THE YAAN : The sun rose this morning. I guess it rises every day but I saw it clearly today. I was sleeping on the tiled floor in my front room, due to heat and restlessness, when I caught a glimpse of red sky. I tried the same thing yesterday but the clouds covered the sunrise and didn’t clear all day. Not so this morning. I entered Monday happily. I am occupied this week with THE GEM COLLECTION. That’s my not popular daily calendar. Only a few people are ever interested in it – but I start my days with it and the sunrise and now I have gone and caught up with myself so I had best do some posting tonight ready for the weeks ahead. http://thegemcollection.wordpress.com/
2 of my little girls are flooded in down South so I have been deep in TRIFLORA stories for them. I don’t think their Dad shows them to them but one never knows. Once again, my job is to write them. What happens then is not really my business. The smallest of the 3 girls is back from camping under the TRIAL BAY GAOL in SOUTH WEST ROCKS and she sits on my knee and looks at the TRIFLORA .
Here’s a snippet from one of my GEM COLLECTION posts. The snippet is from a poem by Australian ROBERT GRAY. It brought to my mind the distortions of the night.
This house, though, where I lie: I could find within it, through cer-
tain rooms, through many rooms, things that seem laid out for me. It is
a house left me by default. A strange house, that was not made with
I go outside to urinate under the small awning. The now clear sky, in
autumn, is shaggy, ice-encrusted. Twisting above the ranges, all of those
jammed-together, dilated stars. So clear is the night, and so heavily-laden,
I think I can hear, far off, the roar of its terrible, rampaging machinery.
I am on a planet that is lying face-up to those burning faces like a dice.
SUNRISE FROM MY VERANDAH THIS MORNING.
The DISTORTED topic has become one of my favourites.Some interesting images and some twists in thinking which really appeal to me so I am going to add a few more links.
A favourite ot two.
A BRIEF THOUGHT ON THE DISTORTING EFFECTS OF GRINDING POVERTY
The poverty of our century is unlike that of any other. It is not, as poverty was before, the result of natural scarcity, but of a set of priorities imposed upon the rest of the world by the rich. Consequently, the modern poor are not pitied…but written off as trash. The twentieth-century consumer economy has produced the first culture for which a beggar is a reminder of nothing. John Berger
SITTING AT THE eBENCH: The challengers this week have stirred me up somewhat. That’s one beauty of the Blogging World. It started with the first image I saw which dealt with the distortion of a world where children are bought and sold and used as slaves and prostitutes or even simply dressed to pose for tourists. It’s led me through a couple of restless nights and now I sit here on my eBENCH thinking about the distortion of my own life. I am hesitant to write in case self-pity or self-justification take over. It would perhaps be better if I wrote about some of the people I have known in the Department of Housing and the drug rehabilitation units, in the caravan parks and amongst the casual workers but the story I know best is my own. I doubt that I can write it tonight. Doubt that I can find the words I want to say.
Maybe. I WILL tell the stories of other people instead. Little ones. Which don’t tell you the names or faces as they say. What they might gradually do, is take the covers off the Shamed Worlds. Thank goodness for Occupy and people starting to say –THIS IS NOT RIGHT- at last. At last, I am very glad to wake up before the Dawn and watch the Sun Rise.