A 27km New Zealand Bike Ride

Biking from Twizel, Mackenzie Country, New Zealand. The air is so crisp that you say your teeth are somewhat sensitive. Your fingers like little salami sticks pulled out of the freezer. The tips of the thumbs for some reason, more numb than the rest.

Cold, but damn we’re alive!

Keep your eyes on the track. Make sure you don’t end up in the tussock grasses. Look up over there at those snow-topped mountains, but not for too long otherwise you’ll end up with grazed knees! We dont want to get the first aid kit out of the bag now do we?

Keep smiling. The legs are throbbing after that incline you just peddled up. Nearly at Lake Pukaki now.

You haven’t seen the lake nor the Alps for more that ten years. How does it look? How does it compare with how you remembered it? You smile again, the genuine kind of smile. “Amazing, its overwhelming” are the words you use.

By golly, working hard and biking up here made it that much more rewarding!

 

 

 

Her Cashmere Coat

It stuck to her, to her form, in all the ways you wouldn’t expect a cashmere coat doing so. Following the lines that would not usually be followed. Along the shoulder blades and covering the collarbones, the top button fixing tight to her chin.

She looked at me impishly, with the chilled wind blowing through the strands of her fringe. With a posture slightly cowered forward as if she were cuddling a hot water bottle onto her belly while standing.

Turning and leaving footprints in the snow, she left little size seven boot marks.

That was the first memory I have of her, of the one that means the most.

Dreams

I’m on a beach, around me is my family, parents, brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews. The mood is good, it’s a holiday. People smile, share laughs and enjoy the beautiful weather. Others around are doing the same. Suddenly there is a noise that breaks the tranquility of the moment. It’s shattered and every previous thought is lost, the beach is no longer a place of relaxation and happiness. It is a place of danger, and those around me I care the most for, are there too, in that danger. On the horizon over the water an explosion rises into the air, a volcano. I’d not noticed the volcano before, it was not a tall one, it just looked like a small rocky island. Why had I not sensed the danger, how could I’ve been so engrossed in a blissful moment that I hadn’t envisioned it could ever be destroyed so instantaneously. Rocks and giant boulders shot up into the air. People screamed. Children were grabbed by their arms and dragged off like rag dolls as the imminent tsunami announced itself with a rapidly rising wave which grew each second that it came closer. In the panic and terror the adrenaline kicked in, this was fight or flight and death was set to visit many. We ran for a building, with no hope of higher ground, this was as good as it got. Huddled indoors, terrified glances were exchanged as the seconds felt like hours.

This was it, it was the last moment, the tension was like a guitar string tightened till it was ready to snap. All muscles strained, teeth gritted, eyes wide open. Then it was there, the last moment of my dream.

The awakening was as confusing as those moments would of been had the tsunami hit. Unsure of who or even what I was, but as quick as death would of come, realisation came. I was me again, I knew where and what I was. In such a situation, at least in heinsight the expectation is for this to be calming, or to offer some sort of relief. The fact it wasn’t offered added to the confusion and kept the adrenaline going.

In what seems now seems like a continual story I was now elsewhere, a place I could not describe, although not because it lacked notable features, but more because I was not fully present. What I can describe is where I went. A gun shop, although I couldn’t describe many features of this gun shop, I can describe the gun. It was a rifle, bolt action with a beautiful silver barrel contrasting to a wooden butt. The action was certain, meaningful and without question. It knew what it was to do, it had no doubts of its purpose. Holding it was like holding a book of the future, with an infectious aura it cooled and calmed. It encouraged one to use to, to brandish it without fear and with purpose so resolute it not even time could tame it.

The target was agreed upon by my brothers, the deed was mine to do; my father must die. The moment had come and this beautiful gun did not have time for any doubts, objections or misjudgments. It would serve its purpose and I was its tool. Squinting I took aim, I did not tremble, nor did I stutter, it was all clear, until it was not. The unfamiliar, those recent emotions returned. Who, what and where was I. But again in an instance it all returned. I knew what I was, I was awake. Confusion remained having recalled what I was about to do, or did do. I was no longer so sure.

My Queen

My queen sitting on her throne, head down, in a foreign place.

Life can’t be that hard being a queen.

Like all queens before her, stubborn and brave, she dreams

She rules from a distance, behind those ‘bangs’ which fall on her face as yellow drop-down curtains.

With fine lines under her bum, the fingerprints of her thighs. And baby toes so gooey, wriggling when touched.

Light is easy to find in her cloudy eyes.

She learns to see in herself what he sees.

Her festering wounds

She dipped her toes in the water, but ran away after realising it was cold.

Her gasps,

Another idealization of love, leaving her and disappearing,

Still blinded to her own festering wounds.

An art of zen

Becoming zen, more zenned out.

That illusion.

 

No find behind a door waiting to be unlocked.

No elusive shrine that you discover after staring at the ceiling long enough.

 

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a pathway.

It’s not a space.

Nor a trance.

 

It’s nothing but you.

 

The you that your heart beats for.

The you that scratches an itch.

The you that smiles in such a special way.

And the you that forgives you.

Jibber Jabber

Destiny awaits. The future is before you. Or perhaps, you are before it. One step. That’s all it takes to get you going. The second one should follow. Put a good stride in now. Time waits for no man. Good, now that you’re moving it should get easier. Or harder. Who really knows. I certainly don’t. But you have to try. What else will you you do. What else would you do. It’s a fiction you know, that old idea that you’ll enjoy it. Or is it a new idea. But you probably won’t. At least not most of it. If you’re lucky, you might just enjoy some of it. Best case scenario, you fumble around till you find someone. Then again. You might not, odds are okay. But guarantees and promises aren’t made. You didn’t pick your looks. You’re probably not so attractive. But maybe you’re lucky. Maybe. Loneliness awaits those who abdicate responsibly. And those below the median. Then you’re at the bottom. Not much you can do about it. Just keep digging. There will probably be rocks. You could either stand on them, or put them on top of you. You’ll probably surprise yourself with your choice. Choices are never simple. Surprises are abound and withheld by the unconscious. Blame others not, seek your answers inside. Not likely. You’ll point the finger. Wave the finger. Raise your chin. Turn a cheek. We all do it. Maybe after a few times you’ll wake. But then again, probably not. Monkeys. Monkeys, full of snakes. Do you know your snakes. Are they familiar, or unknown. They always say you should fear the unknown. Probably smart advice. Although the snake could be a phoenix. Don’t know till you look. Probably a snake. You’re full of snakes. Do you think you’re not. You are most certainly mistaken. The line between good and evil runs through the middle of every human heart. In case you hadn’t herd. But don’t stumble now. The stairs of discontent are steep. Are your legs long enough. Do your muscles burn. Does the ache agonise you. Well you’re not alone. You stand upon the death of a billion men. Don’t falter. The burn will ease. Although, it is easier not to. It is easier to run. To blame. To curse. Some take great pleasure in it. Perhaps you will too. Perhaps you won’t. You think you won’t. Be careful of such thoughts. The path to hell is paved with good intentions. You needn’t remember anything more.

The secret moment

When blowing up a balloon, excitement running rampant.

“I can’t wait to play ping-pong with it” she says.

“I’m giving mine to my mother when she picks me up,” another second grader exclaims muttering.

Time goes by blowing, with breathlessness and dizziness defeated by strict perseverance.

Exerted, jaws aching.

Eyes pressurized, like that of the balloons ever expanding.

Both balloons pop.

Faces splashed with its own slobber.

Surprise reflexes immediately all encompassing.

On the verge of tears from freight.

They recollect and acknowledge the other.

They succumb to laughter.

And looking into each others eyes, knowing this is their secret to keep.

 

 

*I would like to acknowledge that the beautiful image is not my own.

Who’s that knocking

Edwards nose fell upon the table. He barely looked up to give it a despairing look. Perhaps just grateful it didn’t land in his soup. The others at the table fared no better. His mother Margaret had only one ear, a frizzly scraggle of hair and not much else. His father Norman was the worst of the lot, his face had slid off last June when he bent down to pickup the newspaper at the front door, needless to say, the news read no better that day. Edwards younger brother and sister were the only ones who could manage a smile, mostly because they were the only ones still with lips. Youthful ignorance their only friend, but time would come for them as it did for all. The unwelcome knock at the door. You just have to hope it doesn’t come for your good eye, or your preferred hand. Although it was given that what you valued most would be taken first, as if it was some cruel joke. But no one ever heard who was laughing. Perhaps that is the oddest part of all.