Writing from tannin stained, ancient instinct.

When I write, I can't manufacture it. Its the creative motion for me. I am a bit like a experimental off-beat artist. I can't paint my words just for an audience. I mean I could, but then I would never write anything. Cause the desire would be lost.

I didn't know when I began this blog, that it would immerse me into story telling, especially my story. I didn't visualize this at all. I still have a lot to learn about writing. Its  teaching me extraordinary things about my self. It is revealing a strength I knew I had, but did not know how to use. 

Writing is intwined into our life. It's in our art and belief of being self sufficient, on the land, and in the health of our minds.

If you think I have been side tracked by recent posts. I haven't. It's all part of the creative life we are living. The landscape of our stories, our pathways, the mountains, the cities, the darkest dirt, the red dust, the smooth river stones and that silky, dark, earthy water that slides over them.

The narration of theatre, the idea as a thought, then an action, then a word, then many words. A story unfolds. You think of Irish limericks, think of aboriginal dream time stories, think of native America stories, think of African tales, think of all the novels and stories ever written. They all tell the stories of us. 

As our minds advance and unwind the plastic wraps of our current world. We delve to find purpose to live in a earthy, natural existence. To be balanced, to be loved. To be real. To find the truth of us.

Did I ever mention that Wayne is a poet, he writes poetry, or should I say he did.  He's a beautiful writer. I can't show you it here cause it's his words, they belong to him. His girls are beautiful writers too. We all have stories to tell. We all have ways to tell those stories. Through music, singing, dancing, song writing, art, photos, all of it story telling. The most basic need to express our pain, our meaning and emotion.

Went to a Mick Thomas gig ( Australian singer songwriter) last week with my husband and son. We took Jonah for his 11th birthday. It's been a long time, since putting on me jeans and boots with a little money in my back pocket. Getting a bit sweaty with some boot stomping. It was just right for us. Old hall, supper supplied and a few beers. 

Jonah loved it. He got to see his first Aussie music gig, His first drunk chick, his first scent of smokey clothes, bought his first launch CD, his first taste of beautiful live singing story telling. You could see the intense look on his face, and utter fascination with this new world, and with the intoxicated lady, as her hands tried to clap together but kept missing each other. He wanted to know what was wrong with her as she did the slanting moon step...... We told him she had drunk too much. "Ohhh" he said. His little mind ticking over.

Yesterday Up in the mountains Jonah and Mana watched a outdoor play of Romeo and Juliet. Wow, what a story. Jonah's comment was how many people Romeo killed and Mana's was that they fell in love and Romeo wasn't allowed to kiss Juliet on the lips. Yep.........


And so, an ancient interpretation has begun from a shakespearian play. Just like the tannin stained water tells a story across the the pebbles it flows across.