Every action in life causes ripples
There are only three Perths in the world. Right here in Western Australia, in Lanark County, Eastern Ontario, Canada and in the Highlands of Scotland. As I look at the Perth's modern ever-growing skyline...
I know I don't want to be in another Perth anywhere else in the world...and yet... Perth's and Peel population is tipped to surge to 2.3 million by 2031.The 35 per cent rise would be the nation's highest.
The empty deserted city lost on the fringe of the world...the smallest capital city of them all will be no more...
About half the extra 600,000 residents will come from overseas with 24 per cent from interstate and the rest from other parts of Western Australia
We need to quickly come to grips with living in a bigger city with all it's up and down
It is not only our government that underestimates our population explosion,
we all need to learn to share our space, but we are too scared to loose our protected way of life
Many of us can not see beyond our little worlds
We have been isolated for so long from the outside world, too long from our own good...
only time we are ready to explore the world beyond our safe and comfortable West Australian shores is on our annual overseas holidays...
....ocean cruises and air-conditioned buses and trains to take us to our dreamed destination...
to our luxury accommodations and high-priced beverages...everything we feel we fully deserve...
we are enjoying ourselves without really noticing the native inhabitants of the land we are visiting, they are our shadows taking care of all of our needs and wants...
then we come back home to our white suburbs tucked safely among the high-priced apparments near the beach
we work reasonable hours, buy expensive goods and care for our families...
and enjoy our careless lifestyle full of sunshine and open space...
the one, we feel is our birthright and demand...
demand from our government to send all the boat people away...
...to send them back where they come from, we have spent our luxury holidays in their countries just this year and find out it is not so bad there after all...
We don't like migrants, we don't like refugees, we don't like people of different races, customs or colours...
We want to protect our comfortable way of life from everything and everyone, who is different from us...
People visiting our Western shores always remark, how clean and polished everything is, how over regulated, how white...
Our reason for doing so is to protect our families, but from what?
Every action in our lives causes ripples....
When our actions are not right ...
...the ripples of harm spread around...
and bring more sorrows and sadness, loss of lives, desperation and destruction...
do we really wake up to the scream for help only when it will be one of us crying out from the bottom of the well?
After all, are we not all the same?
The care for our families is the first one on our scale of needs....
It is an universal care felt by every human being from our beginnings the one that helped us to survive...
And yet...we are flawed to believe that what we have done is right because we believe it is beneficial to our families...
The time comes to look beyond our own selfish needs, the time comes to open our mind and hearts to those around us...
who are not in our immediate family, strangers with no means because once it can be us...
The Stirling Range, our 'little mountains' near the Perth was the place I spent the last holiday with my Dad...before he got seriously ill.....before he passed away...
My dad was a successful businessman, who had no time for idle talk and was always rushing somewhere...to make more money...for his family as he would say...
I always knew he was a good man, but as he lost control of his mind and body in the last year of his life, something magical happened - the true nature of the man appeared to emerge....
dignified, courteous, tolerant, stoic. When he was healthy these qualities had infused and coloured by responsibilities he had...by the expectations his surrounding put on him...he had the role to play...
When our roles were put aside and outside world lost meaning for him, a space appeared in which we could speak, and listen, to one another in a new way. Even when our conversations had no clear meaning in a conventional sense...
...their authenticity moved me to tears. We have been there, again, this time with my son, on the same mountain's path remembering those last conversations...
They had a multidimensional quality that shifted my thinking and revealed new ways of seeing and being in the world in a deeply felt way. He was full of regrets when he said: "
He was full of regrets when he said: " Every action in life causes ripples..." His words had a powerful effect on me. The right words said at the right time in the way for the right reason can alter perceptions, dispel fears, offer comfort.
Yet serious illness plays 'scrabble' with the language. But communication is more than words. What was conveyed was a deeply felt experience, often of suffering, that expresses a truth as distinct from a fact.
Normal communication might have a conventional logic, a purpose, an exchange of ideas and information. It is language of the head, that can easily be faked.
The language of my dad in his last moments was language from the heart that cannot be faked. I just stood there. The room seemed to expand way beyond the boundaries of the physical.
It was as if by experiencing reverence for the life of my father, I had entered a spiritual relationship with the whole world. Reverence carries within a degree of sensitivity ...
that increases the capacity for recognising the interconnection between all aspects of life. Reverence opens our minds and we are more able to connect with other people.
I know now that the end is not a linear destination and throughout our daily travels through life we have stop for a while and appreciate 'here and now'.
Today as you go about your normal activities, go for a walk, take your time, smile at everyone, listen, smell, observe the life around you...connect with an idea, a building, plant, animal or person..savour that connection...
...send the positive ripples toward the world and watch the positive affect flow on...
Two years ago my father died, two years ago I have published my first hub 'scattered images in my mind' celebrating you, celebrating love, celebrating life in the language from the heart.
And today, in my city at the end of the world, that is growing so fast, I wish that we can create that special space in which we could speak and listen to one another in a new way...
And today, in my city at the end of the world that is changing so fast, I wish we naturally overcome our tendency to judge and label and in that way we take away the tendency to separate ourselves from others...
And today, in my city at the end of the world, that is so close to my heart I would like to repeat Ondaatje's words: "Everything is collage, there is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly....
...we contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border we cross.'
One day with Julia...
One day in one city,
mystery abounds,
as you discover information
that you previously missed.
Or perhaps
someone
tells you
something
in strict confidence.
The question is,
can you keep a secret?
Julia from Western Australia
can keep a secret,
and her 8 years old son,
can keep it,
as well.
Her name is on everyone's lips,
she shares it
with the Australian Prime Minister,
and also red hair,
her age,
and she had an important job within an immigration department,
she had a partner,
until her breast cancer came in a way...
“I have a busy day,
today,
you have to stay
in after school care
until late,”
she told her son
when they left
their little house
tucked in Kalamunda Hills.
“ What is that?”
Her son points at a black bag
at the front seat
covering something
of a strange pear shape.
“Can you keep a secret?”, she turned her head
to wink at him,
when a kangaroo jumped in front of her front wheels.
She stopped
checking the damage
while her son carried the small kangaroo to her car
placing it gently into back seat:
“Mum, it is still alive.”
They stopped at the Wildlife Rescue Centre
hidden in a bush two streets away.
“In few days will be 'World Animal Day'
to celebrate the world's unique species,”
Astrid from the centre talked to them,
while examining its injured leg:
“Perhaps it should be called animal exploitation day,
we destroy their natural habitat
to feed and house every year
more and more people...
anyway she will be fine,
just needs few days to rest.”
“It's her,” her son patted her back:
“I used to keep a few lizards in my room,
I might keep her until she gets healthy
and then let her go...”
He turned to his mum,
who shook her head in a silent disapproval.
Astrid sighed and tucked her in a pre-sawn pouch:
“Don't worry, Michael, she will be fine here with others...”
He looked around,
at injured bush animals
covering every space in a small house.
“When I was young, I didn't like seeing anything,
killed or run over on the road,
so that's where it all started,”
Astrid caught his gaze and smiled:
“Can you keep a secret?”
He nodded and she whispered to his ear:
“I don't like keeping any animal in captivity any more,
I'm not saying that they shouldn't be kept but for me,
personally, no.”
Michael was sulky
all the way to the school,
once she stopped the car
he jumped out
without saying goodbye
running away from her.
“Michael, be reasonable, we can not keep kangaroos in our house.”
Julia shouted after him,
but he did not turn and she knew him well enough
to leave him be.
A silver haired man standing by
waved at her and she waved back
leaving the empty school car park
and her son at the gate.
Convicted pedophile Gilbert
approached the boy before he managed
to reach the school.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Michael nodded and followed the man to his house,
just few steps up the road.
In an email sent to a pedophile chat room later that day,
he wrote: 'My little 8-years-old loves to come here
to be cuddled, when he is researching kangaroos on my computer,
he always wants to sit on my lap where he stretches right out
and melts right away back into me...'
Julia drove to the Canning Vale Markets,
her hero was there,
Joel 'the Bird man's' passion for collecting
leftover fruits and vegetables for the needy
caught her eyes,
she came to help and get some free fresh produce
in return.
Joel had taught her many things,
mainly that anyone can be generous,
that opportunities for acts of kindness
present in our everyday lives,
we only need to notice them.
“Can you keep a secret?”
And he started to talk without waiting for her response,
once she approached his 'Cocky's Corner'.
“Julia, I have been asked either to pay for the bay or leave this space,
you work with department, you know the regulations,
there is no room there for charity, I am packing up today.”
“What are you going to do?” She asked evidently upset.
He piled her last box with fresh fruits and vegetables:
“Do not worry about me, Julia, people like me always find the way.”
Julia carried the box into the car and drove away,
tears appeared in her eyes when looking back
she saw Joel, the old man pushing his overloaded trolley
out of the market's gate.
She called her insurance and took her car for repair,
walking to her working place,
an administration role within her department,
with reduced hours and reduced pay.
“Can you keep a secret?”
The girl at opposite table approached her with red eyes,
“ I have been sacked, something to do with overstaffing,
you will be next.”
She called her ex partner
on her lunch time break
and he picked her up to take her
to some prestigious restaurant.
'The Rock Pool Bar & Grill
this year's Good Food Guide Restaurant of the Year '
The big sign greeted them at the door.
“ Perth diners love nothing else more
than dressing up for a good night out,” her ex partner remarked
watching a couple of formally dressed young men
with girls in their arms partying in a corner.
The one in a bright red shirt picked up a glass and smiled at them
when they choose the table to sit opposite.
“Some of us are lucky,” Julia smiled back
and picked up a glass full of water:
“starting partying about lunchtime.”
“They work at mines and are loaded with money,”
the young chef who appeared next to their table:
“Congratulation, mate,” her ex partner said pointing at the awards.
“It was a tough year with staff shortages, you see,”
he smiled: “I have to serve and cook, if I want to survive.”
Their ordered their favourite steaks
and ate in silence.
He offered her some money,
but she pushed them away:
“Michael needs his Father.”
“ How is he?
The Perth Royal Show is on, I will take him to pet pavilions,
is he still such an animal lover?”
“Worse than before, listen you should move back in, I am better now and he...”
“Can you keep a secret?” He continued without waiting:
“ I met someone, she is pregnant,
we are getting married, but don't worry I will pay...”
“I don't want your charity.” She stood up and went to look for toilet.
On the way she peeped into the busy kitchen.
The young chef winked at her:
“Can you keep a secret?”
He continued without stopping sizzling the stakes:
“When you cook from the heart,
you create this wonderful magic.”
“I try to remember that,” she smiled suddenly feeling much better.
One day in one city,
mystery abounds,
as you discover information
that you previously missed.
Or perhaps
someone
tells you
something
in strict confidence.
The question is,
can you keep a secret?
After work she stopped at King Edward Memorial Hospital
in a geriatric clinic
where her father was on dialysis
for kidney failure for diabetes.
Doctor Walter stopped her:
“Julia, we have to sent him back
to the Nursing Home,
if he likes it or not,
look around,
the number of geriatric patients we have...”
“ I will talk to him,” she sighed
opening the door to his room
ready for fight.
“Go and call your mother, she will take me home, I have enough of this shit,”
He shouted from bed
even before she closed the door behind her.
“Dad, you know that Mum is long time dead. You have to go back to the Nursing
Home.”
“Over my dead body, do you hear me!”
“Can you keep a secret, Dad?”
She tiptoed to his bed and whispered to his ear:
“ I have what mum died from, my partner left me
and maybe I will lose my job...
I have still Michael to look after
and you know Kelsey is in hospital too...
please Dad I can not take care of you.”
He was silent, but a big tear rolled over from his left eye.
Next day he moved back to his Nursing Home
where he,
in few weeks,
quietly died.
Julia went to see Doctor Barry,
an obstetrician at King Edward Hospital:
“Kelsey is doing well but she doesn't want to stick to her diet,”
He sat down at his desk and looked at her seriously with his tired eyes:
“ I saw today more than twenty older expectant mothers
with medical problems,
just like your sister,
diabetes, high blood pressure...obese, unfit
and they are bloody hard work
and they don't do so well in pregnancy.”
“I will talk to her,” she sighed and left his room.
She found her younger sister on her hospital bed
stuffing herself up with creamy donuts.
“Can you keep a secret, sister?”
She tiptoed to her bed and whispered to her ear:
“If you don't stop eating your baby will be born premature or stillborn,
your partner will leave you,
you will be too ill to work,
and you will loose your sister forever.”
She left the box of fresh green produce next to her sister's bed
and through the window
secretly,
she watched her sister swapping the creamy donuts for celery,
one by one.
Outside the hospital she went to pharmacy
to buy her pills.
28 years old Fay smiled at her
and wished her good day.
Julie went outside a
and breathed in the fresh Spring air,
an young dark guy pushed her
passing by,
she left without looking back.
A robber held a knife to Fay's abdomen
warning her
not to say anything
demanding drugs
and money.
But Julia has already
disappeared behind the corner.
She passed a court building
in front of it
stood Nyoongar elder
Mingli
shouting
that Aboriginal youth
out there are lost,
dealing with 200 years of racism
and disadvantage
much needed to be done
to turn the situation around.
Not far away loomed Banksia Hill Juvenile Centre
grey and threatening with high protective fence,
behind it dark angry faces
of young Aboriginal men.
She avoided their doomed stares,
there were no secrets hiding there.
On other street the Curtin Detention Centre
locking their numerous gates,
a row after row of immigration guards
entered the yard
worried
that detainees could take them hostage
or even stage a mass suicide
asylum seekers
increasingly desperate
about their plight.
Julia looked around but could not spot any of them out,
there were many secrets hidden there,
behind those thick walls,
on one side nameless, faceless people
and on other side HER....
One day in one city,
mystery abounds,
as you discover information
that you previously missed.
Or perhaps
someone
tells you
something
in strict confidence.
The question is,
can you keep a secret?
She returned to her working place
where an immigration official laughed to her face:
“What do you want me to say?
There are regulations we have to follow...”
Julia picked up her note she left at his desk:
“Having grown up in a country town near Perth,
in the 1960s,
where half of my classmates were Aboriginal or refugees,
it doesn't take long
to understand
how 50 years later
the divide between white and indigenous Australians
as well as boat people is still just the same.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
He winked at her:
“ We would be much better off without those
Aboriginals and refugees
messing up our way of life,
I can tell you that.”
Julia packed her things and left the building.
Passing a majestic modern building of a prestigious bank,
her eyes locked in a desperate eyes of poor old homeless man sitting in a corner.
She collected some coins and threw in his battered hat.
“Hey Miss, I don't want your dollar,
it has been devaluated, it has no value any more,”
he laughed opening his toothless mouth.
Julia stopped in a shock and he continued:
“ There is a reason I sit next to a bank,
I know what is happening,
can you keep a secret?”
He winked at her and said in a quiet voice:
“What you have now, doesn't mean you will have tomorrow.”
Then he started to laugh again.
Julia quickened her steps
and entered quickly the first door
to the public building.
It was the exhibition at the Hole,
in the Wall Gallery in Adelaide Street.
A surf art exhibition
dedicated to the adventurous spirit
of shark attack victims
of the Perth shores.
She suddenly thought about her son.
She called in to enquire about her car,
but it was not ready yet.
She had one more trip to make before she can go home.
Julia stopped a taxi passing by
and asked the young driver
to take her to the Sir Charles Gardner Hospital.
He introduced himself as Omar Didan,
an pharmacist from Lebanon,
who couldn't find a work.
“Can you keep a secret?”
He asked and then he sighed:
“It is completely different culture,
Anglo-Saxon culture,
very white, you have to learn to survive.”
Julia gave him some tips
and wished him good luck.
Getting off the car she noticed
the two men in suits and their women in dresses
from the restaurant talking to the driver.
The man in a red shirt holding a full bottle of whiskey
winked at her
while taking her seat.
She walked towards the hospital
when the taxi made U-turn leaving in high speed.
Half an hour later
Omar Didan was attacked
and robbed
after confronting a man
who threw a bottle at his car
while getting off at Epsom Avenue.
He was hit on the back of his head
and knocked to the ground.
Girls hold him down.
His bone was fractured underneath the eye
and there is a hole,
the eye socket is out of place.
He lost his eyesight.
The attackers stole his takings and ran away.
One day in one city,
mystery abounds,
as you discover information
that you previously missed.
Or perhaps
someone
tells you
something
in strict confidence.
The question is,
can you keep a secret?
Julia rubbed gently the old leather case
she was carrying around whole day
and knocked on the door of her surgeon.
Roshi Kamyab opened by himself
still dressed in his green surgical clothes:
“ Just finished a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction, j
just like yours.”
“May I come in?”
And before he managed to nod
she sat down next to window and opened her case.
The old guitar appeared in her lap.
She patted it gently.
“I used to play a lot in my teenager's years,”
Julia smiled shyly and then she said more confidently:
“Grateful Perth mother has penned a song
inspired by the surgeon who helped to save her life.”
The most sublime music
created on the spur of the moment
played on an old creaking guitar
filled whole space.
Her voice as she sang her song:
“ We are products of yesterday
and hope of tomorrow,
present is a gift,
and you gave it to me
back,
you healed my body
and I came
to heal your soul...”
“Isn't the life wonderful?”
The surgeon quietly said
when the silence filled the room.
She stood next to him
and they looked down at the sun slowly setting,
covering in its yellow glory
the beautiful Swan River and the sprawling city below.
“Sometimes, it is,” she agreed slowly.
“Can you keep a secret?”
He smiled again and continued without looking at her:
“ I was just a boy when we came here,
into completely different culture
where equality of masses was something to behold,
a dark boy with a strange Bengali name,
only one with dark skin,
there is a certain comfort you miss,
you are slightly at edge
because you are on other people's territory
and if you cross the line the consequences are...”
“ And what about now?”
“ This is the first time I am completely at ease in your country.” He smiled at her.
“ In our country.” She smiled back at him.
When she finally reached the after school care,
her son was the last one waiting there.
She ran to him and hugged him tightly.
He started to cry.
“What has happened to you?”
She asked pulling up his chin so she could see his eyes,
but he avoided her gaze:
“ It is a secret, I can not tell.”
She hugged him again:
“No more secrets to keep, do you hear me, no more secrets between us.”
“Do you mean it, really?” He asked wiping his tears.
She picked up his bag and get hold of his hand:
“ No more busy days
and no more after school care,
I promise,
and you know what?”
But her son stopped suddenly
noticing the silver haired man on the other side of the road.
“Can you keep a secret, mum?”
She watched his gaze and looked him straight into his eyes:
“ No more secrets, Michael,
you can tell me everything
I am your MUM.”
He looked scared and ashamed,
so she hugged him again:
“ You know what, if you tell me
everything,
we may take our injured kangaroo home to get better...”
Michael squeezed her hand
and told her
the secret of the white haired man.
One day in one city,
mystery abounds,
how many secrets
our city hides?
Only how many
we let it to hide...
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