Sigh, I am an adult. I like the sense that I am able to choose my behaviour, and be responsible as a grown up. I don’t like that I gasped dramatically upon entering my child’s room and seeing this. 
She heard me, and came running. She had taken down all of her precious trinkets, and arranged them on her desk, trailing down to the floor and beyond. I saw an hour’s work putting everything back. “Do you like it?” she smiled. “I did it for the fairies to come play in.” I nodded, and reprimanded myself for being a silly adult. We wrote a little note to the fairies, asking if they liked what she had done, and left the room. “They loved it!” she squealed upon her return. On the note-by way of reply-was a resounding yes! We constructed more of an area for the visiting fairies. I wondered when I had lost my sense of wonder, believing in order more than mystery, order rather than games. Once again, this precious little soul has taught me. 
Category: raphaela
Summer Holiday.
It was hectic at the airport, even at dawn. My daughter got her little case spontaneously searched and hands on hips, rebuked security. “I am only a kid! What would I have a bomb for?!” They smiled, and I hurried her along. We got to our destination and were alarmed that our hire car wasn’t actually waiting for us at the airport. I had booked online and presumed it would be there. I was bit concerned that a man I didn’t know took us in a mini van to a place we didn’t know. Very relieved that he pulled up at an actual caryard and we got our car! Okay, step one down. My daughter and I made a unilateral decision to go to Tropical Fruit World. Barry, our tour guide, had that dry, laconic Qld wit I adored. When we all raised our arms in reply to his asking if we lived in NSW, he looked at us with a great deal of pity. 
After learning about the medicinal properties of fruit, I made a mental note to eat more of them in 2014. We arrived at the resort, bone weary but had an excited little girl with us. She immediately got in the pool, and as kids do, made many new friends.
She wanted to try the new ice-skating rink out, and I helped her lace up her boots. I had a lump in my throat as I watched other parents help my unsteady child. Soon, she had abandoned the ramp, and was whizzing around. 
Times like these, I feel quietly robbed. I would have given anything to be on that ice with her. When the time was up, I was greeted with a warm hug. “I pray that the doctors find a cure for your bones mummy.” She kissed me and I was healed. 
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Merry Christmas.
“In every encounter we either give life or we drain it; there is no neutral exchange.” —Brennan Manning
I pray to always give life, rather than drain it. I think intent is all-important. I am going on retreat with my little family for a while. Back to basics. Have thrown a few items into a suitcase, and will sit on the beach and listen to the waves. Eat cheap meals at the local vegetarian restaurant. Just be. I haven’t done that in a long while. I said to my daughter that we were gifted with a holiday, rather than presents this year, and she was beyond happy. She cant wait to swim with me in the pool, and go to the local parks. To sit atop a mountain and reflect. I pray that whatever you are doing on Christmas Day, and no matter how challenging your year has been, you can find peace. Enough to fill your pockets, and cheer your heart. I know what lonely and broken is. How it feels. Connect with others. Go to one of the free meals angels such as Bill Crews at Exodus in Ashfield put on. Know you are loved. Know that even though the world seems to have stopped, it shall continue and you wont be a hostage, rather a willing traveller. Eight years ago on this date, I was told I was pregnant. Hope resumes, loneliness subsides, and life begins anew.
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Thankyou.
Thankyou for believing in me and for the unbelievable support I received during this year. Having my book launched in 2013 was both thrilling and terrifying. The messages and love made me buoyant. If I could give you one further message as this year winds up, it is this. You can survive, you can endure and you can overcome. I have a situation at the moment, which has rocked me to my core. That is how these things happen isn’t it? Unplanned and swift, without any notice. Here we are, minding our own business, ambling along, when thud! I was stunned by the visage of my tree of life falling. I started shaking, and then I cried. I talked my truth, and held my child. Shocks have a habit of seeping into the festive season, have you noticed? Everything is so concentrated. The need for more time, more energy. Day five, I am feeling stronger. I will make it. A tree fell, and I am crestfallen. If I put it in a pot, decorate it with bells and lights, it will be pleasing throughout Christmas. In 2014, I shall plant a new tree. It will be small, but with dedicated care, it shall grow. I shall grow. Remember throughout this season, to gather your thoughts, make time for a cup of tea, and breathe. Just breathe.
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Lisa.
I tuned into the news a while back, anxious to see what the weather would be doing the next day, and there was a recap of the headline news. I saw a photo of the beautiful Lisa, before hearing of her tragic death, and that a man was on trial, suspected of throwing her off a balcony. I have had this woman in my heart and prayers ever since. Last night, I again looked at the news to catch the weather, and there was a detailed story about the sentencing of this creature, and I listened as her brave mum became a messenger for all women in controlling relationships. It set off my PTSD. It couldn’t help but do so. The events were so similar, only I survived and Lisa didn’t. I had to go out last night, so after a cry, composed myself. I sat in the gardens of this place, a delicate breeze weaving its way down my back, and had a pleasant evening, but my thoughts drifted to this beautiful woman and her mum. I came home early, as my child wasn’t well, and saw her tendrils of soft hair resting on her pillow, her little eyes heavy. Legend has it that the indent above one’s top lip was made when the angels soothed you as a newborn, gently reassuring the bub that all is well in their new world. I think that is lovely. I am bereft that sometimes, things aren’t peaceful in their new world. I watch my child sleep, and pray that she is safe always. Safe from manipulation and control. I don’t know why I survived my fall, and you didn’t, but I now have another girl/woman to honour as I conduct my life. I shall never forget. Today, I lit a candle for you, and another friend, facing PTSD demons by going back to places of pain. I gave my child medicine, and she is laying on the couch. I just want to hug her all throughout this hot day. I think I will.
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Weird day today.
After a concentrated, delightful weekend, I faced a weird day. One of those days when you feel out of sorts. I got home from pickup, the most pressing feature being getting feeling back through the right side of my body. A hot bath then voltage via my Tens machine! Yes! A missed call from my beautiful publicist, saying that Radio National wanted to interview me for White Ribbon Day. Oh my goodness! I called her back and she said I was to be interviewed live at 5.15pm! I felt a weight of responsibility on my shoulders. My little girl was excited and declared she would hold my hand throughout the interview. What a price to pay. It is a daily price. The pain never fades, in any respect. I am not doing any of this for me. I could have written children’s books from the start! I am whimsical and it is what I relish. I am ill-prepared for my story. It is ill-prepared for me.
My daughter is on her headphones, listening to Katy Perry, and singing her lungs out. We are cool! I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I am so sorry, so very sorry, for all those that didn’t survive. I am hoping to lead the way for all those that did and wonders what happens next. I am so glad I am here. I understand those that couldn’t hang on. At the end, there is nothing but love. It is hard to rebuild a life. I am still constructing, but after the violence ends, there is nothing but joy throughout the whole process. I am thinking of all who have been told they were nothing, have been abused in any manner possible this White Ribbon Day. Believe me, you are everything. xxx
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World Vision.
My gorgeous friend is a World Vision volunteer, and put the call out for an assistant to help her sell Ken Duncan’s new book, Vision of Hope: Mother & Child. Grateful for the opportunity to hang out with my friend, I said I would come with her. The rain was heavy as we made our way over, and we were amazed at the amount of cars and people at the Parkside Church, Edensor Park. You know the feeling of uncertainty when you are in unfamiliar surroundings? That’s what we experienced, at first. There were food stalls set up, catering for every culture, and the aromas were delightful. Inside the hall, a man was strumming his guitar and friends were seated at tables, hanging out. We found our World Vision guide, Warwick, and he explained the intricacies of the Eftpos machines (which I prayed wouldn’t fail me), and that all money raised from the sale of the spectacular book would be going to their typhoon appeal for the Philippines. The cover is smothered in saffron and honey tones, and I marvelled at how gorgeous our world really is. How blessed are we that photographers live in the mindful state required to capture such beauty. We put on our orange t-shirts, and talked to our new friend Warwick, sharing snippets of our lives, his in Melbourne and ours in Sydney. He loves his job, and is fantastic at it.
Listening to Ken Duncan talk in the church, I discovered a dynamic man. He is in love with life and filled with faith. In our Western world, it is easy to become insular, and see the issues facing others as suffering on a different planet. His images, of little girls becoming Indonesian princesses in gowns, after having been rescued from the sex trade, of mothers and babies and little ones smiling, are heavenly. They are us and we are them. We are one. People came up to our table to buy the book. People of all cultures and walks of life. Gracious people who waited patiently as I fumbled with the Eftpos machine. Those who inquired about sponsoring a child, well, I wanted to jump the table and hug them in appreciation. The thrill of seeing the photo of a child being removed from the board after sponsorship had taken place was an event that will stay with me. http://trans.worldvision.com.au/visionofhope/
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Crystal Painting.
My dear friend Britta Ehlers has devised a medium called crystal painting. It is ingenious, combining pulverised crystal into paint, as well as such materials as four leaf clover and sand. I had wanted to do a workshop with her for a long while, however, life wouldn’t release its grip. When the opportunity came up last weekend, I did what one must when there is a burning desire to fulfil a dream. I paid my deposit and cleared space on the calendar. There will always be a reason that you can’t do the very thing you need to. You need to give yourself permission. A group of gorgeous, strong, brave women gathered at Britta’s, a clear vision in our mind’s of what we needed to create, and the colours we would be using.
The sun signifies promise to me. The promise of a new day. When I was fifteen, and preparing myself to die at the hands of a homicidal maniac, it was nightfall. I believed I would never see the sun on earth again. The next morning, the staff had to take me to a specialized radiology department, and I was wheeled through open corridors at this large hospital. It was early, and I looked up at the expanse of clouds. Suddenly, the sun broke through. Tears ran down my face, as I smiled. The break of dawn. A sunrise I never thought I would see. During the bleakest times in your life, I pray you will hang on for that sunrise. It lives up to its promise.
My painting will be displayed in my living room, a symbol of hope to my family, and all our guests. It was painted using rubies, pyrite, orange calcite, peacock father and sunshine calcite. Thankyou for the gift of your time, love and friendship, Britta Ehlers. xxx
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At the end, only love remained.
My friend lost her husband on the weekend. She shared the journey through words and images. Theirs was a penultimate love story. At the end, only love remained. I know that it does. I almost died three and a half years ago. I was in hospital, after endometriosis surgery. 
The surgeon was called and he told me scar tissue and endo was found on the tubes to my kidneys, all along right side of pelvis, and had stuck my ureter to the front of my pelvis. Veins were covered too, and he had to do a lot of vascular work, severing two of the main nerves running into my pelvis from my lower back. It caused a lot of bleeding which they thought they had stemmed. The description of how I was ovulating healthily and the egg they found enthralled me, yet broke my heart. I have been focused on having my own family since I was eighteen. I wanted a sibling for my daughter. They had to stabilize me so I would have a chance at surviving more surgery. My focus had to swing from fertility to surviving. The surgeon’s registrar, an Irish lady, ran in after I took another turn for the worst, and warned me that they may need to do a hysterectomy to save my life. She held my hand as she said it. She said this could very well prove fatal. I prayed some more (husband and daughter had arrived, and it was now Thursday morning).
My daughter was allowed to cuddle me on the trolley on the way to theatre. My little three year old held her mummy tight, with the encouragement of the staff. I breathed in the vanilla of the soap we bathed her in, felt the softness of her hair against my face. She stroked my face and kept kissing my cheek. “I love you mummy, I love you.” I had birthed a numinous creature. If I did nothing else, I had done that. Staff were marvelling as to how I was coping with the pain and the severity of it all. “I have birthed a numinous creature,” I wanted to say in reply. When I woke, I was on a morphine pump in ICU. The surgeon told my husband I had haemorraged along the pelvic wall. I lost all my blood. I hadn’t needed a hysterectomy, which was a sure bet for the staff! After the first wave of pain- when I collapsed to the floor- there was just love. Love for the husband who had undiagnosed bipolar, and gratitude that I had survived what should have been a fatal fall at fifteen. Love for the little girl that stroked her dying mother’s hair, and held me all the way to surgery. It is good to remember this 48 hours. To appreciate life anew. Discard the nonsense once again. Seeing my friend carry herself and her husband to the threshold of death has been humbling. Such dignity and grace. At the end, only love remained. I am going to try and live that way each day. 
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Fear of Anger.
I have learnt an important lesson, regarding the power of my mind. It excels at terrifying me, leading me to envisage catastrophic explosions. A teacher had invited my daughter and myself along to a festival, to take part in a parade. We would be walking with the Scottish group. I used to do Scottish dancing, and my husband and I both have Scottish heritage (our clans were mortal enemies). This teacher is incredibly passionate and creative. I gasped when I saw her classroom. Every available space-including the ceiling,was taken up with art. Colour and shape, movement and whimsy. Recently, floor space had been taken over by costumes.
She had borrowed quite a few from celebrated dancers, and the kilts were valued in the thousands. I went for a fitting for my wench outfit weeks ago, at the same time my daughter was fitted for her dancer outfit. I lovingly put my dress up and got on with life. Several nights ago, I sat bolt upright with a horrible thought. Where was my daughter’s outfit? Where the bloody hell did I put it? Mine was staring at me, but I couldn’t for the life of me recall where hers was. Oh my God! Catastrophe! My daughter wouldn’t be able to march. Everyone would be bitterly disappointed in me, and the worst part? They would be angry. I was awake throughout the night, worried that I would incur wrath the next morning. I couldn’t find my daughter’s outfit anywhere. I went into school after having turned out every bag I own, every wardrobe and drawer. My friend greeted me and reminded me that the kid’s outfits were ready to be picked up. You mean to say, I didn’t take it home with me? I could have kissed her! All that panic, for nothing. I am a confident and capable adult, but when I am faced with confrontation, and possibly anger, I become a child. I was never allowed to be angry, and if I disappointed anyone as a little girl, their rage didn’t bear thinking about. It’s exhausting trying to make everyone happy, tiptoeing around danger, afraid of letting anyone down. I still have work to do. There are parts of my psyche that need to be gathered and strengthened. I learnt that the adult needs to reassure this kid, and find solutions. She retreated. The threat of anger was just too much. Healing is like an onion, and you peel back one layer, to be presented with many more. It was a wonderful parade.
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 