The South Paw

Photo credit - mailsparky

The sun burnt through the car window onto my arm, I could feel the sting as my skin turned red. I pulled my arm back, no sun cancer for me I thought. Starring out the window I watched paddock after paddock of wheat crops flash by, squinting my eye's, made them look like a golden streak.


He and I would drive for hours, not a word spoken. It would only be obvious to me what I was about to endure when we arrived at the destination.


He turned off the highway and onto a gravel road, I tried to snatch a glimpse of the road's name but the street sign had been shot up. The cars wheel's drove onto the gravel road and that popping sound the gravel makes under the wheel always made me feel like home. But this gravel road was not the run to the farmhouse, it was leading me to somewhere that I didn't know.


Again he turned off the road and onto a dirt track, it had not been used in awhile from the bushy stripe that ran down the middle of the track. Dust started to pour in the car, so I wound the window up and put on the air-con. It was one thing to have a half sun burnt arm and another to get sinus' from dust.


The brakes squeaked as he stopped the car, I looked around quickly, trying to get a sense of my bearings...I saw two other cars, both long black BMW's. that had there window's blacked out...mafia.

In the middle of a hot summers afternoon; where sticky flies crawled relentlessly into the corner of my eyes to suck on what moisture they could find, to the odd piercing caw of a lone crow and the faint baa calls of sheep echoed through the land.


I sat glued to my spot, what fucking ambush has he got me in today...I angerly thought.
I wanted to beat the shit out of him.


The unknown occupants got out and looked each other over, we got out too and they looked us up and down. She spied me like I was some product on display at the local shop. Her blond hair tied back in a pony tail, her body tanned and muscle, it was a fight.

They exchanged nods and it was on.

I cringed at the thought, why couldn't I just punch his head a  few times, he'll keep...I hated him for always setting me up in these situations. I hated him period!


I walked out to the edge of the wheat crop, its sweet smell softening to my psyche and a gentle reminder that the world can be a beautiful place. The fighter jogged over punching the air as she came and flexing her muscles as she showed her prowess in body building poses. Far from being intimidated, show pony. I had seen it before and knew that I would see it again.


I didn't want to hurt the girl, but like a dog backed into a corner, I would bite.
I grew anxious, sweat already was forming on my brow. There was no way I could back out now, fuck I really hated him, either way I was fucked, by him or the mob.
The fighter and I took to the open ring and squared up to face each other, bare knuckled.
I let all outside noises drown from my ears. Like tunnel vision, my attention was only on the orthodox fighter, it was not only about winning the fight but proving myself to him so that he would some how acknowledge my existence as important.


We sized each other up and danced around each other gracefully flirting our skills. Gesturing to the other, trying to entice the fiery of the other fighter to ignite and explode with the first punch. My patience was long but I knew to gain his approval I would have to be quick. I gritted my back teeth and crunched on sand grains that I had sucked in from the dust, I spat it on the ground.


The fighter gave an arrogant nod at me, asking the question – did I have what it would take to win this fight? I always played my cards close to my chest and the fighter became agitated and said something in a language, that I couldn't understand but by the laughter that came from her corner, I knew it was a sly remark at me.


I was a tough chick and didn't tolerate rude behaviour.
"What! Can't you speak english?"
The fighter looked at me confused, I was right, she no comprehendo.
Foreigners.


That was enough for me to fuel my rage and I planted my feet and in a smooth one two movement jabbed with the right hand and straight punched with the left. It landed on the  fighters chin and for a second the fighter lost her balance, falling backwards amongst the wheat crop. I drew back and wiped the beads of sweat from my face, I could feel the sting of the sun on my face and I squinted and put my hand up to block the suns ray's and I saw the fighter look over to her corner and some big greasy fat bloke was shouting,
“get in there, get in there,”


The fighter got to her feet and dusted her self off, using this as a stalling tactic to try and lure me into a false sense of security...the fighter lunged at me, I advanced towards her and again planted my feet and again jabbed and punched with a hook. It landed on the cheek bone and a cracking sound boomed over the jeering from the side line - the bone broken.

The fighter bent over and sucked in large amounts of air. The fat greasy guy was yelling profanity at her. She shook her head and he yelled more louder and gestured violently towards her, she straightened and side way glanced at me. She raised her fists and took a few steps forward.


I changed my stance to orthodox and charged in. I jabbed to the left, jabbed to the right, then dropped both hands. Confused the fighter again lunged forward and I broke with an upper cut. A deafening crunch echoed in my ears as her teeth tore through her upper lip and blood spewed out. The fighter screamed in pain and withdrew.


I looked in my corner and he stood arms folded, he nodded in gesture to finish the fighter off.


I stepped in fists clenched, bobbing and weaving. The fighter huddled in her corner, but she was pushed back into the ring...she spat a vile amount of blood and saliva on the ground and bobbed and weaved trying to protect her broken face.


The fighter leapt forward in a variety of combinations and I grabbed hold of her and pushed her back. I then repeatedly punched with left hooks. I let her go and she fell, her face covered in blood – the fighter put her hand up – she had had enough.


I walked to my corner, not a mark on me and all he said was that I 'took too long.'


I looked back over my shoulder and saw two blokes usher the fighter in the car's and they drove off in a hurry, spinning their wheels as they left. Then as if taking the first breath since arriving, I sighed heavily. I wondered what trophy he gained from me winning.


The drive home was in silence, my thoughts turned to the other fighter and hoped that she would fair ok and if her captures were kinder to her than mine. I looked at my hands and my knuckles bruised, bloodied and the skin torn. I didn't feel any pain, I was numb. Numb from the very essences of every position he put me in - because I was just some girl surviving the best and only way I knew how.

Books...Books...Books

Exhibitors



Fair Trade Products



Children's book



 

What an extremely wonderful day I have had. The Book Creators book expo was held today at the Blue Mango and a fantastic assortment of exhibitor's display a fine and very professional arrange of books. With three new books launched - two from right here in Cairns and the third respectfully from Bundaberg.

Our lovely major - Val - opened the expo and even stayed for the book launches, very impressed.

I was happy pottering around the stalls talking and swapping ideas. As a volunteer, I enjoyed helping the exhibitors with all their needs.

Had a fantastic chat with Margie Gargen founder of Bloomhill Cancer Help. Was inspired by Helen Ross from Brisbane, one of BCC's guests.

Now, of course I did buy some books...have a few to keep me occupied for a while.

The first book, is by local writer/author Megan Bayliss (This Woman is truly amazing and very awe inspiring) - Bitss of Caramel Marmalade on Toast, be quick to snap the few remaining copies...they sell like hot cakes.

The second book is by Stephen Chong - on your list of people you'd love to chat with over coffee, add this talented man. His book - The Book of Testaments will surely have you reaching your goals and inspiring your dreams with a full sense of self worth.

My third selection was It's All Relative: stories to shorten your travel time, by Chris Shaw. This wonderful and witty man has many riveting stories to tell and will definitely have you coming back for more.

My last book but no way in the least was Bubble Gum Trouble by children's author Helen Ross aka Miss Helen. This book tells stories by poems. What a creative way to think outside the box. As Helen said..."it is not the end result, but the journey,"

Play on Words

Photo credit - ngould

Imaginif ... Bronwyn Clee and associates used guts n glory to inspire change.

Ecsta-she used her psi tutor that had several of our little books to help set-up complete for the Sydney karaoke machine.

After seeing the little dun pony at professional learning board a new leaf and nu skin with a weight loss diet helped to get leading edge personal development.

I'm celebrating life now and spoilt myself at ethical gifts before taking the time innate personal development for all. Then took a long over due holiday at FNQ Apartments.

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Ranger



Ranger



I lent on the timber yard rail and recalled the story the farmer had told me. I was still mortified that people could be so cruel.

I first saw him, in the middle of summer, standing under the shade of a old gum tree. His tail swishing to and fro and his ears flickering back and forth at the annoying flies. For a short stocky little pony he had an appeal about him and when I looked in his eye I could see the pain.
 He was named Ranger and his story is amazing.


Ranger was sold to a family. They were green when it came to knowledge of horses. They had an old dirty, rat infested stable and decided to buy a horse to fill it. Ranger unfortunately became that horse and he spent his days standing in the stable. Day in day out. The stable was never mucked out so he stood in his own waste. The only time he was allowed out was when the family wanted to ride him and pretty quickly the novelty wore off.


Their ignorant lack of horse husbandry became Ranger's worst nightmare.
Occasionally they fed and watered him and during the winter months the family put a rug on him. The rug however, was never removed until summer and by then it had rubbed his skin bare, open wounds fested on his chest, wither and rump, he was also heavy infested with lice.


Ranger was stumbled upon by a local farmer and when he unbolted the stable door he was hit with a stench of urine and rotting flesh. The farmer was gobsmacked by what he saw - a saddened stance of head hanging low from despair and rats crawling all over him. They were literally eating him. He was weak from lack of food and had severe muscle deterioation.

When the vet saw him, he said that 'the kindest thing to do was shoot him', but the farmer wouldn't hear off it.
"I'll take him home and he can spend out his life there, peaceful and free,"
It took over twevel months before Ranger's wound's could heal but unfortunately he was psychologically damaged.

He would stand as far away as possible from people and he was impossible to catch. To avoid it he would run into barb wire fences and since the farmer didn't want him to get injured any more, he ceased trying to catch him. 
"I had no intenion of riding him," I told the farmer oneday.

During spring, the paddock was a wash of yellow daisies. I was sitting about forty meters from Ranger and feeling relaxed by the sunny day, nodded off. When I woke I rolled over on my side to stretch and there relaxing in the shade of a tree a few meters from me was Ranger. I held my breath and dare not move thinking I would frighten him. But he lifted his head from his sleepy slumber looked at me and let out a heavy sigh before going back to his afternoon nap.


The next day as I walked towards him he noticed me coming and he began to walk towards me. I stopped shocked by what I was seeing, the jewbelation I felt for this horse's break through bought tears to my eye's. He nuzzled into my arm as if to say where's my carrot?
 I spent one year working with Ranger and his confidence grew. Before long I knew he needed to spread his wings and made the tough descision to sell him. He was sold to the riding for the disabled were he thrived. He was the favourite among the kids and adults alike. He lived another fifteen years and was twenty six when he died. I never forgot that plucky little pony and one day I saw him at a local show and when I looked in his eye's his pain had gone.





Me on Ranger



Dingo Pup

Photo credit - MSBegy

Legend talks of a bull so mean he was never ridden and the spurs that hang on the old fence is testament to the cowboys who have tried. They say you can hear their voice every eight seconds on the territory wind.


As I cocked one leg on the bottom rail of the old wooden stock yard I listened to the old man tell the story of the meanest bull he'd ever ridden.


When he was young and worked mustering in the outback he remembers seeing the meanest bull.
A tough and rugged scrub bull had his plight changed the day young Jake rode into Arnela station.


Jake steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw. He spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. Jake nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices Jake into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready Jake sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him, Jake's finds his right of passage written in eight seconds on a bull they call Dingo Pup.


Footnote: Alternate


As a young girl in pigtails, I remember great uncle Jake tell the story of a bull. How cowboys from all over the country came to claim their right to passage of eight seconds and so the legend was born.


I had travelled many miles to a destination marked on no map. To see for myself the wall of spurs that hung on the old rabbit proof fence.


A willy willy swirls and twist by me and in the dust I hear their voices tell me the tale of the bull they called Dingo Pup.


Cowboy after cowboy steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw as he spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. The cowboy nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices the cowboy into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready, the cowboy sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him he hangs his spur up too.

The Orange Butterfly

Photo credit - clemmesen

The smell of the damp dirt as it smashed it's way down the hill stuck in my nose. I could hear the silence as it loudly roared in my ears. I frantically clawed at the coffin lid my nails broken and bloody.


The nightmare plagued me every night and it kept me bound to guilt.
"I can't deny it any longer,"
I knew the time had come and in defiance I fought the inner feeling calling me to return to the island.


“How long has it been since you've been back here?” Taylor asked.

“Five years...not since.............." I felt that unsettling lump form in my throat and grief filled tears ran down my face. I wiped my runny nose with my hand."Not since the landslide.”


No one used the remote island for hiking trips any more; it was deemed unsafe. Taylor and I had been walking the old hiking trail for six hours. The track was hidden by thickly overgrown bushy bracken and wound its way through the rugged island hills. When I saw the old tree with the split trunk, I knew exactly were I was.


Closing my eyes, I was transformed back five years to the very spot. The old gum with the split trunk was where I was standing the day I felt the earth tremble, like I was standing on a rug and two people were pulling it back and forth. I heard the first crack of a tree break as the side of the hill gave way. In one smooth slide the hill side broke away and concertinaed at the foot of the mountain.


My heart started racing and sweat rolled down my face, my hands began to tremble and my whole body shook, as the memory of what happened ripped through me. My legs gave way, and trapped by grief, I fell to my knees. I slowly raised my trembling hands to my face to muffle the moans and cries that escaped my lips. My eyes stung and tears of loss flowed forth like the original landslide. I grabbed a handful of the dirt that took my beloved friends and pressed it hard to my chest...Why was I spared? I smeared the dirt on my tear soaked face and for a moment felt their presences swoon around me.


"It happened so fast. I could hear their laughter; teasing me for lagging behind. Then instantly, they were gone. There was nothing I could do. They just disappeared under the dirt. I dug for hours, I never saw them again........I could see Clare, she had been shouting at me to hurry up and catch up with them but I was preoccupied by an orange butterfly that had landed on a blue flower. The colour contrast was beautiful and I waved to Clare to take a look. She never saw it though. The hill gave way and she was swept away before my eyes. That day my life changed in every possible way. The woman I once saw when I looked in the mirror, disappeared the same second that the landslide took them."
It was the first time I had spoken about the landslide and Taylor held me softly as I cried.


The dirt from the landslide was still there; only the holes of the excavation now visible. When I placed the four white crosses, I scooped up some dirt and rubbed it through my hands; my friends taken, returned hence forth from where they came.

I turned and began to walk away. A flicker of orange caught my attention. I glanced back and there sitting on a white cross was an orange butterfly.

Taking Back My Power



Photo Credit - andysteel



A powerful shift began to take place and with it it brought fear. The difference was the fear was not mine this time.


I had begun to find my voice that he had silenced fifteen years earlier and as I prised his fingers from the grip around my life, he began to panic.


He went to extraordinary lengths to stop me but I was more aware of his presence than ever before and the more he tried to hold on the more I gained my power back.


Day after day he became desperate and day after day I saw my freedom waving at me from a far. I would end his torment of me and I would end the secret I had kept, no longer would I physically allow him to touch me.


He had me pinned down to the bed, his hands pressed hard on my shoulders, his knee wedged into my stomach. I stared right into his blue eyes and said “If you rape me I'll go straight to the police and it will be the last thing you ever do,”


He held me a moment longer searching my face for the...I give in...expression I had worn so often before. But not this time. I was resolved to the fact that the only way out from here on in, was if one of us was dead.


He let me up and scoffed that I wouldn't have the guts to dob. Little did he know and little did he know about me. When I finally got to that place inside myself where my voice had been hiding deep within, I unlocked the door and screamed out loud for the first time in ages. He had no idea what I was capable of doing to survive and survive I would.


I screamed at him to get out of my bedroom and he promptly said 'it was his house and he could do what ever he liked in it.'


He lunged at me and repeatedly punched me. I struggled to push him away but he had hold of me and so my flight response deferred to fight response. I grabbed him in a headlock and punched at him. He tried to trip me up but I was aware of his warfare. He grabbed at my breast and twisted it hard, the pain was excruciating and I had to let him go.
“You prick,” I hissed at him.


Mocking me he laughed.
“There's no way you can ever think you could beat me in a fight,”
It was happening and I couldn't stop it. The time to stand and fight for me. The time to stand and fight for my life. The consequences were of little concern. I was not going to let him hurt me another second.


I engaged and I took my southpaw stance. Again he mocked me by his laugh. He puffed out his chest and engaged and we stood fist to fist in my bedroom.
He threw the first punch hitting me in the mouth and I felt a surge of all the pain, anger, hurt, dissappointment, fear and worthiness that I had pushed deep within me spiral out of my hand as I hit him. He fell backwards with a heavy thud and I stood over him and demanded he “Stay down,”


A powerful shift had begun to take place and it would be many years later I'd fully comprehend what actually took place that day. The fear was his but the power was mine.

Her Resentment

Photo Credit - brokenarts

It is interesting what we remember from childhood. My memories are very vivid and some of what I remember has not always had a good impact on me.

That first night that I would start my life on the farm is full of bad memories. The conversation he and she had leaves a distastefully taste in my mouth. He had not spoken to her about my returning and living permanently on the farm. She showed her displeasure from the moment I walked in the door. A displeasure she reminded me of for the next fifteen years. I was Twelve.

The last few sentences of their conversation are the ones that plagued me the most “I will have nothing to do with bringing her up,” she announced. I was standing less than a few metres away as she pointed at me. “That's ok I will,” he responded. 

The black cloud that hung over her everywhere she went frightened me. I tried to avoid her as much as possible and stuck like glue to his side. Her resentment of me was blatantly obvious to me but no one else seemed to notice or if they did they never said.

She would push past me, knock me to the floor, not let me wear a seat belt in the car. Slam doors on me, lock me out of the house, remove the toilet paper from the loo and empty vacuum dust in my bed. She would throw things at me, chase me with the bulldozer and she would take away all my blankets on cold nights and cut the cord on the electric blanket. When she gave me a haircut it was always crooked and she would cut the back of my neck with the scissors.

She would make her own Easter eggs and mine where mixed with kerosene. When I asked him once to taste mine, he could taste the kero, but he said that I had put it in the eggs to trick him. When I sucked the chocolate, it didn't seem as bad as crunching them, however the day I gave one to the dog to eat and it refused, I never ate another Easter egg she made again.

When meals times were ready she would never call me and when I would finally come inside my dinner would be on the table cold and blown with maggots. As she wouldn't let me go to the fridge or cupboards and that was the only meal I would get, I'd pick out the maggots ( yes I'm pretty sure I missed a few) and eat the meal cold. On a few occasions I noticed tablets in my meals. Squashed in with the mashed potatoes. I tried not to eat those but she would hover over me and make me eat every scrap. Not long after I would feel sleepy and go to bed, I have no idea what she did to me after that.

I had to do my own laundry and never knew about separating colours or woollens and dedicates. All my clothes went into cold muddy water (she made me fetch the water straight from the dam, I was not allowed to use the rainwater) with whatever crumbs of washing powder I could sweep off the floor, generally I just used the soap I used in the shower.

Now the bathroom was interesting, I could never leave any personal belongings in the bathroom, if I did she would throw them out or burn them. One night I forgot my towel and she swooped in and burnt it. I had no other towel and had to use a shirt to dry myself off for weeks until we went to town and I bought a new one.

When other people were around she would belittle me to them saying I was dumb and never be any good because I could not do simple chores. How I was dirty because my clothes always had stains on them or how crinkled they were. Well if I had been showing how to wash and iron properly I'm sure I'd look better.

Every moment every opportunity she would find away to continually remind that I was an intrusion.

In my own hind sight, I see that her resentment was not at me but at him. However because she was meant to act out the faithfully and loyal housewife, working side by side her farmer husband she lashed out at me instead.

Her misdirected resentment caused me years of helplessness and unworthiness. Something that I certainly do not endorse in my life any more. Neither he or she will ever have an impact on my life again. I am where I am today because of one person and one person only...ME!!

Footnote: I now eat maggot free meals. I wash clothes with clean fresh water and buy good Australian washing powder. I even own an iron. I have stacks of toilet paper piled up in the loo and always wear a seat belt.

The Protector

Photo credit - Thenys

There was nothing usual about the way the days events unfolded. It was near perfect weather wise. The tropic's in the spring could turn on fantastic sunny days with a hint of a cool breeze.

I had agreed to drop a letter off for my brother to a place where I knew that someone else would be.

I hoped she didn't think I was following her. I wasn't stalking her but I wanted to make it look like an accidental meeting if we did bump into each other. I'd act all coy saying I'd forgotten she'd be here.

I was a little embarrassed too. I was total in love with this women. The way She plays with her long black hair and circles it around her finger. Her beautifully green eyes brighten as she smiles. Never before had I experienced such feelings.

As I stood out front and stared at my reflection in the automatic opening doors I thought, I'll just walk in real quick, drop the letter and walk out. Quick as a flash she won't even know I was there.

I took a deep breathe and walked in. I wish I could of hit reverse and backed straight out but as the young man spun around and pointed his gun at me I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. It tightened not for me but for those I had not seen.

The look on his face showed astonishment. It was obvious when he was planning his day he had not factored in that someone could walk in behind him.

“Fuck” he swore.

Fuck, I thought.

His hand was shaky, sweat beaded on his forehead and he hadn't shaved for days. When he spoke there was a definite nervous crackle in his voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

“I'm Jilly...I'm just quickly dropping this letter off for my brother,” I noticed the nervous crackle in my voice too.

He dropped his eyes to the envelope I held in my hand and then using the gun he beckoned me in.

I put the letter on the counter and when I turned back my heart sunk. There was a group of about ten people sitting on the floor. They were huddled together some whimpering in fear and others dumb struck by it. I swallowed a large hard lump that found it's way to my throat. There she was, sitting with her knees up tight close to her chest. She looked and caught my eye. Her stare was one of confusion as to why I was there and then to concern as I stood two feet away from the gunmen.

I looked at her and hoped my expression told her it was going to be ok. I half smiled. My first instinct was grab her and run. But this young man stood in my way. I looked back at him his blond hair all messed up and his eyes dark from lack of sleep. Pure adrenalin kept him upright.

Suddenly reality check slapped me in the face and I could again see my reflection in the automatic doors but when I looked at him the reflection did not change. I saw my own mirror image of a time I too stood in his shoes.

The protector in me was always a strong reaction and feeling that I had nurtured from a young age. Thinking back to a time when at school I would protect the young school children from the bully's. Nearly everyday going home with a bruise or two from a fight. It was automatic like the doors, a finely tuned sensor of emotions to save not only the hostages but the young man as well.

I leaned into him and whispered “hey this is really gonna sound nuts but you know twenty years ago when I was your age I wanted to do this,” he frowned at me confused, I continued “I wanted to kill someone,” his confusion turned quickly to intrigue and he prompted to ask who but no words uttered from his dry mouth. I took a step closer and answered his wordless question “my uncle.”
He glanced at the huddle of people on the floor and I took another step closer “he raped me,”
The young lad looked back at me and for a glimpse I thought I saw compassion in his eyes.


Frightened and confused he stepped toward me and pressed the gun to my stomach. His eyes searching mine for truth. Telepathically I told him my story...I had dreamt I had envisioned I had chosen to do what this young man was doing twenty years ago. I had plotted to kill the man that stole my life. I had been in pain and just like the young man frustrated and confused. I had planned it and I was prepared to go to jail for it...


I looked at the young man as if seeing him for the first time. I felt compassion sweep through me for the lost feeling he was experiencing, the feeling of utter hopelessness, despair and guilt. He was suffering from the effects of another person not taking responsibility for their actions and he was suffering the consequences as if they were his own.


I told this young man the plot I had planned the term of jail I was prepared to endure the regret of decisions and then I told him why I had not followed through with murder.


“You are angry but not at these people, you are angry at someone else who makes you feel insignificant and unworthy” I paused “you are not to blame for this you must put the anger back onto the person who has hurt you.”


He dropped his hand and removed the gun pointing at my stomach. He looked at me and then turned his back to me and placed the gun to his temple. Shit no I thought not like this.


I ran forward and put one arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist and bear hugged him. I felt him quiver in my arms as his knees buckled from under him and he collapsed to the floor.


I looked over at the crowd of hostages and every one was looking at me. Stunned by the scene that had just unfolded before them. I nodded for them to go outside and one by one they got up. As she walked passed me she stopped and looked at me her eyes beguiled by the event she had witnessed. I smiled at her and ushered her to go outside.


I sat down next to the young man the gun laying between us.
“You know that the police will come and want to talk to you,”
He nodded.
“Don't be afraid this is how your healing begins,”
He looked at me and the tears in his eye's told me his story.

Alternate ending....

I ran forward and put one arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist and bear hugged him. I felt him quiver in my arms as his knees buckled from under him and he collapsed to the floor.

I looked over at the crowd of hostages and every one was looking at me. Stunned by the scene that had just unfolded before them. I nodded for them to go outside and one by one they got up. As she walked passed me she stopped and looked at me, her eyes beguiled by the event she had witnessed. I smiled at her and ushered her to go outside.


Covered in his blood, tears swelled in my eyes, as I held his body in my arms, I swore to the young man his abuser would not go unpunished, somehow and by some means I would tell his secret.

White Balloon Day

Today is the day we should all stop and ponder the enormous problem this country...no no, this world still has.
Today is White Balloon Day. The day that we take a stand against sexual abuse of children. (Mind you ever day should be a stand against sexual abuse)

What are children...innocence...those that steal that innocence...well I'll not going to say my thoughts, but I'm sure you get the drift.

Help all children and even help those that have been children of sexual abuse, those that are now adults in our society. SPEAK up and out about childhood sexual abuse.

By keeping the secret you give the power to the abuser. By keeping the secret, you keep childhood sexual abuse alive and ripe. Do your bit for the kids and for you.

So, wear white or fly a white balloon is support of wiping out childhood sexual abuse.

White Balloon Day

Brave Hearts

Homo Apocalyptus - a Play by Dean Poyner

Every once in a while something comes along that completely sweeps you away. You become Jane in a Tarzan movie or Alice in Wonderland. For a brief day dream you are Cleopatra of Egypt or Jan Goodall and her Apes.


Whatever tantalizes your inner spirit, you are trans formed into the beauty of human kind.


I was metaphorically shipped to a place that unlocked and awakened me. 


My first play, an experience to savor for eternity. Homo Apocalyptus by renowned playwright Dean Poyner, was held recently in Cairns. Directed in Cairns by Velvet Eldred who did a fantastic job and made me feel very welcome.


An almighty thank you to Megan Bayliss for the invite, with out such my view of zombies would be,
shall we say...dull.

Life's Purpose

Metaphorically speaking I have climbed Mt Everest, swum the English channel – twice, boxed Mike Tyson, danced with the devil and survived a fall down an ice cravat. So what, I hear you say. It is to reiterate that as mere humans we all have stories and journey's to live. Mine, well we'll leave that for just now and concentrate on finding your purpose in life.

Many who believe in the Bible believe one's life purpose is to serve God. To be a witness to His attributes and teach less fortunate people the truth. Less fortunate doesn't necessary mean poor, it means less in spirituality/faith.

Others believe their purpose is to leave their mark on the world, either by a great playwright or war hero, the memory of the mark lingers for eternity.

Still others believe that their life's purpose it to change the world. Impossible you snigger under your breathe. If I reply to the world as the human race/society we have created for ourselves, then yes it is possible. One feeling, one emotion, one act of kindness at a time.


In a world were body image, labelled clothes and iphones are the rage, we get lost in the purpose of happiness.


Happiness, what truly is the meaning...to be complete, whole with oneself. To not want to change you, but be accepting fully of your limitations and individual character.


What about encouragement, are you the type of person who gets comments like – 'you are always smiling' or 'you are so happy' or 'I love your laugh'. These are fantastic and very positive comments and as long as you have been true to self, then you are very deserving. At my place of work, I'm known as smiley. What a brilliant compliment. That my reflection on the outside mirror images the reflection on the inside. Took those two swims across the English channel to get those. Metaphorically speaking.


In my hunt for my purpose in life I literally have been slapped by it all my life, but never paid much attention, after all, who doesn't like a good slap now and then...oops mind wanders, sorry.


I have an amazing gift to teach. To teach positive to see the glass as always half full. To see the greatness in human spirit and be an advocate for the benefit of the doubt. To give people the freedom to move around in their own skin, when they themselves have no idea. To allow people to feel no judgement or fear of judgement as my just is unbiased and uncorrupted. To help people leave their masks at home and venture outside, vulnerable, naked and raw for the first time in their lives.


To stand aside and watch their hopes and dreams turn into reality right before their eyes.


I have for many years been the mentor and life coach, not only for my own trails and tribulations, but for all those people that have crossed paths with me, albeit for a moment to a life time. I have been already living my life's purpose.


If you like me, want to inspire people to reach their goals and leave a lasting positive influence in their life's then I encourage you to suss out these web sites, not only for yourself but for all human kind.

Bronwyn Clee & Assoicates: Life Coaching

The Coaching Institute