Falling

Falling

Belmore Falls Fine Art Landscape Photography

I am certain that one day I am going to walk right off the edge of a cliff. I have wanted to go shoot photographs for a week. It is the only thing that makes my head stop its rummaging around in all my crazy, pulling out all sorts of bits and bobs, demanding I tell it what they are immediately (this most often occurs at around 3am).

I have scientific evidence that photography is good for me – while hooked up to a Neurofeedback machine my brain did excellent things when I thought about taking photos. Calming things, uncrazy things.

The downside (pun intended) is that I get so lost in it that I’ve a tendency to forget that I am on the edge of a rather steep gorge. 

——–

Thank you for reading my words and looking at my pictures. I am gradually filling up my blog. If you like my work I have much more at my Instagram account @onethousandwordsorless

 

 

Beautiful Melancholy

Beautiful Melancholy

BEAUTIFULMELANCHOLYLOGO

I have been learning how to feel my feelings. Apparently I’m not very good at it. I am assured it will be for the best, though remain unconvinced. For a start, I am assuming it was with good reason that my brain shoved them in the bottom draw with the abandoned single socks (whose partners ran off and left them without a word of explanation). Also, I seem to have only two major feelings that boss the others around with wild abandon – all puffed up and insistent on their right to exist – anger and sadness.

I am willing to concede that they have proven useful at times. Such as when I am angry. To my astonishment I have found that the honest expression of my feelings has been quite freeing. Though I’ve noted that the target of my fury often doesn’t appear to be quite as enchanted by the experience as I am.

Or when watching a sunrise while accompanied by a beautiful melancholy. They sit side by side so well, the sadness nestled into the rising golden light. The sunrise all the more significant when bathed in a touch of sorrow. A sense of softness that comes from allowing my heart to feel what it feels without judgment, melting away the night.

Altered

Altered

Moss Covered Rock and Log Reflected, Somersby Waterfall

I’ve lost my writing mojo. Having lived for so long in such an insular way – life throwing some doozies at me as it has – I have lost a sense of myself outside of this grief. And I am so tired of writing about that.

A friend and I chatted about this last week – the only other person I know who shares a similar loss. I asked him how I get outside it. How do I expand again? He told me he can’t recall when or how that happened for him. He just knows that one day he noticed that it had. And so I wait to exhale.

I hope that it comes soon. I miss my own company, I miss being present, I miss not feeling like there is something muting down the sound and experiences of life, I miss feeling connected to others. I miss a sense of being defined by so very much more. I miss joy.

That I am asking the questions is likely a sign that I am on the road back to all the things I miss, that I am forever changed is not disputable. As such, I’m not sure who it is that I am returning to but I do hope she has more expansive things to write about. Bigger thoughts, less self absorbed things to say.

Wild Things

Wild Things

wildthingslogolarge

Climb to the top of a hill with a friend, giggle until you burst, watch the sun set and a full moon rise, sleep under the stars, live out of an esky, savour the bitter taste of instant coffee boiled on a billy in the mornings, let the wallabies join you, watch the sun rise, go somewhere there’s no reception, sit by a campfire. Simplify life for a bit. Take a break.

Alone

Alone

Suspension Bridge Piles Creek Walking Track

“That horrifying moment when you’re looking for an adult but you realise that you are an adult. So you look around for an older adult. An adultier adult. Someone better at adulting than you.” 

Have you ever had one of those days when you’re looking around for someone to do the adulting and realise there’s only you? I’ve had one of those weeks. I’m usually perfectly independent and capable but some days (read:weeks) … well you just want to be taken care of. 


I have searched my home, looked under the couch cushions, through the washing basket, under my bed – everywhere – for someone to do the things for me. To cook me dinner because I’ve had a bad day, tell me they’ve put the washing on, talk to the annoying (and a bit rude if you don’t mind me saying) parking ranger, balanced the alarming books, listened to the reasons I’m crying (regardless of their varying levels of rationality), put on my favourite movie and kindly told me to put my feet up. 


It has, rather aptly, ended with me having given myself a mild concussion in a wayward climbing incident. And the realisation that nobody is coming, and it is a very childish thought, that you are actually an adult and should probably just get on with it. Adulting sucks.