Meditation Retreat

Meditation Retreat

[Booked - paid - 2 nights - 10+ hours meditation - beachside - rainforest walks - vegetarian food - sleeping in a "dorm" - no tech - no digital - just my watercolours - maybe a kindle...]

"Last time I spent a night away from my wife and kids 

it was in a psych hospital."

Funny - but true.

Now here's me three and a half years later.

Running 20k a week, practicing yoga without missing more than three days for those same three and a half years.

Have I completely re-wired my brain? - neuroplasticity - left my job - started businesses - taken on further study - painted watercolours, written poetry - fuck - it's like I'm more crazy than ever.

But I'm not.

I'm sober and clear and in possession of such crystal insight that I'm pinging with joy and effusivenessness.  If that's a word anymore.

Here's my [poem] I wrote after I took my daughters to the beach in a thunderstorm - [stinking hot dry Australian 40C and then pouring heavy rain from nowhere.]


Beach Rain

Westerly wind
Dries my eyes and
Sticky skinned kids
let ice cream drips bulge
and stripe their bellies

The ocean is chill cold
Our legs ache, we point our toes
And freeze, still, to stare at each other
And pant through our mouths

Summer looms like a skyhigh cloudcliff
Magnetic with sparks and we dolphin
Under unbroken waves as raindrops
Pock and sizzle and draw waterpins
Up and we laugh and gurgle;
"We can't get wet twice"

It's life and we pad on our toes
Sodden towels lank like rope
Up from the sand, backs to the road,
and the coolsoft grass is shiny and green.


Then there's this other poem I wrote about the guy who beat me up in high school - (I know, let it go already..) and went on to be a mildly successful pro boxer...


Local Champ

Just before my parents split
The house next door was sold and four
Boys from broken homes moved in.

They spoke diff'ren and held their
Shoulders up near their ears.
One boy dodged his dad's punches
Like pecking corn and draped in
Big belts and gold buckles, old men
whispered Las Vegas.

Glimpses of his fights blinked
Up as I buried my life in booze
He was still fighting after I got sober,
But fell off the back pages

When he couldn't make weight.
Today, he was ducking photographers,
Weaving, zig zagging out of court,
He could explain, he said,
the wife's bruises weren't his fault.


Posted some poetry on my blog [can't believe I just typed that - is that sad or beautiful/sad?] - another milestone - another incredible sober day in the life.

Welcome to sobriety.  Welcome and take your time, there's plenty to see.  Welcome to meditation and that quiet space.