Free Counter

Goodbye Atty

Today I find it hard to write, so much of what I want to say feels so unimportant in the light of the sadness and grief I feel. I have lost a friend. She died on the weekend- slipping away after being ill in the morning. I lost Atty . A tiny little black and white goat that came to me traveling the the tool box of Greg's bike. Small , shivering and alone- this little creature came into our lives and blessed it in a way that is hard to explain. If you only believe that friendship needs to take human form than much of what I write and share from my heart will elude you. It will be put down to impractical sillness . I am silly then and happy to be so. For I have found a wonderful friendship in a little bundle. A comfort that I am grieving for. I never minded the need to mix up bottles of milk for her or going out in the rain to feed her several times a day. I rejoiced in watching her grow, poke an inch of her little horns to the surface. Or how wonderful she felt in my arms - soft and furry with little sighs of contentment. Or the sheer joy she took in life .The need to skip everywhere . To jump and race. Or the uncontained joy she showed when she saw or heard me. My last memories of Atty would be the little tail wagging - inspite of how ill she must have been. How she made an effort to call out to me when she heard my voice, even then. Both Greg and I have lost some of the joy that used to fill Mystic Hills. There is a presence missing. Absent . And my soul grieves so much for her. Atty would share mornings with me. Watch sunsets while skipping and dancing around my feet. She would take long walks with us in the evening as we put our day to rest. She was my friend , my companion , my confidante.

It grieves me so much to know that I was not here when Atty died. I cannot forgive myself for that. For not letting her know I was with her and that we cared for her. I ache to think she died alone. In my utter foolishness I was miles away trying to extend a hand in friendship to some who had no intention of ever seeing me or returning my love. I wasted moments. Moments that I could have shared with my friend as she died. Why do we do it? Ignore the love and beauty we already have in the pursuit of what does not matter. I lost much this weekend - my dear little friend and part of my self - discounted for sale for people who do not matter.

My little sweetness lies buried under a tree - in a grave ringed with stones , strewn with flowers and a little angel. How huge a hole such a small creature can leave in one's heart.And what powerful a lesson to impart. My little Atty - you have my love and a piece of my heart. Always.


"Gone Too Soon"

Like A Comet
Blazing 'Cross The Evening Sky
Gone Too Soon

Like A Rainbow
Fading In The Twinkling Of An Eye
Gone Too Soon

Shiny And Sparkly
And Splendidly Bright
Here One Day
Gone One Night

Like The Loss Of Sunlight
On A Cloudy Afternoon
Gone Too Soon

Like A Castle
Built Upon A Sandy Beach
Gone Too Soon

Like A Perfect Flower
That Is Just Beyond Your Reach
Gone Too Soon

Born To Amuse, To Inspire, To Delight
Here One Day
Gone One Night

Like A Sunset
Dying With The Rising Of The Moon
Gone Too Soon

Gone Too Soon

Gilded Pathways

Last weekend we travelled back to the region of my youth. A place I have always called home. The occasion, the fiftieth birthday of a friend and hunting buddy. We stopped at a beachside campground that had been a part of many fun times as a young man. The evening was spectacular as is often the case in that part of the world and while meandering along below the beach cliffs we watched the sun desend toward the horizon over the sea. At one point, as the light peeked through the clouds, a golden pathway was laid on the surface of the ocean. It began at the horizon and grew toward us as the sun moved. Truly, it was awe inspiring to watch this shimmering pathway extend to our very feet. I felt the invitation to walk out upon it, to accept the challenge to leave the shore and believing in the impossible discover the unknown.

Instead, I continued on to a party with old friends in a hall I had helped renovate in the community of my childhood and early adulthood. Many neighbours and friends and family were there and I anticipated a great time. It was not to be. Yes I was welcomed by old friends, but I bcame aware of a strange phenomonen. While I was with people I knew and had known for 20-40 yrs I was no longer a part of their world. At some time in my life I have swum out of the rock pool type environment of that community and begun swimming in the ocean. I confess to it being an erie feeling, present yet not engaged.

The pathway in the sea began to have greater meaning. What is behind is behind, no matter how good or bad, meaningfull or meaningless. There is always a pathway ahead that remains unknown to us until it is revealed by each step we take and looking back for meaning or security obscures our vision forward. I accepted the invitation of the gilded pathway this week. It will mean walking ever further away from that which is behind me. The very act of moving forward dictates that what is before me today is behind me tommorow. Now is the time I have, to enjoy and decide how I will act and to what I will give my love and energy.

I only get today. I am challenged by a golden pathway in the sea to spend today with those who are with me today. To love those who recieve my love. To be friends with those who are friends. I cannot force tomorrow and yesterday cannot be changed.

Two paths extend

One before and one behind

Which I shall look down

Is a choice, solely mine

The gilded path of sun on sea

Reaches its golden hand to me

But would I turn and face the dim

Look longingly to past old friends

Good was there and many days of joy

That I could wish to again enjoy, but

I no longer live there, though the faces be familiar

The hugs sincere

Those days are gone, not to be despised

Treasured surely if I am wise, yet

Now I stand without, looking in

An ocean fish peering into the rock pools of youth.

For me the width of eternity

Beckoned by light beyond the horizon

A path of gold in a setting sun

Bidding me walk forward into the land of dreams

Leave the shores of certainty

Eroding after their fashion

Trusting to the ever shifting waters of freedom

Each step changing the path from now to then

From before to behind

Breathing only what is now

Dare I?

copyright: PG Wilson.

Talking to trees

Standing silently in the magnificent beech forest of the Kaimanawa Forest I am instilled with a lifeforce that rejuvenates me as nothing else does. Although I am alone as far as human company is concerned I do not feel at all alone. I am surrounded by many friends, tall mossy and quietly supportive of my feeble attempts to understand the workings of the world in which we dwell together. They of course have watched generations of men before me sit under their boughs and ponder or seek to control or change the landscapes. Often in the immediate this appears to have been successful, but sitting silently with an ear to listen I hear the gentle patience of a forest that has seen much destruction but still continues to live and replenish itself with a robust assurance of its own worth and continuity. It is this that I seek to hold within myself. This assurance, this peace that allows all the change and movement and rage around me to pass without disturbing my inner center. This is what I seek when I enter the domain of the forested mountains that surround me.

Many poets of old have acknowledged talking to trees and have been ridiculed or dismissed as crazy and I confess to thinking likewise in the past. But something in me has always sought to understand or communicate with the rest of created matter. There has always been a deep knowing that somehow it is possible to talk to trees and hear responses. I have discovered that silence, silence and stillness with an openness to receive that which your mind denies gives us an insight beyond any academic framework. This is the realm of poetry and art and only those of us willing to surrender to the creativity within us find such mystical worlds. Literature over millennium bears witness to this phenomenon. Where else do Tolkien, Emerson, Moses, Beowulf and Gibrain, to name but a few find, the almost universal images of other worlds if not in nature itself and the ability to immerse ourselves in it without judgement or limitation?

I go bush to hunt, to be refreshed and to listen to the stable wisdom of ages. It is the very essence of life to me.

Birthdays.....really?

There is simply something about birthdays that makes one contemplative....to take stock and see where life has led you so far. This birthday I found myself noting how little I really needed. The day was special in itself simply as it held the promise of newness, of possibility and hope. What could come in a wrapped package that could add to such perfection. I walked in our garden, looked over the glorious hills we call home and played with the animals that share our home with us . Our little goat Atty is now well and truly on her way to eating solid food and grass and anything else she can get to! The chickens are laying.....our cats are discovering and rejoicing in farm life. The arms of a man who truly loves me as I am. All around me growth and change and promise. My spirit was filled and my soul dancing. I often wonder if one's soul celebrates birthdays? It seems somehow a pointless pursuit for something that is ageless and timeless. Yet in our seen world we make such a fuss over birthdays...the hype , the pressure and the expectation and even the fear of .Is this done with complete ignorance that we are indeed ageless and timeless. How can we celebrate the marking of time for something that has always been. It baffles and intrigues me .So instead of celebrating a year older , I have chosen to see myself as yet again woven into the fabric of all that has been like me - truly in existance for all time. Does this sound like self importance or pride? Hardly, in reality. To me it is perfect humility . For it does not place importance in myself or my spot in this world, rather it sees my life as merely a thread , a drop , a whisper in what is a glorious whole. One that has no beginning and no end. So then............happy birthday everyday.

Sock Steam

After a very fulfiling day in which the stock were all feed and contented in the sunshine, the firewood supplies replenished, a casual couple of hours spent chatting with new nieghbours and new seasons vege seeds were planted we sat down for a cuppa as the sun was setting. As it was getting very cold outside I dragged the couch around in the lounge to face the sunset enabling me to put my feet up on the window sill. Such simple comfort and pleasure being the test of a great life.

As the sun sank behind the hills and the sky went through the various stages of saying goodnight to the earth the temperature dropped until the glass became cold enough to condensate from the heat rising off my dirty socks propped upon the widow sill. Such a silly thing to notice! Absolutely horrifying to anyone who thinks clean windows (or clean socks) make up an important part of any day. But to me the slow steaming fog that I could direct by simply moving my feet left or right represented a purity of feedom to live as I choose such as I have spent my life searching for.

I know I am home. Home in a spiritual and physical sense when I am in such peaceful moments as these. Moving to Ngaroma almost a year ago was a home coming for me, even though I had never lived here before. Such is my souls connection to the hills and remote bush clad lands.

Never one to be entirely comfortable in 'civilised' living (although well enough brought up to be able to pretend admirably) I find a certain joy in steaming the windows of my lounge with the warm odour of a long day in boots. I have recently been refered to as 'Feral' by friends and they may not be too far from the truth. But if feral is what I am then I'd be living a falsehood to attempt to live in any other way. I have been guilty of this in the past, most of us have if we were honest I think, living in conformation with societal, religious or moral expectations. These seldom work for more than a few of us and I am surprised at the allegience we swear to such norms all the while feeling a repression of spirit under their heartless rule.

So here's to sock steam on the window and courage to live unacceptable lives of freedom and truth unto our own unique souls.

The wonder of life I find is each day I am presented with new experiences and new life lessons.

The decision to remain unafriad and open to what comes was a decision made awhile ago .This week of helping out on the farm has taught me several things- how to scramble under electric fences and not raise my rear end until I am well clear of wires. That placing one's hand on a mount of thistle while crawling under wires is not wise. That sitting on a nervous ram while hanging onto the metal frame of a truck tearing down the track at high speed is not fun for me or the ram! But the most striking lesson was taught to me by a basic swamp. Following behind Greg as we set up portable fences around a boggy swamp I found out too late that the mount of grass that looked stable enough was nothing more than floating earth. One foot on this mound sent my leg thigh deep into mud with the other leg trying to balance on whatever was solid around me. Greg by then had moved clear out of site. I was stuck . And worried. I could not budge my leg and did not know how deep the swamp around me was. I had seen on drives thorugh the farm, sheep and cattle who had met their end in such swamps. This knowledge was not comforting to me. Thankfully , Greg and I have always had a sixth sense with regard to each other and when he lost sight of me - sensed that something could be wrong and came to look for me. The grin that broke across his face as he neared me and could only see half of his woman - did not go unnoticed. Between us - well mostly him- I was pulled out - wet and muddy. So what lessons from this episode one may wonder.Besides the most apparent one- that following this man would get me into trouble....Rather it made me think of how we react to situations that arise when we least expect it. Like the way to deal with a swamp- dont struggle.Stop and think clearly. That blame and regret are pointless . The need to slowly work a way out a bit at a time.....and if all else fails - ask for help and allowed one to be helped. That pride in the face of need is sheer stupidity

Life presents us with swamps daily- they can't be avoided. They have to be taken as part of the tapestry of life. Sure I could be safe and dry and secure but in so doing I would miss so much that life offers me. The greatest loss would be not following the man I love through swampy ground. Isnt that what love really is - the willingness to love through the swamps of life - walk with each other in mud and wet- and to pull each other out when the need arises. The ability to laugh at each other too is a well placed skill.

So today again I don muddy boots and follow. For the truth be told I am in reality following after my own heart.