A Dragon meets the Snake at the Lagrangian point of the heart.


The moon represents my heart.
The moon represents my heart.

We moving fast and strong, and if I think on it quite attractive fire. You down there in the riot would not notice us from earth. We left some day ago and we didn’t make the papers since they are long since dead and gone. The dragon ship is tight and moving along the gravity line between our earth and moon and sun.  I looked out just a minute back and saw it rising past our cockpit window screen.  Full and bright in the sunshine.  Yes right now Idon’t care for your texts or facebook posts of cats and dogs.

In just a minute it will be the new year down in China and our new year as well. I pressed play on Teresa Teng’s 月亮代表我的心  “Yueliang …Wo De Xin”.. in the final minutes of the latest moon dragon phase.

Rolling Jarrett bells of star chords singing with a statement then questions to follow. Who is that strong bright thing in the sky ? That rocket ship sitting so confident and ready to strike ? The man in it and why ?  No my love, that represents my heart.  Yeah, you know how you kissed me when I left.  Now that is how I love you.  How the moon is tonight. Do you remember it ?

Slow Slow.. slower.. slow.. we are coming up to the spot … that difficult spot in space … where you have to stop and pause in the Lagrangian moment.

Yes the earth is far enough to have no more impact that it’s favourite moon now.

A space ship in sound around in a quiet space with engines stopped and slow moving very slow you wouldnt know of course but waiting on no power. Then I thought carefully. That moon reflects my heart. So you could look up now and see it and know it is how my heart is.  A change of heart. I did it just to please you. But now I wish you were here or I was there. Just outside it… waiting on a Lagrangian point of love.

Photo of ‘Heart in a Bowl’ attribution : Auntie K : Flickr.

[Keith Jarrett : Koln Concert: Track 4..  6 minutes.]

Lagrangian points : 


The gravity of the massive earth sucked us on our towels into the sand of  the beach.  Our wet skin and shivering arms in the sunlight for the lifeguard to see.  Out of the seawater, streaming green seaweed locks of hair in cascades of ringlets down the side of her face.  An hour of afternoon we lay there and lazily swam from time to time aware of each others metaphoric selves. Lay pressed our arms on crushed sea shells with small sharp pricks. There was a cool breeze blowing across the bay and the scheme of things.

“when will you go back ?” I asked

“soon, I’ll go back and see how the ocean is doing”

“It’s too heavy here for you ?”

“Yes, the sky pushes down on me .. that part is tiring..”, she said.

“Everyone is looking at you… Not surprising really.. by the way it was fun !”

“I might just shift under that umbrella — do you mind ? – The sun is too strong”

“I thought of a poem about you.. want to hear it ?”

“Only if it is about home then. Ok ?”

whenever the sea belle sings

and the seaweed slings

in squeaks of massive waves

I hear your lovely voice

in the noisy shells of time

and seagulls

quark your never never name

“I love sea shells like that..” I said.

Vodka Coke and a Klondike Bar

The lounge over there is red, a bright red color, which at least is still red when it’s dark night outside the window, all now wet with rain.  That same lounge was the lounge that I would sit with her, when Anne, my great aunt ‘grandma’ came over.  Not that often, usually when my parents were out. Out on nights like this one, but tonight the lounge was empty of her.  “You miss her ?”, I asked it, walking over to it. I flopped down in the leather, cool then warm, reached over an picked up my drink.  The glass was her usual, as was the drink in it.  Staring at the bubbles of vodka coke in the glass, and the beads of rain on the window outside of the room.

How could anyone drink vodka with coke in it – it should kill a normal person, drinking this all the time, every day for 80 years or so.  People think doing anything normal will kill you.  Eating peanut butter, drinking wine, drinking beer, as if there is a perfect normal somewhere that if found would extend your life by a day or more. I decided to pour this on in honor of Anne. Anne, she used to drink these every day.  So full of life right to the end.  At 95 she must have decided to call it quits and allow her vibrant spirit full of vodka cokes to lift up to heaven, where of course she belonged.  No doubt about it. At the funeral today, they had read out a eulogy of her life which sounded like the history of the world all the wars, fights, loving, floods, droughts, bushfires and friendships packed into her particular century.

A history that Anne brought me into. A vivid red and white and blue flag of necessary adventure which she recognized might just be missing from my life.

“Do you wan’t a drink ?” I hear her say… “No, I am not old enough” I would reply.  “Tell me a story” I would say..  . Tonight I got up like lead off the red lounge. It was cold, but i walked over to the fridge, and looked at it for a long time.  It was stupid of me to get into this mood.  How I missed Anne, her laughter and funny stories. Now God only knows the stories she will tell.  I wonder if God listens to them ?  Perhaps he has a bunch of story angels that wander around with Vodka Coke’s in hand listening patiently to the stories of all the Saints who made it to there. I felt the cold handle of the freezer door, and opened it up.  Inside was a solitary Klondike bar, the last one out of the  pack of 6 original.  OK then, I picked up the bar thinking to myself.

I walked back over to the red lounge all curvy red and sat down again in the white room.  I waited thinking over the stories she told.  When I was still younger, Anne used to always start  the stories, and go through funny things that happened and made me laugh and see life through her own vividness. After we laughed, she would go to the freezer and bring out an icecream, just like that one, there on the table. “Since you are too young to drink, at least you could share an icecream with me.” Anne had said. “OK YES, mum never lets me have an icecream late at night like this” I would reply.

“Troubles will come and you must be adventurous, drink some of this, and have faith in Jesus Christ”, she had said.  Still I had said no. “How about an icecream then ?” she always was happy to add.. It was always a Klondike bar, just like the one on the table, thawing out with it’s white crystals of ice forming on the white polar bear on blue on it’s shiny wrapper.

On the table, there was now three items.  The Vodka Coke, nearly empty, the Klondike bar, and a leatherman knife.  The knife’s convenience and blue steel color still threatening me with it’s potentially ‘ end of the line in pain ‘ demeanour.

I picked up the knife. Why ? What would it matter if it slipped a bit and cut blood would run out. I thought.  Then I carefully put it down.  Whatever !

I took up the Klondike bar, unwrapped the top half, then ate it, like a polar bear and head ache as well. I scrunched up the wrapper, enjoying that one memory of childhood with her.

Then I picked up the glass.  “Here’s to you Anne!” I cried. Then with tear’s falling into the tiny bubbles of the coke.  I took a sip.  It wasn’t like the raw bubbly coke of childhood.  It had that kind of muted taste, picking up some aniseed and salt along the way with the vodka and tears I guess. I drank it all as well.

Water-berry World – A reflection

First Fragment – I am He.

I was on the mobile hooked into a conference call to the guys in Boston, while I was on the way to the airport.

“What’s that ?” I said.  I looked out the train window and through the gloom and sheets of rain coming down, I heard “……could…….be……………..never…………..when……………manufacture……Shanghai..”

“You know guys there is something wrong, I don’t know if it is the rain or what, but could you get closer to the mic.” I said

“Chris, if you just mute your ….., you should be able to…er” – came back

“OK OK. I think you said mute… but I don’t know how to mute the phone, it’s a blackberry” I said

I looked at the blackberry, water all over it, in my wet hand, with my suit still dripping water on the floor, sitting forlornly in the grey of the train light.

“Sure  just ….. top of the phone…   mute key – just…. when you want to talk … press …. you’ve …..” I think it was Sam who said that.

OK  – fumbling around with the phone – found the mute key pressed it a couple of times…

da-dink – di-da, seemed to toggle a couple of tones…

As I re-joined the call,  I settled down a bit, listening to the boys at the other end of the line.

Outside the world was rapidly darker into the morning.  The train was moving, slowly. I still had time though. We passed the old disused car yard near Redfern. Torrential spouts of water were there flowing down out into the concrete as we passed by. A lady standing by me, was quietly looking past me, with a kind of I’m ok, but there is something really bad happening just outside.  Naturally I thought first of the rain, no, perhaps the blackberry, but since I was on mute, it could not be that.. I turned back to close focus and saw what she saw.

Second Fragment – I am She

The rain was really coming down, and as the train pulled in, I had run to the first carriage off the stairwell.  The doors opened as the announcement was made.  My coat was ok, but my hair was all wet through from seconds crossing the gap.  I got in, but all the seats were taken.  Wet people. No one with newspapers any more. iPhones and Tablets instead live breaking the news.  So I took off to the left, just outside the toilet, where there is a gap.  There was a guy in a suit, fiddling with his blackberry, trying to listen, and talk and had obviously chosen this uncomfortable location, so he could use his phone.  He had some strange bags, a normal looking briefcase, and a big heavy carbonate case with Fragile stickers and Security cleared stuck all over it.

The doors closed and we were rolling.  I looked over at him, he was talking and listening, but mainly looking out at the weather.  Water was dripping off his suit, onto his blackberry with it’s little blue light winking as a reflection in the window.  I thought on his profile, also reflected in the window.  It might be good to get to know him then.  Perhaps I could say Hi.  He was on the phone though.  I pulled out my phone and thought.. Perhaps I could just take a picture of him for later.  Dumb idea.  I pressed the bluetooth setup and scanned around the area.  A phone name came up – Ferdinand – could it be his phone ?

The rain was coming down fast and noisy outside the carriage.  He was having trouble hearing and was fiddling around with the ‘mute’ key, perhaps learning how it worked.

I looked carefully at his suit, it was made of a nice material, but all covered in water, and dripping down.  He seemed totally oblivious to the water though, listening and laughing on the phone, with his hand and phone still water all over them.

OK, so I took his picture, it was easy, he didn’t notice me at all, even though I could have reached out and touched him, his wet clothes and hair perhaps. Never mind, I could find him again one day, I had his bluetooth id and I had a photo, even though it showed him laughing all wet and scary. I quicky renamed the image ‘Ferdinand’ so I could remember.

Just then I leaned back on the window, the rain gushing down from the car sheds, and all over the concrete outside the train.  I looked over at him and he glanced at me, and then looked outside through the window.  His eyes got all close focussed and an astonished look on his face.  I quickly glanced down at my phone, with his picture on it.  I started blushing and smiling, I couldn’t help it when I realised that he saw, his picture on my phone reflected in the glass behind me.

Photo Attribution : Foxyfemke : Flickr under CC licence