Into the light

Down on the coast the wind was blowing so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.  Laughing I planted my feet in the sand.   The wind whipped my hair around my face, the sea roared and the sun set the churning sea glittering and glimmering.    The energy of it all was so intense I felt like my skin had suddenly become porous and the air, sound and light poured deep into my being.  


My response to my own On the Road prompt –Light on the Road


… and so it is …

Flowers are flowers, mountains are mountains, I sit here, you stand there, and the world goes on from eternity to eternity, this is the suchness of things.” – D.T. Suzuki

I sit here, you stand there.

Someone posted a photo of you on Facebook.   I see that, like me, you have aged.   Somehow I never thought you would.   In my mind I see your eyes as clear as the day they first locked onto mine.

I sit here, you stand there.

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picture_thumb.jpg  My response to my On the Road prompt a heart as clear as water


Another pitfall to creating writing prompts that I have discovered is that I am finding it very hard to write creative responses to my own prompts.

For my prompt   on the road prompts – the haijin on the road     I have decided my most creative response is to reblog a haibun I wrote a few years ago (apologies to those who have already read it).


Memories not so much lost like tears in the rain but more coalescing in salt spray into a continuum of days – of colours – the muted grey greens of dune plants and stretches of blue sea/blue sky against a backdrop of sun bleached sand.

Childhood holidays spent wandering beaches as a genderless, ageless explorer/naturalist/botanist – leading my little brothers on expeditions to discover rocky pinnacles around the next cove where we scrambled sky high to investigate piles of broken shells cast into crevices by winter storms.

Time and colours stretching through the years to the time when I led my own children through holidays of sunny days and sandy beaches then ice creams at the shop after slogging walks along the shore.

Then children growing up and earnest discussions as to the names of things and the whys and wherefores of the moon and tides –

a pause

– then on to lonely midlife crisis head bowed walks pondering the way forward.

Now, and into the future – still walking the beaches, the names and whys and wherefores ceasing to matter as some kind of larger meaning emerges – the intensity of the quests, the journeys, the lovings and the not lovings draining away into a continuum of being.



My daughter is studying sociology.   At present she is learning about the sociology of health.  In her last lecture she discovered that health is directly related to socio-economic status.   The people at the very top of the tree are the healthiest of all.   They are measurably healthier than those even just one step below them.   The reason for this is that they have complete autonomy.   Also they are free of money worries.

That explains why the Queen of England is so hale and hearty and why she smiles so magnanimously on her subjects.   She can afford to.

Over here in Australia her subjects are paying record prices for domestic energy.  The cost is so high some people are being forced to live without heating this winter.  

Our  Prime Minister met with the leaders of the energy companies and urged them to consider the plight of those on lower incomes.  They all agreed it was a matter of great concern then they all nodded and smiled for the photo shoot.   Beyond that they did nothing.    The Queen, of course, was not present at the meeting and it was no surprise to discover she has made no comment on the issue.

                                   gas bill



Rolling Stones

The staff in the local Salvation Army Op Shop love to play the old vinyl records that are donated.   As I wander around looking for a bargain amidst the bewildering detritus of other people’s lives Bob Dylan asking plaintively  “How does it feel it be a rolling stone?”

Now there’s a song that takes me back – visions of my brother as a young teen, his long brown hair flopping in his eyes as he puts Dylan on the turntable in his suburban bedroom.   Just what year is this I wonder as I gaze at the second hand books.   On the top shelf a box of floppy discs sits beside a pile of tattered magazines.  On the cover of one a girl with big hair models a jacket with wide shoulder pads.

Leaving the books I move through the rest of the store as Bob Dylan continues to wail.  I have to be in the mood for these places and that mood can quickly evaporate as I breath in the stale odours of outdated material goods.  In the second hand clothing section I come across an African girl fingering the lacy cloth of a dress.   She looks to be more at home than I feel.  Quite a few African refugees have settled in this town over the past few years.

In the next aisle I walk past a Middle Eastern couple.   The woman is in full hijab and the elderly man beside her is in a long pale blue robe.   We don’t see many people in such clothes down this way.  This couple look like new arrivals and I imagine a welfare agency directed them to the Salvos to get some basic household goods.    They look the other way as I pass and I wonder how it must feel to be refugees from a country many here see as some kind of enemy.

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Just before dawn I had a strange dream –

      An old man was driving on a wet mountain road.    His car spun out of control on a slippery patch and crashed into an embankment.   The man, affectionately known as Bobby, died on impact.

                    There was a moment’s silence then Bobby’s soul broke free from his body.   It soared up like smoke and disappeared into the unknown.

The dream woke me up and I lay in my bed thinking.   Personally, I’m not ready to go yet. I have many more things I want to do.   I hope I have more time, I hope I have more time.


I wrote this haiku in response to my prompt for this week on my haiku prompt site On The Road prompts

The prompts are always open.   If this week’s prompts doesn’t appeal to you maybe you will find one that does by reading back through previous prompts.   It is also worth clicking on the links to responses others have written.  They are well worth reading.  Each week I am inspired and humbled by the thoughtful and creative responses others are writing.


Killing the Buddha on the Road

My response to my own prompt on


Here, at this point of my journey, winter sets in.   Taking my old raincoat hanging by the door I leave – well no, not really.   The reality is I sit with a blanket round my shoulders wondering if this day will ever warm up and whether I’ll be able to pay the electricity bill if I turn on the heater yet again

This business of writing prompts for On The Road is a tricky.   Will I/won’t I?   Right now I’m not but then just as I say that I get an idea.    Did you know the modern haiku poet Santoka wrote many anti war poems during WW2?   Did you know that Sam Hamill, the author of many articles and translations of Japanese haiku sent one of Santoka’s haiku to a US General during the Gulf War? In response he received a letter thanking him for his patriotic support of the troops.

Now maybe I should have held onto that information – done more research and written a prompt about those ideas for the next On The Road prompt.  Maybe there’s a new way to write these things where I write what I really think and stop second guessing myself.   Maybe it’s about being more authentic…

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