money in the wind

I was sitting inside at a vast open window, looking out at people passing by while I sharpened coloured pencils. There must have been hundreds of pencils and I had to sharpen them all before I could draw. The bucket of pencil shavings was half-full and my sharpener was dull. For some reason, my wallet was sitting on the window sill and every so often money would flutter out and blow into the street - ten dollars, twenty dollars, fifty dollars. Each time, people made an effort to help catch my money and return it, but a few times the money was lost. Once, a dog snatched my money out of the air and ran away with it in his teeth.

facing fear

I was living in an old building with others. We seemed to be squatting for the rooms were derelict and unfurnished, with no secure windows or doors. A group of young boys sat in the entrance room against the wall. They were always there, and I did not trust them. They heckled people as they came and went, harrying them at times. I kept my distance. Although I seemed to own very little, I still had my handbag where I  safeguarded anything of value, including a substantial sum of money - perhaps my means out of there. One night I noticed my handbag missing and looked immediately to the boys. Sure enough, they had it; I could see them huddled in the doorway, rifling through the contents. I called to my friend, telling her the boys had my bag. But, though I feared them, it was up to me to retrieve it. I walked into the cold cement room and faced the gang of boys who were sitting in a line against the wall. Demanding they return my bag, I threatened them, yelling at them, saying I would get them if they didn't, I would hurt them. As soon as I had spoken, I felt great remorse. I looked at them, ashamed, and told them I was sorry, that I would not hurt them. Instead of threatening them, I spoke my simple truth: my bag is important to me and I want it back. To my surprise, they handed it to me and, upon checking, nothing was astray. Still, one of the boys jeered at me. He stood up and moved obtrusively into my personal space. Again, instead of reacting in fear, I looked at him, I really saw him. I asked his name. He looked up, into my eyes for the first time and told me. And, realising we had never before truly acknowledged each other as people, rather we had regarded one another with animosity because of our fear, I told him my name. Something shifted. The fear was gone - mine and the boy's. We had become allies, friends and, although unspoken, I knew we would look out for one another, protect one another from this day on.

letting go of old behaviour - coffee parable

I was in Brisbane city, visiting the Metro Arts building, where I had worked for many years. I noticed many changes in the surrounding landscape: new hole-in-the-wall coffee outlets, cafes, shops and such. I went for a walk around the block, taking it all in. On the way back, I found a cafe that was owned by people I knew, who also own wellness stores. I thought I would buy a coffee there. I wondered if I should buy a coffee from the coffee house on the corner of Edward and Charlotte Streets, just near the Metro Arts building, as I had heard that their coffee was great, but I decided to support my friends. I waited at the counter for someone to serve me. While I waited, I could see into the theatre adjoining the shop. There were about a thousand wooden ant puppets lined up like and army, a choir, with another marionette dressed in dark red conducting them. In time, the ants waved their legs and clicked them. The scene changed and there were several actors on stage, rehearsing for a musical show. I knew several of the actors and could see at least two of them who also formerly worked at Metro Arts. My attention returned to the coffee house, where I was still waiting for someone to serve me. Finally someone came my way but she went instead to serve someone who had just arrived at the counter. I objected and the woman served me. I felt a little embarrassed about complaining and I made a joke of it. I ordered a soy flat white, which arrived shortly after. I gave her five dollars and, instead of the two dollars change I was owed, she gave me a tiny plastic pearl. I looked at it and saw that it was broken and chipped. I showed the woman and she went to give me another plastic pearl, but I asked for my two dollars change instead. I could plainly see that this pearl was barely worth anything at all and was certainly not a fair exchange. I started walking back down the street with my coffee and decided to take a sip. It was awful; luke warm, weak and overly milky. I realised that I would have to go back and complain again as it was simply not good enough. Now I felt that, at the point when I realised I was waiting a ridiculously long time, before not being served, before being cheated and then served a bad coffee, I should have walked away. I should not have put up with it and I should have simply walked down the road, back to where I was going, and bought a coffee from the place that made great coffees, rather than feel obliged to support people I know.

fixing situations

I was in Newcastle and I drove to a venue that regularly housed an art exhibition, open to the public every weekend. The woman who organised the exhibition was there and she told me about the latest sales and encouraged me to display more of my work for sale. I was inspired by the idea and returned home where I sorted through old canvases, deciding which ones I would paint over, ready for the exhibition next weekend. I went to a shop to purchase some art material and, upon paying for my goods with my new eftpos card, two hundred dollars was inadvertently debited from my account. I waited while the man reversed the transaction, crediting the money back to my account. The next morning, Sunday, B and I went down the road to a cafe that opened at nine. We talked about their late opening hours realising that it brought them their target trade. We had breakfast and went to the counter to pay. Again I used my new card and again money was wrongly debited from my account, this time one hundred dollars. The man pointed it out to me and I told him I would wait whilst he rectified the situation. Not sure of how to do it, he charged one of the younger workers with the job. She went to find instructions on how to proceed. The line grew behind me and someone else started serving the waiting customers. I waited for forty-five minutes, growing increasingly angry. Finally I found the young woman for whom I was waiting and confronted her. My anger bubbled up until I was shouting at her, telling her how long I had waited. As I shouted, she backed toward the cupboard behind her, her body disappearing, until finally, she evaporated and passed through the closed wooden doors of the cupboard, hiding deep inside. I felt sorry and called out to her, saying that I didn't think she was stupid, that I believed she could do a good job. The cupboard doors opened a little and I hoped she would come out. Instead, her two shoes stepped out - she was still invisible - and walked quickly away. I was alarmed that my anger had caused such an extreme response, but felt sure that I could right the situation.