Paying Ready Attention

A butterfly with a bright orange patches lands on the damp sand of a beach. Its wing is broken. The food in the cafe is good, the coffee excellent.  I’m forced to listen to the atonal snobbery of jazz. I’m on holiday.  It’s raining. I have little or no control over any of these things.  They are the way they are because of accident, design or probability; I can alter none of them.  I don’t really know where this idea came from, that things should always go to plan, that things should always be perfect, but it’s widespread and damaging.  The butterfly was beautiful, the company good, the weather passing. But each one caused an internal sigh of disappointment that the experience was less than perfect, that all the plans had come to nothing.  I also don’t know where this next idea came from – possibly my Zen karate brother – but I rather like it: Walking in the rain only becomes a problem if you believe that you are going to stay dry i...

New oak leaves don’t seem to be real. They possess the kind of luminescent, incandescent colour normally associated with artificial dyes, plastic toys and warning labels. The leaves are paper thin and soft, new born into a world of light and air and water.  Born for the slow accumulation of sugar. The leaves emerge from sleepy winter buds to the wakening spring.  Pressure builds within the buds one cell at a time. Division after division after division. Daughter after daughter after daughter. The old become new, the new age and bring forth more youth. Cell division is rapid, but controlled, the execution of a process whose failure we all fear.  DNA, genes, proteins, and the coming of life. Not a celebration for the tree, just a response to stimuli I cannot feel.  The leaf in the bud grows and expands until escape, until bud burst, is the only option.  And at that point spring begins. And human celebrations begin with it. Flushed with energy drawn from th...

I think it’s important that I establish some sense of proportion here – not everything I see interests me.  There, I’ve said it.  I pay attention to some things that many people ignore, and ignore many things people find fascinating. That’s the way of the world.  Some things I return to time after time, never finding them dull or tarnished by familiarity.  Some things I cross the street to avoid.  And there are some things that don’t hold my attention in any way whatsoever, but I can’t avoid either. This, in no significant order, is the current list of things that fall into that last category – the unavoidable and the annoying: ·       Days over 100 ◦ c ·       Dusty winds (especially on hot days) ·       Large cities (especially on hot days with dusty winds) ·       Sand (especially when blown into large cities on hot days) · ...

The egrets had left the roost and were pecking at the feet of morning feeding cattle, riding on their backs seeking insects flushed from the long grass.  Beams of soft light slanted across the road, highlighting the patches of mist that hung around the edges of the trees and in slight hollows; there was a coolness in the air and for once it was not raining.  A cassowary and its following chick walked across the road ahead of us and did its magical disappearing trick into the bush.  We arrived at our destination on time to find out that really we were early, and that nobody else was there yet. Elastic time. North Queensland time.  Eventually other people arrive in car, vans and on foot. We fill in forms and order  coffee.  We take the deep breaths of air full of nothing and promising everything. With less relaxation we pull on the wet suits, regretting the coffee and wondering why we gave up yoga.  Nobod...