Memories: 14 August 2025

14 August 2025

5:35 am a long sleep, Better breathing results although still not quite as good as they were before I got sick. But an improvement. Awake astonishingly early. My humidifier is almost dry. All good.

My lungs are still not quite happy yet. Day 17. Another day in Paradise. Holding my own line remarkably well. Proud of myself. No doctors, no medications (apart from a few doses of Ventolin yesterday).

Fought it alone with Great Spirit by my side. As always. Blessèd be the Holy One, the True Judge!

Something has altered in me. I feel quite quite powerful. Probably from the battle for my own life…again. A recalibration of my spirit.

Change is in the air. I can smell it coming. It’s going to be intense but amazing. The meek and downtrodden will be raised up on powerful shoulders and gifted back their rightful legacies. True hearts and minds will shine like beacons. Communities will be formed of people who are kind, respectful and supportive of each other.

People who place high value on life, child protection, respect and dignity. Who work together to create a safe environment for all.

Meh…psychedelic dreamer is dreaming again. Wake up Dreamer, you know we are all fucked.

“Not all…not yet. There is still hope. Still Time. Still the human spirit that arises out of the dust and societal atrophy.”

Okay Dreamer. I love you, you mad cow”.

(Nods Sagely)

14 August 2024

7:01 am Happiness is lying in bed, on a warm electric blanket, cocooned in doonas, listening to the rain while the cool air licks at my arms and face. Breathing light. Being alive. Awake and aware in the spiralling psychedelic dreaming.

14 August 2023

I woke up at 8:30 am. Still tired. It’s a lovely sunny morning. I wonder what magic I will weave today? Last night I started working on a piece of nectarine wood someone gifted me.

I tried to fill all its cracks with pink resin infused with glitter. I will see how that turned out when I haul arse out of my bed. :-) I want to use the wood as a bracelet display for my jewellery.

I am still playing make believe that I can set up my business one day and escape both poverty and the current economic crash and zombie apocalypse. But I doubt that will ever happen. So I keep creating stuff just for something to do and that sanguine mistress called Hope that keeps me alive and somewhat optimistic.

There IS a place in the multiverses for me to thrive although it may not be on planet earth. So I must wait…for my life to be coherent, congruent and congenial…again.

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1:35 pm still heavy with grief and a fatigue that sits like concrete block on my spirit. (Probably partially due to eating pizza loaded with cheese!) I’ve been eating poorly since Bobo died. I miss him terribly.

However I have been busy since this morning. Listening to podcasts and making stuff:

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14 August 2022

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He had a good time at West End drumming by the river and was less snarly that usual. I haven’t taken him with me for several months as he barks too much but today he saw me carrying my drum out to the car and “asked” if he could come along with his big brown eyes.

I said “Well Bobo , you can come along but you better behave!”

He was much much better. Now he’s lying on my thigh contentedly, as I gave him a Schmacko and his dinner. He knows he’s been a good boy!

14 August 2021

Life is a dance. A breath that lasts a lifetime, going in and coming out, languorously or fast and furious, shallow, barely touching the sides. Life is a groove on a cosmic record. Glitching in Time, a trap or a voyeur’s video tape played on a loop.

The same actors or two-bit players making cameo appearances. Different faces or masks but same agenda.

Life is a dance and a trance: sometimes somnolent, others ecstatic but always a reel of a cosmic tragedy or parody and sometimes, just sometimes a divine comedy or a cosplay.

Reality bites when it invades insipid under-resourced unimaginative Dreaming. It is then that we are called Home to a place beyond time and space and physicality.

But the veil is thin although the membrane between life and death or the after-life is much harder to break through than they would have you believe.

The corporate glass ceiling, the glass slipper and the outer edges of personal space craning my neck into the foetal position ready for re-entry.

But Tanya loved the unloveable and the Unknowable. Pushed herself through to paradigms of hellish contortions and walked her stolid walk on her overly large feet with her overly expansive spirit. Like a damnèd Fool.

Persistence in the face of resistance for she understands the art of rebellion and how even water can soften and carve the hardest rock. Even the Rock of Ages sends we mortals the remedy, the opposing forces for our daily rectification.

I am running out of Time as my much-vaunted bone pointers reminded me in recent years. But I am beyond time and space and also immortal by virtue of my spirit: unclaimed and unloved and unprotected as I have too often been in this incarnation.

Always betrayed and decimated when push came to shove and I am so tired but wary. Aware and hopeful as always like a Pollyanna dickhead chewing on air, pretending it’s that moveable feast that will survive this epoch and no doubt, the one after.

Life finds a way and true love holds its sway in a holding pattern of calamity as there is no other way but crash and burn and ascend again and again into the face of holy Love.

My God was a trickster, a liar and a cheat but so highly desirable and so prized. An illusory promise of redemption, of consolidation, of peace and bliss and much needed safety. Gifted then torn away…

Like towers, forever in a state of devolution and Involution then Revolution. The psycho-babbling contortive confusion. Rebuilding my life over and over again until my mind begins to just fucking snap!

Schnap schnap snappy. “Are you happy today?” The mockery and derision from bestial Knaves with no heart and no soul and no fucking bollocks either.

Last night my daughter (one of the greatest loves of my life) twisted the script on the reality of my fight to keep us safe during their childhood and painted me as the aggressor. I was sickened to my core (already feeling extremely dizzy and like I was about to stroke out).

I replied I only did those things AFTER we had been threatened as a family for weeks and months (that became years!) and only after Qld Police failed to protect or defend us as a family of women.

She is running high on smug satisfaction as she just won her Court case against her perpetrator and informed me how protective the court system has been of her. Nice. And about bloody time as there was none during her childhood when I was in a battle against so many perpetrators including my own family that I don’t even know how I did not suicide back then as there was no protection until that bikie turned up and offered to help me.

A platitude but a kindness and a validation that no other male had proffered me at that time period.

So let my children twist the script to suit their own agendas that I was some kind of arsehole who deserved the abuse and cumulative traumas I endured.

Let them think and say and do and be. Their own version of their own inversion of truth.

I already knew back then in 2000 that the world was about to burn itself down as I had already lived through the worst kind of debauchery inflicted on me by men, the State and our patriarchal homicidal women-and-girl-child hating police state.

If I had known how my daughters would treat me with serious contempt after all I did to get us to survive and grow them into fine upstanding educated women and citizenry …I would have driven my car over that bridge when I had the almighty triggering from my mother telling me I was a “dirty little girl” and that I merited the abuse she herself had orchestrated so masterfully. Filthy. All of it.

So I do hope I die soon. My mind cannot absorb or recalibrate any more hate. I am filled with the shrapnel of so much hate. Thrown at me because I dared to survive, to stand up on my tippy toes and scan a distant horizon of scant hope and girlishly slavishly dream of real authentic loyal faithful love.

What a joke! A yoke. A bespoke token of…what does my psychiatrist call it?…, my “manic denial” and defiance. I defy! I DEIFY! The goddess within and the intrepid little Berserker Woman with stars in her eyes and mud in her toes and a heart that is scorched and shredded but always, with each breath, moulded from enough love and enough hope and enough faith in my existence to get through one more day…one more day.

Moulded or mouldered. Festy and decaying but upright and staying…Zesty…for Now!

And when my abusers invalidate my life’s journey, my fight, my talents, my post traumatic growth, my heart, my loins, my very existence. Then tritely tell me that they love me….I vomit a little in my mouth. Sometimes I actually vomit into the toilet bowl.

Real love does not harm, assuage or delegitimise. Real love does not put a false balm on twisted scripts to make oneself feel better about their inherent or inherited or newly-acquired scorn or hatred or contempt.

And yes it is possible to love even the faces of evil. Of treachery and of scorn. I have a mastery of that.

But I will not keep doing this: I have learned my Inherent Value as a Woman, as a mother, as a former lover/friend, and as a Spirit. And I am Done. Done with false gods, false humans, false cognitive dissonant paradigms. Done!

…

14 August 2020

11:11 pm freedom to The Tanya 🙂.

14 August 2019

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Some man just approached my fence and asked for 10 lengths of my black bamboo for his kids at school to build forts with. I said Yes. But it’s not a strong bamboo that they use for building so it won’t make anything permanent. He has gone off to get his chain saw.

Hmmm.

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And it does…kill you. You get slayed by poverty, abuse, broken love affairs and deep heart connections that are sabotaged so never truly fly.

By surgeries that bring you to the brink of death that was so blissful and welcome but you were rescued, while smiling into the exhalation and curiously contemplating heaven, then you are subjected to more abuse but you fought like a demon as there is no justice unless it helps Everyone.

You crawl with your wounded heart and wounded post-operative body home to be with your cats and dog to heal, mostly alone in a life where other women are pampered as they have families and are loved sublimely.

But you heal. You fucking heal...and you get up 12 days later to dance again and 4 weeks later to drum in a circle and 7 weeks later (wtf?!) you rise and shine and blossom and stomp as you are fully reintegrated back into this life yet again.

But you have been killed and things need to change and you know you need to open up to love and hope and that stubborn dream of finding a love partner one fine day (which you even accept is ridiculous as you never had a hope in Hades in this superficial callow cruel society).

But death, your dear friend and handmaiden has tangoed you back from the precipice and spun you into a new stretch of lifespan so there must be more hope and more love and more good times in store for me or my death would not have been so ignobly interrupted.

Of course there is no death...just another incarnation until I get enough Light and Wisdom and join with the Ein Soph Aur but even the Holy One rejects me for more time on earth.

Who am I to doubt the Will of G-d?

So here we go: splonging in the Shadowlands, rising and shining my bright Light, breathing fire and banging my own beat in a rhythm that makes sense only to one who is forced to endure against her better judgement because the gods are crazy and determined and have a sense of humour but also a sense of the sublime.

I am destined to get older. To fulfill my mission (whatever that is?!) to plant out my waterlilies as I did yesterday and then have every bone ache and be cast down by weakness.

But there will be another season or 20 and another flowering. There will be joy and passion and desire (I am Desiree!) and maybe, just maybe a strong devoted authentic requited Love.

And if not........if not. I will survive.

14 August 2018

I love Facebook. I have missed out (due to my long ago entrenched poverty issues, stymied by abuse) on ever being able to afford to go to concerts, music festivals (like Woodford) or go on holidays. I have been unable to travel.

So today someone in one of my groups posted about Burning Man. I told them I shall enjoy seeing videos of their experience ie live vicariously through them. So they posted photos on the page. Just awesome.

The other day another friend posted a beautiful video of their home state Transylvania in Romania. I really enjoyed my armchair journey.

Late last year and early this one I got to see America, Croatia and Slovenia, Amsterdam and London, and the Czech Republic via my well-travelled amazing friends.

I have enjoyed the photos of Switzerland from another friend’s posts also.

Mama T is going nowhere fast but loving the world as it is presented to me via the internet.

The world is my oyster and I am the World. Interconnectedness is the “bomb” of bliss I have always been waiting for.

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I made an appointment with my doctor on Thursday. I will ask for blood tests and an endoscopy. Still feeling very weak and a bit flushed in the face today. Tomorrow is a Ekka Day so had to wait until Thursday.

All good. Just resting today.

14 August 2017

Damn animals. Penny and Bobo both woke me up and won't let me sleep. I have put them both outside. Driving me nuts!

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10.11 am. Just woke up after a bad night. Bobo whined and yelped from 4 am. Lots of dogs in neighbourhood also barked. Not much sleep. Exhausted. But anyway, back in da room! Here we go! Another day.

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14 August 2016

I just found my good spectacles. They are not buried in the turkey mound after all. (I thought I lost them in the garden and he might have scraped them up with mulch). So good to have my glasses back. 2 weeks without them.

I almost took another pair of designer frames into my optometrist to get lenses put in them. (I have 2 spare frames). But I didn't want to spend money yet as I am due for a new script in 6 months time as my eyes keep getting slightly worse.

So phew. Another little break. Thank you Universe. For little mercies and big miracles too.

I found them on a shelf in the bathroom. Must have tucked them away when I was taking a shower. Funny how they turned up when I had given up on them.

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1.20 pm just woke up. Everything hurts but still going strong. I was so exhausted it even hurt to get in and out of the car for the trip home.

Getting too old for this shit but I had a great weekend. I helped Annette finish off emptying out her house. She gave me lots and lots of cuttings from her garden. I will try to strike them and keep them alive so I can give some back to her when she buys herself another home.

So now it is time to get up and plant all the other plants she gave me in the garden. (I already put the cuttings in water when I got home last night before going out dancing again).

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Gardening done. Orchids tied into a few trees. I planted the hippeastrum bulbs in a large pot. I planted the peace lilies next to one of my Ponds. I planted the fern tree next to some big trees at the side of my house, near the monsteria deliciosa. I watered it all in. Spread the mulch Annette gave me on the Rose bed. It all looks lovely. Very happy and grateful.

Then I took the Beauregard to the dog park. He was naughty at first so we nearly left but I gave him a second chance and he ended up having a nice time with lots of dogs. Strange moody little buggar!

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I have been very weak and sick tonight. Overdid the exercise. Ugh! Poor old Bod. I had a long Epsom salt bath, then a shower to wash my hair. Now clean and fresh but suffering terrible stomach pains. So time to sleep and rest if I can.

I have symptoms of dehydration from over-exertion (just googled it!). Trying to analyse why I do this to myself every weekend. It is nuts. I do enjoy the music and the dancing but with my major health issues (OSA, chronic fatigue, arthritis, asthma) it is not surprising that my frenetic dancing nearly kills me. Plus I did gardening today. Lol!

I must remember I am not young anymore and not as strong as I think I am. My body rebels every time I try to do too much. It is incredible how much it rebels. Lol!

Anyway will try to sleep and things will be better tomorrow. And tomorrow and tomorrow. C-PTSD means I was never blessed with robust health since infancy. I have done well to survive this long and to have had 4 years of dancing at all!! There were many years when that would have been impossible.

So I am very pleased with my efforts to live my own authentic life and to have some fun before I die or rot away with decrepitude. Being out in the world on the weekends has brought me to meet some lovely people. I am happy about that.

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The old gods are awakening and bringing all indigenous people's back into cosmic and global consciousness. The reign of tyranny of (once) middle eastern 2000 year old religions that was thrust upon many cultures of the earth in the form of rape, thievery, child sexual abide and land acquisition, is at last waning.

Hopefully now the gods are back, walking amongst us, there will be peace and responsibility to the planet and interconnected harmony.

I am grateful to be living in these miraculous times. May the Holy One (Primordial consciousness), The un-Jealous, non-malevolent G-D of my understanding, allow all His/Her/Their Manifestations in all time and place to be glorified and exalted and bring wisdom, peace and unity to this world and all other worlds where Life exists.

Let all faiths that wreak hatred, murder, sex abuse, poison of land and sea and air and greed, fall into oblivion, never to return. If we cannot serve G-d(s) in genuine love for all that exists then we, as humans on this host planet are doomed.

The gods have spoken.

14 August 2015

Trigger warning: csa

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6.06 pm. Hungrier than a rampaging Wildebeest and madder than a hornet that a father of a sexual abuse survivor who bravely brought about the Royal Commission into Institutional Child Sexual abuse is being Silenced! We will Not be silenced on this issue. Not ever. Nooo! Rot in hell you salacious perverts.

I am heating up Potato Bake. It is Shabbat. The night of sacred peace when the schechinah nestles upon us all. May she bring some Avenging Angels, you know the Dark ones who smite evil from our lives. May she bless us with justice, beauty, truth, peace and so much love we are overflowing with all the good things in life.

As has become my heathenish (but ever a Jew!) practise, I will be calling down the spirits of Light and Love and stomping on the dance floor, I will fly in the face of psychopaths and scumbags and thrive. I will inspire those who have lost their way, their own Light diminished by years of trauma.

Together we will burn our inner eternal flame so bright that even evil will cower before us. Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael, Michael stand beside me, behind me, in front of me, inside of me, guard your wounded servant and let us heal.

I know the Taskmaster is weary. We all are! But together we can effect real change. It starts with Faith, not just in a Supernal Power but in ourselves.

Shabbat Shalom!

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WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU WERE NOT AFRAID????

Be happy! Be strong! Be Me!

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Trigger warning: suicide ideation, drug abuse

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When I was a small child, living by the sea, we had an elderly crazy neighbour. She was a Crone, in her 70's or even 80's but ancient to my young eyes. Her name was Effie (Euphemia) Walker. My parents spoke of her with a certain awe at times, and others, with their usual brutal irreverence.

Whenever we hung out washing (a constant in our house) I would obsessively watch this overweight old woman. She was Scottish and still spoke with an accent. She never spoke to me. She seemed to find children distasteful. But she had this mysterious air about her.

My mother would hush me if I got too loud or laughed too exuberantly. "You will upset Mrs Walker (pron. Valker)". Great. Another adult to fear. But it was more a fear borne out of Fascination.

She lived alone. My mother sneered, "Ze voman is an ascetic! She lives so Spartan!"

Her hair was grey, thick and very long! She wore it in a braid. It hung below her waist and at times she tucked it under a belt. I wanted long hair like that. Long Viking braids down to my ankles! My hair never grew so long and that remains a tragedy of my life.

She wore old-fashioned clothes, almost Edwardian. She never had any visitors. None of her adult children ever bothered with her.

She would sit in her garden, overgrown with weeds, and smile up at 'Marilyn Monroe' and 'Arthur Miller' as she was convinced my parents were. How she could mistake Gisela for Marilyn I have no idea. Mum always acted more like Zsa Zsa Gabor on acid (slimming pills, barbiturates, Mogadon to sleep, Valium to calm herself and more speed for slimming.

A daily cocktail, that is until Mummy Dearest turned to me one day and said, in a moment of rare insight, "I need to stop taking zose slimming pills. Zey make me grind my teece!" Grind other things to, like my face with her hand, so with the Wisdom of my own yet-to-evolve-Crone, I nodded sagely and in a very small voice said "Yes, Mummy, that is a very good idea!"

Anyway there were days when I woukd contemplate jumping from our sun-deck into Mrs Walker's garden and killing myself. But it was only one-story and somehow I knew it wasn't going to do any more than break something and as I had broken my wrist at health camp I didn't think I should risk, you know Surviving!

So I climbed up the cliff behind our house, edged my way over to the shed and sat on top of the roof for a few hours, thinking, this is high enough. I would become obsessed with her messy garden and the flax bushes I love to jump through (those nearly led to my death once but that was another time, at the Quarry!)

Anyway that Crone had a sixth sense for coming out and watching me when I was on the shed roof. She would stare at me with what is now commonly referred to as Resting Bitch Face and although she rarely spoke to me, I would feel my hackles raising at the base of my neck.

Honestly I think she knew all along. She could hear her beloved Marilyn and Arthur screaming every night. But perhaps she was deaf as a post and thought it was the shrieking of seagulls, or the heavy wintry surf?

Only one time did she yell at me. "Get ye offa dat roof before ye break ye blessed neck, Bairn or ye will make a mess of me garden!" Hardly altruistic. We eyeballed each other. I thought, Great! I can kill myself but not off the shed roof as that old bag cares more about her messy garden than me!

Even then I knew I did not matter. I was an accessory to the fact of my parents' sex life, only I didn't have the language skills for that, just a pervasive sense Doom and of being an unwelcome interlocutor in everyone's life.

To quote my mother in 1995 while visiting my Chicken takeaway shop "I don't even know Vy I am here? I don't even like Schicken!" She liked it well enough when her daughter and son in law gave it to her for free!

But yes, a metaphor for my life. Why are we here? What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Anyway I think about that hermetic ascetic spartan ancient Scotswoman a lot. I think she cursed me to become her. It is not so bad. I am not ascetic. In fact I am a Hedonistic Aesthete with Delusions of Grandeur on a beer income and fantasies of still finding (at this late stage of things! Definition of insanity!) my one True Love and Life partner.

I am a crone. Wild, woolly, rebellious, recalcitrant, eccentric, intimidating to small children, growing my moustache and being blessedly, unashamedly Me!

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Later when I did my ancestry I found out my great great grandfather on my paternal grandmother’s side was Thomas Anderson JP. He was Scottish.

Effie Walker’s maiden name was Euphemia Dunbar Anderson. I can’t help laughing at the thought that that bitter cantankerous old biddy might have been related to me via the Anderson line. (They were originally Vikings that settled in Scotland). If so… choots mon, what a hoot. What would the odds of that be?

Still intriguing though. 6 degrees of separation. lol

14 August 2014

Just changed my bedding. My beloveds (probably Penny!) have thrown up in my expensive goose-down doona. So now I have no doona and I love that thing. It's my cocoon. Grrr!

I will have to find money for expensive dry cleaning of said Doona. Celibacy with sexless furball hairball hurlers has its drawbacks. (Penny smugly smiles as she works up a new vomit, no doubt). Vixen!

Actually she is just as pissed off, as the sleeping bag I am using for a doona, has a horrid cold satiny covering. She even grunted at me. That will teach her not to vomit on the good stuff!

Laila Tov! 3.21 am. Time to dream again.

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I need to dry clean my doona asap. I missed it so much last night. I need my cocoon, how else can I emerge each day a sparkling glorious butterfly?

In the "morning" I might look like a crone but as the day (or rather night!) goes on, I become a creature of intrigue and delight. Hah! So there!

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I had a lovely afternoon, lots of visitors to my Sacred Space. The tiny tots from next door brought their lovely grandfather over to visit my chickens, cats and goldfish.

It was funny as their parents rarely ever enter my property (poverty and eccentricity might be contagious, don't you know?!) but the babies and their grandfather are less judgmental. So I gave them a tour of the garden and the little ones were delighted.

Then Gita and her little daughter Sanya visited. I had a lot in common with Sanya. We have similar names, and both went to Hamburg Germany when we were 8. Well she is 8 now and went last year!

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Spring is coming! This is the time of year when for some nutty reason I have often started relationships. I met my former husband on 28th August. Eeek! Two weeks away. Lmao.

I wonder if it will ever happen again? This time I am watching the calendar with circumspection, trepidation and curiousity. My mind boggles.

I have enjoyed the solitude of my Boudoir this winter, snuggled into my bed on the warm electric blanket to save heating costs, cuddling up with my cats.

I suspect spring and summer will be spent the same way, minus the electric blanket!

At least I know my cats adore me and are faithful albeit neutered and celibate bed partners. Here's to being desexed and sexless. :-)

14 August 2013

God I am tired. Too much insomnia followed by too much effort. Feel like my soul is leaching out of my body, all squidgy around the edges.

14 August 2012

Suffering extreme mental exhaustion so spent today in bed. Nice and cosy in my artificial Womb with my electric blanket on Two. Nothing to do but wait for the final settlement and a Kickstart to my new life so I can be truly Free of my Family of Origin, their Henchmen and their sycophantic minions.

Free of old Lovers' psychopathic aborted attempts to Kill and Destroy me. Freefalling freely into the Unknown and slightly fearful of what will come to fill the Void, the desecration of my Life. Only goodness, unconditional Love, mercy and positivity or so I pray! Amen!

14 August 2011

Home Invasion, I mean Inspection tomorrow, so I'm halfway through steam-mopping the floors. It's so hard to motivate. I procrastinated all day by gardening. Oy!

Good thing is the house is ok looking, and I know my once-a-year inspector doesn't really care about the house being clean, only checks the smoke alarm and oven. But Schmeh, I guess it's a good excuse to clean the floors....grrrrrr!

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Hohum sort of day! I woke up at midday with stomach pain and the kind of wild fractious feeling which means there is a storm coming. So to channel my energies I went out, cut down a banana tree, cut it up, put it in the compost then weeded some of back garden.

Then I came inside, had a shower, and cooked an awesome vegetarian curry, using up tins in my larder. Now watching tv, but really really wish I could play up!

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Finally got to watch "Sons of Anarchy" Season 1, episode 1 and 3. Just love it! Gail was right. Now I'll have to put that on my wishlist to buy one day.

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Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons