Showing posts from September, 2014

When words come to life poem film screening

Last month I spent a few days in the media resource centre turning one of my poems into a short film, one of eight winners of the When words come to life competition run by mindshare. 
The films are ready for viewing, and some of the poems will be read aloud - I won't be there, but my film will be shown. Get along and see it if you can! 

The HeadRead poetry readings
Hear the entrants of the When Words Come to Life Poetry Competition read their poems and watch the screening of short films made by the winners. Dust off your inner bohemian and come join us! Wednesday 8th October, 6pm – 8pm The Coffee Pot Located above Zamels in Rundle Mall, enter via stairway off James Place, look for the chalkboard sign.

on being gathered and anointed, meditating on the Deep Wisdom

The set, the songs, the interjected drama and the very names given to the oh-so-familiar characters : I am Mark is a new interpretation of the gospel according to Mark (an Applecart production). A new interpretation that seeks meaning in the story for our time. A new interpretation that forces those for whom this is so familiar to hear this story as if for the first time.

Jesus is the Crowd Gatherer, who gathers crowds intentionally and incidentally, and welcomes the crowds when he would rather withdraw to 'meditate on the Deep Wisdom'. Oh, the language - I was in such delight!
The Crowd Gatherer gathers in 'Echoes of the Ancient Tribes', confronts the 'Religious Weights', opposes the 'Great Invader' and his 'President', and, in the end, 'gathers himself' in anticipation of gathering all that lives.

Mark tells the story, helped by friends who sing and tell stories, too. Mark is imagined to be the one stripped naked in the garden as the …

the journey north. part two.


By the window, two men alongside, strangers, fellow travellers, the dam was ready to burst.
I want to go home.
This is going to be too hard.
As the screen shows us flying over Germany, Luxembourg, the Channel then England, I want to scream - turn around, go back, I am too far away from home.

An uncomfortable hour, busyness of customs, check in, freshening up and finding a beer … my bag is not lost; I am allowed into the UK, no hitch, no excess luggage fee, friendly check in assistant (and I remember the friendly check in assistant of six years ago here in Birmingham airport, who loved us Aussies, fell apart when I said no worries and lost it completely when my friend handed over her passport - your name is Kylie?! Some Brits really love us Aussies. Thanks Neighbours and Home and Away, you're good for something, at least) … the satisfying cchhh of the beer opening and it is cold; more friendly people, and, for now, I am happy to go the final stage of this journey north, t…

the journey north. part one.


It is a strange day - calm, without last minute panic, and also without impatient, bubbling joy.
Well, the preceding two and half weeks had been strange, so why would this day be any different? This, the last of the waiting days, last of the days of rest, enforced by maddening mistakes and miscommunications.
I ticked the wrong box. Yes, I thought, I am a student on a scholarship, so that would be the box to tick. They will see in my evidence that I will pay my way on scholarships, small ones, cobbled together, and the last one offered just at the moment I was about to withdraw and change direction. So I ticked the scholarship box, though in the last minute stressful fog I did not see that this was, in fact, the wrong box. I would have known I wouldn't fit. When do I ever fit in predetermined boxes?
Minister, single, female, many piercings and a tattoo. Admittedly I am not the only one breaking open the minister box with gender and jewellery.
Or student, adding languages…

two walkers and a sleepless poet bear witness to the morning

they have climbed
Arthur's seat for the moment
the sun will peek
over the horizon as we
turn, and turn, forever
rolling around a universal clock
face, so slowly we don't notice,
so quickly we would like to stop,
for the moment, take the photo,
flash an image to the memory,
press pause, rewind, and play
the moment over in our mind,
when we walked, when we talked,
when we took our time, were not
fools of time or fortune,
hung as if in the middle of the air
and we were there - not coming
and not going, we were there,
and we bore witness to the sun,
to the turning of the earth.
we were there.

does the church perpetuate a hierarchy of relationships?

A response to the Uniting Church in Australia’s discussion paper on marriage
In recent months, I have been writing a response to the Uniting Church in Australia’s discussion paper on marriage, specifically from the perspective of a single person. I could have offered my opinion on whether or not same gender marriages should become part of the tradition – for the record, I look forward to the day I can preside at such a wedding as a Uniting Church minister (Val Webb offers a response focussing on the same gender marriage issue here) – but there was another set of questions burning hotter for me in response to the interpretation of the biblical story the is offered in the discussion.  As I have given shape to my response to this very specific element of the discussion, I have been grateful for open, honest conversations with other single folk in the Uniting Church and other traditions. This is what I have submitted to the national conversation on marriage.  As a preface to my comments, I w…

end of a season, a season of radical welcome

today is my last day as a congregational minister with belair uniting church, and i'm trying to decide how i feel.

it is a loss, a grieving - i will miss these folk who have become so dear, with whom i have shared life from a very privileged position. the role of a minister in a community of faith is one of privilege - in the way of profound gift. people share their stories with you; their hopes, dreams, fears, doubts. you are a safe person, a trusted person, with whom people make themselves vulnerable, and who expect of you the same openness and vulnerability. you are 'theirs' and they are 'yours'. through our goodbyes, i heard, 'i am here because of you', 'i will miss you,' i have been so grateful for our conversations', 'can i buy you coffee to say thank you', 'i am sad you won't be our minister any more', 'you have taught me so much, changed my thinking'.
in some ways, i think the church is not entirely sure …

Be inspired for the Advent Christmas season


of waiting and not leaving yourself behind

And suddenly I do not feel as if I am going anywhere at all any more.

I had been booked on flights from Adelaide to Edinburgh, leaving Monday just gone. I was ready to go - perhaps not in the practicalities, but I would have got it all done, the adrenaline pumping energy for the constructing of a storage shed and filling it with the 50 or so boxes not going with me to Scotland, final packing of my bags, washing and storing of sheets and quilt and pillow … But I was ready, emotionally, soulfully, cognitively, for the realising of a long-held dream, the living into the goal to pursue a PhD exploring the performance of biblical stories.

By Friday last week, however, I still had not received my passport back with my student visa inside, and so I called the travel agent and postponed departure by a week. Hanging up from that conversation was like flicking the off switch. The adrenaline stopped pumping. Energy levels plummeted. I stopped.

In all honesty, the gift of this delay was a chance …