After working in end of life pain control nursing for about 20 years, I arrived at being 50 and realising that most folk I'd met, most australian blokes like me, retired at 65 and then got cancer or had infarcts, went on cruises and died really quickly, so I decided my life wouldn't be like that...so at about 50, faced with 2 terminal diagnoses, one of heart and one of cancer, I jetted off, travelled the world, ended up in very bizarre and sensual places, lived a rich and incredibly expensive life, blew heaps of money, did things I thought I would never do, had things done to me I thought would never happen, and saw things and places that I never ever expected to see, and then, well, I came home and now, post my career in end of life care, I work in mental health nursing. it is still rare for me to meet anyone under 90 who has experienced life as much as I have. I'm not judging, I'm not boasting...I'm just noticing. I wouldn't be an adviser to anyone who has ever displayed congruent reason, and just stayed put at home, but at the same time, I have some good advices from time to time for fellow travellers.

The back yard lawn is verily mown. The long grass is thus smote. On the grass strip outside the house, near where all the private school kids get off the bus and toss their rubbish, well...all the rubbish hidden by the long grass for countless eons has been cut up into millions of tiny bits of paper and plastic and it is now all drifting in the wind into the rich neighbour's front yard where he has just washed his stunning Rolls Royce. Hard work is not without its subtle satisfactions.

My girlfriend left me, years ago, in the Holy Land. We were on a walking tour of Mt Sinai, there with other travellers, guides, and donkeys carrying food and water. It was a hard climb and my girlfriend complained about having sore feet, over and over again. She was still complaining when we reached the summit and looked around, had something to eat and drink. When looking at the descent in front of us, she started complaining again about her sore feet. All I said was "instead of complaining so much, why don't you go down on a donkey?"

The only problem I have with god relates to the existence of funnel web spiders. I grew up with them in Sydney. They are profoundly aggressive and vicious fucking spiders...and they can kill you...and want to, for no reason. they are just horrid creatures...sticky legs that cling to skin, and fucking sharp fangs and tons of venom.... Who would make that? So, I had to rationalise that God indeed, whether Jesus or Allah, isn't perfect. When I think about it, that makes sense. I could not love a perfect god...but a god who made...ooops...errors when trying to do the right thing, yes, I could love a god like that indeed. Just like my human family.

Mental Health Nursing:a good thing the other night working night shift at a famous mental health clinic, me, as Agency nurse, being in charge of a ward, as happens quite a bit these days as the privateer owners and middle management dudes and dudettes, try to screw their staff to death for a buck in bonuses....me with my brown scapular around my neck, consulting with the girl who was in charge of the next ward, also Agency, in her hijab. No problems. A quiet night was had by all. We are the night, and the night is calm...spiritual... and incredibly good looking.