Pilgrim

Her teats are still warm, and warm my hands as I milk her. She died about an hour ago but still has one last thing to give. This milk is precious. It will provide the newborn foal who jostles a…

Before Copernicus, confirmed later by Galileo in subtle measurement, the world was thought to be as it appeared, a stable core to a shifting universe. And even now it still seems this way as we…

I am a boat on the ocean
Or even just a sailor on the boat
Sometimes joyous and singing of the sea
Sometimes hanging over the side
Wishing for death

And then in my illness and misery
Fo…

My soul rests gently
In the cradle of the universe

I measure my successes
and my failures
Against an infinity of time
and space

And I can neither
See nor count them.

It is
as
it should be.

I wonder
That part of me that is watching
Does it care if my life is
Happy or sad?

We knew death better then
Our children, not all, had died young
Maybe we buried our wife
(Many died young in labour)
We could put a face to our food
It had died at our hands
Rare indeed w…

I choose each grain of sand
Pick it for colour, texture, luster
And place it carefully in the Mandala
I know them as my work, my family, my art

And in the end it will be tipped into the s…

What seems like a beginning may be an end.

My self is a twig
On the river of the soul
Returning to the ocean of god
From whence it came

When I meditate
The kookaburras laugh.

Standing, looking at an artwork in a gallery recently I found myself asking, who is the artist? At one level the answer is obvious – the person who created the object. But the tricky bit is the…

It appeared from around the top of the island. Very classical – face down, arms and legs stuck straight out. It’s hard to say who was the first to see it. It was just a quiet drink’s party on a…

The story is already written
In the space outside of time
In the silence of easy detachment
We can read it quietly at leisure

Pity the man who loses his sight
Or the heiress reduced to rags

You could see him grimace every now and again as he worked. In the afternoons he worked alone.

One step in front of the other
The road moves beneath the feet
Indifferent, completely to the faith
Or lack off, we may choose to have
Each step painful, joyous or foolish
Regardless they …

Art is elite, frightening, unobtainable
You can’t do it, be it, feel it
You can’t create it, share it
Don’t dare call yourself an artist
You haven’t learn’t enough, suffered enough
Aren’t …

My clothes fall from me, unneeded
Slowly I lose the house my money built
Careers and dreams blow off as dust
Hope and fear, two sides of the same coin,
Are recognised and discarded
Family,…

It is tough country out beyond Gundagai; not many trees, low hills and thin grass. In summer the place is all glare and dust. In winter the frost can be as thick as snow. The merino sheep here …