Writing
Contemplating my Death0:00/231.8891× We all die. The elements of our body will eventually surrender and return to the dirt. But where do we go? Nowhere. As we move closer to the transition, when the machine of the body finally loses the condition to live... where do we
Writing
I wrote this parable to explore an archetype that I was beginning to see play out in my behaviour and then realised he had been there for a very long time, occasionally driving the bus. Listen to the audio as you read, if that is helpful. The Choir Boy Parable
hungry ghost realm
My addictions live only for the high and paper over the cracks in my life, like the silence of being alone. A raw dispatch on breaking the night time habit of digital sedation, by putting the iPad down and touching the Real to find true satiety. There is nothing like a good dream.
hell realm
I am cold. I need to get warm. But how? A raw dispatch from the Turua boat ramp out on the Hauraki Plains where surviving purely in mechanical momentum is not a life, it is waiting. What does it take to truly come to life?
Writing
I have often mistaken the fist unclenching for true rest. But what happens when my whole arm drops? A dispatch from the old bus on the heavy shock of gravity, the quiet rebellion of deep rest, and why the soil never explains itself to the gardener. What will you stop carrying?