hue, contrast and saturation

This modern world we live in. I turn on the light without any idea of how electricity works, I drive my van with little concern of how the engine works, now I click buttons in photoshop without a clue how the images distort. I can't help but feel like an infant at the helm of a rocket ship. All this power in my hands, without the knowledge, wisdom or experience to guide the direction I'm flying in. 

I guess with Art, ignorance is bliss...

the very best of friends, till the very end

Life is wonderfully unpredictable.

I thought i'd be fine.

In a moment 

all that was certain 

dissolves.

It takes a deep awareness to listen to the whisperings of one's soul. Wisdom to sift through the trash and courage to act upon a truth, no matter how brutal, that reveals itself in that space.  

These are the qualities of a superhero

Beyond the fear of what this could mean, beyond the newfound possibility, I stand in your shadow and listen, as you did, for a truth that speaks to me.

All I can hear is love. 

How fortunate I was to be in the presence of someone so wonderful, for so long. 

Thank you 

Truly your greatest gift was who you thought I was and called me to be. 

mike

home

And so the return.

Back in Melbs and straight to Swanston for some home town street party action! The night was "interesting"...;(
Flat would be an understatement.

Astounding what gets churned up from the bottom of the lake with a little movement on the surface.

Times they are a changin'. The future is empty again and now more than ever is an opportunity to practice what we preach. Stay tuned kids, the plot is about to thicken...

?

Despite the alluring call of yet to be discovered northern delights, we swung the van south and headed home.
On the northern NSW coast, Heaven is still crying. Our potential stages (street corners) a squelchy mess of puddles and mud. We vow to return but must postpone our arrival to the eastern most point of Australia.

As we cruise the Hume, the vague echo of a question mark still ringing in my ears, what am I to make of this journey?

Did we succeed? Did we win the war, the battle, the set, the match? Did we play full out? Was there ever an intended result? A destination? And how would we know when we got there?

Perhaps this lack of clarity is a result? Or be it, a reward?

Drifting aimlessly atop a sea of uncertainty I reach for reason. I scan the horizon for a pathway, a shortcut, a sure thing. The lashing wind, the burning sun, the waves that thrash upon my body leave their mark and scar with salt. Why am I doing this, is just as important as where am I going and when will I get there.

As with the timeless Zen bumper sticker quote that reads, "it's the journey, not the destination", my experience has led me to embellish, "it's the inquiry, not the explanation".

mike

turnaround jump shot

The tide has turned.

The drought has broken.

The city of Sydney is back in the good books.

How quickly things can change.

After a shakey start, our hands bound in red tape, and the perceived threat of consequences playing havoc with our judgement, we managed to find a middle ground, a common vibration. We carved our own environment from that which was presented to us.

Exhale.

After not performing anywhere on saturday ( heartbreaking at the time), bruised but not broken, the last two days have made up for it. Playing your tunes on Circular Quay is one hellava way to make a living. And when I say "make a living" I could just as easily have said "one hellava way to survive". We definitely earn every sale but the insights we are gaining into how we operate in the face of various circumstances, priceless.

One thing that comes to mind right now is that it's never ever over. Ever. Long after the fat lady has sung, there is always another opportunity to go deeper into the fire. And the result is always unimaginable until it became a reality.

We were warned twice by the rangers today for our volume. One more complaint means trouble. We waited, we talked, we thought, we forgot, we were inches from packing up, but didn't, then played our asses off. Who would've known 50 odd year 12 schoolgirls would show up and scream and dance for over an hour and we'd sell over 60 CD's on a Monday night.

In being unreasonable, magic is possible.

mike

the game of it all

Jez came up with the idea to mime with our instruments until someone put some money in our box, then we'd play for a few seconds, then fade until someone put money in again.
It was a long, quiet set...
trigger swore he saw a tumbleweed...;)

hmmm

Yesterday we played Pitt St Mall. The money we made we spent on parking. But it was a gorgeously sunny afternoon and as Friday faded gently into Fri-night things were looking up.
We moved to a prime spot on Darling Harbour with loads of people and sparkly lights on the water. It was just before 9pm as we launched into the first set. Within minutes people were gathering, kids were dancing and throwing money in our box.
Sigh, the exhale, this is what we came here for.

As we finished the first song the rangers (council police) came and shut us down. Apparently we had an orange permit and we needed a blue one. We could get a blue one from exactly the same place and fill out the exact same form as we did to get the orange one....on Monday morning. No amount of reasoning, pleading or begging would make a difference to our bureaucratic pawn in fluro.
They reccommended we go back to cricular quay, so we did and on arrival were told by more rangers that our permit only went to 9pm.
Game over.

Left me pondering as I was wandering along the harbour, between the neatly manicured gardens, strategically placed inside a world of concrete and steel.

Rules, regulations, permits, fines, don't touch, no standing, queue here. Some would say this society works because of a series of systems we have created. Every boat in the Harbour would had to have undergone a series of check lists before it's seaworthy, and rightly so.
But where is the limit?
I'm positive some of the people who stroll by and comment on how wonderful our music is and "why Sydney doesn't have more of this happening on the streets" and "where did all the culture go?" are the very same people who vote against it, directly or indirectly, consciously or unconsciously every other day of the week.

When did we give up trusting ourselves?

Is our lack of belief so strong that we couldn't possibly do the right thing, we should hand all our power over to a bi-law, which we just made up anyway and in terms of reality (space and time) is as real as the Easter bunny.

Perhaps what actually makes this society work is our faith.

I am by no means an expert on human behaviour nor a scholar of governance and law but I can speak about what I see when we play our music of the streets of anywhere. People buy their own CD's while we keep playing, they take the right change out of the box if need be, and they stuff notes in places so they wont blow away.

Given half a chance it seems our natural expression is honesty, generosity and integrity. Given half a chance we do the right thing. Maybe it's time we stopped denying who we really are and gave ourselves the freedom to be human.

mike

rain

Driving away from a glorious, sun-soaked Melbourne on a one-way collision course with Cyclone Hamish, was quite laughable. We particulary liked the headline "100 year storm".
Rain
But we found a window and managed to squeeze a couple of hours of playing on Darling Harbour, overlooking the Opera House.
Great spot....Tough crowd.
Any illusions of this being a walk in the park were washed away as another front blew in right on sunset.
Rain
But it got me thinking,
about stillness.
When I am still I can hear my desire. I can hear me. And when my desire is acted upon, inherently come expectations. And when my expectations are not met, like this rain, the simplicity of what I want, my pure intention, is flooded with reasons, comparisons, justifications, observations.
In a peacefully quiet apartment, well after midnight, it's suddenly so busy in my head. I can't hear my desire anymore. It's just noisy in there.
And how much am I missing when I'm drowning in this familiar noise.

Perhaps my focus should not be on my circumstances but on returning to this stillness. For there I will be waiting, with open arms, to remind me again,
who I am, what I want and how to get it.

mike