driven to a successful sit

i woke up this morning thirty minutes before my alarm went with a burst of adrenaline and thought about work. i’ve got a very high risk high profile project that is affecting another very complex and also very high risk and high profile project which for some reason i am also managing.

i thought about both of them for awhile, fantasised about running away and joining the circus and decided that enough was enough, i was going to have to meditate.

And so I did. Twenty minutes of anapanasati before my alarm clock went.

I’d forgotten the calm that comes during a successful meditation and how it can flow on for most of the day. I was surprised at how much of the tangle of thought and emotion that results in reaction or over-reaction to stressors was smoothed out.

So I got to work, soothed a couple of executives who were in a panic, wrote up a couple of reqs, half finished a report I’d been putting off for weeks, organised for assistance from the finance guys for help on the other half and also helped another exec craft some statement for a ministerial press release or something.I wouldnt say I sailed through the day oozing calm but I was able to step back each time from the cycle of emotional reaction and actually do stuff.
Now, the only thing that is stressing me is that I dont actually have any plans for tonight (Friday).  I guess I could always go to my local, the Northcote Social Club.

Or I could stay home and meditate.

the guy in the gold lame jumpsuit


unfortunately, i lack the time to blog about the weekend but this photo i took of a party regular pretty much sums it up.

and yeah, he is swigging out of a magnum of champagne.

apparently it is the custom to dress outrageuosly and pop open bottles of bubbly in the morning of the last day.

As a bonus, another chap turned up in a green pointy head affair for the hell of it.

Eventually, the two of them got together and lots of photos in a patriotic theme were taken.

Phonoscope at Opoeia

The first of the large outdoor trance parties start this weekend at Opoeia which used to be an old scouts camp and has an old olympic sized 50 metre pool, lots of tall trees and assorted odd structures including a flying saucer. The market stage will be around the pool with the main stage within the forest somewhere.

I’ll be heading down there with a few friends and I’m looking forward to it. The dj lineup looks great, the weather looks like I wont need to worry about bush-fires (and can bring my fire-staff) and the setting will be as beautiful as always. Music (but not as we know it) starts 12pm Saturday (probably a bit later) and finishes 6pm Sunday (probably a bit later). I’ve taken Monday off work and will stay Sunday night.

As usual, my resolution is to go to bed between 1am and 6am on Saturday night to avoid the fatigue induced depression at 4am, be up for the dawn set and be fresh for the next day. It might even work this time.  I’ll be straight-edging it with the exception of some alcohol – probably a few beers for the next day.I’m loading up my pda with reggae so if i get sick of the doof, i can put some old roots and culture trojan tracks on and look at the trees. I’ve got a feeling that I might end up doing this a bit more than usual. The last week has left me with a fair amount to reflect on.

jackie in the concrete jungle

my friend jackie was in town on a conference and they put her in a serviced apartment in a gleaming high rise in Southbank. i visited her last night before we caught a tram into st kilda for dinner. the photo in this entry is of her with two of the blocks in the background.

I’d never actually been inside one of those 50 story apartment blocks and i was shocked by how closely set the apartments were, how small and soulless the interiors were and how little privacy or views of the sky could be had.

I quipped that I found it difficult to believe that its inhabitants would breed under those conditions but it was only half in jest.

Seriously, how can people live in these things?

moving back

The arrangement always was that my ex would move back into the house for a little while when she got back from cairns. She wanted to come back down for a couple of parties – earthcore and rainbow. Her plan was to move in with a friend of hers whose housemates were leaving. The problem was that those housemates had not set a firm date which meant that my ex could end up of living with me for three or four months.

I’d spent the last three months getting used to living by myself, adjusting to the emptiness of the house and also the emptiness in my life. We’d spent 10 months living together after our relationship ended and while that had been very difficult, on a fundamental level I still found her presence in my life oddly comforting. On that level, no matter what had been said and what had changed in every other way, that part of me still regarded her as my partner and the house as our home. Her moving out effectively got the message through that it was over and that the whole of me was going to have to get on with life.

So the last three months have been tough but I’d been doing that.  I had been moving on. I’d also spent some time thinking about what would happen when she came back, what the effects of that would be on me.  I hoped it would be ok, that we could just be housemates and that after these few months, we would be able to establish a new relationship.

Yesterday, she called to say that she’d set a date of coming back to Melbourne, back into the house.  That was when it really hit me that it was going to happen. And I didnt want it. I didnt want her back in. I wasnt ready and what’s more, my body suddenly recalled what the ten months had been like and in the space of an afternoon, I reverted to the state that I was in at that time.
Till that moment, I hadnt understood how stressed and unhappy I’d been and how very fragile my new found equanimity and happiness was. I called her a little later that night and said I didnt think I could cope if she moved back in and that in fact I wasnt coping, that I was already beginning to unravel at the thought of her moving in again.

To my great relief, she said that she’d make other arrangements.

A large part of me regrets that I lack the strength to share with my ex, that I am not able to give her this bit of temporary accommodation. That part fears that it has permenantly affected any possibilities of a new friendship with her. But there’s another part that recognises this has to be so, that protecting myself at this fragile time is a neccessary part of moving on.