Still, I invite you to visit by Blogger site. It’s called Dharma Dreaming: A Writer’s Life. The link is:  http://dharmadreaming.blogspot.com/Kind of similar name to this one, don’t you think? Mental of me I know, but there you are. None of us are completely sane and rational all the time. Please do visit my other blog.

Meanwhile, thank you and Peace to all and everyone.

When you read the poem, you will realise that my father was a Vietnam veteran. An officer in the Australian Army, he went to Vietnam the first time in 1966. Originally he was a part of what they called the ‘Training Team’. A fairly innocuous name for a group of army regulars whose job it was to teach other people to kill. And all the arts associated with that wonderful skill.

My father was in Army Intelligence. He was into the anti- insurgency, psychological warfare, counter terrorism, side of things. Was he involved in ‘torture’ and other ‘interrogation’ activites? The simple answer would be, of course: he was an army officer at war, and in Intelligence. But to what extent, who knows? My guess has been that he saw and did what you might think he saw and did.

Anyway, before long he was running what they called the Civil Affairs Unit which had the job of ‘winning hearts and minds’. In other words, their role was to play nice guy to the local people: build schools, clinics, take kids of chopper rides to the zoo. All that kind of stuff. Looks good on the surface, but it wasn’t done with the best of motives. Unless you’re at war that is. The idea of course was to get the locals onside, get them talking, passing information, rejecting the ‘enemy’. The ‘enemy’ being the Vietnamese people fighting for their country against the invasion forces of the US, Australia, and heaps of other countries.

I was 12 when he went. My father. He was away that first time for just over a year. At the time I didn’t know any better, and being a loyal kind of kid (I’m now a loyal kind of adult; only difference is I’m now loyal to other things), I supported my Dad and what he was doing. Natural really.

It wasn’t really until he came back that I started to change my ideas. He was so screwed up, so angry, violent, sad and just weird, that how could he have been in a good place doing a good thing. Of course, over the next couple of years I really started to watch and listen more critically to the news, to other people, to what was going on. By 15, I was a committed pacifist and campaigner for peace. I’ve never wavered in either commitment. Mind you, I’m  not perfect and I have been pretty screwed up by how I was treated within my family (and what happened to the other members of my family). I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is not as bad as it used to be. But, to cut a long story short, I have dealt out my own share of anger and violence. Not now though. I’m a lot better now, as I said.

Well, a few years ago,  a poem emerged: It’s a ‘Nam Thing. It’s an angry piece, as you will see should you choose to read it. But someone once told me it was the most powerful anti-war poem they had ever read. I’m not sure I would agree with that, but I hope it does serve as some kind of contribution to the efforts for peace.

That’s all I will say (it’s quite enough I think!). Here is the poem. Comment if you like. I would appreciate that.

IT’S A ‘NAM THING

My father, many times he hit me.

But, hey, it’s a ‘Nam thing

My father hurt my sisters.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father, he beat my mother.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father had a shrink at 150 an hour.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father tried to get sane.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, he kept his demons.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father used to run for trains.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, one day thought he was late.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father ran hard for his train.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

My father caught that train, of course.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, his heart attacked him.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.

My father, on that train he died.

But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing

            Hobart Tasmania

            19 February 2003

 I offer this with love and in hopes of peace.

Kind of redundant this site right now, I suppose. I basically went for the Blogger site because I could put on Google ads. Which is a bit stupid: so far I’ve made more or less nothing. But the hope is there isn’t it? I’m not sure if it will ever work, but who can say about such things? I feel kind of like I’m prostituting my work and my truth; I’m not sure it’s bad enough to chop it off altogether, but we’ll see. I would appreciate some comments about this issue as it is a dilemma for me.

Anyway, that’s enough for now. Please visit my Blogger blog. I do like this one better though: you can have multiple pages (you can there too, but it’s EXTRAORDINARILY complicated for me), so I guess over time I might be able to have the two work together. Trouble is lately I’ve been very tired: I’m having my heart checked at the moment, which is taking months and a lot of anxiety. But I’m not complaining: I don’t think it’s a major deal. Just explaining my level of distraction I guess.

And I thank all who visit this blog for their visit, for their time, and for their interest.

Peace to you all.

I was reading the weekend paper today (typically full of the bad stuff) and came across a profile of a journalist who has just written a book about his adventures as a ‘foreign correspondent’. For a little context, this journalist is from a western European country and has spent time working in Africa and the Middle East.

The piece begins with a report of some of the advice this guy received when he first ‘fell into’ journalism. I quote it more or less directly. And I hope any potential readers of my blog (there aren‘t many so far are there?) will not associate the views expressed with me. I find the attitude reflected in what I’m about to quote extremely offensive and repugnant. In fact, I think in some places making these views public is (rightly) illegal. Anyway, here is the quote:

‘Stumbling into Africa as a young foreign correspondent (the name is withheld by me of course) consulted a colleague in his head office about how to rank news. The reply was frank, but brutal: “If it bleeds, it leads“. The colleague even offered a formula: “Divide the number of deaths by the number of kilometres from home (that is, the European country they worked from); dead whites are bigger news than dead blacks or Asians, and dead Christians are bigger news than dead people of other faiths.”‘

There followed a reference to a particular religious and national group that I find so offensive I can’t bring myself to actually type it. But I think the message is clear from what I have quoted.

Of course there has to be some sort of criteria for reporting news, or when choosing what to write about. We all have our own set of rules or guidelines-either imposed by employers or developed by our own experience and priorities. The advice given to the journalist seems quite harsh and cynical. But it does seem to be the way in which a lot of news is reported in the “West”. I use the quotes because I always find such terms problematical. It’s all about ”them and us”, whoever we are or they are.

In a way I guess that’s the principle behind the formula quoted above: clearly the quote is from someone who is probably white, from the West and has been around too long! But what other options are there? How else is the Media to choose what to report? And of course the really BIG question, why should they do it any differently? If it ‘ain’t broke why fix it. Right?

I don’t want to get into a rave about the crisis facing many of the mainstream media outlets around the world (or rather in the ‘west’): I’m not qualified to make such judgements. But two things struck me when reading the paper today: one, the horror is on every page. Not just as in reporting of the facts and so on. It’s funny how we writers often claim to be objective and only interested in reporting the facts, but so much of what you read in the papers (or watch on TV news) seems to dwell on certain gruesome or sensational aspects of a story, while at the same time neglecting some other aspects that, while just as relevan to a balanced story, don’t have quite the same shock or scandal or horror value.

The other thing that struck me as i leafed through sections of the paper and accompanying magazines, was the number and size of advertisements for consumer goods ranging from luxury cars, fashion (including a full page ad for a department store selling a shirt and shorts for men for several hundred dollars…my partner thought the ad was saying get your man to get rid of his scruffy clothes by going to…the store. Then she saw the prices in small print), furniture, cruising. on and on. I am not suggesting that advertising is bad, nor am I saying that newspapers have ever been any different. After all, without advertising, how can they survive? They are businesses after all.

And of course haven’t newspapers and other media always reported war, violence, horror, scandal and so on? Seems like nothing’s changed. But, maybe that’s the problem: readers are being swamped by advertising for luxury and other material goods at a time when there is supposed to be a global financial crisis, at the same time as being overwhelmed by news that seems to be nothing but a repetitive regurgitation of all the horrors.

If you don’t like violence, horror, scandal, and repetition of same, and you don’t like being bombarded with advertising for stuff you either don’t want, or do want and can’t afford, then why would you continue to read the paper/watch the TV program/visit the website/whatever?

Is the solution going to be found in cutting the ads and reporting ‘good news’? Maybe. But that seems to be too simplistic to me. I guess one of the huge benefits of the Internet is that you can find both the bad and the good on it. Maybe over time, the good will get a bigger audience than the bad and the advertisers will follow that lead. Of course there is always the fact that some people do like the blood and gore, the scandal and titillation, the war and killing. So there will always be suppliers to meet that demand.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am growing more impatient with the bombardment of bad news, advertising, hype, noise. Mind you, I think a lot of people are; problem is, a lot of people just won’t say anything. Maybe they’re the ones not buying the newspapers, turning off certain TV shows. Who knows?

I am no airy fairy ”new age” dreamer; I don’t pretend that life would be perfect if we only had good news in the media. That would not be real life; it would not be a true reflection of the way the world is, they way we are. But perhaps a criteria which begins with some other guide than If it bleeds, it leads might be a good start in shifting the balance a little.

I only write the truth; I’ve already done a post on just this topic. But the actual words, Dharma Dreaming are interesting. The Dharma of course is a word you find in Buddhism and it refers to the teachings of Buddha or, to put it another way that is to my liking, the laws of the universe. Same thing really… in a manner of speaking. Easy to see how this might apply to the blog of a writer who is seeking to find and to tell the truth.
Dreaming is also interesting. Of course there is the obvious meaning related to the kinds of dreaming we all do when asleep (or sometimes when we’re awake!). In the context of the blog title, if we are to use this meaning it’s saying that I have a dream (to steal a phrase) that I can find and tell the truth.
In its other meaning, Dreaming is the more correct term for the Dream Time of Australia’s Indigenous peoples. It, as with Dharma, refers to the law of the universe; it also encompasses the story of a people or culture … or an individual. For example, if you were to make a scrapbook or a photo album that you believed contained the full story of your family history, then you can say: ‘This is my family’s Dreaming’. That isn’t a terrific or totally accurate example, but I think you get the drift.
So, Dreaming here for the purposes of this blog is the attempt to explore the truth in the context of my own personal story as a writer … of course this is going to be in the context of my life story. Also there is an element of my resolve to stick with the Dreaming as in the law of the universe.
All this sounds very grand doesn’t it? It’s not meant to. It is simply the convoluted and even confused explanation by this writer and dreamer.
thank you for reading this.
Peace!

NOTE: There may be some people who might take offence at my interpretation of the term Dreaming (or other of my writings of course). Any offence caused is of course entirely unintended. At the same time I apologise unreservedly to anyone genuinely offended by what I have written regarding this sacred and important concept and tradition. I am naturally open to any feedback regarding this issue. I have only attempted to make an explanation from my own feelings and all I do is motivated by a genuine search for truth and a desire to do right by all beings. Thank you

The new name is somehow more apprropriate for this blog. It (this blog) is a component in my search for truth by way of the written word. And we all have a Dreaming, as in the Australian indigenous meaning of the word: a story that is ours, a place within the many and varied contexts we move in and within the cosmos itself. It’s also about the ‘law’ we live by; the ‘lore’ which informs our existance and our own truth. Our own personal Dharma.

I haven’t chnanged the URL for this blog as you will see. The reason for this is that I would have to move everything to a new blog with the new name and new URL. I did this…to a point. But none of the more subtle changes are carried over. I will eventually get to it, but as I have a hard enough time even writing posts here, I thought it could wait.

Please comment on the new name. A DharmaDreaming is not only a personal thing: it functions as a universal concept too.

Peace!

Anyway, one of the features of this book are the essays in front of the novel itself. They are by all sorts of Kerouac scholars, literary types etc, and they give some interesting new perspectives on this very famous, very cool and life-changing novel (as well as others by Kerouac such as The Dharma Bums, Big Sur and others). In one of the essays there is a quote from Kerouac’s diary or from a letter he wrote (I forget which):

“There is nothing to do but write the truth. There is no other reason to write.”

That’s what he said, and to me it seems a pretty succinct way of putting my own writing philosophy (well, a part of my writing philosophy at least).

Kerouac’s quote says two things. First, writing the truth is the only thing to do. And, second, writing the truth is the only reason to write. The conclusion one could draw from this is that all of his writing was true, or the truth. Of course, as we know, Kerouac wrote novels (among other things: his poetry is pretty wild also) about his own and his friends’ adventures and lives as part of what became known as the Beat Generation of the late 1940s and 1950s. And, as one who has read the biographies, I know that what he wrote in his novels wasn’t always factual: he made stuff up, invented characters and events and so on. Just like any novelist does.

You notice I said his writing wasn’t always factual. That’s not to say he wasn’t writing the truth. Another of Kerouac’s quotes (again I have no idea of the exact source, sorry) says, “The truth is the way consciousness really digs everything that happens.” In other words the truth is in the eyes of the beholder. Anyone who has read Kerouac will tell you that he always went for the essence of whatever was going on; he was very intense, always open and looking for the heart of the matter – and the people, places and goings on he was involved with.

Now, if that essence of heart of the matter stuff had to be dressed up or disguised for whatever reason, then it was okay as long as it, to quote from another quote (the author of which I have long since forgotten. I collect quotes but often lose the bits of paper I wrote them on), “serves some notion of truth”.

There is obviously room for manipulation here isn’t there? What if I as a writer tell you that what I’ve written is true, and I lead you to believe that this ”true” means factual? It’s easy to do and it’s done all the time (no need for me to point out the litany of literary hoaxes from over the years that gets trotted out in discussions of this sort). And, the manipulation may not necessarily be deliberate: I could by innocent omission give the impression that what I’ve written is fact. Again, it’s been done.

What it boils down to for me is pretty much what I refer to in the description at the top of this blog: we are all searching for truth, artists perhaps more than most people. but the only truth we can ever know is that which comes from our own exploration of ourselves and the world. It doesn’t matter how we dress it up or in what terms we define it or whatever; all that matters is that it is our truth. And that we are honest with ourselves too. If we are honest with ourselves, then we are by default being honest with our readers (if we are lucky enough to have readers that is). As writers, as artists, that’s all that is required of us. Like Kerouac says, let your own unique consciousness really dig exactly what happens.
Thanks!

And there’s no use in me promising here and now that it’s all going to change; that suddenly I will be a good blog poster. All I will say is, I will try. I will try to think more of the important and less of the urgent; I will try to focus on the things with meaning and let the meaningless crap pass me by. I will try. Trying is trying as my partner would tell me, and has told me many times. Time to just do it.