Daily photo

Parallel Universes

Perhaps life is like an LP record or a CD with countless tracks on its surface. 

When you are born you are placed on a random track and left to make your own way in life. 

The tracks are so close together that it’s easy to slip from one to another without even noticing. 

Play the “IF ONLY” game and see how confused you become…. 

People we meet in our universe NOW may not be with us for very long; perhaps they have slipped in and out without us realising; perhaps we have slipped back and forth similarly.

Is this perhaps the true meaning of impermanence? ..that nothing remains the same because our perception of reality changes as we flit from universe to universe?

Perhaps the life-altering decisions I made in the past in MY universe were not made in the universe where I find myself now.

If so, is there now a whole different version of my life continuing on in an alternate place? 

Do alternate versions run simultaneously?

How to tap into the myriad possibilities of my life story? 

Do I believe that THIS is my real life simply because I am here thinking about it consciously now? 

If I slip seamlessly onto another track of the disk will I then believe that THAT is my real life?

16/10/12

Halloween

They came in droves, wave after wave of them in neat rows. The sky was black, the sun obscured and the stench was unbelievable.

We ran at full tilt trying to make it to the safety of the house before the bat shit landed on our heads.

Reaching the relative calm of the house, my first thought was of Hendra Virus, then reminded myself that a bat would have to bite me before the virus would be passed on.

My next thought was for the ripe mangoes which were now in danger. Our annual income was about to be decimated by this plague of fruit bats.

Checking the phone book I came across several Bat Busters and chose a local number.

“Help, “I shouted down the phone. “I need a team here immediately. We’re under attack from a plague of fruit bats. My entire mango crop is under siege. Please hurry.”

“OK, ma’m. We’re on our way. Just watch out for the Batmobile.”

The Batmobile arrived within 5 minutes and a team of overall-clad young men, my rescuers, proceeded to lock down the whole farm. Swathes of netting were laid over every tree and the smoke machines began to pump out their anti-bat mixture. The sky was black with fleeing bats and I felt my breathing begin to return to normal.

“Now ma’m. About our payment,” began the leader of the Bat Busters team. “How would you like to pay?”

“Well,” I began. “I have no cash on me but I can give you a cheque now. Would that be OK?”

He smiled slowly, and for the first time I noticed his large incisors and as he removed his mask I shuddered at the sight of his pale, waxy complexion.

“We usually ask for a small downpayment, but we do take cheques for the remainder……………….”

(Creative Writing 3.8.12 Exercise 2)

Dialogues

Overheard conversation

“Is this seat taken?”Eli asked of the blonde girl next to the window.

“No”, she replied.

Five minutes of silence ensued.

“Do you mind turning down the volume on your iPad?”he asked politely.

“Why? Is it bothering you? “Lily said as she dragged her attention away from the movie she was watching.

“Yes. It is. Bothering me, that is,” Eli said with a smile.

“OK, OK, I’ll turn it down. I left my earbuds at home this morning, rushing out the door after the alarm didn’t go off,” confided Lily smiling back.

“Thanks for that. I really do hate leaving home in a rush myself.”

Another ten minutes of silence elapsed with occasional sounds coming from Lily’s movie.

“Could you wake me if I’m asleep when we get near Gymea?”asked Eli.

“What? Oh, OK, I’ll try and remember, “replied Lily in a distracted tone.

The train sped on, stopping and starting at various stations.

“Wake up! Wake up! I think you missed your stop.”

“What! Where are we?”Eli snapped.

Internal monologue

“Why has this blonde bimbo spread herself out on two seats?”

“Oh bugger off, Dreadlocks Boy. I wanted this time for myself before I get to work.”

“Christ! I can’t stand another minute of that inane giggling in her movie!”

“Huh! Stop interrupting me while I watch my favourite movie ever, Legally Blonde, again!”

“Smile, smile, smile. She might listen if you’re sweet to her.”

“Oops, suppose I’d better be decent to him. It is a long trip after all and he is kinda cute.”

“Smile, smile. She’s doing you a favour.”

“Wonder if I should risk falling asleep and ask her to wake me? I’m so tired and it’s worth a try. Keep on smiling sweetly at her.”

“For God’s sake. Why can’t he just shut up and let me get on with my movie. Yeah! Yeah! OK…”

“Oh shit! Look at the time, look at the station we just passed through! Oh well, I only said I’d try and remember, didn’t I?

“Bloody hell! Why did I think I could ask this dimwit to look out for me? Now I’m really screwed, that big contract out the window. Thanks for nothing, bitch!”

(Creative Writing 20.7.12 Exercise 2 & 3)

July thoughts

Amy says that she hates this week in July every year and never knows how she will feel (http://www.blog.amykendall.com.au/2012/07/thankfulthursday.html) because her Dad died in July 2007.

I have felt like this for at least the last 16 years since my father died on 5 July 1996 and left a gaping hole in our family. We had never lost a close relative before except for grandparents. After that day I never again enjoyed Father's Day and I no longer wanted to acknowledge it for Peter and our children. To this day I still have trouble looking at wood turned objects as they remind me too much of Dad.

After Dad died I found myself dreading the onset of Winter, the longer nights and shorter days with little or no sunshine always reminding me of those first shocking days without my father. I always began to feel more "down" than usual as July approached and I would often try to take some annual leave in mid-July just as a break from my usual routine.

In 2001, six months of workplace harassment culminated in my leaving my job on 28 June and since then I approach June and July with some dread as I relive the mental anguish that I suffered at that time. Each year I deliberately take some time off work in July and I try to go north to the sun to try and make some happier memories.

Five years ago Peter died on 15 July and so July became even more difficult to endure. There are so many painful memories linked to the last 6 months of his life that I am still learning to deal with. July with its seemingly endless cold, dark days epitomises the sadness that I felt then and still continue to feel.

This year I made a conscious decision to mourn formally for Peter one more time and then move on, as if I had decided that five years of grief was plenty; as if tomorrow I would be a different person, carrying no grief and only happy memories.

But the day after the 5th anniversary of Peter's death I suffered a significant angina attack and I realised then that my body was obviously not listening to my mind.

The pain I had thought was asthma and muscle strain over the preceding weeks made itself felt very definitely as a heart problem.

Perhaps my heart had been broken and this was the pain of it mending itself; or possibly the thought of no more grieving for Peter was just too much for my body.