I just got through two paragraphs, reading a blog about relationships, and suddenly realised my husband and I have been together for almost 27 years. “Why are we so happy with each other, so happy together?” my husband asked me earlier today. I shrugged. “We’ve worked on it. Most people don’t.” I sincerely believe relationships are an art that needs to be practised, a skill-set … Continue reading Relationships and happiness
This is an interview Omanisa did with Lisa in May 2015, as part of a series of practitioner interviews. Lisa Riemann is a spiritual chiropractor and healer in Campbelltown, NSW. I’ve been out of touch with you for a while! Can you give me an update on what’s happening with your business practice? I work from home. I brought the practice home when I was … Continue reading An Interview with Lisa Riemann
Karlee handed the bottle of pills over to the program coordinator and sat down. Someone had ratted her out. She looked around the room at the other girls suspiciously, hiding the hardness in her eyes behind a thick fringe of hair and a demure smile. They were talking crap again. About how this one had said that and that one had done this. It was boring.
She watched Tanya for a while and wondered if it was her who had dobbed her in for the pills. Little prattler was a suck. Even the sound of her voice grated on Karlee’s nerves. It reminded her of a childhood ‘friend’. Bloody memories. But it was too late, one had sucked her in again. She wished she could get the pills back.
John tried to show Klonar the door after breakfast, but King Willy didn’t take kindly to that idea. How a dog could so completely rule a house was beyond Klonar, but the dog seemed vicious and he wasn’t about to risk being attacked. John seemed to waver between irritation and resignation. He didn’t like Klonar. This rough looking stranger who had upset his son wasn’t welcome in his house, but he had long ago accepted that he wasn’t in charge. After Mary died, the dogs took over. They became unruly. No one had ever been able to manage them except her. Hunting dogs, they were. She loved hunting. Had loved hunting. Almost two years, now, it had been, since her death, and he still spoke about her like she were still alive.
I had watched him scuttle past these rocks so many times this week. I do not think he knew I was watching. Perhaps he thought I was like all the other tourists; too busy watching the sunset and the wind-surfers, to notice him rifling through bags and swiping picnic food. He was about 8 years old, I was guessing. A wiry, sun-bronzed boy with a matted mess of blonde curls. He did not seem to belong to anyone and always disappeared around the rocks, rocks so slippery I hesitated to follow but he was the only mystery worth solving on this beach and Thomas had forgotten me, so followed.
At the moment I am going through all my old diaries. I am using some of the material held within them to write an autobiography of sorts- a collection of poems, channelled writings and conversations with spirit. Some, like the sample following, seems to be a mix of all three! Channelled writing, from my perspective, is writing that flows, or writing that pours out from you when you are ‘in the flow’. Or perhaps, another term for it might be ‘inspired writing’. Here is a sample I found in one of my diaries dated 9th March 2001.