Two Strong, Powerful and strange Dreams

OR,

A Pair of Cads

(otherwise known as Caddees)


"You frighten people," Stuart told her, "you like them too much."
"Oh." said Julian. She really didn't mean it. She didn't want anything physical, just liking in return. Nothing physical, nothing more than communication, acceptance, and the recognition of beauty. Or charm. Nothing to fear, no stalking, no demanding, just admiration and connection. Sexless and ageless and timeless.

Julian had had 2 strong dreams. In one she had been told that she had to kill her baby. She thought of varous ways that she could do this, because she trusted these people, and wanted to kill the baby without pain. Meanwhile, the baby toddled over to her and kissed her on the lips. The First Kiss. She decided that she wasn't going to kill the baby.

Dream Two. A husband entered into an auction for a beautiful girl for the night. A crowded room, the girl was brought in on a cart, and money changed hands.
"Do you mind," he said,
"Um," Julian said.
He paid the money and slept with the girl.
Julian was ropeable. she left, moving through the crowd of people, and headed for the car where she intended driving away. This Was It.

She thought of Dave. He was a student at Hippocrates. Generally speaking, after 8 pm the students were very tired because of the detox, so Julian knew that she could go into the steam room completely naked and be alone. This night, in came Dave. He was a true Gentleman and immediately averted his eyes.
"Pass my dressing gown please," which he did.
She went back suitably attired and they talked of cabbages and kings and sealing wax and things and she loved him.
He was interested and then discovered that she was married and was silently cross with her, thinking her disloyal. She never saw him again.

Somebody told me.
Could it be true.

And Anand had posted on his site the news that a raw food restaurant had opened in Byron Bay.

Ne Me Quitte Pas

Belgium this week commemorates the 30th anniversary of the death of one of its few famous sons, but a new documentary exposes Jacques Brel's love-hate relationship with what he called "le plat pays" (the flat country). Brel could move audiences to tears with his heart-rending ode to the low skies and melancholy beauty of the Belgian landscape, while being booed off stage for his savage caricatures of Belgians in his lyrics.

Newly-released archive interviews for the film J'aime les Belges portray a man both obsessed by exposing the small-mindedness and the "nothingness" of his compatriots while also embracing their "madness". Born in French-speaking Brussels but raised by Flemish-speaking parents, Brel never fully felt at home in either language group – a sentiment increasingly echoed by many modern Belgians.

"We have been conquered by everyone, we speak neither pure French nor Dutch, we are nothing," Brel said in an interview in the 1970s.

"He went from hero to outcast for a while after he released 'Les Flamandes'," says France Brel, his daughter and the director of the documentary, referring to a song that depicts Flemish women as immodest, coarse and full-figured.

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Il faut oublier                 it 's neccesary to forget
Tout peut s'oublier             everything you need to forget
Qui s'enfuit deja               which is already over
Oublier le temps                forget the times
Des malentendus                 of the misunderstandings
Et le temps perdu               the lost time
A savoir comment                to know how
Oublier ces heures              forget the houres
Qui tuaient parfois             which sometimes kill
A coups de pourquoi             the reasons why
Le coeur du bonheur             the heart full of joy

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me


Moi je t'offrirai               I offer you
Des perles de pluie             pearls of rain
Venues de pays                  coming from countries
Ou il ne pleut pas              where it never rains
Je creus'rai la terre           I will cross the world
Jusqu' apres ma mort            until after my death
Pour couvrir ton corps          for to cover your body
D'or et de lumiere;             with gold and bright light
Je f'rai un domaine             I will give you a kingdom
Ou l'amour s 'ra roi            where LOVE will be king
Ou l'amour s' ra loi            Where LOVE will be the law
ou  tu serais reine             and where you will be queen

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKMqCqjixyo&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMzAmrNS164

ik wens praten met u te spreken

LA VALSE À MILLE TEMPS WALTZ TO THE THOUSAND TIMES
paroles et musique: Jacques Brel words and music: Jacques Brel

Au premier temps de la valse At first the waltz
Toute seule tu souris déjà All alone you smiling already
Au premier temps de la valse At first the waltz
Je suis seul mais je t'aperçois I'm alone but I perceive you
Et Paris qui bat la mesure And Paris beats
Paris qui mesure notre émoi Paris, which measures our excitement
Et Paris qui bat la mesure And Paris beats
Me murmure, murmure tout bas: Whispers, whispers:

REFRAIN: CHORUS:
Une valse à trois temps A three to tango
Qui s'offre encore le temps Who offers plenty of time
Qui s'offre encore le temps Who offers plenty of time
De s'offrir des détours To afford detours
Du côté de l'amour On the side of love
Comme c'est charmant As charming
Une valse à quatre temps A four-time waltz
C'est beaucoup moins dansant This is much less dancing
C'est beaucoup moins dansant This is much less dancing
Mais tout aussi charmant But equally charming
Qu'une valse à trois temps That takes three to tango
Une valse à quatre temps A four-time waltz
Une valse à vingt ans A waltz to twenty years
C'est beaucoup plus troublant It's much more troubling
C'est beaucoup plus troublant It's much more troubling
Mais beaucoup plus charmant But much more charming
Qu'une valse à trois temps That takes three to tango
Une valse à vingt ans A waltz to twenty years
Une valse à cent temps A waltz to a hundred times
Une valse à cent temps A waltz to a hundred times

Quelqu’un M’a Dit

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
que de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteaux
pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit...

Refrain

Que tu m'aimais encore,
C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.
Serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous
Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout
Parais qu'le bonheur est à portée de main,
Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit ...

Refrain

Mais qui est ce qui m'a dit que toujours tu m'aimais?
Je ne me souviens plus c'était tard dans la nuit,
J'entend encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits
"Il vous aime, c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit"
Tu vois quelqu'un m'a dit...

Que tu m'aimais encore, me l'a t'on vraiment dit...
Que tu m'aimais encore, serais ce possible alors ?

English

Quelqu’un M’a Dit

Someone told me that our lives aren't a big thing
They pass on the instant roses discolour
Someone told me that the time that passes is a bastard
that is making topcoats from our grief
However someone said to me...

Refrain

Who do you still love,
This is someone that has told me that you still love me.
Is it possible then?

Someone told me that destiny is scoffing at us
doesn't give us anything and promises us everything
Appear that the happiness is only for the reach hands
Then they tighten the hand and find themselves crazy
But someone have told me...

Refrain

But who can tell me that today you are loving me?
I don't remember more it was late in the night,
I'm still hearing the voice, but I don't see anymore the point
"He loves you, it's a secret, don't tell him that I tell you"
You see, someone told me...

Who do you still love, he really told me...
Who do you still love, is it possible then?

Select ratingMachine TranslatedOkayGoodGreatPoetic

From: http://lyricstranslate.com

bellingen nevernever poetry

swollen rockpools
welcome my warm flesh
creek water plays over my body/mind

pebbles and small stones
give way under my feet

i push down
with my heels
then
float

no longer here
there ...

in between

Never Leave Me

"Never leave me," Julian said to Nicholas as they said goodbye yet again, but this au revoir was different, it was for months, not days, as he was leaving the country. This was an international farewell.

"Huh?" said Nicholas, he was taken aback. This negative, needy and strange identity could do with a smidge of MEM, he thought, but he was busy. He had a girl, he had to pack, he was travelling, he had a concert to play and life moved on, people came and went, he was busy. Mind you, " life is a cabaret, old freind, life is a cabaret." He knew that too. A most interesting cabaret, this girl.

Meanwhile, Julian awoke in yet another agony. What on earth did she say and why on earth did she say it. What on earth did she mean.
She groaned.
This boy was really pushing the balancing act buttons.
Now how do we balance this one out, she mused over breakfast.

She had to nip out to squirt strange white jelly like stuff into the horse's mouth, followed by a trip to Nambucca Heads for a hair dressers apointment for the twinnies, followed by a train appointment.

She was reminded of the scene where Heathcliffe met Isabella on the moors.
"You see something good in me, " he said darkly, "which at least makes me want to try to love you,"
We all know that it didn't work, but at least he was prepared to try to see the good. Julian was still putting Wuthering Heights together in her mind. Dr John had talked about passion being a bad thing. Julian needed to reread her notes, because she didn't quite get it.

Aha. Passion. Never fulfilled. Mission. Fulfilled. She was engaged in a mission statement.

She did know that This was a next movement and understanding and realisation. There were definite parallels between DeMartini and Mace.

Like the Food.

and perhaps the communication.

Stretch. We are all being stretched.

Those that Matter will never leave.

The Breakthrough Experience

Julian was in Brisbane at the Breakthrough Experience with Dr John DeMartini. She was expecting to fall in love again and she wasn't disappointed, although it took until the last 30 minutes of the 2 say seminar. And Day One went until 2 am.
"You're beautiful," she said as she turned to leave, and shook his hand. He stood on the dais and said in return, "You're beautiful."

She had learnt a lot. It put her in mind of the MEM method, of which she still had to learn the details, but suspected that Dr John had taken this stuff further. She looked forward to talking to 2 of the facilitators and finding out more detail on Tuesday night. The Night of the Naked and Raw Gourmet.

Meanwhile, she had discovered the Japanese Restaurant that she had been searching for for at least 10 years. She and Mac had eaten there with a rather bizarre Indian man who worked in high places in the Indian Government. He was short and round and smiled with red teeth due to the betel nut that he chewed constantly. They had eaten sukiyaki. There it was, under her nose the entire time. Synchronicity and serendipity.

She wasn't sure that she would eat there as she walked back to her bed from the city, but went in to read the menu.

With her head down she didn't notice Shan, the Japanese chef standing by her asking her what she would like to order.

"I don't know," she said, "I'm just reading the menu."
"I am the chef. I can make you what you want."
"I was looking at raw fish, endame, and a miso soup."
"Come and sit here, talk to me, I'm lonely,"
"I doubt that," said Julian, following meekly behind.
He sat her at the counter where she could watch the sushi and the sushimi being made.

It was wonderful and delicious and delightful. She was thankful.

Tomorrow she was going home.

It had been a most interesting and liberating experience.

Haut Hamme From the Ceiling

Addy was launching forth about The Hague. It was where Nicholas lived, and Addy had asked how he was. The nice Dutchman, he called him.
"He was very nice," he said.
"Don't tell him that," he said, "but those who live in The Hague had a reputation for being, what is it, what is it," he stuck his nose in the air, "superior."
Julian said, "But he isn't like that."
"No, no," said Addy, "he isn't like that, but they were called 'wooden pigs', or was it 'wooden hams'?"

Julian had no idea what that could possibly mean, but Addy was happy to elaborate.
It seemed that early in Holland's history, they would hang their hams from the ceilings to cure. Those in the Hague would hang a number of wooden, painted hams from their ceilings so that those who passed by would think that they were very rich. And so, the phrase, Haut Hamme.

"He might not have heard of that. He might be too young,"Addy mused. "He likes Australia, he told me that."

Julian wanted to know why and Addy informed her about Holland. He talked about the size of the city and the number of people that lived in a smallish sized country. He waxed lyrical about the glass houses that were always lit up. Apparently, flying into Amsterdam at night was quite a sight. He told of the commercialism and the water everywhere. The ability to buy marijuana, but that it wasn't legal. And the people who sat in leather chairs and picked roses from conveyor belts in huge glass houses that took 8 hours for the same rose to return, and they were cut exactly to the millimetre. Julian was impressed. This was a different place. She looked out of the BMW window from her leather seat, the top of the car was open and it was very comfortable. She looked at the magnificent views of the mountains all around and breathed in the fresh air. It was very, very beautiful and she thanked Jehovah for this magnificent creation.
"And made for us," Addy added.

He went on to talk about witnessing in Holland with his father on his bicycle. There was one farm that he went to when he was a young boy, about 7 or 8. It was winter. The man had turned his hose on the both of them. They had ridden there bicycles home, but Addy was literally freezing and was about to die. His father urged him onwards, 'push, push', he said, 'pedal, pedal'. Addy pushed and pedalled and could feel his trousers literally turning to ice as he did so. They cracked and crickled each time his knees bent. And now, he was almost 70, and every time he went back to Holland to visit his aging mamma, he would take the turn off to that farm and look and remember.

They were delivering invites to the memorial and Addy wanted to know if Julian had continued the conversation about the truth with him.
She filled him in, and also mentioned that he had said, 'what a shame we can't live forever'.
Addy was delighted.
"And you didn't jump on that?" he wanted to know.
"Give me time," Julian said.
Addy, Julian and Slavica and 7 million others believed that they could live forever. On a paradise on earth. It was a delicious, and true, hope.

Nicholas had taken a photo of the words 'rejoice' and 'persevere' from a small sign on the verandah.

It read, in full, 'Rejoice in the hope. Persevere in prayer.' and it was taken from Romans 12:12

That was the hope. Life on earth forever.

Magnificent.

You Warm the Cockles of my Heart

Julian was distressed to see the dying cockle fields in Wales. Cockling was an industry that went way back in time. She was googling and found that:-

cockle fishing at a low intensity (thinning) may even be beneficial to enhance and rejuvenate cockle stocks. This may be due to new cockles moving into a less crowded area and / or young cockles having a better chance of survival in less crowded conditions. The Burry Inlet in south east England is regarded to have a sustainable ..........

her cut and paste cut out on her, but she got the idea. They weren't doing any harm all those years ago when they went cockling in the south of England, but now they were turning it into a commercial venture, and damage was being done along with modern pollution. Hence the dying cockle fields of Wales.

And warming the cockles of one's heart related to the heart shape of the bivalve of the creature. She remembered eating cockles with vinegar. They were delicious. And winkles. A little known black shelled wormy type of creature that would be labelled 'disgusting' by today's skin tight panted youth.

Julian was devising a 'fine dining' raw food meal. She had gone into business and was now running a raw food, detox 6 day retreat which was proving popular. Students learned all manner of wonderful things about nutrition and chemicals and the way that stuff was being manufactured to play with your head. Buy this organic, natural thing and rub it onto your body. The skin was one of our biggest organs of elimination and we were putting the toxins IN. The consequences of which were sickness on a scale previously unknown. So. Julian had put herself out there and was ready for the chopping block.

The menu was looking attractive. A glass of organic red wine sans preservatives. Tricolour sesame-cashew dumplings and sweet chile-lime sauce, Chile Rellenos, monta-raw jack "cheese", and cacao mole, conch chowder and not necessarily in that order, with a chocolate dessert to follow. And All Raw. There would be green salads and tossed tomatoes to sunburst the table.

She realised that her business acumen was lacking. Her first $120 had come in, and she was now using it to invite them to dinner.

Meanwhile, Nicholas Biko was in town for a brief sojourn from the Prague, where he liked to conduct and play piano. He was very tall with a long face and rode a bicycle in Holland, but went by foot in Australia, wherever possible, which wasn't often as Australia needed a car. Australia had captured his imagination and he had gone from putting ribbons on winning Merino sheep, which had been a 'hilarious priviledge', to eating raw food, cappuchinos and $4 salads in Bellingen, a small country town, almost coastal and always flooding, in NSW.

Nicholas had spent the evening watching a Japanese opera singer in an Anglican church hall with his new found Australian freinds. The singer was married to Wolfie, who was German, and they lived in Tokyo with a visit every year, at least once and sometimes twice, to Ursula, who could teach you to ride par excellence. Nicholas found it hard to believe that there were 'horse guru's'. "It's true," said Julian. "It's like playing the piano." Nicholas nodded.

They said their goodbye's and thanks and appreciations for the wonderful and amazing and rather incredible evening. Nicholas spoke briefly in German to Wolfie and to Ursula. Ursula, who was now in her 80's and having a smidge of trouble with her hearing aid, which she hated with a passion, didn't hear Nicholas speak German words. Julian stepped in to explain and stepped out again as Ursula now strode forth with her typical self assurance and love of speaking.

Julian was in figurative heaven as she heard these languages spoken all around, from English to Dutch to English to German to English ........ and she had no doubt that French could be incorporated.

As a girl, she had shown a natural ability with French, and German languages, when at school in England. Then she had been whipped away to New Zealand, where it had seemed a little pointless to pursue the European way of things. She ended up in Australia and her baby girl, who grew and had never been told these things, decided to go to Paris and learn French, and then to Barcelona and learn Spanish.

Life is an amazing and wonderful and interesting and incredible and marvelous and full of beauty journey.