"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

Now that the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season has slowly toned down, it gives one a little time to reflect on the year.

Sitting alone in my apartment with only the sound of my cat, Molly, snoring on the couch, and the pattering of the rain and wind outside; feeling content after a marvelous dinner made by my lovely friend; meaningful conversation and the occasional smooch, has made the day perfect: but one has to ask, why?

To be in love is a wondrous experience: full of pain, drama, joy and sometimes actual magic.

When in love, merely sitting next to that person is a major event.
As an artist and writer, as the cliché goes, I am in love with love.

But this time is wholly different because this love is true and not simply a passing illusion, though a true heartfelt movement, in awe of the fact that a man of my age can actually “deal” with it, really feel so awe-inspired, so in love. But I know with all my being, it is there just the same…

To be loved and love someone is a great responsibility. One’s only wish is that they are happy, thus you work at it to ensure that happiness continues.

Love is glorious but in the end tragic, because one or the other must depart leaving the other alone…and it hurts the pain indescribable.

One of my favorite “love” quotes from the poet and wit, Oscar Wilde:

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.”

This quote, to be sure, describes the “condition of love” in its purist visceral terms.

To be in-love is a gift.

The Singing Thanks of a Bird.

It was a day one would like to forget. Sick with a temperature, my sinuses infected, in pain and feeling guilty because I needed to be at work, end of year school reports, last minute grading, the troubles of individuals – but I could not get out of bed. I took a pill and went back to bed. Then my mobile phone rang, disturbing a crazy dream.

“Sorry Craig, I hate doing this but it’s important.”

My boss, one of the Assistant Principals, a good person and a very hard and loyal person, someone who has never phoned me, no matter what the crisis, was on the end of the line.

Through my nasal infected head, my voice sounding like a hay fever advertisement,

“It’s ok Jude, what’s up?”

“There is a problem with your Year 10 reports…”

At that precise second a bird flew into my bedroom, frantically circulating the ceiling above my bed.

“You’re not going to believe this Judy, but there’s bird flying around my bedroom!”

“I know…I can hear it!”

“Listen, I’ll call you back.”

The little bird had been taken into the house by Molly my little cat, because I had forgotten to feed them, dazed in my sick physical state.

After hanging up, the little Black bird with huge yellow eyes landed on the top of my bookcase next to my medieval helmet.

The little bird sat there, motionless, except for a turn of his head, looking at me.

Molly had disappeared thus the little flying creature seemed to have calmed down, moving into shock mode.

Grabbing a towel, I approached the little one with silent caution.

Whispering, I said, “Let me see…well your feet look in good shape. There doesn’t seem to be any major wounds and your wings are in good shape as well, which is the most important thing.”

The little bird cocked his head to one side, relaxing and curiously settled.

“This is what I’m going to do. I’ll wrap you in this towel and set you free.”

The bird’s head tilted the other way, looked at me with his other eye, not really understanding what I was communicating, though my tone, to him, seemed reasonable under the circumstances.

“Ok, here we go…”

He let me wrap his body in the towel, only squirming a little. Walking to my front door, opening the screen with my foot, opening the towel, the bird shot straight and fast like a rocket – the fastest flying maneuver I had ever seen in my life!

Needless to say, I went back to bed and called my boss, hoping we could solve the problem over the phone.

Then only a few days later the miraculous happened.

After dinner, writing emails, at dusk, the most beautiful singing from a bird could be heard outside my front door.

Walking outside, there he was, the same bird, perched on the chimney next door, singing a beautiful song.

His singing was pleasant to the ear, an intention behind the song, something truly beautiful.

Thinking I was most likely being crazy, at the exact time the next evening, there he was again, singing the same mesmerizing song. I sat down on the porch with my wine and listened until he finished and flew away…like a rocket.

The little bird has not returned because I’ve been watching out for him.

I told this story to my special students at school and they now call me the “Bird Whisperer.”

The little guy thanked me for saving his life, and I believe this because it is true.

Believe it or not, it happend.

Another Love Letter...from Far Away.

My lovely May,

I felt compelled to write to you to express my pure happiness that we have a chance to be together, (if only in spirit) loving each other’s company.

Although I’ve died a mere three years ago, I realise it has been a long time for you; for me, though, it has been only seconds.

To hold you in my arms today, ( A present from...and an illusion) and kiss those soft, beautiful lips felt like finally coming home again.

I do Love you so.

It’s funny or a bit strange but I was reminded today how beautiful you are!

That joyful smile, the elegant way you sit in a chair and that refined sway in your walk. Even those small and beautiful feet peering through your slippers made me want to touch and kiss them. The graceful way you carry yourself reveals a woman of tasteful sensibilities. There is an air of chic in your overall demeanour - certain panache, something I’ve missed so much.

But probably the most heart-felt reminder right now (sitting now across from you, though you cannot see me) is to hear that exquisite and sincere soft tone in your voice recalling a time when you told me that you loved me – what a breathtaking moment.

I see you walking with a cane and in so much pain, now an old woman; how you've been strong!Continue to be strong as you can because I will be waiting for you. I will be waiting with your other loved one's on the shore when the boat arrives. (Strange, you appear more beautiful in that old, tired body than you did so many years ago.)


I hope you don’t find my words too sentimental, mawkish or overly amorous, however this is the way I feel – and as you well know – this is who I am.

Only thinking of our next meeting…when I can hold you in my arms, feel your heart soul against mine, kissing you with passion and tenderness.

Until we meet again…


Adoringly Yours,


Jack

The Beautiful Beggar in the Parking Lot.

Christmas is upon us once again, the decorations are unpacked and a few thrown away, as they have become too moldy living a whole year under the house. Then the flood might have had something to do with it, but Simone sorts them out, washing some, throwing away others, to then hang those decorations that survived on the clothes line…to dry.

What I love about Simone is her abounding energy at Christmas – for she is, as a human being, a naturally giving soul – this time of year is her opportunity to Give in abundance and she takes this time of year far too seriously.

“Will I forget someone, will someone get disappointed?”

My friend’s intentions are pure, but it is her day to day love and giving that ‘counts’, not a day chosen by the Roman Emperor, Constantine, to make the pagans and the Christians settle down in an effort at a compromise to avoid more blood shed between them, more than 1500 years ago.

Leaving Simone to her Christmas decorations and cooking, I decided to grab a few beers at the local grocery store.

Not just one but four musicians held a spot in front of the entrance of the store… all playing with all their might, four different Christmas songs at once, their music sounding like a cacophony of indiscernible…noise.

Checking my pockets, to make a donation, they were empty: ‘I’ll catch them on the way out’, I thought.

It was then that a woman of about thirty years of age, not bad looking, though one could see her appearance was not her top priority: when she began spinning a yarn at me at break neck speed, about not having enough money to buy Christmas presents. In the end she said,

“All I need is sticky tape to wrap my children’s Christmas presents.”

Her expression appeared pure and her story true.

I told her this would not be a problem and entered the store to make my purchases as she sat herself down on the bench just outside, waiting.

As life goes, I searched and searched for sticky tape but none was to be found. It was then I decided to give her the change necessary to buy her sticky tape to wrap her children’s gifts.

This woman was an unusual ‘street’ person because she did not ask for money but something very specific.

I decided to give her all my change which amounted to about 5 dollars.

Walking up to her, she gave me such a kind smile, as I gave her the 5 dollar’s in change.

“Sorry, couldn’t find the tape but this should cover it.”

She thanked me and as I walked away she said:

“You’re Craig, right?”

To be absolutely honest, I had never seen or met this young woman before. There was not a note of familiarity about her in the least. But she gazed at me as if we had been friends for many years.

I found this to be disconcerting and strange.

“Yes.”

“I thought so.”

She turned and walked away from the store never looking back once.

Driving back home with my six pack of beer, the image of her face and the circumstances, sticky tape and beauty whirled throughout my head. Then I thought:

‘Happy Christmas to you, beautiful stranger and your children and I hope the five dollars can help in this difficult time of your life.

And you will always be a Christmas mystery to me.'

Gustave Klimt & 'fin de siecle' Vienna.

The two paintings above, one a portrait of the famous philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein’s sister, Margarete Stonborough-Wittgenstein and a devilish and quite alluring painting of Salome, the young woman who danced the dance of the seven veils for King Herod in exchange for the head of John the Baptist, are two of my favorite paintings by the Austrian, Gustave Klimt, (1862-1918) then founder and president of the Wiener Sezession (Vienna Secession) in 1897.

The Vienna Secession is considered by most art historians as the first “Art Noveau” movement at the turn of the century. (Some would argue this point)

Klimt was academically trained in the “realist” or “neo-classical” style thus his later work in experimentation as part of the “Vienna Secession” revealed a sophisticated technique. (The traditionalists’ of the time labeled his work “pornographic”)

The so-called mandate of the Vienna Secession, (although they claimed to have no mandate) was to provide the opportunity for new artists with varying styles to get their work shown. Preceding German Expressionism, the artist moved from “artisan” to “artist”, no more dependent on rich patronage to merely paint “portraits” of the wealthy, but brings art forward away from neo-classicism, so prevalent in pre WW 1 Austria at the time.

Pre WW1 Vienna has had a revival of fascination for academics and historians over the last twenty years. It was a the centre of “culture” in Europe, or as the journalist and radical, Karl Kraus wrote during this period, fin de siecle Vienna was the “research laboratory for world destruction”. Vienna was a hot bed of innovation: the birth place of Zionism and Nazism; Sigmund Freud developed Psychoanalysis, (Margarete shown above was one of Freud’s patients) and architecture, planted so firmly in neo-classicism or the neo-gothic style brought the art form into what is now called modernism, led by a friend of Ludwig Wittgenstein, Adolf Loos.

The reason these particular paintings have a strange attraction for me is that they reveal, although subtly, Art’s radical change just prior and after WW1. The world changed drastically after WW1, and fin de siecle Vienna was at the centre of this change in artistic sensibilities and overall “culture” across the board.

Karl Kraus’ words, that Vienna was a “research laboratory for world destruction” in retrospect were certainly prophetic.

Artists, writers, philosophers, architects, poets and scientists moved forward during a time Europe experienced two world wars which could have led to the destruction of the entire planet with the introduction of the Atomic bomb.

For me, history irrevocably shifted in fin de siecle Vienna – and the artist, Gustave Klimt was a major contributor to this radical change.

Bullying, Intimidation & Power.

The title of this BLOG starts early in life...for many of us.

My first recall was of a teacher, in first grade, having me stand in front of the classroom and ridiculing me because of my accent, that I talked too much. In fact, at the age of five, I hardly talked at all. She was one of the reasons I became a teacher, to seek out these anti-social pathological individuals, and reveal them to the world…stop them.

My second remembrance is walking home from school in Surry Hills and suddenly attacked by several boys, beating and kicking me for being a “Mick”, a Catholic and luckily, the big “Micks” were around and saved my life.

Once moving to the U.S., again, on my way to school, punched in the stomach for having a weird accent – at the time, my short life had become something between a rock and a hard place.

In our little suburb of Northglenn, Colorado, power over territory and who was the best fighter was the central focus. Bravado, machismo, muscles and fast cars placed you in the social hierarchy – the bigger, fastest, loudest and meanest ruled the streets of this little suburb. One always had to be on one’s guard, vigilant and ready for anything.

Now in adulthood, nothing has changed.

Although seemingly more sophisticated the intimidation and will to power is the same: bigger, faster, smarter and mean without appearing so is the office politics of today.

We call it “politics” but just the same, it is no different than the fat loud mouthed bully down the street – the goal is similar: power over others.

We’ve come to recognize a percentage of these self-seeking individuals as psychopathic or sociopath.

In my own experience with these people, there are blatant similarities: no conscience, narcissistic, covert, hostile with always a supercilious smile on their face and relentless towards their goal… until found out.

Once discovered, more often they will run, resign and do it with as much destruction as possible, leaving broken businesses; broken relationships, broken people in general, because the bully is not interested in the welfare of all but only themselves.

Evil is one of the hardest things to confront because we want to believe that humankind is basically good.

Confront those head on letting them know that you know who and what they are: and nine times out of ten, they will run for the hills.

Be strong.

"MONSTER"

It was the 17th century poet, author of “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained”, John Milton, who wrote,

“Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep”.

Is it possible that beings walk the earth that are never seen except for the select few of the chosen?

Do mythical creatures walk the earth without us noticing…until they want to be noticed or have a specific agenda with you?

It is an old American Indian proverb that the natural creature’s of this planet can only be “seen” by us if they choose to be seen.

Quantum theory proposes that we merely exist in one universe while billions of other universes exist in our very own space, (multi-universe theory) thus collisions or lapses, causing strange phenomenon to manifest. Worm-holes appear, strange entrances can exist merging two diverse universes which some have reported to have experienced the extraordinary: other civilizations, more advanced than our own…even “monsters”

Have you ever walked out into the dead of night, doing a mundane task like taking out the garbage, the wind rustling the trees, a full moon casting its light, and you absolutely feel that something or someone is watching you?

The fright or terror is real as you run back to the door and close it and lock it just in case. You did not see anything, but your intuition tells you that there was something or someone watching, waiting, and biding its time for the right moment. You want to believe it is simply your imagination, but know deep in your psyche, that someone or something was there…


A past colleague of mine related an experience to me that was astonishing, that later was corroborated by her brother, whom I met at an Orange County restaurant, a reputable lawyer and rational man; upon questioning him about this specific incident, he became suddenly reticent over a glass of expensive scotch but re-told the story in the exact way, word for word, as his sister. He waved down the waiter and ordered a double and once the drink arrived, began his story.


“Patricia and I were living in Hawaii, our parents off somewhere in Europe (as usual) on vacation. I was attending Law School and my sister was taking care of the family home and our two cats. She was home alone most of the time but this didn’t worry me because criminal activity (minor or major) never happened on the island at the time…we were too far away from the nearest town. It was the late sixties, we thought we were safe.

My last class was cancelled, jumping in my Jeep, decided to check up on my little sister.

Pulling up the driveway, I heard my sister screaming as she ran out of the jungle that essentially surrounds our entire house. She was headed towards the front door when she tripped and fell on her knees. Patricia’s expression was nothing less than pure horror. As she tried to lift herself up, out from the bush appeared this creature. Looking back at the incident, even now, throws me into a slight confused state because beings like the one that had been chasing my sister through the forest, just do not exist”.

What did it look like? I asked.

“Let me tell the story!”

John was now agitated, obviously re-living the moment, going to a place he’d rather not go. He took a huge swig of his expensive scotch and continued.

“To say the least I was petrified and so much so, couldn’t bring myself to jump out of my Jeep to help – not even my only sister.

Patricia managed to get back on her feet and run to the front door, slamming the screen door shut. This “thing” crashed through the screen door and was now inside the house.

From inside our house, Patricia’s almost deafening scream sounded now like a desperate, final call for help.

Of course my natural instincts rose above my petty fear and I ran into the house to see this creature on top of my sister digging its claws into her forehead.

I’ll never forget the look on Patricia’s face. It wasn’t the expression of pain but kind of an hypnotic empty gaze of pleasure.

Grabbing one of the dining room chairs, I slammed it hard against the creatures back and it winced from the pain, removing its claws from my sister head.

But now it turned its gaze on me.

How do you describe something that has no comparison to anything you’ve seen before? The only “human” quality about this being was its eyes: red, pulsating with intent: I could not look at those eyes, (a voice in my head resounded) thus turning away from its gaze, and I picked up another chair and started swinging. One of the chair’s legs slammed into its left eye. It let out a tone of voice that I, to this day, cannot really accurately describe…a whelp?

But this is the strange part of the experience. I could hear its voice inside my head!

“Tell your sibling not to cross over again, because there will be consequences.”

The “thing” bounced through the broken screen door like a mutant grasshopper and disappeared into the jungle.

Turning to my sister, she continued to have that gaze of blankness and pleasure like the insane.

After a week Patricia seemed to have recovered from the incident, but we never really talked about it until many years later”.

The table had that uncomfortable silence as it seemed all of us were reflecting on what had just been said. Then John asked:

“You appear to be an open minded individual, what do you think of the “story”?”

In my own mind and experience, I tried to come up with some totally rational explanation: a crazy ape, perhaps a homeless person with red eyes from too much cheap wine, however, sometimes “explanations” for the irrational are more far fetched than the unexplainable.

Interestingly, those vague dots on Patty’s forehead that most of the time she tried to cover with make-up, now were blatantly obvious.

So I ordered another scotch and said it was a peculiar experience, and thanked him for telling me.

Our conversations throughout the rest of the evening touched only the commonplace and superficial – politics, sports and the L.A. Freeway system.

Pulling up in my driveway to my little Hollywood bungalow, getting out of the car, the Santa Ana winds had begun, heralding the summer months. There was a full moon, but I distinctly felt someone’s eyes upon me. Turning quickly to my right as I slotted my key into the lock, two, bright red eyes glared through the bushes next door.

A foreign voice resounded in my head as I closed the front door and threw my keys on the table:

“Stop now or there will be consequences.”

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night.