Sorry business

It's been a while since I wrote. But today's been one of those days that you know you won't forget. This morning jan and I got up and watched Rudd's apology speech to the Stolen Generation. I was spell bound and sincerely touched, deeply.

I didn't expect it - I'm usually pretty jaded when it comes to political rhetoric, and often critical of public speeches of goodwill (after all, that's what I'm doing my thesis about!) Maybe it was the editing, the pastiche of proud faces of Indigenous people, at last being publicly dignified by a political leader. Or maybe it was just a huge relief, astonishment that Rudd got it right, he said exactly what I thought needed to be said, and it seemed sincere and appropriate. Whatever it was, it gave me chills. I felt, in my body, a sudden pride ... not exactly nationalism, more like a sense of welcome, finally being able to be in Australia without a nagging ambivalence. I'm not fully able to articulate it, because it doesn't fully make sense - the apology was "about" the Stolen Generation and the role the government had in it. But it had an electricity, a sense that it meant so much more in the process of reconciliation.

It hit me, powerfully, that generations of Aboriginal people have held out hands of peace, despite all the grievances they could raise. What generosity of spirit they must have found within themselves, to decide to seek reconciliation rather than nourish bitterness. It reminds me of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, less dramatic, but no less suffering. I don't know that I'd have that generosity. I suddenly felt a very personal, embodied sense of why alcoholism and other substance abuse are so endemic in Indigenous communities. I feel it in my body, that if I were part of a community that had experienced what Indigenous people have collectively experienced, I *know* I'd seek solace in self-destructive behaviours. Today, I suddenly experienced profound respect for Indigenous leaders, big and small, who support their community, and face their own grief and/or bitterness.

I hope, hope, hope, that the future holds greater trust and involvement of Aboriginal people in decisions that affect their lives. For me, trust is central. Aboriginal people know what they need, how to organise themselves and their communities, and what they don't already know, they need respectful support, resources and time to work through in their own way. It's such a basic trust that everyone deserves, especially those who tend to be treated with paternalism - Indigenous people, people suffering mental distress, prisoners, children, people who are intellectually slow ... I do hope that the respect shown today continues to guide this continent in the future.

reading in a beautiful place

was just thinking this morning that one of my greatest pleasures in life is reading something intellectually stimulating and personally grounded, while enjoying a beautiful physical location , like a park on a sunny day, or somewhere indoors with a view on a stormy rainy day, or Coburg square when its humming with activity, or anywhere with jessie sleeping up against my body.

apocalypto

do you ever have a sudden realisation that futuristic apocalyptic visions in movies are unnecessary - we're already living in a synthetic concrete grimy life-destroying world? this morning, i was walking up sydney rd (not the most lushly vegetated street in melbourne), going to get money out of the atm. the sky above me was grey and there was a low-flying aeroplane that was suddenly seemed a terrifying, mechanical bird. all around me were rows of concrete boxes ("shops"), asphalt underfoot where there should have been dirt and things growing, everything was covered with a layer of of toxic filth, scraps of synthetic trash floated along various surfaces, and then there were the cars ... do cars ever suddenly appear to you (like they probably do all the time to non-civilised animals) as terrifying, sliding smoothly but so quickly in their mechanical linear motion? in my hand was a piece of plastic, plastic that i needed so i could get food, by sticking it in a big metal machine that gave me bits of plastic that i could exchange for plastic food (coffee and croissants).

lately, i've been reading R.D. Laing (anti-psychiatrist, "The politics of experience"). he argues that being "normal" in this world means assimilating into a crazy world. the radical environmentalist Derrick Jensen argues similarly, that we must all be mad to keep on pretending that the levels of environmental and other abuse that we depend on to maintain our way of life is somehow "normal". ... maybe this was an experiential expression of
these intellectual engagements, but i suspect it was the animal me, barely awake from sleep and not yet fully in "civilised human" mode.

i really need to move to the country some time ...

old friends

i'd been having a rough week
but last night i hung out with old friends.

i'm talking high school friends (which for me was 10 years ago now), friends i used to see daily but now see every six months or less. sare's in a band and it was her birthday.

i don't know the contours of these women's lives- in fact when i knew them they were barely women at all - and yet i feel at ease around them, unquestionably welcome.

sare had a boy draped on her arm often enough that i'm figuring he's a significant other in her life, but we've never spoken of it. i vaguely remember seeing him before. a friend of sare's remembered my name from last time we met, i didn't even remember her face. kat had a new boy, although, again, i don't know any of the contours. sara just got back from dubai. i vaguely remember her mentioning it being a pipe-dream but i didn't know she'd actually gone. these are not the people i am close to these days, i'm sure they know just as little of the shape of my life.

all our lives keep moving, the details all changing, the details that give our lives meaning. in some ways it makes no sense to say we know each other at all - i've changed so much since high school, haven't I? - our lives have taken such different directions. and yet there's an underlying continuity that's profoundly both comforting and discomforting.

these women can poke some old memory, summoning another time. my high school years were filled with frustration, deep disappointment and pent-up fury, constantly simmering not far below the surface, overlaid most times with a smile. their anecdotes could sound cruel, brutally honest, coming from anyone else. but the distance between then and now, and the intimacy between us back then, affords a chance for laughter rather than judgement.

it's cosy, comforting, like an old stuffed toy that plays a negligible role in adult life, and yet is kept. sare offered to read chapters of my thesis when i write them. and she was genuine. she always was so generous ...

amy

today is the anniversary of the death of my lover, amy, in a car accident. 6 years now.

grief is not linear and it is unaware of how the rest of the world measures time. but this date is always a time for reflection. more than anything, a time to wallow in memories and appreciate her life.

last night i had an extended conversation with a friend who had also lost a lover in a car accident, the year before. our situations were so similar that there was profound recognition as we shared our histories. ... first lesbian love, the awakening into a new way of being, the intensity, the discoveries of unimaginable joys and delights ... and yet the complexity, the "should we really be doing this", the secrecy, the pleasures layered with doubt and shame ... and the brevity. then the shock, the horror, the disbelief, but then almost instantly, overlaid, instinctive, mandated silence, sealed with shame, repression of all feeling, energy spent comforting others instead of grieving ... the evasions, multiple and ever multiplying, "my friend", the uncertainty of what details could be shared, what lies needed to be perpetuated, who knew what truths, or what subtle shades of truth. and then slowly, grief surfacing at unexpected moments, as a car like hers passs by, or someone walks her walk, or has green socks, or shares some trivial detail with her, or something happens and i want her to know.

even now, i am unsure of who to share this whole part of my life with. because our story is hers too and she's not alive to tell me her thoughts.

happily, over time, the emotional landscape becomes less harsh, the complexities and doubts become washed over with a clarity of focus: the fact of love. love happens and it's magic. so today i am giving up feeling any more residual guilt, shame or doubt about what Amy and i shared. I loved her, and I know she loved me. That was beautiful, while it lasted, it was what life is about.