Saturday Afternoon Crawl

It's boiling hot in the car. She swings into a parking bay,switches off the engine and looks around. Her eyes are drawn to a young 'hip' couple. He, pale dreadlocks, cool sunglasses and tattoos, unpacking a mountain bike from the back of his truck. She, already strapped into rollerblades, tanned, also tattooed and wearing a short tight skirt with flat tanned midriff proudly on show. She notices that they are not a couple but rather a trio and smiles at the pink tongue hanging out of their friendly dog's face. The dog is tethered and ready for a race around the lake.

She groans out loud at the thought of moving that fast. She flips the lid on the center console and digs around for her Walkman radio. She untangles the cord of her 20 year old walking companion and anxiously flicks the "ON" button. She fumbles the ear phone into her ear and smiles for the second time. It works! Well it's battered, but it works and she's hanging on to it because it picks up AM radio stations.

There is no delaying it now. It's time to get out of the car and get walking. Another groan escapes as she ambles to the path. The couple with the dog whizz by in a whirl. She watches them speed further and further away until they are just specks. They disappear out of sight and are replaced by a steady stream of speedsters on bikes, running, jogging and rollerblading.

A young woman shouts "Bike!" loudly in her ear and whizzes by. She mentally flips the bird in the direction of the rapidly disappearing girl. That makes her feel better and she smiles her third smile.

She thinks "I am so slow. I can feel my blood cells sticking together lazily, as they oozily bump into each other".

But then she notices the wind in the trees, the Willy Wag-Tails on the wire fence and the cool avenue of shady trees stretching out before her. She leaves her weary slow methodical walking body and is transported.

An old favorite song comes on the radio. She picks up the pace. She smiles and nods to passersby. There are too many smiles to count now. She is in the zone. She notices the water, the swans and the ducks and the pleasant change in temperature that the branches overhanging the path bring. She looks forward to the next shade zone and the next.

Up ahead is the ramp that leads to the bridge that spans the Freeway. Her legs take her up there. She has never been off the path before, so this is unexpected. She admires the sky blue sky and the tall bright white arches of the bridge.

Traffic streams underneath her and she is unnerved. At the other side she sees a wide expanse of lawn and a cricket pitch. To the side is a large shady tree with a bench underneath it. She makes a "B" line for it. Nearby she spies a rather large lizard lying quietly on the grass. She creeps up only to find a torn shred of leopard skin patterned polyester. A shiver runs through her as she imagines how it came to be there. What violent or lustful action has taken place on that bench she wonders? She turns on her heel and makes her way back over the bridge and back to her car. The couple with their friendly dog has long gone. She eases herself into the driver's seat, turns off the Walkman, and flings it into the console ready for next time. No small wonder it's battered she thinks.

The Temple as Cage

I don't know why in this white sunlit hour, a tiny bird

flies in the temple I'm visiting
flits ledge to ledge in circles in the ceiling
confused by green paint, wondering where it is.
High electric lamps flood the altar with white light.
Sensing daylight, the bird darts toward them
then quickly back to ceiling time and again.

As I look on and wonder, a monk enters, bows three times,

begins striking a moktak, chanting sacred sound,
the blessed names of Arhat and Buddha.
People come, leave money, fruit, rice and go.
The bird flies ledge to lamp and though now frantic
for the freedom of mountain air, 'til it knows all light
is not sun or sky, the temple is a cage.

I want to tell you I am like the bird or you are: blinded by

false illuminations, but I won't bore you with parables,
we have so many, for what reason I cannot say, nor tell
for what good: they barely dent the surface of the sorry world.
I could tell you the bird is your soul, but that isn't so.
I could risk a metaphor and say the bird is your mind,

but you are already resting on that limb too, no, the bird is

a winged thing that turned on hollow-boned dinosaur wings
into a temple, by accident, cause and effect, maybe both
or maybe it has come to guide all winged creatures
to a day when they too will find peace and liberation--
It appears more imprisoned by its own ignorance
much as I am, making long flights over water and land
The lazy Bodhisattva, blinded by wanderlust and poems

False light and illusions one can never call home.

Rayn Roberts. Korea, 2005
The Poem first appeared in "Of One and Many Worlds", Poetic Matrix Press, 2006.

As Fate Would Have It Or You Would Have It?

In Korea, it seems there are the Christians, the Buddhists, and those that profess no belief in anything. I am amazed with the many who rely on superstitions and fortune tellers to confirm their choices, like finding a floating message in a bottle. In many different versions of belief systems, there is much written about the importance of having a clear mind and vision for yourself. You are the result about what your think about.

In Korea, I have been fortunate enough to do nearly everything on my list, save one thing. That was to visit the artist and writer's colony in Andong. I am so close to it, and yet so far away, the problem is, I can get there, but I have no way to get back. So I chose not to go. That kind of bit me in the butt, cancelling twice because of transportation. However, I can't really be too upset over this. Instead of a week up at Andong, I wrote my little heart out during my 'vacation', which was more like being fused to my keyboard, having writing marathons that left me with as little as two hours of sleep. When I get those 'brain fevers' I loose comprehension of time and sometimes you manage to scrape together some jewels out of the whole journey.

There was a time where I was obsessed with misspelled words, messages on t-shirts that seemed to scream at me to take action. Some of these messages pushed my internal buttons, igniting rages of thought and writing. My own explorations into what I perceived as a deadening of our brains. I was enraged. Had we, as a human race, lost our ability to imagine anything anymore? Even the tag, got under my skin. The contradictions in our society, "Be your own brain; Take to Trend" made me want to start a revolution within myself. How can a writer be original if they only follow trends? Imagination is the most underrated ability we can possess.

Today, I felt like the picture above, "Spew Out Your Worries". Today, I received my working papers for China. I have been officially hired by a University to start teaching in February. I have tried and mostly succeeded in couching those worries. My chief worry, was not about the job. My chief worry was being to continue my writing on my blog, The Lotus Sutra Chronicles, and the other writing projects I have agreed to do. It was with immense relief that I found several other expatriate blogs based in China. I still managed to jump up and down with excitement holding these "work papers". I know what this journey is going to mean for me. I made a huge leap of faith and caught on to the cliff's edge and I am going for it.

The way I look at it is simple. We can line up waiting to have our fortunes told, putting our faith in a complete stranger's words. The other option is to stop and listen to ourselves. The truth about who we are is already inside of us. Spew out your worries and realize that no one else can tell a story the way you can. I don't want to encourage anyone to follow my path. There is an incredible beauty in your own path, and yes, that means spewing your guts once in a while to have courage. Not through fate, but through faith (and hard work).

Writer Capital "W": Intro to Lisa

Lisa aka EcoYogini

Hello! I am so honoured to have been asked to be a part of this sharing and supportive space.

Honestly, I was completely surprised by the concept. "Me? be part of a Writers' group?? But... I'm not a Writer capital W..." It's strange that I'd think this of myself, as with a bit of reflection I realized that at one point in my life I had wanted to be a Writer.

A Canadian, through and through, I grew up in a tiny lobster fishing village in Southern Nova Scotia (population 500, well 499 now). As a child I grew up a part of two very disparate cultures- Acadian (think "cajun" origins, with more French) and Anglophone. Attending a non-private/sorta selective Acadian elementary and highschool completely shaped the person I am today. Heritage and culture are so incredibly a part of who I am and family means everything.

I loved to write and sadly was an odd enough little person that the social trappings of school from primary to 12 were always difficult. As a result, I read and wrote. I remember writing a "book" complete with chapters and "art" in grade five about a trip to New Zealand (which I researched extensively using my encyclopedia... yep I was a nerd). Sadly that saga was not published...

After high school I moved to New Brunswick and quickly learned that English Lit was not for me. I also learned that my writing was terrible... and worked hard to perfect the whole "psychological" way of writing. I graduated with an Honours in Psychology and a minor in French and left my writing dreams firmly behind.


Afterwards I moved to Montreal and completed a Masters in Speech-Language Pathology. This city (and the subsequent crazy love quests and culture) inspired an outburst of creative songwriting. I wrote my favourite melodies and lyrics while alone in my tiny room on Rue Papineau. How I adored Montreal.


Cue a move to central British Columbia (the Okanagan) in which I got a "big girl's job" and I realized that I need the ocean. Two years of living surrounded by overpowering, claustrophobia inducing mountains and I am happily back in Nova Scotia. Breathing in the salty air and feeling the thick mist of the fog on my face. Love.



Along the way I realized that I should have been more of an activist and as a result, EcoYogini was created. I love yoga, although am not so great at it and have other spiritual leanings (Goddessian) and I feel very strongly about the environment. Lille from Woodstock Lily, found me here and since has been so completely supportive of some light of Writer in there that I cannot even begin to know where to thank her.


Lisa in a blog-post. :)


Many Blessings and hope I can nurture this fledgling Writer!

A New Way to Create Book Buzz

Since the release of my novel, "Husbands May Come and Go but Friends are Forever," I've been researching non-traditional ways to promote. I've found a new tool called the Social Media Release (SMR). It replaces the old standard press release and the distribution is quite different. For more information, a sample, and some helpful sites, go to my website www.judithmarshall.net and click on my blog.

Be careful what you ask the Universe

Hey, Sharni again - thought I'd share a story I wrote a little while ago regarding a terrifying experience I had - wonder if anyone else has experienced anything like this - and how did they react? I laughed -- out of sheer terror ....

I was going to add a picture here to accompany this - but couldn't find one appropriate...

........Scary Moments...

About three years ago I was down on the ground in the foetal position praying for my life.

Three armed bandits equipped with a gun, a machete and a sledge hammer were standing over some twenty of us drinking in the beer garden at an upmarket hotel in Double Bay in Sydney.

A few seconds earlier we'd heard them shouting “Get down on the F****** ground ” , enforcing the command with a gunshot.

How had I ended up in this mess?

Only three days earlier I left the one horse town I was living in for a brief return to Sydney Town where I had been working and living for several years.

As I packed my overnight bag I was wondering whether this trip might make me feel that I should shut up shop in my quiet little town and return to big-city action.

My first two days were filled with lunches, theatre, clubbing and other twenty-something amusements so on Sunday night after a frantic day of shopping my best Sydney buddy Carly and I retreated to her Rose Bay home to chill out in front of the television.

Time somehow disappeared and at 10.30pm we were still rolled up in our blankets on the couch.

At that point we turned to each other and laughed “Are we grandmas? What are we doing at home, we don’t have to work tomorrow! Lets get amongst it! ”

So after tossing the dice over several likely establishments, as fate would have it we decided on the Sheafe in Double Bay and took a cab to New South Head Road.

At this time of night the hotel is normally overflowing with swanky party people, but we noticed it was oddly quiet.

Perhaps the Universe was trying to warn us?

We ordered some vinos and made our way out to the beer garden to have a relaxing drink with a dozen or so other patrons , some of whom appeared to have been there all day.

Suddenly the quiet buzz of the garden was broken by the most horrific shouting.

My first thought was that it was just a drunken fool – but I turned around to see a vision that hasn't left me yet : three masked men – one yelling “ Get down on the ground” .

At first everyone thought it was just bad street theatre and continued drinking.

“This is not a f---- joke” the bandit yelled and fired a gun to ensure we took him seriously.

Carly and I dropped to the ground clutching each other's hands and falling into the foetal position.

I've watched scenes like this on television, but my real-life reaction was a little less predictable.

Certainly tears were rolling down my face but, probably out of complete hysteria, Carly and I were both
laughing uncontrollably .

At the same time I was thinking how I still had stuff I wanted to do with my life , how much my body was going to suffer when they shot or stabbed me and and, oh God, how I didn’t want to die.

I was thinking of the Columbine Massacre (this was the day before the Virginia Tech one) and suddenly felt empathy with those victims.

At this point I was not seeing this was as a pub robbery – if something went wrong I knew I could be involved in a massacre.

My life and those important to me flashed before my eyes.

I told Carly I loved her and then started praying for my life, all the time in some sort of hysterics.

The sheer terror had us reacting in the strangest ways.. “If they catch us laughing, pretend we are crying” Carly hissed at me.

My heart was racing, my mind was thinking a million things at once.

I could hear the guy lying on the floor next to me calling the police on his mobile, and I was worried that the bandits would include us in their reprisal if they heard him.

If you asked me how long we were down there I couldn’t tell you, but after what seemed years Carly said to me “It’s Ok you can get up now” .She was certainly the calm one of us in this scenario; I was still frozen on the ground.

“How do you know?” I asked as I warily popped my head up.

Then I realised that people were standing once again and that the police and paramedics had arrived.

We learnt later that the bandits had put a knife to the barman’s throat and forced the hand-over of the contents of the safe.

The three had escaped through a getaway car stationed out the back of the beer garden.

Never in my life had I needed a reviving a drink so much.

Talk about sneaking back into Sydney for a quiet holiday!

The question I had put to the Universe: “Should I return to Sydney?” was answered.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have packed so much emotion into that question: a little symbolic sign would have sufficed.

Hello and Goodbye

Hello everyone. I realized that I asked each and everyone of you to write an intro and include a picture and I never really did that. For those of you who don't know, my name is Katherine Jenkins, but most call me Kathy. I just turned 40 this year. I was born in Bellevue, Washington. I've been writing since I was 10 years old when I received a Little Twin Stars diary from my mom for Christmas....that was 1979. Since then, I have a diary for almost every year of my life. Writing was survival for me for a very long time. Whenever I had a problem or a question or an idea or whatever, I'd write in my journal. My journal was my friend. In high school, I won Outstanding Journalist of the Year and continued to write for the newspaper in college and published some of my poetry back then. I've always been afraid to share my writing, so I've kept it in closets all these years. In January 2009, I decided to come out of the closet and I created my blog, Lessons from the Monk I Married. Yes, I married a former Korean Buddhist monk.


Namaste!-Biking on Lopez Island in Washington State July 4th 2009

My story is a little unusual, so sometimes it's hard for me to tell....but I feel compelled to tell that story and that journey. Several chapters of my book Lessons from the Monk I Married, appear on my blog. So if you are wondering how I ended up in Korea and married to a monk, you can read about it here http://www.lessonsfromthemonkimarried.blogspot.com/. After living in Asia for 10 years, Korea for 8 and Japan for 2, I moved back to the United States with my husband in 2006. I teach ESL at a local community college and my husband is a yoga teacher in the Seattle area. I spend my days surrounded by people from every corner of the globe. In my classes, which just finished this quarter, I had students from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Korea, Japan, Mexico, Honduras, El Salvador, Haiti, Somoa, Thailand, Brazil, Mexico, Congo, Nigeria, Iran, Iraq, Vietnam, Cambodia, Russia, Ukraine....well the list really goes on..


I feel, in this life, I want to expand, share, open and understand people from all different walks of life. While I love to create and expand, I also find a need to retreat and gain energy. The world moves so fast these days and I feel a necessity to unplug and stop at times. Tomorrow I will be gone for 10 days of silent meditation.........but please, carry on with your conversations here...I think it is sooo wonderful and I'm so happy to meet all of you here. We really do have a fantastic group of authors. I look forward to catching up on all the reading on this blog when I get back on December 20th. Peace to you all, Kathy