Mothers Day

Three years ago my friends welcomed baby Aliot. 

Visiting, I caught a lucky photograph.

Gerard with his large, life worn hands cradling their new born.

The image spoke so clearly to me of a fathers love. 

I painted it.

For more than two years this small painting hung alone.

Until at a Leichhardt cafe I noticed a woman breastfeeding her baby.

At a modest, oblique angle from my table.

Tender, matter of fact, natural, beautiful.

I didn’t take a photograph!

But knew I’d found the complement I was seeking.

The paintings now hang paired, either side of a fireplace.

I like what they say to me about love.

Yet sense I barely chipped an ice cube from a glacier.

Sisters Of Mercy

Meg and Margie

This year I joined an online course offered by Margaret Wheatley.

Designed to dovetail with the second edition of her book, ‘Who Do We Choose To Be’.

Streaming live from her home in Utah at an awkward 2am AEST.

Meg generously hosted three additional Australian sessions.

The first comprised Meg and me. Two UTS postgraduate students of systems change and leadership.

And Margie, a Sister of Mercy from Melbourne.

In introducing myself, I lightly mentioned the Formation for Leadership series.

With roots in the US human potential field of mid last century.

Meg politely curious.

Our group discussion brought to life her mission in behalf of warriors for the human spirit.

What stood out was Margie’s straightforward voice.

As we closed, she spoke

“Thorin it’s been wonderful to hear Joyces name again and to find you continuing that work. I was a member of her original group in Adelaide, nearly 40 years ago”

Talk about unexpected!

To meet in this way, infinitely improbable yet perhaps inevitable.

Margie gifting me a considerable credibility boost.

And new friendship.

Sisters of Mercy

In appreciation, Leonard Cohen composed a tribute song.

Ripple Effect

A letter arrived in my mailbox.

From mum, a single page.

She wrote to tell me a steep section of her access road was damaged by a land slip.

A difficult repair, all her efforts to hire a bulldozer driver had failed.

Until she called a small earthworks business outside Kyogle.

She described the situation.

After a few questions the owner told her, “I went to school with your son.”

Forty years ago.

He agreed to help.

So relieved and happy, she wrote to tell me.

A Reminder

For better or worse, we create ripples.

I was reminded last October when marking a career milestone.

Verbatim from the guest book.

Humbling and confirming.

Sydney Leadership Formation

Fifty have undertaken the Sydney Leadership Formation series in the past decade.

A new series is open for a January 2024 start.

Feel free to spread the word.

From The Heart

I found Lowitja O’Donoghue’s biography on the library shelf.

Fifth child of a Pitjantjatjara woman Lily and first generation Catholic Irishman Tom O’Donoghue.

Lowitja was born in 1932, on country north west of Oodnadatta.

The first aboriginal nurse in South Australia; tireless advocate and public servant; inaugural ATSIC Chair.

Australian of the Year in 1984.

Her biography charts the struggle for Aboriginal rights through the 20th century.

A welcome education before the Voice To Parliament referendum.

One more partial attempt to bridge a gulf between worlds.

It’s source, the Uluru Statement From The Heart asks for considerably more – for Voice, Treaty and Truth.

Australia again avoids wholehearted commitment to resolving the injustice of ‘terra nullius’.

I ask myself why?

Strip away the sophistry and politics and the obvious issue is always economic.

The fear of money flowing from white pockets to black hands.

Which leads me to ponder …

What if the richest Australians weren’t a pair of mining magnates from Western Australia.

What if instead our wealthiest citizens were First Nations people.

Treaty

Maori chiefs signed the Treaty of Waitangi on 6th February 1840.

In 1988 Prime Minister Bob Hawke promised a Treaty by the end of that term of parliament.

Yothu Yindi created a worldwide hit in 1991 with their protest song ‘Treaty‘.

Sydney Leadership Formation

The next opportunity is a mid-year intake, starting late July or August.

I welcome expressions of interest and referrals.

PS: It’s not a closing down sale, but fair warning I’ve got maybe a decade left in me!

Wilderness Years

An alumni told me of her significant new role.

“Huge congrats” I texted. “Going strong after a few wilderness years.”

Hmmm …

Maybe that could be misconstrued.

“BTW, wilderness years are good years.”

A short pause, then a ping.

“They were the best years. I’m now more self sufficient.”

Yes. And the rest.

At Envy Cafe

At Envy cafe I asked Tim

– what if we study a few Karen Horney chapters?

Agreed without hesitation.

Her work underpins the Formation series.

Joyce had retired from teaching in Sydney three years earlier.

I received a blessing and a pointed challenge

– it’s far better to study in a group.

“As you start to walk on the way, the way appears”

Two became four.

We made a compact.

– I’m green, I’ll give you my best.

– we’re in, let’s do it.

Ten years ago at Envy cafe.

Duration

Leadership Formation Series.

The commitment starts at two years.

Duration is a state whose movement is not worn down by hindrances.

The dedicated human embodies an enduring meaning in their way of life and thereby the world is formed.

Whatever endures can be created only gradually by long-continued work and careful reflection.

Thirty-two …

The Life You Save

The Life You Save*

The beach feels wild this morning.


To my right I see a man undressing, ready for a swim.

Brave.

He sees me, grins and indicates he’s going in.

A travellers accent.

Cold sky, hard wind, rough breaking surf.

I wouldn’t swim here, now.


He steps onto the wet sand. I hesitantly ask.

– You’re a strong swimmer?
– No. But I won’t go out far.
– Do you know where the rip is?
– No. But I saw surfers going in here yesterday.
– Surfers often enter the rip, to ride it out past the break.
– Oh.

The first wavelet rushes up his legs.

The next, riding the first, gushes past his shorts.

He stumbles. The pull of the water undercuts the sand beneath his feet.

Concerned, I call to him. He turns and I see agreement.

Another broken wave hits from behind.


Firmly gripped hands is my strong sense, though we are well apart.

Retreat up the steep beach.

My shoes are filled with coarse wet sand and jeans are wet to the knees.
Later walking the beach,
I ponder whether I’d wrongly impinged upon his free will.
Or maybe saved a life.

Title adapted from a short story, “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” by Flannery O’Connor, 1955.

Inner Independence

I closely follow and support the current rise of political Independents.

Many inspired by Cathy McGowan AO.

Yet ‘independent’ can easily and wilfully be misconstrued.

Yes, independent from the strictures of old political party mechanics and their opaque stakeholders.

Whilst deeply dependent on the support of the communities from which they emerge.

And naturally and correctly finding common ground with like minded allies.

True independence is strength of character.

Accretion of hard won self-insight, life values that are tested and refined, meaningful experiences which teach us.

These become the anchors which guide and ground our integrity.

Inner independence