Four Year Project Approaches Completion

Over the last three or so weeks have been flat out teaching at school, and at home writing my book to finally, after four years, see the end of the tale in plain sight. In the last four years, I have written numerous short stories, BLOGS, letters, journal entries, memos, essays, articles, lessons, poems and book & film reviews, all the while chiselling away at my first novel. Today was a special one because a break through was made on the story itself, loose ends tied and secrets revealed, the end a mere small Chapter and a three to four page Epilogue, perhaps only twenty pages of writing left and the book will be done!

Something strange occurred, however, rather than feel elated because years of toil on the project is coming to an end, I felt terribly empty, something akin to guilt for revealing the secrets the book contains to resolve the story. I conveyed these feelings to a friend this afternoon and she seemed to understand. She said that the book has been so much a part of my life, to see it end and leave, is similar to experiencing an emotional loss.

My response was: “You’re probably right, but it feels to be much more. It feels like I’ve opened myself up to the world and as a result have lost a part of myself.”

She nodded her head and replied: “I haven’t read your book, except the chapters you have read to me, but I believe you must finish it, send the manuscript off to your friends and colleagues, rewrite the book and be done with it…start another project, forget this one and really try to move on…”

These feelings are new in my life. Never before has such emotion and commitment been invested in a personal creation, thus my feelings and soul, really, are so much a part of it…interesting…nothing else, short stories, poems, reviews, etc, upon their completion, have brought on such a strange response. I think my friend is right, finish the damn thing, re-write it and send it off to be, hopefully, read by a few individuals at least.

Note: Image is a photograph taken on a trip to Bright some weeks ago.

Love, a Special Church and a Great Individual Forgotten

I noticed that I haven’t posted an entry for some time. I came across this recent piece in my "miscellaneous file" and thought I’d post it here…

When you are in love everything matters and nothing matters; all that really makes a difference is that you are with them, in time, place or circumstance; the place can be elite parties, train platforms, stranded in peak hour traffic; a large and beautiful church in the heart of the city or alone in a crowded café talking about the first time met… time and circumstance can be any hour any situation, all that you know is that love is incredibly beautiful, and only when the vagaries of existence inevitably move in, does one realize how important the passing seconds and minutes of life can be.

The morning was perfect, the air crisp, clean and the expressions on those who walked through the city streets towards various destinations, smiled, some frowning with worry while other's looked blank, half asleep and seemingly meandering without purpose, last night's dreams hovering around their heads.

Realizing that I had never had the opportunity, she wanted to show me St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and looking up towards the cityscape, the church's spires pushed towards the clear blue autumn sky. Looking down and ahead, the traffic whizzed along the streets heavy and without respite, as she would hold fast to my arm, pushing forward and towards the curb, believing she was steadily guiding my body from certain danger.

We arrived at St. Patrick’s, the neo-gothic spires grand, pointing tall towards the heavens, standing with time, suddenly realizing that this architectural marvel will continue existing when this body is long gone.

Walking into the church, we knew a memorial, an important remembrance of an individual of influence, was taking place, an Australian who’s greatest claim to fame was not his “time on the football field” or “involvement in organized crime” but his ground breaking work into medical research. The church’s pews were filled to maximum capacity, the medical community paying their respects to a medical researcher who made the history books, contributing to a greater understanding of the processes of the human body.

We found ourselves, it seemed, amongst Melbourne’s entire medical community, a day off from their duties with their families to attend the funeral of Dr. John Billings, the co-discoverer of the relationship between cervical mucus and fertility, resulting in what was then known as the “Billings Method” or re- named in the early 1970’s by the World Health Organization as the “Billings Ovulation Method” (BOM). This discovery has led to many unwanted pregnancies being “guiltlessly” avoided. Dr. Billings began his research while assisting marriage consultancy for the Catholic Family Welfare Bureau in the 1950’s. (1)

My thought was that this is an individual whose work and legacy stands firm and should be acknowledged in our national media, but wasn’t… somehow the mainstream media were more concerned on that particular news day with injured footy players and the private lives of Australian ‘celebrities’ overseas.

We silently, after leaving the funeral, walked the church grounds, admiring the statues of the saints, observing the parched lawns, the Asian tourists and one another.

Melbourne is a beautiful city in the autumn.

I felt so much admiration today: for the loss and lack of proper acknowledgement of an important Australian of science, but also finding myself falling into a state of fuzzy sentimentality...love. Trying to harness these feelings into a rational view, on this day at least, is all but impossible.

Attempting to connect the Heart and the Head is a never ending task which has proven, according to the great writers of the last few centuries, an improbable, if not futile, endeavour.

Today was a moment in time where neither the past nor the future existed, and only the on-going and pleasant seconds of the passing present.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billings_ovulation_method