I say no to autobiography, oh alright maybe a little

I was having coffee with a girlfriend recently, discussing turning 40 (I will dock at this number next month) and reflecting on days gone by. As one does...apparently.

She is quite firm in her belief, as are a number of my close friends, that I should write about my life.

It always surprises me when this comes up- how I can have no interest whatsoever in doing such a thing, and they can be so passionate for the affirmative. I pride myself on being able to understand the perspective of others but this viewpoint leaves me...well...clueless.

My reason is twofold.
One: I am bored bored bored by myself. I can think of no more boring way to spend time than grinding out a novella about events I have already lived. Others are infinitely more interesting and that is why I interview people for a living.
Two: Have you visited a book store recently? (I hope so!) Have you seen the discount bin? What is in there? Autobiographies people!

So to appease those of you who think that the retelling of my life thus far would be entertaining I offer you a small story. But be warned, one story that is marginally quaint does not...NOT make a series of these stories strung together any more tiresome than I imagine them to be.

When I was 6 we stayed in a caravan park in Lakes Entrance. Many Gippsland families did and still do the same. Having the Gippsland Lakes on your door step is a marvellous thing, and the region buzzes with activity during the summer months.

One balmy night another family visited our camp or came to stay I am not sure which, but a party of sorts ensued. This meant that there was a BBQ and beer and laughter. The adults slowly got toasted and the jokes grew bawdier and the supervision of children became more relaxed.

This was my moment. I was a crafty child.

I taught myself to pick basic padlocks so I could get to my sisters stash of Femme and Joy Patou perfume. I regularly went AWOL at night, sleeping on top of the giant cement water tank out the back of our house so I could watch the stars, or in the boat that was parked in the paddock, always returning before sunrise with parents none the wiser. I made a 'bug' that tuned into an AM radio frequency, put it in the house somewhere and listened to conversations I was never meant to hear. I would gently remove a corner of the wrapping paper of presents to see what was inside and replaced it exactly as I had found it. I was a spy, doing the unthinkable underneath the noses of the ignorant. And I never...NEVER got caught.

I began to clear up the dishes, swiping abandoned glasses that had the last few warm gulps of beer and plates filled with discarded chop bones. 'What a good child', the visiting parents said.

While the adults were laughing heartily at some 'Rodney Rude' joke I gulped greedily. Right under their noses I drank every last drop of warm foamy beer from the glasses I collected that night.

Later that evening getting ready for bed mum took me to the bathroom block so I could brush my teeth and go to the toilet. I was quite excitable, more so than my usual mum thought. In fact she was finding it hard to control me as I darted back and forth along the corridor having a running race with myself, interspersed with the retelling of the naughty jokes I had overheard earlier that night to any unsuspecting woman who entered.

Mum was horrified.

In desperation she pushed me into a cubicle and turned the shower on. Although I was a quiet shy child when not tanked to my eyeballs, I had quite a set of lungs. I could sing and be heard for quite a distance.

As the cold water fell over me, at the top of my voice I sang

I met him on a Monday and my heart stood still
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Somebody told me that his name was Bill
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Yeah, my heart stood still, 
Yes, his name was Bill,
And when he walked me home,
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron

In subsequent years we camped at Storm Point, a lonely promontory jutting into Lake Victoria geographically opposed to Loch Sport. No toilets, no running water and no other campers, really only easily accessible back then by water.

Just bush and a few echidnas who apparently don't have an opinion either way on parenting.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 5 - Following the trail

He decided to have more tea rather than go after her. She was willful, and when angry unlikely to be forthcoming with any further information. Perhaps he would go to her hut later when she had calmed down.

He sat down wearily. The night had been cold and he had received many messages on the wind. Both had conspired to keep him awake for most of the night.

The tea was hot and revived him somewhat. He decided to go over what he knew already.

His employer was a daimyo of the north islands and had risen to power and wealth after the Ōnin war. He had been called to the house two hours after the wife's death. Deep with grief his employer had the composure to leave everything as it had been found. She was beautiful even though her attacker had disfigured her horribly. Slashes like the one he had felt on the girl's side where everywhere on her body, but always north south. The blade puncturing the skin and dragged down in a whip like action, the middle of the wound deepest. The exit point was ragged as if the blade was twisted purposefully as a final insult to the skin. He had felt the woman's wounds and committed to memory the vibration of the blade that had caused such damage. At that point he did not know the murderer's name.

Finn had been an outsider, originally from Europe born from an affair his Nordic mother had sworn she would never speak about. When she was dying he had begged her to say his father's name. She refused. So he decided to travel, to find a place he belonged. He had gone first to Russia, across Mongolia to central China, then the Korean peninsula to seek work. He had found his skill as a tracker and after the war sailed to Japan lured by the possibility of becoming a sabarau. He had found that tracking was more lucrative, and he liked the idea of being anonymous.

It had been six weeks since he had stood in that room with the lifeless body. It was obvious what he had done to her. She must have held her captive for many hours, tortured and finally killed her. The murderer had disappeared without a trace until he had heard a rumour. Further in the mountainous South, a young woman, a westerner, was said to have come to the house of the local nobility, where she had asked if she could be sheltered for the night. She had been wearing a light nightdress that had been slashed down the side under travellers robes. Barefoot and bleeding she had been taken into the servant's quarters. She had a long wound where her nightdress had been opened, clearly made by a sword. The family physician had attended to her. She would not say who had attacked her, and left two days later before she was fully healed. When Finn spoke to the physician he had been almost secretive about the treatment provided and the conversations he had with the young lady. He would only say she should have stayed longer, and that the servants had supplied her with some clothes, food and he had given her a small amount of money. Then she had left. The physician said she was heading further South. Finn knew he was lying, he could feel the discord on the man's breath. She had left quite a mark on the old man, she was obviously beautiful for him to protect her like that. Perhaps she had bewitched him.

He had asked some discreet questions about a red headed woman, a takokujin. She had gone north he heard. And he had been lucky. Passing through a village, eager to find food, he had discovered the place alive with trade. Once a week farmers from the flat lands came up to the foothills to sell their produce. He was sitting on the shingle roof of a dwelling when he had seen her move through the crowded stalls. He noticed that she kept her hood on, said very little to anyone, and bought only a couple of items. She was taller than the other women and not as slight but she walked with grace. Pride he thought. He had followed her for a week, been to her home, a single roomed hut barely space for sleeping quarters and a hearth. On the side of a hill about three miles from the village, she was alone and he felt, dangerously unprotected.

It was then he had heard whispers of other attacks and he had traveled back to the city. What he was told unsettled him. This man had murdered before the daimyo's wife. Three times before in fact. And once after. Five bodies all women of great beauty, and only the red haired takokujin alive to speak of the attack, to identify the man. She was his sixth victim.

He felt sure he would come back to her. She was unfinished business. He was sure this man would protect his anonymity, and Finn knew a little something about that. The murderer was clever in that he had not been seen entering or leaving the homes of the women he killed. All had been heavily guarded by trained men, experienced soldiers. All dead. No one had heard a sound. He had checked and the women all had their tongues, they had not been cut out. There was no sign of a mouth gag or bondage of any kind. There were marks on the wife where a strong hand had held and bruised her wrists, arms, upper thighs. But how had he done all that without her crying out?

In the city and some of the larger villages of the North they had named this man the kage, the shadow. Perhaps by now there were others tracking the kage. It was possible.

He kept coming back to the young woman. She would be able to tell him what he needed to know. Perhaps he could even save her? But he tried to brush away that thought. He was not a hero and his life would be complicated if he was weighed down by obligations other than that of his employer. 

He had also seen she was not defenseless. She was lightening quick with her sword and she could fly. He knew from experience that this was a rare trait in a westerner. But despite these gifts she knew she stood little chance. He had killed samurai, men of the sword. All she had was a shorter jian probably light, and a hand dagger. She didn't stand much of a chance. If Finn could find her this easily, the kage could as well.

He decided he would need to speak with her again. He had to explain why he had touched her. She could be angry if she liked.

But he would keep the rest to himself- why he had turned from her so quickly without a word and sped away. He was not sure what he would do with those thoughts. He would deal with that later. He would see his favourite in the city and she would erase all memory of the green eyes and the skin beneath the silk.


So he went to the small hut on the side of the hill. He knocked politely, but knew as soon as he touched the wood of the door she had gone. 


Yes, he had handled things very badly indeed.

The park = happiness

They say that children and animals teach you the simple art of happiness.

 

Hanging gems in a concrete city

Mock up for card range

I have been working on a range of cards. This is one of the mock ups of the 'architectural' type drawings.

What do you think?

Marilyn Cali- A unique way of seeing

I met Marilyn in 2006 while working in Recruitment. She had an other worldliness about her that piqued my curiosity. But that was just the tip of the iceberg.

thesoundingline: What are you current creative projects?
MC: In late December 2011, I joined Mary Mikhael at ‘Twinflame Enterprises’. I am also working on my first album in additional to singing with Latin Effect, The Midnight Soul Club and Valentino Flamenco Ensemble. I also do a radio gig which is one Friday per month, at 2pm on 88.3 Southern FM.

thesoundingline: Tell us more about Twinflame Enterprises?
MC: Our focus is on education to bring about abundance and health. This can be at a business level looking at organisational change or at an individual level through behaviour change using tools like Neuro-linguistic programming or spiritual healing. My role is a Transformational Behavioural Specialist. We also facilitate philanthropic work and projects are underway to assist communities in Singapore, Malaysia, China and India in 2012. We have further plans in 2013 for continued work in China and India. I am really excited about events we will be hosting in Sydney, the Gold Coast and Melbourne to spread the word.

thesoundingline: Where do your creative  ideas come from?
MC: Everywhere, in no particular moment or setting.

thesoundingline: Music and acting are a necessary part of your life. How did this come about?

MC: I wanted to sing when I was younger but I didn’t. I used to sing in my head, and then when I was 22 I started. I was terrified I would sound awful, not as beautiful as it sounded in my head. Again I knew I wanted to act at a young age, and I started around the same age as singing. To me they are linked, all part of the same experience.

thesoundingline: Who would you be itching to work with living or dead?

MC: Oh so many, Bocelli and Ella Fitzgerald, Sting, Pavarotti. Charlize Theron, she has clearly been through some really tough times and she can channel this into her work so well. Natalie Portman. Oh and Jeff Bridges I think he is very underrated as an actor and Bradley Cooper for obvious reasons.

At this point Marilyn is licking her lips salaciously and I try to bring her back from wherever she has gone, although I have some idea.

thesoundingline: I read an article in ‘Scientific American Mind’ discussing the theory that the more creative an individual the more open they are to unconventional or wonderful ideas. Do you think this theory has promise?
MC: Yes I agree with that, I think you have to be open to anything, that is first, then creativity follows as it is closely aligned. Creativity can’t be stopped once this occurs, it is like a door that can never be closed again.
 

thesoundingline: The next full moon is May 6^th. Do you notice anything particular on a full moon night?

MC: There is definitely more energy, more female energy.

thesoundingline: How would you describe that?
MC: Female energy is nurturing, loving, kind, passionate and powerful. During this phase of the moon I find I am highly creative.

thesoundingline: I understand the Police roster more Officers on a Full Moon night. Why do you think they do this?
MC: Female energy is incredibly powerful and highly emotional. It can also be incredibly difficult to control particularly for someone who at this time in the moon cycle is feeling out of control anyway. It amplifies this and therefore those that are already not doing so well may experience complete loss of control.

thesoundingline: You have an ability to perceive information hidden from the normal senses. Can you recall your first experience?
MC: Yes I can. It was around 2 years old. I couldn’t verbalise what I was experiencing, but it did feel natural to me.

thesoundingline: Have you ever questioned your sanity?
MC: Never, it is real and natural to me. It has never felt unreal which would mean I would be worried about sanity. The voices that may come into play are always those of others, I could always identify my own inner voice as quite different.

thesoundingline: How does this ability affect your everyday life?
MC: In a completely positive way. I can interpret information and assist those around me. Energetically it is huge. It is difficult to put into words, but I can say it is like living in multiple worlds at the one time with multiple voices. It can be very overwhelming, but when you know how to take this on it can be immensely positive. If I can tap into this and see how it can assist someone, perhaps pass a message on, this can literally change a person’s life in that moment. When you are speaking from that heart space, truth recognises truth. If I pass a message on to someone a positive change can occur in that second- it can be that quick.

thesoundingline: Do you believe we all have the potential to tap into this ability?
MC: No doubt we do. We all possess this skill as a child, and then it can be knocked out of us by our parents, or by the pressures placed on us through social conditioning.

thesoundingline: What would you say to a parent?
MC: I would say stay open.

thesoundingline: Critics believe that psychics and people who make claims they can tap into other worlds or energies are either self-deluded or intentionally tricking those more gullible. Do you understand this point of view?
MC: Yes I do. There are some who practise with a different motivation. I would say that we have the answers in us, if you are seeking an answer that is from another source you may be more open to the type of trickery that is out there. If someone is guiding you to understand yourself, to find the answer within then this is more authentic. As I said truth recognises truth but when you are in an emotional state seeking help it can be very difficult.

thesoundingline: Past lives…how did it come about that you knew you had lived before?

Marilyn has a special connection to the image above

MC: It is really difficult for me to speak about this without telling someone else’s story as mine is interlinked with others. I can say that I know I have lived many times before. It is a different energy that I may feel, sometimes there are visual pictures. I feel them as you would a memory but they are incredibly intense. The best way to relate this is to think back on a memory you have from this life that you can touch, smell, hear, feel in your mind’s eye. Like when as a mother you held your child after birth, or kissed someone for the first time. That moment is locked in your memory and the intensity of it remains despite the years. That is what I feel when recalling an experience from a past life. What I do with it is more important though. It is crucial to take the learning from that experience but not to relive that life.

thesoundingline: How has your ability affected your study and practise of Neuro-linguistic programming?
MC: I have experienced a shift in my NLP practise, I have been able to combine my work as a spiritual healer with NLP and the result has been more transformation at a behavioural and then soul level. If a person can balance the female and male energies then they will live a more fulfilled life by reaching their full potential. It is an empowered state of being where the physical body, mind and emotional self and the soul are all in balance.

thesoundingline: I read a lovely quote from Mahatma Gandhi “A man is but the product of his thoughts what he thinks, he becomes.” This seems to sum up NLP. Do you agree?

MC: Yes, it is a beautiful quote and relates well I think.

thesoundingline: Setting goals is a critical part of achieving our personal potential.  What advice would you give someone struggling to tap into a goal they are passionate about?

MC: It is not my way to give advice, as I would be interfering with someone’s free will. I would ask the person a series of questions, and from there they would have the answer themselves. This can be quite a process for some while others may come to this point quite quickly.

thesoundingline: How important is it for you to have a mentor, someone to help you stay on track?
MC: Critical, to ensure that you are forever learning you need to be a student. I can say that Jon Brenton is my mentor. I also have others that are my mentor- Deepak Chopra is one, Ella Fitzgerald has taught me joy. Sade, she is a goddess.

thesoundingline: Have you met anyone who has truly inspired you?
MC: Richard Branson, he made himself out of nothing, he overcame dyslexia. Andre Bocelli is amazing also.

thesoundingline: What skill do you wish you had?
MC: I wish I could fly!

thesoundingline: What will you never give up?
MC: Love.

My thanks to Marilyn for spending two afternoons with me, letting me ask very personal questions and blowing my tiny mind. 

To contact Marilyn Cali and her team regarding professional services or to book tickets for upcoming event "A Gift of Love" on 31st May click here:  Twin Flame Enterprises

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 4- Folly

She woke very early as the quality of her sleep had been poor.

She had dreamed she was standing at the foot of a cliff, with waves and spray crashing around her. She needed to run quite a distance before she could fly. There was certainly no hope of that on this craggy rock. It was not a safe place to be and her only choice was to climb the cliff. The wind was icy and strong, trying to knock her off her feet so the water could drag her in, and then crash her back against the rock. They seemed to be working together.

Every time she attempted to climb up, making a grab, the rock felt like hot coal in her hand. Ugly burns covered her fingers and palms. The tide was rising silently behind her the waves crashing closer and closer.

Then a man appeared sweeping through the air. He grabbed her on a pass close to the cliff face. She watched the waves coated with spume tossing madly below her as she rose quickly, caught in a strong hold around her ribs that restricted her breath.

But rather than be glad she had escaped this terrible place, she was filled with horror when she saw the face of the man who had saved her. Her scar burned as if it torn open once more.

She had woken way too early. Perhaps an hour to go before the sun peeped over the ridge and began to warm the still cool air. There was no way that sleep would come again so she began her morning ritual. The fire was still burning feebly so she stoked the hearth and prepared her breakfast. She tried to focus on the day ahead.

She planned to go to the forest, and try to locate the man from the marketplace. He had smelled so strongly of cypress she felt sure he had been sleeping there. And when she found him she would ask him... what? Hopefully the words would come.

The flight was quicker than she expected, the wind behind her all the way. The forest was expansive, so she decided to land at the perimeter furthermost away from the village, and sweep towards home. She did not wish to draw attention to herself but carrying her jian drawn. Instead she had a kaiken hidden in the folds of the heavy sash around her waist. It had been her mothers, given to her when she married as good luck. She still had her jian slung concealed in a special leather sleeve. It fit snugly across the line of her spine, the hilt in easy reach just below her left shoulder blade.

Her hands were shaking slightly, hidden in the long wide sleeves of her traveling robe. For a moment, just a moment of clarity, she wondered what the hell she was doing. This was a dangerous place, and she could be voluntarily walking into trouble. She looked up in the tree tops seeing if she could catch a glimpse. She understood that many of the demons discussed in the market square were just myths, but still in this quiet place, she could not dismiss the feeling Tsurube-otoshi lived in these trees. 

She began moving briskly, alert for any noise. Twice she stopped alarmed by movement close by, only to see a bird fly into the air in surprise. She was jumpy.

Cresting a small hill she saw a thin curl of smoke, barely discernible. They were close, maybe one mile away. She crouched down instinctively. She could not be seen from this spot but she felt somehow exposed among the giant trunks of cypress. She took a moment to try and concentrate on the wind. She asked, is there danger? Nothing. She asked once more. Again, no response.

Standing she shook her head looking down at the ground, almost closing her eyes. She was making a mistake again she could feel it. This was stupid, a meaningless chase for what? She turned her back on the smoke, on the possibility of finding the man, and took a step forward. That is all she had time for.

He was only three feet away looking at her with that same impassive expression, hood off this time. It occurred to her that he had been there the whole time she was crouched down. And then she felt the awful heaviness, the same sensation that afflicted her in the marketplace. She was anchored to the spot.

"You have questions for me and I have questions for you," he said, low and rough. "It is not the place to have such a conversation, in the open like this."

Before she could answer he strode off past her in the opposite direction to the smoke. She spun on her heels but did not step forward, still feeling heavy. She was looking in the direction of the smoke, wondering why he was going the other way. "Thieves camp, you do not want to be going there. Four of them, heavily armed. Not the place for a lady."

She stared back at him striding away. There appeared to be a choice, and she needed to make it quickly. Yes she had questions, and if it meant she had to follow him, then that was what she would do. Jolted out of her stupor she jumped forward down the hill. She ran behind him to keep up, following his long strides. After sometime the forest changed, there was more moisture in the earth, she sank slightly with each step. Moss covered stones and fallen branches. There was a dampness in the air. She heard the sound of a small brook, but could not see it. Rounding a dense patch of spruce and cypress where the giant trees were closer together and the light was dull, they came to a place where the earth opened abruptly and the small brook could be seen snaking along the base of a chasm, maybe twenty feet down. The man disappeared behind a large rock and she took the opportunity to pull the small dagger from her sash and reverse it in her hand so it was hidden by her sleeve. This done she stepped behind the rock.

It was a small cave, no taller than the man, and wide enough for them to both sit as he was doing, tending to a fire in the centre. Instinctively she looked to see where the smoke was going. He glanced up from his task and said, "The smoke goes this way, into the hill, and finds it's way out a fissure in the rock about a half mile north. By then it is merely a waft. We are safe. We have not been followed and no-one will find us here. Sit and I will make us tea." He motioned to a small rock, too close to him for her liking but near to the opening so she could run if she needed. She sat down.

In the muted light she could see the shine in his eyes as he looked down poking at the fire. Her body, muscles usually alert and ready to flee were deserting her again. Heavy, so heavy.

He handed her some tea. She sipped it and felt a little less numb. Only slightly. She would need to, must, stay alert.

"I am a tracker, hunting the man who hurt you." She inhaled as if winded. She felt dizzy again.

"He has killed many people. He killed the wife of a rich man. Well he took her, then killed her to be precise. I am to find him and bring him to my employer." He took a gulp from his cup. It occurred to her then how tired he looked.

"Do you know who he is?" her voice sounded croaky. She was unsure of herself. Her mind was befuddled. She felt slightly drunk.

"Yes."

So he was not going to tell her. She looked down at the fire and tried to focus on an ember radiating weakly at the edge of the small pit. This helped her take the focus away from the sickness she felt in her stomach.

"Why did you....touch me?" It was his turn to look away this time. She felt she had won a small battle, and clarity began to return. He was not sure what to say, she could see that. When he did say something his eyes remained on the ground at his feet.

"I needed to know if your wound was from the same blade. It was. You are very lucky to be alive....to still be alive." Now her heart was racing, now she needed to know.

"Will he come back for me? I mean do you think he will?" She did not want to ask the question or hear the answer, but not knowing was a different type of torture.

"You are the first he has left alive. I am not sure why. Was he...interrupted?"

She did not expect to have to relive this memory, particularly in front of a stranger. She closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow trying to prevent the wave of nausea. She wanted to run, to get into the air. One more breath, just one more. She opened her eyes and said simply, "I hurt him before he could get me on the ground. I ran. He did not catch me." He did not need to know the whole truth, about what the man had done to her.

He stared hard at her, a stony disbelieving look. It was then that she saw it, in a flash he reached out to grab her left hand, the one concealing the kaiken. At the same moment he looked to block her raising her right hand to her jian. But she was quick, and rolled back onto the earth behind the small rock she was seated on. Before he could stand and reach for his own katana hanging loosely from his hip in the cramped space, she had drawn and raised her jian, tip below his jaw, kaiken in her left hand low and ready to strike. Crouched below him. She really wanted to run now.

The tea spilled on the ground soaking into the earth and releasing steam into the air.

"A test? You could have believed me!" she was very angry now. "And you could have also introduced yourself at the market..." Her voice trailed off.

"I have to know why he left you alive."

"Right now you should think more about keeping yourself alive."

"True." He laughed. "You do have me at a disadvantage."

She felt hot, anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He was laughing at her.

It took her back to that painful memory, clutching at her nightdress as the blood ran slowly from her side. She had been more concerned about her modesty than the pain of the wound. It had made him laugh. Her eyes stung from the memory and she stood up, worn out by it all and placed her jian back in it's leather sleeve. Then she took the kaiken and loosening the sash stole it away beneath a fold, pulling the sash firmly around her waist. She looked like a normal peasant girl. Except she had red hair and pale skin, flushed with a memory she did not wish to recall.

They looked at one another for a long moment.

Then she said, so quietly he could hardly hear her, "It was very foolish of me to try to find you. I have learned nothing I did not know."

She turned and walked out of the cave, quickened her pace to a run and leapt into the air.

He stood staring at the space she had left.