i think i have come to the end of words.

for the last few years i have wrestled with them, redefined them, cross referenced them and argued them.

me brain, ever searching, was in disequilibrium and i fought to find balance. to reconcile the inconsistencies, make sense of the disparities, to find a new framework in which to rest.

it has been quite a journey, perhaps even a Road Less Travelled. i have been scared, lonely, held, persistent and confused. words and sentences have flown around my head seeking categories -fiction ? non-fiction? important insignificant? logical? biblical? Christlike? fundamental? the hunger for Truth ever present, ever pulling me forward.

but i seem to have come to the end of the road of words. i am more committed than ever to spiritual growth and having touched the taste of Love it is my only hunger. i just feel like God doesn't really care how i classify my sentences. He doesn't really care how i label Him.

to describe the indescribable?
to name the unnameable?
to label the divine?

what was i thinking??

charlie

the shed is dead.

just smashed down a shed with a sledge hammer. fabulous. if i have any reason to be angry at you, don't worry. you're off the hook. i have just taken every last drop of negative energy out on that shed.

'i can hear her...'

went to the "Global Leadership Convention" run by World Vision for primary school students yesterday with 4 kids from school. they were quickly thrust into a simulation of the life of a child labourer in a match stick factory in India. they were told they owed they employer 170 rupees and they had to pay back their debt by making perfect little match boxes with exactly 20 matches in each. they were told the rules in loud unfriendly terms, "you must pay back you're debt. if you need a break to go to the toilet, more debt will be added. if you need food, more debt will be added. if you make a mistake, more debt will be added. if you injure yourself, more debt will be added. no talking. no mistakes. Get to work. NOW."

then the factory 'bosses' walked around acting mean and yelling at the kids for the next two hours. one kid who's match box was rejected for being a bit wonkie ended up crying on the stairs.

it was brilliant. i had tears in my eyes myself at one point. after the simulation they showed the australian students videos of real kids in india who are child labourers. it made australian school work look pretty damn fun. World Vision then promoted the 40 Hour Famine as a solution to this problem (which gave the primary school kids i was with some well needed emotional resolution).

I genuinely hope the four kids we took went to sleep feeling they can solve the world's injustice by fasting from furniture for 40 hours and selling off some pre-primary portraits. i, of course am not so lucky, and spent the evening wondering how the heck i was ever going to sleep again with images of Ragu's big brown indian eyes flashing through my head which rested snugly on my new eqyptian cotton pillow case while he was digging up coal with his skinny bear fingers.

i turned to my new book that mum got me from the library, 'Fighting the Banana Wars and other Fairtrade Battles'. found this quote by indian activist, Arundhati Roy.

"Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day i can hear her breathing."

made me feel better.

hung out with one of my best buddies in the whole world yesterday. it was so nourishing.

to love and to be loved
to know and to be known
to sparkle and to be seen
to glow and to be hugged...

that was yesterday
i love you jenna x

book

finished memory keeper's daughter. (the fiction beat the non-fiction :). the book is about a doctor who secretly gives away his down syndrome daughter at birth and tells his wife she died. the nurse, who was in love with the doctor, can't bring herself to leave the little girl at the scary, gray institution and decides to keep her as her own. the nurse has to constantly fight for her 'daughter' to get a decent education and medical care. there is one scene which will never leave me where she takes her daughter into hospital after being stung by a bee (the girl's allergic) and she is essentially asked if she would just rather let nature take is course and let her daughter die than give her treatment (my blood boiled). gave me some good insights into a not so pleasant attitude from the 60's and 70's towards the mentally 'retarded'. helped me understand the little glimpses i see of this disappearing world view.

sleepy

Tired, her eyelids sway up and down like tiny tides. The magpies carol. Open. Mummy breathes. Close. A dog barks. Open. She rolls over. Close. The fan swirls. Open. Snuggle into mummy. Close. She drinks deeply. I'm not sure where I finish and she begins. Her hands glide like star fish on my skin. Silky skin on skin. And finally the caroling magpies, the distant barking dog and the swirling fan move into one lullaby and Danika falls asleep.

currently reading...

irresistible revolution by shane claireborne and the memory keeper's daughter by kim edwards. both brilliant (so far, only half way through).

i have decided to read more fiction. i love reading because it keeps my brain active and makes me feel smart (compared to TV which makes me feel dumb) but reading to much non-fiction gives me all these logical arguments and prepositions which reinforce what i already believe (even when i disagree with the author, i still become more clear of my argument) and i'm not sure i want to be all that certain of my logical arguments and prepositions.

good novels give me a sense of awe, mystery, empathy and compassion. these things are more important to me than clarity of mind.

hospital visit

danika just had her first visit to hospital...because her daddy sliced his finger on the lawn mower and needed stitches. she didn't like it much. neither did daddy.

i have three homes;

my body
my house
my planet

danika stumbled her first few steps tonight. she thinks she's the cleverest thing in the whole world.

Grandad's memorial today. sad. healthy sad. there was a photo of Grandad and Grandma cutting their wedding cake. Grandma's wedding dress was made out off fabric from 'coupons' and a lace curtain. she looked beautiful. she is beautiful. she started life as an orphan and ends it as a widow.

my grandad died last night. he was 80.

sheila kitzinger

"When she becomes a mother, it is as if a woman must go deep into the bowels of the earth, back to the elemental emotions and the power which makes life possible, losing herself in the darkness. She is like Eurydice int the Underworld. She is pulled away from a world of choices, plans and schedules, where time is kept, spaces cleared, commitments made, and goals attained to the warm chaos of love, confusion, longing, anger, self-surrender and intense pleasure that mothering entails."