Letter to a rich man at dusk.

Today I met a rich man. He was packing up his 4WD after a long weekend at the country house, over-looking the ocean, nextdoor. His face was heavy with several decades of Camembert and expensive Shiraz. He seemed embarrassed about his dog. He shook my hand as if he were going for a home run, and scowled at my pajamas.

He’s going to retire, he said. He’s rich now, he has been for ages, and well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It wears off, doesn’t it, that glow?

I mean, he asked me, what’s needed is just that one thing, isn’t it, at the end of the day – to be, mmmm, content. Yes, to be content, with ocean views, a Weber, marble surfaces and perhaps, a better dog too. To be content, he drifted off….. to maybe live here, in the bush – connect to nature, buy a boat….play golf…. fish…..

he developed a look of such terrible sorrow that I wanted to adopt him. I wanted to say…..



Go to the mountains,

Let them grind you to dust.


Go to the road,

and learn each of her flowers.


Go to the bottom,

have your heart made honest

by that sweet poverty;

patience, solitude, the kindness of strangers.


Go to the suffering places;

the theatres of war

and the suburbs.


Hear the morning birds,

praise the sun in voices, clear with belonging,

while inside their safety boxes,

far from the dew,

the good people writhe in silence,

as a cascade of living bliss

curdles against their Dulux.


Watch the little flowers that unfold in dawnlight,

see how they offer a glittering seed to every dawn

while the women, inside, toss their bedsheets asunder,

strap up their breasts and scowl at their mirrors

for their right to be men.


Smell the eucalypt, lavender, wet soil and sunshine,

stiring up under canopies of quiet leaves

as the men try to forget

how many of their bones

were cracked and shucked and fed to worms

for this empire of endless be-coming.


Feel every thing.

and learn the dignity of that.


Take the difficulty

with gladness,

for the tenderness it provides.


Let all your sorrows sweeten your soul.

Give in to them,

and see what ripeness unfolds


… let it all be worth something.

This falling apart.


.. let the pieces find their proper places

and be still.

There is a paradise we abandon

when we hunt for peace.


Let the bud be ripped open

the petals stripped bare.

Let the robes turn to rags

and the rage into prayer.

Be defeated in all battles.

Be torn at the throat.


Take your will

to the mountains, and have it crushed into seed.

Throw your hope

to the wind, and let the cosmos inspire you.

Tear your heart on true stories of beauty

and see…

what radiance awaits those


in space.

9 thoughts on “Letter to a rich man at dusk.

  1. Gracias amiga : ) Thank you. I hope it means, one day, I can teach the beauty of writing at your beautiful new space, emerging now from the hillside there in Penestanan – and bound to be a jewel.

  2. this is a new favourite


    if i am to endure the writers game

    and i would like to share more

    juicy stuff here

    away from facecrack,

    does it COST MONEY to set up on word press.

    my own blog?

    it seems it does….?

    thankyou for your magic.

    anna x

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