Samsquanch

The samquanch was born in Ontario, Canada by some beat up trailer park boys. It entered my imagination through the character Bubbles. I love Bubbles. His googlie eyes, his pursed up lips - his love of trolley carts and his innocent anger and desire to be his best. I am thinking of the colours that rage brings - what lies hidden in rage? All the colours of the rainbow as I dance on this board ridden floor I raise my fists in defiance. Defiance of an old way of being that keeps me from acting - acting out all the creativity that bursts in me like a rainbow pouring from my head. Do you remember that first coffee we had with Jana at Vic Uni? I was happy you were meeting one of my good friends. I like it so much when we do things together - have friends in common - do not live separate lives. I’ve been working with a separation wound all my life - no wonder. Working really, really hard on it since I met you - and I don’t know how much it will help. Nice chats with Graham last night - he is studying Jung in Switzerland - but misses the mountains and the fire. I don’t blame him. We are like each other - lovers, romantics - wanting the viceral - the mens circle by the fire - the ocean romp at midnight - the cold solitude of the bush and aloneness. This is where we go to tend the masculine - tend the feminine. And all the way along this long, long passage of time - there is unfolding my love in circles - not straight lines - but rather the way we as children would light our sparklers and whoosh! the magic circles - all sparks and all light for the briefest time. Enough maybe for dad to snap a pic and then it was out. But the afterglow - the afterglow shone in my minds eye - the reflection, refraction, remembrance of what was pulsing on throughout eternity.