he had a God he could understand, He would never hold Him to be God.”

And so :) it’s possibly time to stop waffling aka, talking about God and, simply share my life’s journey.

. . . lastly;

“All ancient books which have once been called sacred by man, will have their lasting place in the history of mankind, and those who possess the courage, the perseverance, and the self-denial of the true miner, and of the true scholar, will find even in the darkest and dustiest shafts what they are seeking for, real nuggets of thought, and precious jewels of faith and hope.

– Max Müller, Introduction to the Upanishads Vol. II.”

Alma = Spirit Soul, my Mother’s name. Alma Veronica Clark née Hood.

Melville = Moby Dick, my Fathers name. Melville Raymond Clark aka Boy.

Monday 13

10:20PM

Dreams last night, can I remember . . . Not now. They were strong, graphic challenging.

Monday and Tiger is at the top of the Leader board but much work to do.

A glorious day, sun, clear and I feel in a good space. I smile at the realization and acceptance of my position. I cannot argue it, I cannot fake or deny it. It’s a toughie. And  yet, I am doing the best I can. YEEHA!

Tuesday 14

5:11 PM

A constipated sort of day. Reading, loafing, drinking water, writing . . . And now muy Emily approaches :) School is finished for the day, time for us, together. The journey continues.

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Silence is Golden!

Posted on May 6, 2013 by

cropped-l1000477.jpg Life viewed backward!i AM nobodyMiracle Needed

Silence.

I have been silent for a few days now, learning to love and accept and embrace, silence, as a part of my process, of living.

William Edelen shared today . . .

quote . . .

“Mysticism is entering into the Silence. Finding harmony within yourself and your surroundings. It is as Twylah Nitsch says it in Language of the Trees: “I listen and HEAR the silence. I listen and SEE the silence. I listen and TASTE the silence. I listen and SMELL the silence. I listen and EMBRACE the silence…” “

. . . end quote

it came as an answer and as a question. what does it mean for me, to be silent? I love the concept of mysticism, I guess it has tugged at my intuitive self all my life and will continue until I am no more. Silence has me still, be it asleep, in the garden, being driven or as now, sitting with my computer.

The universal concept that I am opening up to, accepting after a life time of struggle, that God is within me and all around me. That God is in the details. That I enjoy a constant dialogue with the God of my understanding, my Higher Power, is a life saver. The sun as it streams through my bedroom window, brings life. The trees in the garden are my constant companions. Being silent, observing, accepting and surrendering to this concept, I find profound. God is a verb. God is alive in my actions. In my life. My photography, my words and my relationship to others.

I have read many words over my life, from Zane Grey, Robert Lois Stephenson, William James, Steenbeck, Hemingway, Albert Camus, Thomas Moore, James Hillman to Joseph Campbell and many more. My library is filled with an eclectic variety of words. Theroux, W. H. Murray, Epicurus, Wordsworth, Blake, et al. Over time, single words, phrases, complete works have stuck and influenced my view of life and living. And, I find humor in the simple fact that Zane Grey’s words have effected me the longest and deepest. Darwinian, Mysticism, Simplicity. Man of the Forest. Heritage of the Desert. Wander of the Wasteland.

These I discovered in my teens. Today they fill a large Western section of my Books. Words inspire me. Amen.

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Light & Shade . . .

Posted on April 30, 2013 by

20090919-L9993937 20090919-L9993971 20090919-L9993979

Sunday Bloody Sunday, no not really. Wet, warm, nice. Home from a wheelchair ride down the country road. Testing. A brand new wheel chair, designed and built locally by an inspired engineer ( Peter Thompson ) whose wife, unfortunately, suffered a stroke. It folds like a suitcase and is  gentle on my inflexibly sensitive spine. The only issue? Not being able to tilt the  back, fixed by a strategically place cushion. Outdoors, outside, breathing deeply, clean country air. And, observing dramatic cloud formations. Pinks, grey, creamy, all shapes, all sizes, wispy even. The afternoon’s dramatic emphasis to light. My time, for photography. No camera this time, the future? Definitely. My Digilux 2, I am back in the realm of Leica photography.

Time to sell the M9 but not the lenses. Saved for muy Emily to fully explore. There is an immaculate M8 available if needed, if I can get back to holding, a weighty camera. My Digilux2 enjoys a fixed lens with stepping ability from 24mm to 35, 50 to 90 mm. I  leave it on RAW, automatic settings and voila, I am once more, snapping  away. I do not need to lift the camera to my eye but  simply frame the scene and . . . snap. I toted the same Camera, my first ever Leica, around the American West, for close on a year. Treated in  Lightroom and NIK, they feel like Ektachrome images. I took time to give my American collection a consistent overall look. My years of working with great film colorists in Australia and  America appears to have paid off.

Monday 22 April

4:28 PM

A challenging day, sitting in my lazy boy, should have stayed in bed, as muy Emily went by train, through the Tunnel to Petone and spent all day collecting our new mobility van. A new van, a new power wheel chair, setting us back some 60 Grand. It does not sit with me well.  I am a tad fearful that I will not last the distance to enjoy both. The PWC doesn’t arrive for another month. It will arrive just in time for my 70 th birthday. I am in a funk today, junking out, not achieving what I would like. I go down when muy Emily is away at school, visiting the grandchildren or simply out and about living her life. I know that this will pass and I accept that being melancholy is okay. It will pass. Experience has taught me I have the tools to guide in such times. Prayer, writing, reading, meditation. These practices have served me well. Learning to not carry that which is not mine. Other people’s issues, world events, these and more, they are too heavy for me and are a distraction. I am seeing that the time I spend on FaceBook to be a negative influence at times. Take what you want and leave the rest. Even television I am finding a chore. Reading. I have an eclectic library of literature, fiction, classics, westerns, philosophy, photography, poetry et al. I collected this over the years with the idea that I would spend my later years reading. Well, guess what :) I am in my later years. I am a serious, sensitive soul and have never had much time of patience for trivia and flippancy. I need to lighten up. My writing challenges me. What to write. Life experience, reflection, philosophy, these fascinate me and I guess this guides my writing. Stream of consciousness, some may say diarrhea. It is whatever. I enjoy it and I need to accept that simple fact. I enjoy my writing. Amen.

Just now I received a personal message from an old friend who I have not seen for 30 years.

“Hello Richard,

I have only just now caught up with your MND diagnosis and I have no idea what to say to you having been dealt such a lousy hand. I won’t even try.

What I will do though is to tell you what the time we spent together all those years ago has done for me and the debt of gratitude I owe you. The times we spent camped by a river somewhere, the fire burning and waiting for the stars to appear have influenced me and stayed with me and my children all of my life.

You took us to magical places that we would not have otherwise seen and showed us the beauty of simple living and of staying in touch with the earth.

Even though we have not seen each other for so many years I remember these times with great affection. Simon and Cait too have had this other dimension guide their lives.

Thank you Richard. My thoughts are with you.

Michael”

Thank you Michael, that has been my life, is my life. I need to read and re-read this, it says what I struggle to say. Living my life on life’s terms has touched many people, I need to let that in and acknowledge that simple fact. Simple is as simple does.

Reading Stanley Kunitz has inspired me to look anew at poetry and try expressing myself thus. In poetic form. I read back over a couple of blog entries. I suffer :) with repetition, time to set aside the angst of life and explore another point of view from a different point of view. Ciao!

And so I write . . .

Oh father

Here I am, your son

Where were you?

Drawing, you taught me

Your gardening inspired

But where were you?

I mean, where were you?

Physical yes

I have the scars

Emotional no

those also haunt me

Visible and invisible are

The wounds

You yelled, you drank

You raged, you left

Where were you?

Fifteen years went by

Mysteriously

You came back

Into my life, I loved you

My children too but

Even then you

Lied

Where were you?

You died

Alone, I cremated your remains

But where were you?

In backpack I carried

All across our land

Laid you to rest

Sprinkled on cool clear water

Your home town

Today, you are with me

But, again I ask . . .

Where were you?

Tuesday 30 April

11:18 AM

Write or work on my Photographic Library . . . decisions, decisions :)

Guess I will post this to my Blog and start anew. Ciao

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Self Flagellation?

Posted on April 20, 2013 by

20060817-DSC_0071

Monday 15 April

7:26 PM

A full and wonderful weekend, my brother John visited, stayed overnight and down memory lane we walked, fascinating, shared stories of our Father, Mother, Siblings. How different our view of the same adventures, we both added, padded out, the bones of shared stories. Milk runs, paper runs, lawn mowing,  our teenage years before I left. Cross country running, marveling at the lack of family support, the lack of encouragement. Where we lived, how we lived, up market, down market. Dad’s errors buried me in shame. On reflection, John was my chief supporter. Standing beside the track or trail,  John screamed me on. Quite amazing really, although not totally surprising, he is the only member of my family I feel able to have an open non-judgmental conversation with. I love it. Sharing, for the first time, how I carried our fathers ashes across the length and breadth of New Zealand, before sprinkling his ashes on the Avon River in Christchurch. John and I climbed Mount Taranaki together and I never revealed to him that our fathers ashes were in my back pack. Strange? Possibly! John’s friends, when I was a teen, were bullies and I was their target. I was such a skinny, sensitive kid, a day dreamer in fact. That aspect of my childhood empowered and guided my career as a film editor around the world. It became my strength. Story telling has become my true love today. Creativity, empowered.

John left the following day, driving north to Napier, hoping to visit brother Gerald. I felt less isolated from my family of origin. Now my daughter Emma, is coming over from Australia for a visit. Bliss.

Sunday and more visitors. A local couple for coffee followed by an old school chum, Roger and his delightful partner Carole, who now lives on the other coast, the west coast. A surprise visit which was magical. So very good to catch up. A 90 minute drive for coffee. Roger has helped me fill in gaps of my life in surprising detail. As kids he shared, we would be out on a training run and there we were puffing away and I would be spouting philosophic thoughts in describing our running environment. Waxing on about the light :) Nothing much has changed I guess. Roger studied for the ministry and I explored spirituality, same difference.

Monday

I guess today I paid the price of social intercourse and today, simply relaxed. Enjoying the golf, cheering silently for Tiger Wood, while watching Australian Adam Scott win the Masters from Argentina’s Angel Cabrerra over two extra  holes. A well earned victory for Adam and a very gracious champion. I saw him in a far different light from the critical view I have held of him in the past. My eyes were blinded. A relaxing afternoon and later, ‘Hannah and her Sisters’, a great Woody Allen movie.

I can only imagine at muy Emily’s take on my brother visit and my conversation, more information to fill the gaps of my life story and an interesting take on my family’s journey. As life has taught me, it’s none of my business as to what other’s think of me. A challenging and ongoing lesson. This was a huge Achilles heel for me as a teenager when my Father lost the plot and we down graded our living style after losing the home I considered Paradise. I was not able to look my friends in they eye and acknowledge my Dad had lost the plot. All us siblings dealt silently with this change in circumstances. More of life’s bloody lessons :)

Tuesday

8:18 AM

Woke to news that the Boston Marathon has been visited by explosions. Sad. News of death and destruction. The Boston was part of my mythology as a teenage distance runner. It was inspiring, started in 1897 or there about. Many of my childhood heroes competed and won. So very sad.

Waiting on my substitute carer, shower time, a female carer, this is going to be interesting indeed. Wonder how I, a mere male, will handle this. Badly I guess!

8:38 PM

A day of television news fixation, a drug almost. Death and destruction. Lives destroyed. Limbs lost, families in chaos. Children. Athletes. Spectators. Terrorists know no different.

I coped well with my carer, was even showered by her. Taught her how to make coffee. Two different carers, both women, both enjoyable. Breakfast, lunch, chat. Now, time to kill the TV and read. A tragic day. An emotional day. Remembering my love of the Marathon. As a teenager, I saw myself as a marathon runner. In it for the long run. To run was my joy, to compete was a challenge. I did okay for a skinny kid. My thoughts today are with all marathon runners from Jim Peters to Abebe Bikila to Ray Puckett. Champions in their own way. . . ‘Night!

Wednesday

9:55 AM

Legs blown off, children killed, families distraught. Yes, I am repeating myself, I will not delete the repetition. Athletes unable to cross the finish line. 26 miles but not able to complete the remaining 385 yards. Not a pretty sight. Evil visits. Watching the media and political pontificating has me frustrated to the core. Knee jerk reactions, faster than healthy forecasting. Obviously there are viewers who simply want all the gruesome details, over and over and . . . tiresome to say the least. There is a hypnotic fascination surrounding disaster. The human tragedy. The thought of amputations had me thinking as I visited the bathroom today, hobbling slowly on my walker, as my legs lose their strength, my knees threatening to buckle and have me collapse into a powerless heap on the floor. These legs of mine have carried me well, as I have lived and enjoyed life. They carried me around the house as a toddler, exploring outdoors as I stood upright, allowing me to taste outdoor freedom from the confines of our home. Today, it’s like they are screaming . . . “enough”!

The past 60 years have seen my legs . . . run races from 800 meters to 42 kilometers, on road, cross country, hills, river, paddocks and tracks. Through  rain and wind and even snow in New York. Barefoot and in Adidas, my shoes of choice. Stand steadfast on the decks of yachts as I sailed the coasts of Australia, New England, Maine, New York and the Channel Islands of California.

The past 20 have seen my legs . . . complete a marathon, train for an 1100 mile bike ride, kayak Malibu, intimately and thoroughly explore the Santa Monica Mountains and Southern Californian trails, hike with friends, run multiple 10K road races, even with my dog, Kiri te Kanawa.

The past 10 years . . . they have climbed the mountains of Colorado to close on 14000′, run and hiked the deserts of California, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico. My legs have done me proud.

So to consider the Boston injuries, is horrific for me. My worst nightmare I guess. Mind you, I have seen heroic act from those who have lost limbs. They continue to strive, achieve, live life to the full. Sitting here, in my recliner, feet up, I do not wish to be seen as a victim. Parts of my body don’t work, I cannot do what I would like to be doing, running, hiking, exploring but all in all I am still able to achieve and that, to me, is paramount. That is the human spirit at it’s best. My daimon. Gratitude :)

As my journey unravels before me, I am slowly focussing on what I can do. I have even competed in the Wellington Marathon 10K, in a wheel chair and, hope to compete and complete it again this year. We do what we can do, it’s known as the ‘Human Spirit’.

On reading The Tablet this morning . . .

“In Jewish theology, the highest human ideal is to “walk in God’s ways.” The Book of Deuteronomy mentions this lofty mandate five times, but curiously, it never spells out what it means. Modern Bible scholars tend to think that “walking in God’s ways” is just another way of talking about obeying God’s commandments, but the Talmudic Sages understood it differently. Their interpretation is something I suspect many first responders understand in an intuitive, almost visceral way—which is why, from a Jewish perspective, they are theological heroes. What does being godly consist of, according to the rabbis? A well-known Talmudic text puts it this way: “Just as God clothes the naked, so should you; just as God visited the sick, so should you; just as God comforted the mourners, so should you; and just as God buried the dead, so should you” (Sotah 14a). To walk in God’s ways, in other words, is to act in the ways that the Torah describes God as acting. Just as God is present when people are vulnerable and suffering, so should we be. Yes, for religious people, study is important, prayer is important, and ritual, too. But what this text, and others like it, suggests is this: If you want to really serve God, and not just go through the motions, then learn to care for people in moments of profound pain. In many ways, it is easier to study, or pray, or build a sukkah—or whatever. In telling us that offering care and comfort to people in pain is the very highest human ideal, Judaism alerts us to the fact that it can be intensely hard work. But it is also the heart of authentic religion and spirituality: To bring a little bit of God’s love and compassion to the widow, the orphan, the Alzheimer’s patient, and the bombing victim.” Shai Held

(http://www.tabletmag.com/scroll/129737/why-first-responders-are-jewish-heroes)

That sums up all my thoughts, my writing, my experience. I have been a responder, I have spent time with those who suffer, I have never let go of my friends. I guess I am on the right path for me . . .

12:31 PM

My occupational therapist is/was here and I need to express an attitude of something rather than being a curmudgeon :) But I will not be backward in talking about my issues and the issues I see with the heath system. Maybe I could write about it, maybe! This therapist, her last name, Spite :) pushes my emotional and intellectual buttons, she gets inside my skin and irritates. Condescending even! But such is life and I am sure, I hope :) she is doing the best she can. Her journey. Her’s is a paid gig, I expect professionalism. Let it go Dickey :) no expectations, expect the unexpected!

4:21 PM

been working on my photography, editing, color correcting and coming to the conclusion that I need a large monitor. My new MacBook Pro is 15” and the image, far too small for my eyes, more cost, bugger! However :) as my dear friend David would say, “a luxury problem mate” . . .  true, so very true. I am doing just fine with what I have. Gratitude !

Thursday 18

11:17 AM

And today . . . I wake to President Obama giving the most powerful, most invigorating speech that I have ever heard him deliver, passionate and strong, right on the money. Holding the US Senate and Senators accountable, for not voting on Background checks for those who buy guns.

Will Rogers always said it as it is. It saddens me that we seem unwilling to protect our children and communities. Be that America OR New Zealand.

“Our constitution protects aliens, drunks and U.S. Senators.”

- Will Rogers

1:29 PM

Sitting quietly, the fire, in it’s cosy red box, has the house warm as toast. It’s a grey day. A cold day, a wet day. Sitting wondering, fixated. American, Australian and British TV is churning out drama and I am fixated. Opiate of the masses applies to the Box as much as it does to the Church. In front of me, on the table, along with my feet, are a pile of books, screaming at me. “Read me, Read me!” Okay already, I will, I will. But what? Poetry? Spiritual? Philosophical? Fiction? Or do I get up and hobble to the kitchen table where my laptop sits and where I can work on my photography?  But for the moment . . . Write and then, Read. ‘The Spirituality of Imperfection’, I guess one of my all time favorites. It inspires, questions, challenges me. Religion. Christianity. Church. It’s like a 7 course lunch with wine. Chewable, complex, appetizing, nourishing. It feeds me like nothing else. Extracts of William James, quotes from Jewish philosophy. All wrapped in the principles espoused by Alcoholics Anonymous. I am hungry for such words. With MND my ability to eat food is severely compromised. Therefore my intellect, more alive than ever, more curious than ever, enjoys feasting on the unknowable aspects of human life. Who, What, Why and . . . The list goes on. Some friends express their devotion to Jesus. I find it hard to go there as I see the historical Jesus, a Jew, captured by religion when, in my eyes, he was more like a curious philosopher, one who travelled widely, embracing many beliefs and over time, formed a philosophy of his own. I support and embrace this concept. I used to live under the delusion, or was it real :) that somehow I was like Jesus. Now I see the possibility I may not have been totally wrong. Jesus appears to me as a humanist, not a closed minded religious fanatic. He believed in his philosophy and it seems to have attracted like minded fellow travelers. Thomas, Doubting Thomas, questioned his philosophy, as I have done and do, today. Taking anything at face value has it’s risks. “Does this work for me?” Good question. One I ask often. “God, please show me”. And as my day unfolds it appears that I am guided, especially if I let go of any and all outcomes. All I can do is ask the question. I am powerless over the results, not that I ask ‘for’ anything material, simply for guidance and strength. Day after day, year after year, ever since I was a child, I have asked. And, on reflection, I can see a steady hand on the tiller :) it’s not my hand. I have been guided in directions that have challenged, pained, inspired and loved. Pain is essential, suffering is optional. Life to me, is like that. A journey. Simple. “Mine is not to reason why, mine is to simply do and die.” Life in a sentence. Its not a prison sentence however. Paying attention to my own, not your’s, or your’s, or your life, simply paying attention to my own, guided by my own compass. A philosophy that has taken years to form and take hold. Integrity, where my actions match my words. Hypocrisy was my teacher as a child, attending Sunday church services. What I heard from on high, inside our cathedral, booming down from the pulpit, never made it outside and onto the hard tar sealed footpaths and roadways of life.  The words of the ministers never connected with, never made sense, to me. Nothing was based around real world principles. It appeared as religious jumbo jumbo. I turned up regular as clockwork, week after week after week. As demanded by my Mother. Sunday school, then my first Communion, sipping the blood of Christ, eating his flesh. Pretty gross when I look back. A form of brain washing. Cannibalizing Life. Years went by and I continued questioning. I experienced life. I beat myself up, whipping myself with confusion and passive anger. Not at all good as I continued to question and doubt. Guilt sat with me. If I  am not careful, it still can, fed by believing, searching, exploring outside the box in which I grew up. “Who do you think you are?” Painfully negative.

However :) Today, being open to other ideas, new directions, ancient wisdom, I am finding a new freedom, a new peace and a new and stronger sense of my self. My journey, there is no destination, no answers, is a spiritual one. Where I continually question life and, my self. And will continue to do so. Who knows where it will take me, I certainly don’t.

5:10 PM

The questions that continues to challenge me are concerning photography and writing but as I have learned, more will be revealed . . .  time to read :) and did!

Friday 19

3;00 PM

Muy Emily just left to drive over the Hill to Wellington. Driving a Renault Espace  with Wheelchair access. A new Car? Hopefully if they offer a good deal.

We have also ordered a new wheelchair. A combined cost of $60 Grand, she-it!

As Emily was preparing to leave I burst into tears. Her love knows no bounds.

I am humbled to my core. Letting love in has not been easy in this life but, as I am discovering, it’s never too late. God and the Universe work in mysteriously beautiful ways.

Earlier we took the Renault for a test drive. Motored out to the car in my PWC, checked it out front and back. My last French vehicle was a Renault 16 TL. It was fun, drove it in the Barrington Tops forests, off road, was awesome. So here we are 45 years later, another Renault. Very spacey, spaceship looking, four years old. Took a bit of experimenting to unlock the doors, everything electronic, spacey indeed. Lowered the rear ramp, hooked the chair to the built in winch, and ouch, found that my head didn’t quite clear the roof and my neck felt it was going to snap, bit of a humorous panic and out I came. I sat in the front. Much safer and much more comfortable and next to muy Emily. Off down the road, into the country, off sealed surfaces, it delivered. We look forward to so fun adventures in the future. The view out the front and sides is panoramic indeed. The seats, comfortable, the suspension . . . Didn’t feel a bump :) whew!

5:23 PM

a day full of people and experiences that filled me with love and gratitude. Nurses, friends. Artists who are Nurses and Friends. Checking on my health, giving me a clean bill of health. Sharing Art. Sharing life. Not at all bad :)

Now, sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop.

Muy Emily is back home, we now own a very nice new used car to carry our nice new wheelchair, bloody awesome . . . oops Dickey, no superlatives :) Ciao!

9:24 PM

Restless, prowling FaceBook, junking an eyeful of news, prowling movie channels, even Humphrey Bogart does not entertain or fulfill. So, here I am, tapping a keyboard. Determined to save the only life I can save . . . Mary Oliver’s ‘The Journey’. How to create sentences that explore the richness of my life, my love and the challenges muy Emily and I face. I wish to live as fully as I can for the hours and days I may have left. We, may have left. Life is a mystery to be explored. Hour by hour, day by day. Cliche following cliche. The fan rotates and oscillates sending cool dry air toward me, helping my breath, helping my life. Dinner tonight was half a beef & burgundy pie, made fresh by our friends at Cafe Mirabelle, steamed fresh green beans from our garden with finely sliced carrot and mashed potato. Along with a glass of Belgium bier. The energy it takes to consume such a meal wipes me out and after a few mouthfuls I put myself on my BiPap machine to reenergize myself, exhausting,  not at all enjoyable. The most enjoyable part of the day was driving north from our house, into the country, testing our new car. Breathing freely of cool, clean country air. Taking in the sweeping panorama of the local farming plains. Rivers, plateaus, forest and pastures bathed with dramatic shadows and afternoon sun light, now that I love, it opens my heart and clears my mind of cabin fever.

Saturday 20

10:34 AM

What to make of the Boston bomber brothers? One dead, one taken captive.

It’s a mystery to me as to what takes place in an others mind. No matter how much I want to believe that I know, I simply don’t. Can’t. I can love, embrace, support but I can never truly know. We are all unique in that regard.

I can harbor love, hate, I can dream of delivering answers for life’s questions and at the same time, hold strange and uncomfortable dreams of destruction, revenge, anger. But that is all they are, dreams. To make the step across the line, to put thoughts into action, that has to be a dis-ease. Pure evil. We are part of, I am part of, nature, no different from a tree in the forest. I can experience internal rotting, damaged limbs, I can be eaten alive by insects of the mind, attacked by men. Cut down, chopped up, discarded and forgotten. War! Or, I can embrace a power greater than myself, the Sun, Moon, Stars, the Universe, God, whatever. I can ask aka pray for guidance and listen, trust my instinctive, intuitive self or I can simply run wild, out of control. A savage beast of the forest. It’s my choice, my journey, my life, my destiny. My genius. I have left my home, taken employment. Left my country, travelled, experienced depression aka melancholy. I have spent time alone fighting demons. Writing despairing letter to my Mother. Continuing on my path. On reflection I smile at my teenage angst. I inherited a healthy work ethic, that saved my arse. Big time :)

Life is a remarkable mystery to be embraced and enjoyed, there are no answers, simply more questions. It has taken me years, decades, seven score :) years almost and I am still enthralled by not having any answers. I am merely, one of many. The curiosity, the questions, the doubt keep me alive.

My journey has taken me places I never thought it would. Each and every path on that journey has held it’s own mystery and own lessons. At times I thought I was mistaken. No, I was being guided to new experiences. I may have thought I was being willful but now, I can see and accept that the hand on my tiller was a constant and steadying guardian. My destiny revealing itself. Bravo Dickey. Well lived. Fear has played it’s part. Fear has prevented me from harming myself more than I have already. The sense of uplift, joy, love of life that comes with my acceptance is profound. A glow emanates within me. Rapture I guess. Life!

Sitting here in my recliner dreaming of the exploits yet to come. Dreaming of sharing time outdoors with muy Emily. Visiting  friends and neighbors. Cruising around our village community, camera in hand. The great out doors, nature. This has nurtured me ever since I could crawl. My adventures have been many and varied. Now, today, I get to reflect and my day is richer for it. At times, when not paying attention or when I am not loving of my self, I look back and critique aspects of my life. That I did not appreciate, enjoy, embrace, or go as deep into the moment as I would now wish. Bullshit Dickey! You did a grand job of experiencing the experiences. Who  am I to say otherwise. No judge, no jury, simply Gratitude. As my friend Don was known to say, often :) An attitude of gratitude! It has stuck with me and served me well. Much healthier than my own stinking thinking :)

Gratitude is Heaven already” . . . Blake.

I agree. An attitude of gratitude, and here I am, heaven here on earth. Whew! What more can I say? Amen.

Ciao!

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