Only time separates us! In loving memory of a child united with Jesus....

How beautiful you are, and in shadow you shone like the stars now in glory and perfection you reflect the image of Jesus, how beautiful and perfect you must be! I am so proud of you and my love is never vacant. The measure increases, the heart is accepting, but my soul does insist on you and remembers wholly your precious smile. Your voice I hear in my heart but I desire to hear with ear once more, to touch the smooth features of your face but takes place in my dreams. Life still gifts me though my treasure is now with another, I anxiously await the still silent end of day that I may sleep and visit with you once more. I still call your name but you don't answer, I set your place but you never arrive, I see your possessions lay untouched and I reminisce. But these things now am I lessoned with though my soul still longs and mourns. My tears will always be heaven sent, may they be acceptable prayers, many prayers have I laid before God's throne over you and my grief does not yet abandon me.....Tomorrow my child I seek to deliver again my sorrow but I hold onto the knowledge in faith that only time does separate us! I need not worry nor do I want for this life only to please Him and seek His Salvation, that we all may attend together the almighty feast and celebration of all the Kingdoms children!


In death will I rejoice as you have, to see the Lord in Glory and I to behold not only His glorious face but also yours. Until then my sweet your family sends love, we laugh and rejoice over you, though also we cry and demand you once more to revisit and partake your place in our earthen sojourn.
Missing Paul..... 15-Feb-1993 - 28-Nov-2006
 

Rinaldo

Silver Faced...

Silver faced she watches over us, at times narrowed eclipse. Heaven sent guiding our paths, she leads the seasons and influences our planet. King tides loom the oceans, they roar with rage and swell as she navigates with compelling tow. Full, new and crescent moons splendid us with images of seduction. . . You launch our seasons bringing festival and celebration, we masquerade about on your behalf with dance and song like the ancients. Our fill of contemplation under moonlit skies fulfil the age of our discontent, you ladden us with mournful shadow. Oh ageless moon aware of us, quietly at your post in adorning starry blanket, depths of crater have wounded your soul and visions of faint constellations embrace. All the whilst our secrets are kept, the past you've witnessed are vile observations but shared deep within, not a word is spoken. Golden rises and pale dusted sets, your face always beholding sweet earth whilst quaint revolving's on horizons doth shimmer. Tomorrow night farewell's this stage, your face will once again grace earth, and we, kissed by your eternal glow. Farewell crescent moon the seasons end comes and your glory hides but for a moment...soon will we reacquaint! Soon we will be together ...goodnight.

Seething Droplets!

The droplets seethe as they plummet, leaving behind the fullness of their weight from the heavenly embodiments of water. Pools floating in cotton apparel fueled by gusts and gathered collectively as vapour. Exodus on the horizons of grey mirth, rolling in with thunderous atmosphere. Enlightening displays of power and static, strikes of power blaze towards earth. Mesmeric plumes of ancient tempests blow fiercely towards terra firma, wild beasts scatter, clanging doors slam shut in the quickened breezes as disorientation hits man. Cluttered exits and broken down machines line the black lengths of darkened highways, all the whilst nature takes its course. Nonchalant the wave of reckless hydrogenated cloud bursts forth over city and plain releasing its brunt to the parched landscape. Tossed umbrella, soaking sheets of water sweep across roads carrying the children home. Suddenly light breaks through as the sky reappears, last minute drops evacuate the heavens...all is hushed torrents continue down drains and gutters. Stepped into puddles resound and drenched clinging fabrics are worn on the lengthy journey home. Sunlight and rays brighter than ever reflect the droplets everywhere and catch eyes startling their gaze. Flash as the recent wash covered windows reflect blazing sun images on passing by traffic. Streets swish as wheels roll through the residue, but lastly heat restores peace to chaos as the last droplets resume their position high above earth, vacuumed up and nestle back into pools adrift, floating!

A Father's Heart...

With the given heart of guardianship and responsibility over a child, is difficult in the natural to watch quietly as they struggle with life as they are battered by life's storms along with peers and authoritive figures to which they have been entrusted by me to be loved and upheld without my full heart for my child. To equip them with the necessary skills of life then watch them take the brunt of the crashing waves of ridicule and torments, of misfortune and error and then in hope, watch them swim to safety and survive, is the hardest place for me to be. My place is at their side to protect from all that may ail them and from those things that may have an unnatural or unwarranted influence upon them, but to see them stand alone and fight against the tides of confusion, of belittlement and demoralisation from the responsive authority and then to hopefully hone skills of obedience and love with an attitude of respect is a desperate clutch on optimism.

My child seeks the protection of my wisdom and knowledge let alone the comfort of my heart to encourage and defend. But all hope and trust is given to those custodians of my child when I am unable to be there with them or to stand in their stead, making sure they neither stumble nor are transgressed. The love of a parent goes beyond self and life but rather to the death would one freely sacrifice their own, for this is the heart of one that has held and nurtured life and would dare not see it destroyed, but would willingly preserve it at all cost, to the death of self.
The Father heart goes extraordinarily beyond that of will and desire and gives ALL for the defenseless, for the weak, for the delicate. For love out weighs all and all becomes irrelevant when dealing with the purest of loves, the love of the devoted Father. His love is selfless and definitive and overlooks errancy with an outpouring of tremendous mercy and resilient grace.
For the human father his weakness is unequivocally the possession of a tender young child filled with such reflected love and devotion and the hope that the child will fulfill all their years with fortitude.

For God His strength is the knowledge that He has sacrificed ALL for His creation already! His very own son.....that we're now able to fulfil His desires in power and blessings Eternally!

Talents....

The talents that we behold present themselves when we desire the capacity to create. After all we are modeled and built on a design by the master creator who has allowed us to be genius. We have a mind that calculates, a heart that is passionate and a spirit that is connected to extraordinary and unlimited innovation.

Man has perpetually divined the boundless thoughts and imaginations of heart to birth extraordinary conceptualisations. We were created to create!We have the genes and blueprint DNA of God and it is in our humanity to be productively innovative. Look throughout history and the benevolent creations of mankind, from fire through to the space shuttle in orbit. Where does it end?  but only in death does any one single man quench the flame of innovation. The gifts bestowed from God on mankind are to equip and to build one another into a people of love, of encouragement and of unison, but talents are to be genius for the wonderment, the pleasure and advance of mankind. It's in our very nature to create, to produce and to inspire, for God himself has created all things and desires us also to inhabit and bring about glory and majesty to the earth and His name!
Our potential is not reliant on our own futile ineptness but upon the power of God's ability and full potential which inhabits every human being.
To compose a song or to instruct an orchestra, to arrange words that capture every emotion of the soul or to paint canvas with color and infuse upon it a reflected vision is not a chanced materialization but a miraculous accomplishment and wonderment of scope which belongs to God.

Forgo the inhibitions of self and explore the exhibits of your inner man, unleash the multitudes of creative wealth from the depths of your mind, your heart and soul....after all God is our author and finisher!

Iron and glass imaginations.

Iron images lay useless, expendable and about in dusty old towns full of architectural lofty webs, vagrant creatures and rust! Piled into the junked heaps of man, laden with cloths and stain ridden sheets covering the former glory of what was once prized in an earlier century by meager aristocracy. Trash heaps now are rummaged through for the former renaissances of yesterday and tomorrow restored to be placed as a plundered trophy to be admired by the new generations of notable enthusiasts of art and other collectable's.


Well travelled pieces far from their origins manhandled by dozens of marauders. Once mantled high in pristine surrounds of the prestigious, now discarded to the rear barn or workshop and even found in peculiar small boutiques, undervalued and unsung, these forgotten treasures now embellishing the impoverished obscure corners of the world.

Classic and rare restoration befits these individualised curios, but still rejected by the fascinate intrusions of the novice eye, all avail me to photograph the inept realisations of wonder....impotent are the conceptions of the craftsmen that laboured relentlessly with passion over these opulent creations. Never to be realised are the thoughts and intent of origins dedicated to each and every piece. These now a vain labour, trampled over by indiscriminate owners without imaginations or recollections of history or birth.

Open your eyes with a reflective heart and contemplate, speculate and consider for these are now forged forever in time from the imaginations of man! The Creator of earthly treasure!

Rinaldo

I Write!

Inevitably I write in the hope that I will impact a life, impress a heart, negate a thwart demise or instruct in wisdom. To perform language whilst creating imagery the beneficiary boasts of unscaled parallels.

Plights and inoculate wonders transgress the infant soul, endearments and verse of kind that familiarises the heart with quaint offerings of the past that has beset us.
Tomorrows pains and yesterday conquests regale the senses and potent the conscience. Simple and complex I write of tales, fact and babbling's of the fragile, whilst emotion carries you the reader to my plain of existence. Pretentious or obscure the thoughts and notes of worldliness leave the soul unlimited. I write to indulge to elaborate and protest that this emergence of man has been before us and will again inhabit the next. For tomorrow the sun will rise and you can touch the heavens, render me useless with your own verse. Contemplate all that has been, but be assured of this one fact, you may never see another sun set. So forge your words and cast your soul to another, share inspiration and conclude this life for death creeps quickly and swallows us all.

Rinaldo

Baby Awareness Week!

As it is "Baby Awareness Week" it's only fitting that I continue to share my life and that, which effects many.

In 1994 we were given a child by God as it was the year of the family. Sadly though this child died before we got to know him or hold him in our arms. He is with the Lord now in heaven. Heavily my wife and I were gutted, and the promise of God at the time failed us. When we arrived home I put my thoughts on paper as is my custom and this is what I wrote. I pray that this may encourage or bring solace to many that have experienced the loss of a child or loved one.
 
Our Loss, Heavens Gain

As rain falls gently against the windows,
And the corridor long and darkened,
We embrace our sunken hearts and begin
our journey home.
With footsteps echoing in the corridor,
Silence surrounds us, words fail, faces a blur
The wipers sway back and forth,
relentlessly pushing back the rain.
The drive home is silent,
Torment and heartache accompanying our emptiness
And visions of our child are etched in our minds.
Linda’s womb lay bare now, where just yesterday
Our child lived and was loved.
The night blankets us with pain, too much to bear,
But our love for one another comforts and God’s
Presence shares in our grief.
As a candles flame flickers in silence, the shadows
Of sorrow are embossed upon the walls.
Heartache and loss return in a second as we
Awake, was it a dream!?
No, the reality crushes us in a moment,
As we pull back the curtains to daylight.
Who are we to question?
OUR LOSS IS HEAVEN’S GAIN
We know our God and love Him dearly,
Our baby is now with Him.
Not a single tear will ever stream his face,
And an imperfect world will never blemish
his perfect form.
Peace, peace, peace......surrounds us!
Our faith is in God and soon......we will see our child!

By Ron Lucas
For Tyler Aaron 19 January 1994

That very year on the 2nd of December 1994, God blessed us with another son, Jacob Aaron! He kept His promise....

Busy busy busy....

Sorry for my lack of entries of late but I have been so caught up with my new camera. I will be back shortly to continue my epilogues, so until then please take a look at this site for a sneak peak at my photographs.

Rinaldo

http://imageryofthesoul.blogspot.com/

The Garden!

Profusely rustic, tangible and aged. Some manicured pockets of roomed jungle. The scent of wet gums and watered mulch whilst dripping with the lingering moisture. Moss and shade covered statues and concrete urns, intertwined creepers reaching toward sun light. The crunch of gravel underfoot and exposed weeds with tiny flower imbedded in the long paths surrounding the garden's serenity. Densely populated with climbers and creepers the dampness permeates my skin and the cool shadows are welcomed from the heat of the summer sun. A breeze sweeps through the open corridors of paths whilst birches sway gently and let in filtered light. Cool benches under canopies are positioned at random with tableau's of sculptures and iridescent plant life. Grains of timber exposed and textures of bark enable visual tones, whilst my senses take in tastes and aromas of ancient earth. Its beauty implodes on all of my senses and I snap away endless frames through the lens of my mind. Touch is waxy smooth and cool, subtle lines and veins of foliage are at my finger tips. I reach for more and brush petals against my lips, soft and delicate, sweet fragrances captivate my soul and the residue long lasting as I continue to fondle this romantic gentile flower in a delicate grasp so as not to crush its dainty shape. A butterfly in all its glory flutters past and glances at my towering intrusion to its terrain but its flight is lengthened as its interest is captured for a moment. Again it sails off and set course for a lofty branch high and relaxes on a grand leaf in the forest. To me I am man in Eden walking in the cool depths of the day seeking solitude and solace, perpetual rest, endless peace.....

Check out my new blog!

http://imageryofthesoul.blogspot.com/

Just click on the link to see my new blog......Thanks Rinaldo

Floriade September 2009

The delicate flower majestic in glory sways under the sun, compelling in its glory man to watch. A beacon of beauty in its collective mosaic tremendous colours of infinite palette displayed in splendour, allure to the eye of man reminiscent in shadow of unseen heaven. Pales in the eve, the dusk falls upon perfection. The petals draw close for the day ends and night blankets the quaint breakable petalous. Sweet scented pearls of aroma fill the air and romance nature as night falls gently upon the world. Sleep tight precious flower.....sleep tight.

Rinaldo

To Be A Giver

Generosity is humanly within everyone's capability.
"To give is far better a reward than to receive, for to give is sacrificial, depleting and denying self, but it also grows us as human beings"
What is pleasure in giving, what is it to give selflessly, to bestow upon another without reason or question? I don't know what it is! It just is to me. To not give is foreign, selfishness is not godly but devilish. To be self centred bears no reward but to put others first and to be the focus of your attention brings pleasure to the heart of a man. Maybe this attribute of mankind has been destroyed over centuries with famine and wars and death for lands along with the selfish pursuit of great wealth, but the impervious quest of man is to share his joy and prosperity with others and to give out of his abundance.
The Bible says; "the Father in Heaven is the giver of every good gift" I'd like to think that I am rather like him, to willingly contribute to another without expectation of something in return brings endless warmth and satisfaction to who I am. To see the expressions of unbelief or relief and the manifestations of joy in the glow of the revelation that a gift is unwarranted and given out of selflessness to bless and to be enjoyed, is reward enough for me.
To watch another persons adoration of a gift is gratuitous, simplistic and adds new dimension to a life which sometimes was not existent prior.
Indulgences of the heart! to lavish a selfless act spontaneously upon another brings the purest exhilaration and pleasure to both the giver and the recipient. A heart overtaken with unanticipated gratitude is pure delight to witness, to the benefactor delighting in the gift is a given and contemplation of the giver is not always present, but for the giver the reward lays in the sharing of what one has and to see the recipients final acceptance. The extension of self, the growth of godliness what else can be the reason to cast your treasures to another but simply to enhance and enrich someone else's life. To restore faith in human kindness and decency to prefer another and to humbly display a thought towards anyone other than self is to enrich and powerfully exhort without malice,without selfish ambition and or jealousy. You give not out of your abundance but willingly from the heart, its an attitude. To give freely out of your abundance or lack is not a measured choice but rather a willing act.
"Generosity is not a matter of wealth but simply an unbiased, impartial and sincere expression of the heart"

Rinaldo

The Window of The Soul.

To Photograph the world and see it through a lens is the heart of the photographer. What is seen through the eye shows us into the very soul of the person. The Bible says that the "eye is the window to the soul" paraphrased or "what is in the heart of a man" - is his hidden treasure! Whether good or bad....What you take in through the eye is what is watched by your heart. If you desire the colours and textures with light and shade, height and dimension along with the scale and shape of this colossal world and it's rare beauty, then realise it's what your heart draws out from the eye and what your eye is drawn towards from your heart. To capture your heart with a lens is extraordinary and to mimic life with an extension of your soul is to delight many in wonders of this abstract planet. Displaying the heart through this transcendent art is a remarkable quest of imagery. Imagery of the soul.....

Rinaldo

Tears

Tears - an expression of the heart....
Read more.....

Rinaldo

100 Days til Christmas!

Today I was informed that its is only 100 days till Christmas. This festive season fly's around ever so fast and every year seemingly time surges forward ever so quick defying the whole conceptualisation of time. Where is the constant of the residual full quartets of season that we once depend upon so aptly throughout history which the celestial bodies bore witness to along with the meridian since when I could remember. Now the borders of the equinoctial points are all but devoured and blurred by commerce, retail and the effigy of the red suit. Spinning out of control and spiraling into another religious conquest the season of hope has left its emphasis in the quaint memorial writings of the largely and infinitely produced Christmas card. The approached season reminds me of a freight train, tonnes of raw steel hurtling towards us on an approach of inevitability. On the distant horizon we look out for its silhouette and wait patiently for the sum of its arrival. Heavy laden and pounding the tracks it noise ferociously acute resounds the distant timbers whilst wildlife scurry and the train continues to bear down, full throttle. Never missing a beat we hear it in the distance and see its plumes of diesel. The anticipation of its arrival now enkindle's all and the children frenzied with merriment. Closer the approach the day is all but here and the noise deafening, the emergence of the enormous locomotive is mesmerising and powerful.
Where did the time go in those one hundred days, with the hum drum routine of finalising our in trays, booking in attendance the end of year parties, the stresses of the season, accommodating family and menu planning. With all the retail skulduggery and the onslaught of the masses invading our personal space whilst the constant checking off, of the proverbial list, its all so imminent. The year has diminished into another incomplete agenda full of the things we never achieved or the resolutions we never adhered too for no longer than a day. Or what happened to the many we invited for a meal which never eventuated and those we never once called! after bumping into them on the street and giving them an invite we knew that we would never keep. Throughout the months gone by we again deferred that holiday to the relatives through busyness, have many unfinished books piled next to the bedside and incomplete projects around the house. Why, our lives have changed and the hectic pace of today's New World causes us hurried anticipations of an illustrious lifestyle, a pipe dream of materialism and the promise of a simple life with every modern convenience and electronic devise that should break the back of our daily workload which has somehow eventuated into an ever increasingly more demanding life, squeezing more and more into its already strained day.
The simplicities of running your life in the daylight hours and relaxing over good conversation with a home cooked meal, loved ones by your side whilst regaling tales and antidotes of the days happenings have surpassed us by. We somehow now have slipped into a parallel universe where we work 24/7 and two jobs as the microwave cooks for us whilst the television or Internet raises our children.
The train is now upon us passing us by at a phenomenal speed with wind gusts and debris sailing about us as our eyes are tightly squeezed shut to protect us from the dust that has eclipsed our view. The train races off into oblivion, if we'd blink we would miss it. The distant rumble of the engine still is heard along with the faint clickety-clack of the chorused tracks. Out of sight now its over in a moment the enormous build up and ruckus of the season has completed its crescendo, all is still, all is silent, now realised another year is over....

By the way, if I forget....Merry Christmas!

Rinaldo

Rain!

The cool liquid travels through open space and pummels the earth delicately with quaint drops of fruitful blessing. The earth opens itself for it hungers the fertile rains to replenish it's unquenched thirst. Splatters of rain pool and puddle whilst droplets of the precious rare liquid roll down dry limbs and blossoms focus their attention upward to have their petals splendid by the wash. Dust from the dry earth dissipate into small valleys and gather nectar for the thirsty. Life blooms in the open sanctuary's of organic phenomenon. Mysterious is rain and its lavished affair with our planet, its beauty succumbs to our senses and we are displayed as benevolent custodians of the cherished waters. Seductive formations of distant cloud gather and the fragrance of the fresh vapour when mixed with dry hot earth regale our senses with an earthy distilled scent. The first drop falls, cool and quiet then momentum gathers and soon colours the landscape in smooth rainy dew.

Rinaldo

Depression is not just a word but a hard reality.....it's not a weakness but a demoralisation!

I was diagnosed with clinical depression going on three years ago now and have survived this debilitating cancer of the mind. Ongoing with more diamond days than stone I still suffer with spasmodic seclusion's and despondent episodes. I now frequent happy places and venture outside myself and into other worlds and cope with the burlesque society we dwell in. Journaling and writing has helped me overcome the adage once bitten twice shy, and again I have re-entered the world of the living. At times I am overrun with thoughts of the past, triggers which enforce previous contemplations, but no longer driven by circumstantial disharmony's. I have lived with this philosophy for many years that "a problem is a matter proposed for solution" I have found and chosen the solution rather than being defeated by the cause. Often if we cannot fix the problem then the resolve is to eradicate the cause.....self! My solution is God's grace and mercy who at will brings comfort to the needy and resolve to the lame.

Here is an excerpt from a daily journal I write, an infrequent gloomy day of a fragile mind.
The Mirror.
I see a shadow of a man that used to reflect strength, humor and a double portion of joy. Muscular physic, tanned, smooth skinned and a full head of hair. Now an obese blemished face with partial hair and failing sight. His teeth now yellowing and his eyes slightly discoloured. Not the pupil nor iris but something further beneath them. As though this man has traveled far through terrain which has beaten him. Worn and flailing.
His disposition no longer ready to collide head on with anything that sets his path, but rather a man who would now simply turn back or take the long way round if only he could muster the strength. The light is still there, not as bright and only a small spark still existent. His stare is reminiscent, alert for now but no longer sharp and always searching, sadly though, only the negative resides through blindness where once existed a philosophy the glass was always half full. The insurgence of a life askew, misshaped and unmanaged, forever now war fatigued and scarred from endless battle, has all but depleted this mans image. No longer resembling his youth or virility and never being able to commit to a glance of his reflection nor ever examining his meager appearance, he turns in resignation of his allotted disposition and skulks away into another despondent episode of daily life...... only to reappear once again before his disturbing mirror image the very next day, and so goes on this cycle of laborious lament, day after day after day....

Today is a great day, rain from the heavens blessing the fertile ground producing, LIFE!

Rinaldo

An Early Spring 2009

Hebron Gardens - Canberra

Lucas Day 2009 Collage!

Lucas Day 2009

Mum....Lovey!

Balloon face...

Maddy got her ear pierced, Lucas Day!! 2009
Bronte baked....WOW!

Silly Dad:)

Jacob ate...yumbly!

Family is so important.....

We are Family every year we celebrate the new branch of our heritage...the promised generation! Thank you Jesus.....Praise The Lord God :)

Rinaldo

Christine

It was an ordinary Sunday evening in the midst of daylight savings, still light outside the sun slowly setting and the heat still in the air. With a late meal across our laps and watching television, an image I thought that I had forgotten flashed across in front of me on the television. An old photograph of a dear friend at my birthday party wearing a paper hat. It was the 1980's, in Innisfail, North Queensland, a wet rainforest town in between Townsville and Cairns. I lived in the lush small town with good mates Bob and his defacto Christine for several months. A butcher by trade Bob would come home from work each day with lunch for us all, either a pound of sausages, bacon or chops and cook them up for us. We were all young and our lives very Bohemian, unconventional in the true sense of the word. We took each day as it came lived off the land, ate and drank ourselves to a stupor and smoked every illegal weed available to us. Christine a small fiery Kiwi, with a mouth that could outlash any male at any given time and feisty, boy was she feisty. She was adorable though, to look upon she had huge baby blue eyes that caught everyone's attention with soft brown flowing hair that was often tied back with cloth and a delicate smile. She wore loose clothing of every colour of the rainbow and often barefoot she ruled the roost. Chris and I had the very same sense of humour and we laughed at everything and nothing! One day I was giving her a ride into Townsville on my motorbike and we started laughing on the way at absolutely nothing which was often the case, but because we laughed so hard I almost crashed and then Chris peed her pants. it was hilarious, at the time of course. The worst part about it though was I had a king and queen seat on my semi chopped bike, so as she peed it ran down from her seat onto mine. I sat in her pee all the way to Townsville. We were in hysterics and were great mates, all the three of us. We had first met in Townsville where we all had lived at one time or another and so we traveled up and down the coast with several other good friends regularly and camped out in places such as Mission Beach and Cairns. We partied hard but stopped to take photographs of the beautiful country and take in the scenic views. Bob had the best camera and was a bit of an amateur photographer. Many photos were of his dear Christine and the rest of our times and travels together.
The party I refer too was my 20th I think and we had a small celebration at the house in Innisfail. Plenty of booze and drugs we basked in each others company and regaled endless stories. They often told me I looked like Cat Stevens at the time. We listened to good music and laughed at each others jokes, fun all round was had and no expense was spared to accommodate my birthday. Did I mention we were all the best of mates! The sad tale was to end though in such abhorrent circumstances, circumstances which none of us would or could have ever imagined.
After many years and one with child, Bob and Christine did finally go their separate ways. Christine moved to The Sunshine Coast in Queensland, whilst Bob rode off on his own to Coffs Harbour northern N.S.W.
As I heard it announced the room fell silent my blood chilled and my heart stopped for a moment in time.....Christine Nash had been murdered and her killer released after serving one month in a psychiatric prison. Christine's killer was the son of a high ranking police official and so he pleaded temporary insanity to the count of first degree murder. What an atrocity for her and her family, this injustice didn't go unnoticed by the likes of the media and the victims of crime organization. The story produced by 60 minutes told of how a few years earlier Chris and her son Wade, of around 10 years of age went bush walking in their town of Coolum when Wade fell down a cliff face. Immediately out of nowhere this young man scaled down the cliff face to rescue young Wade. He was hailed a local hero and was written about in the daily newspaper. Wade and his rescuer formed an immediate friendship which led to a relationship between Chris and the hero, Wade's rescuer. After a couple of years the relationship headed downhill and this is when the troubled started. This man stalked Chris and was quite violent toward her. He perused her relentlessly and to no avail did Chris ever escape his twisted and morose love. Whenever the pair got back together violence and jealousy entered into the subjection. Wade now frightened involved his grandparents who also had moved from New Zealand to be closer to their daughter and grandson had grave concerns for both of their safety, but with the high ranking police official as the stalkers father their hands were tied and their fate sealed.
Little did anyone know at the time that this affair would be the demise of Chris and the lives of every one involved indelibly would be changed forever. On the last evening that Chris's son and family saw her alive she was happy and contented with her life. She had lived and laughed and of recent days discovered Jesus; She had written in her journal of Him and of the readings in her bible that she had came upon. These were the last notes Chris had ever written....
It was a warm evening when Chris went out for some unknown reason, maybe to meet with him one last time to tell of her disdain for him and to inform him of her intolerance of his verbal and physical abuse. She was hounded with incessant phone calls and ramblings of a mad man on the opposite end of it, she had no alternative but to then change her phone number. Whilst out walking he came upon her whilst driving about stalking her. She was in a secluded bush area which I believe he waited for her to near before his criminal approach. He pulled to the kerb and sprang upon her like an animal about to devour its prey. Startled she let out screams of tormented fear and hurled abuses at him but in his passionate rage he beat her with white knuckled punches and kicked her to the ground. Defenselessly she tried to fight back but her tiny frame could not match his large masculine build and tirade of testosterone fueled blows mingled with incomprehensible fury. Her face was ripped open and bloodied and her perfect blue eyes that had seen so much beauty and so often had smiled, immediately were spilt open then swollen shut and blackened with deathly blows from his now bloodied fists. Her teeth were now gone, some knocked to the ground the others swallowed as he kicked her in the head and face over and over. Broken ribs and crushed lungs she gurgled as breath was hard to take in, her body quivered in shock at this incredible assault on her now limp body. Hair pulled out by the handful lay in the blood stain grass beside her and Chris struggled to cling onto life. This hero to the local community just a few years earlier stated on the police interview, "I could see she was in a bit of trouble, so I helped her out" He then strangled her to death.
Chris's body lay empty of it's life now a shell of what was once a beautiful woman, a caring mother and a close friend. Two women on their morning walk discovered her body in the open paddock the next day near the local school, unrecognizable blood soaked and black from perfuse bruising neither did her family see any resemblance to their beautiful daughter of 32 years. No one deserves to die this way! The memories I have of Chris are in my heart and I still laugh at the times we shared together, the joy she brought many and the lives she had touched.
I still see her face splashed across the television screen, its surreal, I cannot get passed the fact that she is dead and suffered these atrocities. To me we are still laughing riding motorbikes and smiling, farewell Christine....God's speed!

For the man who took her life away, he walks free amongst us.....

Rinaldo

New Bambino's - La Famiglia

Congratulations to Augusto and Jennifer Di Battista on their twin baby boys born on the 2nd of July 2009!
Cute...awww! My 2nd cousins in the U.S. Baby Alex and AJ, Check out the smile! WOW....
Salve!


mio cugino! magnifico, A presto......

It's an early spring!

Tulips in the garden already......love this weather!

I admit it!

Yes! I have a clock fetish, there is something about clocks I love and I have a few. Here is my latest majestic time piece.....time is only relevant here on earth nowhere else does time exist and it's not that I like to watch the clock or waste time but I keep time, its rhythm, its force, its progression and its perpetuation the very shadows of it. The continuum of experience in which events pass from the future through the present to the past, the period, an occassion and a suitable moment these are times.

It's an early "Lucas Day" present from the family to me....What's Lucas Day you ask? Well we have celebrated every year the beginning of our family.

We are a new branch and a new generation of people who are Christians and have the name Lucas! Which means Light. It's a tradition we've started and give thanks to God for us and our new family. On September 1st every year we pray and give thanks and celebrate usually with a party and gifts. We have a lot of fun and share stories and reflect on the day, but it's just an excuse to have another holiday ha ha ha...We look forward to it every year as we are all about traditions and family and we hope that our children carry on this tradition throughout the rest of their years as well. Well Time to go...

So here's to the LUCAS' Happy Lucas Day alll....

Rinaldo

Father's Day 2009

With Father's Day just around the corner, I was blessed to get an early gift this year of a new water feature from my wife and kids. I just love this, an expression of their love. You know I was in Hawaii in 2001 for Father's Day (U.S.time) which was in June I think, and I heard a guy preach about whose raising your kids. Is it the TV or is it their peers, drugs, themselves whatever the environment or medium their exposed to is what is raising them.

I am so grateful to have been able to be a dad that has had hands on with them and share in every minor and major event in their lives to date. This is whose raising my kids, me and my wife. We are so blessed to have such a close family and to be able to sit at every meal around the table and have communion and fellowship every time. Simply to be involved in each others lives and to be interested in one another. We share most things with each other and in the joys and the lows but whatever we are going through we share in it together, as a family.

Being around the table is so vital in today's society of instant this and instant that, everything is fast e.g. photos, food or disposable e.g. cameras, marriages. With fast food and microwave dinners the art of sitting together for a meal is dying in our western culture. The hectic work place, stresses, traffic jams and holding down two incomes doesn't leave a whole lot of time and room for the table to eat together and share intimacy with one another. Fast food has robbed us of the table and TV dinners or microwave meals has taken common place. So we value this tradition of eating breakfast together, dinner and on weekends having lunches or BBQ's.

Take some time to share in a meal with one another soon if you haven't already done so in a while and talk.....

Thanks for my father's day gift, I love it's tranquility and escape.

Love Dad

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The Judge

Recently my wife had made this card and posted it on her blog as she is a gifted artist and has a talent for these cards. I was impressed and challenged once again over the scripture that went with the card. The Lord will judge all on the final day of judgement according to the words of Jesus spoken and according to what we have done. But also know this the the Lord is a righteous judge and He is just.
This scripture comes to mind and is written in the Message this way!
John 12:48 I came to save the world. But you need to know that whoever puts me off, refusing to take in what I'm saying, is willfully choosing rejection. The Word, the Word-made-flesh that I have spoken and that I am, that Word and no other is the last word.
We will be judged accordingly - for He is the final judge of all the earth....
Please take a look at my wife's blog here http://lovelylindascraftcentral.blogspot.com/

Rinaldo

Flesh of my flesh!

October 18, 1991
At the alter with fan fare and garb, we giggled our way through the ceremony and chuckled to one another, eyes locked we drowned in each others fellowship. The bond and union we shared was already present, long before this day of solemnization but God needed to make it official, you know the nuptials and so on. That evening in front of two hundred witnesses, expectant faces and women graced in finest their apparel's with clean shaven men tucked into their suit and ties, dysfunctional family and estranged parents, our union was made official, two had become one, the flesh of my flesh in the sight of God and what God has put together, Let no man put asunder!
We were destined to be together long before the day we first met. Our search for love was weak but the desire impregnating God's throne room from our then single hearts was overwhelming. This consecration which is of God in His most flawless timing was ever so powerful, leading us across continents towards one another and through cataclysmic phenomena. Our Father produced such perfect scenarios and drew us in proximity perfection of one another. What the oceans couldn't separate nor could man himself divide, God accomplished.
The affair was very social, neither quaint nor was it opulent but meek and tender with garments of white we entered the improvised chapel, a factory unit come church, already as one, both now standing in pole position, the position of honor awaiting the traditionalism of vows and other formalities. The brides maids and grooms men were nervous with strangled smiles, their speech a little clumsy, non the less looking perfect, slenderly tall in dashing white tuxes and rich white leather shoes, whilst the women were draped in long gowns of sapphire, accompanied with corsages of red velvet roses and regal purpled irises.
Candles romanced the tables and delicate flowers trained the length of them, guests sat in fine company and the chatter dimmed as the bride entered. Lace and veil, lavished the bride to be while her smile lit the room with elegant ambiance delighting the invitee's. Soft music piped through the church, with the sweet fragrances of violins and cellos sweeping the bride softly down the paths of matrimony as she embraced her fathers arm. Little did we know that this would be the very last tender moment father and daughter would ever share. Nine years later the very same corsage was placed on her fathers lapel as he lay still in his fine timber coffin. Presenting of the bride to the groom was swept with emotion as the groom stood with tear filled eyes. Gentle reassurance came from the bride with a simple smile speaking of peace in beauty's wisdom. A hush calmed the inner man as the ceremony continued. Choruses of joy were sung and beautiful vows of passion exchanged, golden rings symbolized the endless love of this consummate circle, perfection and simplicity a wedding of promise under an open heaven. A kiss sweet complete, the auditorium erupted in applause as the bride and groom entered their future together, now as one.
A plump menu awaited us full of appetizers, main courses and dazzling desserts, the brass band banged out familiar hits and dancing possessed many as the of laughter children rang out when running through the chapel. The time for cake the traditional cutting ceremony with a rich torte of almond flaked custard. No white tiers of traditional dark fruit and marzipan, clustered with floral pieces, but rather our choice of fun eatable dessert the knife slicing through the exquisite yellow layers of torte and sponge. Filled with custard and silky cream we engorged ourselves with handsome amounts of this delicacy lavished with rum. We sang and rattled on throughout the course of the evening, glasses chinking, snapshots of merriment, staged portraits and the night slipped away. We'd all had our fill of giddiness then the car was readied to whisk us both away into the small hours. The driveway was filled with guests and applause, tears of joy gently fell from our parents faces as we drove by and waved, headed off in the direction of our future. A future not yet chartered but purposed in hearts through devotion.
We honeymooned in the sun and sand and slept in crisp white cotton sheets. As we lay in on the easy mornings sheer linen drapes swayed back and forth as the gentle sea breeze cooled our apartment. Room service lavished us with dark aromatic coffee and sumptuous breakfasts in luxury. We were the king and queen of our lives, our own small kingdom and now royalty graced this sun drenched palace on the golden coasts of Queensland. Laughter encompassed us as we flaunted our love walking the busy strip. Lunches and shopping traditional tourism amidst dozens of other newly weds. One afternoon for no other reason than to humour ourselves we plastered licorice on our teeth blacking them out taking photographs gasping for breath as we both streamed tears from hysterical laughter. We had our fill of lazy afternoon strolls on the beach and just being in each others company, this truly was paradise as the sun went down and the night lights turned up their volume.
Subtlety and romance and half crested moons filled the air, our love just seemed to swoon in the glow of dusk at the beach. It was memorable it was heaven and this was ordained of God.

Eventually the two of us would become five in total, also with another, a child awaiting our arrival in Heaven. He dwells in the arms of our Lord!
Intoxicated by each other still and never a lack of communion, we seek out each other if only for a moment one has vanished into another room. Separation is not a part of who we've become, it cannot exist as the darkness cannot exist where there is light. Our lives are filled with precious moments and memories of laughter and together we entertain life itself, its pleased with our charm. There is no reasoning to compare what has taken place, the miraculous wonderment of marriage holds us as one. We are bound by something sacred and rare, something so reminiscent of undying loves in past centuries, something ancient is shared.
Yet with still many years to embrace and scores to write, we will live on through better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part. Then one day without sorrow our love will echo into the shadows of yesterday and tomorrow we will be remembered only by those who new us, by those who tasted what we have shared in, this hastened vapour called life. How tragic is the man who never encounters true love nor the wealth of another soul devoted entirely to him, a complete heart let alone the fortitude of offspring and the receipt of their love. The day will come and we'll forget the rewards of commitment, the treasures of faithfulness along with the pleasures of giving and delivering compromise, along with the sentiment of preferring one another. Then as we pass by, we'll gaze once more to the blessings of our love manifested, our children.....For then eternity awaits our arrival to complete the ensemble of love, where marriage will be no longer but where perfection exists, where friendships will always remain in truth forever, in Eternity.

Rinaldo

The Cycle of Abuse - part 4

Surrendered

By the time I had left school I was fifteen turning sixteen and my friends were all actively pursuing relationships amongst other things but I had to throw them off the scent of absent pursuits so being preoccupied with drugs was a godsend. This became a cover and an escape for me. The deeper undercover I went the less the suspicion was cast over my behaviours. Suspicion is a curious thing, what was there to be wary of? Was I shady or untrusting. The fact that I was not interested in the futile chase of one night stands with cheap bimbos who exchanged huge amounts of alcohol for empty climaxes from premature ejaculations only then to be trophied with a loss of self respect, was nothing to navigate their assumptions upon. No, I wanted more than this when I was ready and the time right, when total restoration of self had been accomplished through what was probably then a naive optimism. As it happened my compass set new headings and a course toward change reigned in the years which followed. In obscure times and moments I too became involved with indiscriminate partners whilst propped up on illicit drugs fueled by insatiable cravings. Seduced by a pregnant drug addict at the age of sixteen and a brief affair with two lesbian sisters had also taken place, then by the age of twenty four after a six month relationship I was engaged to a divorcee who was raising a young child. I thought that this was the life dealt so I grasped at the chance of normality.

I also had my fair share of female company in between these years along with some who wanted more than friendships, but settled for apathetic partnerships. So eventually I complied to their whims of constituting couples who paraded their romance as we regularly dated. I know it portrays condescending overtones or as though I was something to be acquired, but in reality I accommodated them without remorse for to disappoint was not in my vernacular. I gave them what they yearned but sex was not a part of the equation. Warm embraces, kisses and benevolence was all I had to offer. Romance was inept and deep passion nonfunctional and for the time being they remained contented, ever hopeful of more. Sadly I had broken some hearts but took solace in hearing through the grapevine that they eventually did find their true love and settled into marriages without regret. I don't mean to sound so blase about these relationships but all the while I still was embroiled in asinine notions of breaking free of the hellish occupations which consumed my waking years. I couldn't remove the stain left behind or the cycle of abuse which ate away at me like cancer. Without a cure I would never be rid of the devastation which had claimed my life. We had served one another's indulgences all the whilst reaching mutual expectations of what we really desired from life and parted with exceptional friendships and experiences as significant others. I had sandwiched into these formidable years unscrupulous relations with consequences that diminished my expectancy of grandeur and sustainability with a loving life long partner.
I dwelt upon the plains of narcissism and frequented the impotent rock ledges of suicide. The indigent boardwalk of loneliness inhabited my soul and the cold arctic winds of despair coursed around me. I was alone in a wide eyed planet of gorgeous life in indulgent fantasy yet as though singled out I was exiled to it's outskirts, the province anonymous. Non existent I perused the streets of isolation, wind and dust storms shortened my vision, clothed in rags of aimlessness and despondency no destination was ever reached. I lay somber upon the old bed in a men's shelter at 18. An old wooden cupboard in the corner lord it over the empty room, inside it was as empty as the room itself. Shallow breaths echoed off the walls, in silence, I was as still as the chamber. Die, I just wanted to die nothing that weeping could ever change, alone at the fringes of death I now lay upon this empty bed. Sinking! no one to grasp at my hand, no passer by to look on, I could just slip away without anyone knowing of my stingy existence, the world entertaining itself in merriment and luxury. Blue skies, green grass, yellow sun, warmth and colour. My state bleak, cold and dark.
The human condition is one of intuitive survival, I had come to a colossal critical point in my life, would I live or would I give in to the summons of death? An extraordinary courage and resilience swept me to new heights and the former years were depleted by the now powerful adoration and strength of my new found saviour. Twenty five years of wandering aimlessly about the wilderness, lost and defeated I met the only one true hope, the one who could bring solace and comfort, healing and cleansing, The Lord Jesus Christ. I surrendered my all and took my rest in His words, words of truth and reassurance that I was worth something after all. Words that took the sting out of those lies that had corrupted me and sent me to the edges of total ruin. The stains of abuse washed away, the fractured pieces of my heart restored and a love I could believe.
The healing was never instant for me, for healing happens over time but over the years of maturing as a Christian, I was taught how to overcome and be sustained by the loving power of God. Never lose sight, never give up, if there is one thing out of all this I can offer you, it's this, there is HOPE and FREEDOM in JESUS CHRIST.
As the years passed by and the raging storms calmed I then met my faithful, beautiful and understanding wife of now almost twenty years, and have since been blessed with three adorable children which I believed I was not capable of ever having. Today we live a life of contentment in His power and are witnesses to the ever present and powerful God of restoration and miracles. Although my prior life was marred by so much uncertainty and perverse immorality I have remained fervent to Jesus, all the while contending with the past etched in my memory and the residue left behind in my soul. The mind is a very powerful part of the body, controlling us and leading us. I have said for many years now "wherever the mind goes, the flesh follows" this truth has sustained my embrace toward purity and holiness. I will never be perfect in this life but nevertheless I am committed to the process of being perfected in Him, being readied for the next.
2Co 5:17 So that if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new!

Rinaldo

The Cycle of Abuse - part 3

Iniquitous

I was seven or eight years old when I first ran away from the children's home for no obvious reason than that of adventure with another boy that was well acquainted with trouble. We left for school early that Monday morning a short walk of about 2 kilometers and even before entering the gates we had organized with one of the other boys that he would carry our bags into school, place them on the racks, and talk to no one of what we were up to. Unfortunately for him, he also had to bring the bags back home. The day before we had all attended church as a family and a dollar was stolen from the offering plate which enabled us to eat and travel Sydney's trains. I had no idea of what lay ahead or for that matter that I was even going with the boys. It was a last minute thing, I was so easily influenced and led. We jumped a train at the closest station which took us into the suburbs of western Sydney, Parramatta. I recall eating frozen ice cream from the freezers at Woolworth's and running rife throughout the store. This was all new to me as I had lived quite sheltered up until this point. We boys had a firm hand kept on us at the home and discipline was regularly handed out when needed. Now armed with cap guns taken from Woolworth's we burst into the empty halls of the local council chambers and fired those guns recklessly. The echoes pounded the corridors throughout the chambers bringing adults in suits out of their offices looking in fear both ways down the halls. Shoes scuffed running down the slippery polished floors whilst Kenneth and I ran for fear of being caught. Hurled abuses in earshot startled me as I had not heard these come from adults before and my perception of the authority figure altered that day.

Ken was fairly new to Ruhamah, the children's home, a little older than myself and more worldly than I. He knew the ropes and I just followed. He spoke of many new and coloured stories, things that I could never imagine. He also was a victim of sexual abuse and also was caught in the habitual satisfaction of unnatural desire. On our journey over those two days we slept under the house of a previously known girl to Ken. It was cold and damp and to keep warm we hugged tight throughout the night, a night of fear and unfamiliar sounds taunted me and daylight was a welcomed relief. We crawled out from underneath the old timber veneer house and left for the railway station. I vomited first thing that morning, from what I don't know but I suspect the gravity of the whole situation weighed heavily upon my slight and fragile mind. We had reached the town center and many people were staring at both Ken and I, we hadn't noticed up until this point but we were both fifthly from the dirt we had slept in under the house. Still wearing our school uniforms and looking ungroomed, ridicule and revilement's were cast at the both of us. We looked down at our appearance and shocked we tried desperately to brush away the dirt that stained our clothes but to no avail as we quickened our steps away. Hoping onto another train we ended up in Bankstown and jumping the tracks we escaped the railway guards as we had no money to pay for the ride. We jumped fences and stole food from the local store to satisfy our hunger. That day I longed to be back at home as now I'd had enough and was tired but we continued on, hung around shops and played games in the park. Ken knew a friend of the family who lived nearby so we decided to go and see if he was home. His hangout was also the local pub and if at first we couldn't find him at home this is where he would be Ken said. So we traipsed across town to the apartment with no answer as we rang the door bell. We waited on the street for only a short while when Ken spotted the friend walking toward us in amongst the crowd. He was a thin old man, old to me a boy of around seven, he must have been fifty or so with worn leathery skin and unkempt thin dark hair. His appearance was almost clumsy and I remember he smelled like stale beer. With nicotine stained fingers and discolored nails he wore a red plaid shirt with brown creased trousers and wore an old pair of brown shoes. He was pleased to see Ken and allowed us both in to visit. Surprised at his small apartment we entered into the dark room and sat on his sofa. What are you boys doing out of school he asked, knowing full well what we were both up to. He then asked Ken a peculiar question, I remember it so clearly to this day! He asked if we had played together. Ken answered boyishly, yes! I didn't understand at the time what he meant. I soon learned though the implication. The old man led me by the hand to the kitchen which had a fold out bed in it and sat me on it. He then proceeded to remove my pants whilst his hand entered his own. This was the first time I had experienced oral sex. I remained in silence, frozen still in fear as he finished what he had begun, surrounded only by the low volume of television coming from the next room. I only spoke once and that was to be excused to go to the toilet. I cried.
Strangely he allowed Ken to ring his natural father right after this and Ken's dad was fuming mad, being fully aware what this man was capable of. Ken also had been subjected to this deviant in the past. His father turned up within minutes and a short violent conversation was had between Ken's dad and the old man out of our earshot, then we left and were driven back to Ken's fathers house. It didn't take long before Mom and Dad were rung and within an hour or so we were both taking baths at home, pyjamad then readied for bed. We both were in a whole lot of trouble, missing for two days without a word and found with stolen property on us. Not much was said that night, the silence unbearable. I had never spoken of this encounter to anyone until now.
These events touched my life on a daily basis reliving my past with nightmares and the scourge of others that knew something of what had happened in my life. Even now as a mature adult and in Christian influenced circles I am still shunned as if my past has a promiscuous effect on me today. Jesus said to the pharisees on one occasion of scripture in the gospel of John, "if you can't believe that I am of the Father, then believe in the works that I do" Jesus had done nothing to disprove His righteousness, holiness and obedience to God. Even after all these years people who know me don't want to believe in the works I do, the way I live, instead have my secrets in their minds waiting for me to relapse into this horrific past life. As Christians we tend to keep people in boxes containing them in our tiny minds rather than growing them in love open heartedly. Why? The effects of our pasts are life long and you can never forget, if only! The reminders are there for a reason, to prevent you from repeating history, going against God and His ways. We have all been subject to one thing or another but its easier to cast stones and point out another's sin rather than face up to your own. This is the sin in my past life which you can see, but what is there hidden in the lives of others which no one can see. The bible tells us clearly that whatever has been kept in secret will be revealed. Luke 12:2 But there is nothing which has been completely concealed which will not be uncovered, nor hidden which will not be known.
I have struggled with my issues for years and dealt with so much only to have the resolved thrown back up at me by judgmental hypocrites. What gives them the right to uncover what the blood of Jesus has already covered? God allows certain things to happen in our lives for the greater purpose and then there are things which God does not allow and will intervene. I don't understand why I suffered so much as a child but what I do know is He was with me all the while and comforted me and guided me to Him. God's purpose was not to have me assaulted and tormented, no that was sin at work in someone else's life which effected and impacted on me as a result of the choices they made, which by the way will be held accountable by either the governing bodies here on earth or by God in His final judgment. No, God's purpose has always been to unite all of mankind to Him and in my desperation and despair He was the only one who could help, heal and change me. Now its my turn to reveal Him and His great healing power to others. The cause and effect scenario. God has the power to remove sin and its effects on us and on our futures. Future generation have been changed because I chose to stay and fight for them. There are no other Christians in my family. I am the first! and I will not be the last.
I had left the likes of Stephen and others like him behind at the age of ten when I went to live with my grandmother and sister. But the urges of habitual gratifications had followed me. For a time these dwindled into nothing but memories of the familiar moments of infatuate experiences nothing more, nothing less. The next few years seemed to coast along without incident to my relief but all the while nursing an injured esteem and protecting my contemptuous secret. Buried deep in the recesses of my mind were the decaying bodies of unwanted recollections which permeated my soul with the foul stench of immoral lusts. Corpses of shame and guilt ridden regrets were occasionally illuminated by conscience only to further expose iniquitous skeletons which at times were rattled by abusive triggers. Would I ever be free of these agonizing visions and abhorrent souvenirs, I needed an escape, an out, a life of regular exceptions. Alone in an empty apartment at thirteen I was again touched by further abuse. Now living in the inner city of Sydney with an absent mother who went about her own life, a new neighbor moved into the building awaiting his family to arrive from overseas. I was lured under false pretenses by him, how naive and vulnerable was I to think that a lonely married man would not do such a thing to a young boy. Did these occurrences really exist amongst adult males, how rampant was this? He offered me friendship and we walked together around to the local laundromat to play a few games of pool as his washing finished its cycle. The winner has to massage the loser, he said. Instantly I felt cornered but had laughed off the insane wisecrack as paranoia. Later he insisted it was no joke and was fully intent on going through with the deal. He tried to lose the game but I was not a great pool player and therefore was defeated. When we had arrived back at our building I found it hard to refuse the offer of going inside, so I went in. He again spoke of the massage and as the loser I was to be receive a full back rub. Afraid but believing that it would end there I went along with it. I had removed my shirt at his request and lay on the bed, but only then did I realize this was going to go beyond the back rub as he lowered my pants to look at my underwear size and quipped a remark about them, as if to test the waters and see if there would be any objection. His intentions were no longer obscure! It was the final assault on me as a child and I never saw him again. It was a month or so later when I noticed his wife and baby had arrived, I never spoke a word to them or to him. I avoided them like the plague. I felt so foolish, I was so disturbed by the event that I even begged him not to tell my mother what had happened for fear of her further rejection and repulsion of me. I was so blinded by the deceptions that surround abuse, guilt shame etc, that I never recognised that it was he who was the condemnable one, the erroneous one. I was so plagued and shackled by the lie the abuse bewitched upon me, I honestly conceptualised that I had been the seductive one. A young mind can be so easily manipulated into coercion of limitless bounds, for the devil refines lies until they resemble the truth.

The Cycle of Abuse - part 2

Camouflaged within society and socially repugnant

By the age of ten plagued in my conscience by the impure transgressions, these now had eroded my natural responses to the point of willful lusts. The whole course and the natural order of things had been altered and eradicated so there was no real hope in such a young mind or heart to ever return to the natural course of perusing wonderful pre-teen ideals and impulses and the natural desire to engage in the courtship and chase of true love. I had been fortunate enough to engage in a mutual infatuation with the pastor's daughter, Jillian. We flirted with one another and I longed for the weekends to come around that I might see her again. My school ruler and pencil case had her name scribed into them and she filled my awaking thoughts for almost what seemed to be a couple of years. At church we ran and hid together, the smell of the heavily scented jasmine bushes filled the summer night air and her hair swayed as we ran and tagged one another in joyful games around the jasmine. We held hands as no one looked and stole gentle kisses from one another when no one was about. It was evident the fondness we felt for one another which had also been noticed by several adults and parents. Totally innocent childhood crushes, she was my first sweetheart and a new love filled my being. I never knew love came in different forms but this was gentle and pure like the air we breathed. Breathtaking and tingly, I was in love, puppy love. The boys of the home teased me continually of this flirty romance but I didn't care she was beautiful to me and it never mattered to me who knew. She was blessed with a slender young form and long black hair, such a quiet beauty and her smile engrossed me. Gentle and elegant was her demeanor and her name Jillian was so beautiful to say, it rolled off my tongue with ease and captured the very essence of who she was. Ah! Jillian....
Our eyes searched for one another across rooms when attending church functions and on picnics we secretly found one another and held hands. At other social gatherings we both anxiously awaited the moments until we could see each other and be alone. This was perfect and untainted, I have always cherished those times I had with her. I was rich to have experienced her love, and to be special in her eyes, I had forgotten about my pain, my mother and the issues of abandonment when I was with her.
Disastrously for me though, after many times of subjected abuse, signals became crossed and disorientation messed up the finer details of puberty for me. Whenever I wanted to engage in the pursuit of crushes and romance, the suggestions of what was beautiful were now being overridden, manipulating me and controlling me to advance toward something else, an attraction to the very same which caused my grief my pain and my agony. I'd been robbed and denied the right to participate in the normal aspirations and impulses of male puberty. My orientation had become broken and mistaken. Romance was no longer eligible but merely satisfying an unnatural desire became habitual.
Misery became my friend as I watched my mates zealously engage in the natural order of their youth. I so wanted the same and to be the just like them but the attraction wasn't there. So there I stayed on the outer edge watching on from afar not participating in the likes of puppy love or light crushes that I had once known, nor tingling senses and the appreciation of God's creation, the building block that the average boy takes for granted. Sure, I could see with my eyes but not with my inner senses or emotions any longer, its like eating ice cream but tasting mashed potato missing the whole taste, textures, flavor and exhilarating appeal. I could see the beauty but never really experience it again for myself.
I quickly learned how to cover up and lie, how to avoid and manufacture. I talked the talk to protect my secrets, the things that riddled me with a gangrenous mind. I was camouflaged within society and socially repugnant. My life was empty and distorted by the abuses of my childhood and my future looked very dim.
I resisted and refrained these demented desires, it wasn't the life I sought or would allow for myself. The struggle for survival was tough. I wrestled constantly with my conscience, the torment sometimes was over bearing and depleted my soul of all hope to be like everyone else. No one would understand the turmoil within if I'd spoken of it. I felt alone and to be rejected yet again for something else in my life was now a reality and the thought of being exposed and ridiculed plus the humiliation then isolation could all but destroy me. After all I was still a child, sexually naïve but awoken to the realm of sex, attraction and fast becoming an addiction. Too young to be aware of this facet of life, yet now at a meager age well experienced in insatiable pleasures. Polluted and disdained I really never gave any one else the opportunity to reject me or get too close, a facade of shyness and meekness embodied me as I had been gutted of who I could have been and in place, I ensured that I would reject first and keep at bay all who wanted to know me.
Some of those who were attracted to me I let in. But only through my own promiscuity and arousal of investigative eroticism. An infant was left to cope with this shattered life alone bent down in the dirt reconfiguring the fragile pieces of a life left askew. He was thrown into array, directly without choice and had to grow beyond his years to battle this archaic ritualism of abuse.
Even now such shame and guilt still swamp me and surround me. My chest pounds in fear at the thought of loved ones reading my inner thoughts and troubled past. But when all is said and done, I need to explain myself for this life is short and the next eternal. Maybe somehow others may understand what goes through the minds of those caught in the sadistic cycle of abusive behaviours. Those who cannot wrought a life out of the fragile pieces left but rather continue on into the paths of ruin, destroying the lives of so many others through the consuming lust which has infiltrated their own lives. Escape is not a reality but confrontation is solution solely. Options are few, choices are fewer but devastation is yours, all yours.
The school yard was the devils playground filled with incessant behaviours of cruelty, bullying and sexual awareness. Negotiations were not a part of the marauding hordes in this prison yard of raging hormones and poorly thought out insults. Attacks came from every angle with only two or three loyal friends who would watch you from three paces behind as you took the berate of foul language and disgust at your mere presence. Without even knowing you or your life, you hair, shoes, lack of sporting abilities and friends would come under such scrutiny. Feeble and incompetent were your mates in these attacks nevertheless they stood by you through a loyalty beyond their years, then with a slight knock to the shoulder from their own as you wandered off together somehow brought a little comfort. Silence and moving on was the only formula of sustaining life within the walls and boundary's of the educational nightmare. I wondered was I wearing some huge label, could they see right through me? I am still amazed at how some people especially peers can sense what you have been adverse to or presume what you may be without the slightest of notions or inclination. Why do some suppose to nominate you a homosexual whilst others have no inclining of your past. Not that I would ever identify myself as homosexual or display flamboyant gestures but rather caught in a conflict and opposed to that nagging obsession of what had now shaped me from the abuse I endured as a child. Yes, although I participated in unnatural acts under the guise of habitual satisfaction as a young teen on rare occasions, the disdain which followed allowed me the luxury to persist in the resolve of always demanding a solution to overriding this horrendous burden and striving towards a normal godly life.
You see Jesus was preached to me as a child in the very same home I stomached these vile abuses and the rights and wrongs in a moral society were conveyed, but as the decay of such things perpetuated over time, so have the laws and obligations of humanistic ideals and values changed. For me as a Christian homosexuality is sin, according to the word of God by which I live, this was taught to me at a very young age. Hence the repulsion to live such a lifestyle even though being introduced to it so young. Diversion and distraction is the ploy of the enemy. Corruption is the easiest way to down a person. I have taught my family that the devil has schemes for each and every person to lead them into doing and performing his agenda, that is to destroy lives but God has a plan for your life, a map and a guide to lead you not by force, but simply to a better and successful life, a life mapped by God. A future of promise in a perfect world, whether or not it is in our lives only here on earth by simply living right, it's worth the struggle and fight to see that future generations hold onto what has been passed down. Purity, love, righteousness and truth. These are the ideals I value and which society are lacking today, the very same of which today's generation are eliminating.
I didn't want to live a corrupt lifestyle in disobedience to God and His natural order but rather keep what is pure and for my now family that they in turn would pass on to their children the ideals and values that I live by. How else can we keep a planet of debauchery and decay at bay? We need to fight against the evils and overcome them, even with a spoiled past we can change the future through our present choices.

The Cycle of Abuse - part 1

WARNING: SOME READERS MAY FIND THE FOLLOWING CONTENT DISTURBING

With no episiotomy her vagina tore open and my head emerged in a bloodied mass onto the white hospital bed sheet. 5:40am on a hot summer's morning my mother gave birth to a 10lb 4oz boy child. With her final scream and bearing down my shoulders pushed past flesh, blood and mucus, my torso and legs then slipped out into the world, an impure world an infected society of moral corruption, a planet of sin.
The bathroom was outdoors as an add on to the old brick and mortar house built in around the 1930's. Now the late 60's housing it's original stained glass windows in white timber frames, the house sat on a busy street in the southern suburbs of Sydney. From memory a narrow passage down the right side of the house led to the backyard. I remember often pulling up home grown potatoes and cutting rhubarb storks from fertile soil in a garden bed down the often shadowed passage way, the rhubarb then stewed into a syrupy dessert for all fourteen of us boys who lived in the house.
Every Saturday morning was job day which rotated weekly so that there were a variety in the chores which had been laid out for us boys to maintain.
I was on cleaning the outside bathroom this particular day with another boy Stephen who I can't ever remember interacting with before this. It was my first job ever! I was to clean the sink and bath tub with a powder cleanser of some type contained in a tall cylindrical shaped canister with holes punched in the metal top for the agent to dispense from and then mop the floors. I remember standing there that morning nearest the sink where immediately behind me from where I stood was an old large door to the bathroom, dark green I think, with paint peeling and an old loose brass door knob that rattled and a keyhole that you could see straight through to the outside if you were laying down in the tub, the door was open that morning. Outside of the door an enclosed passage way which led to the back door of the house which also housed an outside toilet, a number of hooks which hung on the wall as a coat rack for us children where we hung our bright yellow plastic raincoats and placed our gum boots underneath.
I remember well one of the older boys Richard had picked up his raincoat from the rack before school one rainy day and as he placed his arm through the sleeve he wailed so loud, we ran to him in shock and saw the largest cricket ever seen in my life emerge on his arm with its coarse legs and feet gripping him firmly. Well he danced and cried both at the same time as the cricket kept its grip, but then it leapt for it's life at the shock of either Richard's dancing or the pitch of his cry. We all ran away as fast as we could and laughed aloud at the sight but never gave this prehistoric looking insect a chance to reach any of us.

Early that Saturday morning as Stephen and I began cleaning, I noticed he was right behind me teaching me the ropes, cleaning the sink. The events which followed would undoubtedly change my life forever, not as a high tide would erode a cliff face over time or like a sapling would eventually over shadow the earth, it's roots bulging out of the dry ground never releasing it's grip of soil and clay and it's branches spread wide but as an avalanche would collide down a mountain face consuming and devouring everything in it's path within seconds and then laying everything which it took on it's sudden escape to the bottom of the huge mountain and again then rest as if nothing at all had taken place, almost as if unnoticed, silent the mountain would stand still again!
Stephen pushed behind me hard rubbing himself up against the back of me he pushed hard which I thought was rather unusual but then an image which I will never forget was Stephen's shorts being pulled down along with his underpants standing in front of me now with his penis erect.
His first words to me that day that I can recall were "suck me", "put this in your mouth". Although he spoke in English and I could hear his words, I had no idea at the age of five what he meant or what he wanted me to do. I was confused not in shock but confused. What was this? what was happening? It felt wrong, I felt very uncomfortable and unable to speak, a little intrigued as to where this was leading and at what was going to happen, all the time frightened, fearful and alone.
Irrespective of age I suddenly knew pungent and dreadful immorality in my heart. My senses then manifested fear although not identifying it immediately as fear. Fear of what he could do to me as his approach was intimidating and violent. As It took some time to comply with his request I threw up into the sink and that gave him a sense of satisfaction that at least I had touched him with my lips. He then groped me and tugged at my pants removing them below my knees and pushing himself against me. Thrusting and almost falling over he held me against my will tightly continuing until he had finished.
No sooner had this ordeal begun it was over, disgust and shame, guilt and fear were now mine. I owned this and the more I dwelt on it the more it became mine. He didn't give it to me, no took it from the experience and encountered it every time I thought of it or saw him. These feelings clung to me like death to a corpse.
Smell has an incredibly powerful way of reminding us of familiar events and can land us right in the very same passage of time once lived before in the past. It takes us through time and space in a second! Vibrantly alert aware of every sense, emotion and detail of where we have all once been, we are able to conjure up a moment and relive it, like an outer body experience but in the very soul of our being. Caught in a huge trance like state then only to be awakened suddenly by shock and disdain or to be gently awoken by the seduction of it's beauty, depending on the moment relived and recaptured.
Strangely I had never spoken of this to anyone and kept it to myself. Over time this encounter repeated itself in different forms and in different rooms of that house. Many attempts were made and I managed to escape his clutches and evil intent. It seemed now though as it had happened once I had also become the prey of others as if I had a label upon me exhibiting "here is an easy target". I had become victim to others without the suggestion of being another's prey before them. I think that they can somehow sense or pick up on your sexual physicality or vulnerability. Meaning that you have now been activated to an improper promiscuity in this realm and others sense it. I along with others had become the play things of elder boys and even experimental partners for the promiscuous at school or even whilst on church camps. Over time resistance became less and shockingly even had now become a source of comfort for me with those whom I had chosen to allow. It was contact! and I felt in a unhealthy reach loved and needed. It brought others pleasure and therefore made me significant.