Impressive Views from a Parramatta Hotel 45th Floor | Night and Day Photos

May 16, 2024

I was in Parramatta, Sydney from 14 to 16 May, 2024 and stayed at a Meriton Hotel. I booked a room on what they called Sky level anticipating that it would be near the top of the 55 level skyscraping hotel. When I went to check in they told me it was on the 31st level. I said I thought sky was at the top so should I have asked for Heaven level? They laughed and I explained that I was so excited that I was going to stay at near the top and could see the views and besides I promised my X (Twitter) people I’d shar some views with photos. Management was kind and found a room at 45th level.

So, this post has the photos I took at night and in the day. The last photo in the series I zoomed into the Sydney CBD on the horizon. I used a Samsung S21 Ultra phone.


Some pics with a Medieval Theme & Tarot Meanings

April 27, 2024

I tweeted some pics I took today (Saturday 27 April, 2024) walking along the Hunter River bank near my home. I took the pictures in colour then I made them into two versions of black and white. I have included the original tweet and all the versions of the shots here. I like all three versions but I feel there’s something more in the black and white ones. Is it a more Gothic vibe? What do you think?

Below the photos I wrote about how I took this unusual occurrence as a sign, an omen & tried reading it through a Tarot prism.

A Tarot Reading of the Woman on the Steps

I was walking along the river bank like I do most days. Seen it all out there – water dragons, wood ducks, lizards, magpies, kookaburras, doves, egrets, goats, sparrows, cows, bulls, giant spiders, hovering dragon flies, even snakes sometimes. Yep! Brown snakes that slithered over my shoes but I stayed still and calm so they left me alone. Lots of people too. But this day was different.

This day there was a woman holding a lantern and a sword. Not something you see every day. Got me thinking it must be some kind of sign or omen.

Two cards from the Tarot deck came to mind when I saw her – the Ace of Swords and The Hermit. The sword she was holding and the light from the lantern. Simple symbols but saying something important. Swords mean thoughts and ideas. The Hermit walks alone with his lamp.

The sword is for new ideas, fresh thoughts cutting through. Like the sunrise over the hills I see on my walks. An idea planted itself in my mind that day – “psychic noir” is what I started calling it. Don’t know exactly what it means yet, but it was there taking shape.

Ideas are funny things. Sometimes they come when you’re just staring at a book. Other times you have to go off alone to figure them out right. This one is going to need some solitude.

I’ll take my walking stick and that worn old lantern. They’ve been with me through a lot of wanderings, searching for answers in the quiet places. The lantern casts just enough light to see what’s right in front of me. That’s all I need to know for now where this psychic noir idea is headed.

Up in the high cold lonesome places, that’s where I’ve found my way before when the fog set in. Had to shed a lot of distractions and false notions to keep climbing. The staff and lantern are hard-earned wisdom from those journeys.

It’s not an easy path going inward like that. You lose sight of everything else. Only the faintest voice left to tell you you’re headed the right way. You keep putting one foot in front of the other though, trusting that at some point you’ll break through to clarity again.

That’s what the woman with the lantern was telling me. When the world crowds in too much, I know where to go to listen to my soul’s truth. Just me, the staff, the glimmer of light in the darkness, and sooner or later an idea takes shape.

That’s the journey. Bright flashes of clarity like the Sword. Then the Hermit’s long, hard, lonely road to make them real. Not easy. But the only way to live that counts.


Some Secrets Are Best Left Undisturbed.

April 8, 2024

There were no rainbow hues crowning the dilapidated house across the asphalt. A lone weed struggled through the crack in the cement to greet the constant passersby. She could empathize with the weed, “What’s a weed but a plant discarded from the mob?” she thought.

Her hair, from a distance, looked like a lion’s mane. Up close, what you thought was hair was clusters of thin lines of flame with light blue ends. Was she an angel? A messenger of fire descended into this neighborhood? Just an illusion to occupy a mind that’s locked into a cube space? Could she be both? Like a profile that is a vase from one view or two faces turned inwards from another. How long she has been watching is anyone’s guess.

Detective Claire Harper parked her car across the street from the dilapidated house. She had been assigned to investigate a series of mysterious fires that had plagued the neighborhood in recent weeks. Each blaze seemed to erupt without warning, leaving behind a trail of destruction and confusion.

As she stepped out of her car, Claire couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She scanned the area but saw no one except for a woman standing near the weed-infested sidewalk. The woman’s fiery hair caught her attention, and Claire approached cautiously.

“Excuse me, miss,” Claire called out, “I’m Detective Harper. I’m here to investigate the fires in the area. Have you seen anything unusual?”

The woman turned to face Claire, her eyes burning with intensity. “I’ve seen everything,” she replied cryptically.

Claire raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the woman’s response. “Can you tell me what you’ve seen?” she asked, taking out her notebook.

The woman hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’ve seen flames dancing in the night, consuming everything in their path. But I’ve also seen something else, something darker lurking in the shadows.”

Claire furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of the woman’s words. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible for these fires?” she pressed.

The woman shook her head. “I cannot say for certain,” she replied, her voice trailing off. “But beware, Detective Harper. Not everything is as it seems.”

With that cryptic warning, the woman turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Claire standing alone on the sidewalk.

As Claire continued her investigation, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the mysterious fires than met the eye. And as she delved deeper into the case, she would soon discover that some secrets were best left undisturbed.


Dragons, Ducks, Kookaburras and other Creatures Along Hunter River

February 24, 2024

As I walk along the Hunter River bank I often meet and greet water dragons and ducks. These pictures are already here in this blog but I thought it would be great to put them in a page of their own. An interesting coincidence, is that according to Chinese Astrology, I am a Water Dragon. So, to be greeted by so many water dragons on my daily walk may be a sign that in some mysterious way I am aligned with this animal’s spirit. Maybe?


Mother’s Reflection on St George Icon

January 17, 2024

The door creaked open a bit, letting in the scent of incense down the hallway. Shadows danced on the bedroom walls, leaving the corners in darkness. The flickers came from the kandili beside the family’s icons in the corner of my mother’s room. I made sure not to think that my mother worshiped those images. She once said, “These holy pictures are like windows for us, a peek into the eternal worlds while we’re stuck in this one.” It was tough for a kid like me to wrap my head around that. But every time I kissed an icon, I reminded myself I wasn’t worshiping it.

I nudged the door open a bit more, trying to slip into the room without being noticed. Stepping onto the woolen rug, I tiptoed to the edge of the bed. There, I saw my mother on her knees, arms outstretched toward the iconastasi. Her back faced me. Slowly, she stood up, crossing herself. In the reflection off the icon of St. George and the Dragon, I saw my mother’s face. Her image overlapped with the saint’s, dividing her nose in half with the saint’s spear. One eye covered the saint’s chest, while the other floated above the horse’s bridle. The tip of her eyebrow touched the captured princess’s crown, her mouth a cushion for the Dragon’s back.

Mother’s greying hair framed a perfect silhouette within the silver frame.


Inner Sydney & Views from the 13th Floor

January 11, 2024

Visited Sydney in early January, 2024 and we stayed in a suite on the 13th floor at Zetland. Now, why is that special? Well, it might not be a big deal for many, but for me, it marked my inaugural night spent on a 13th-floor of anything. Exciting, right? Check out these snapshots from that memorable experience!


Portal of Enigmatic Shapes

December 29, 2023

The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being the soft glow of the street lights filtering through the half-closed blinds. A man sat at a cluttered desk, his fingers dancing with a pen over a blank page. At first, the shapes that came from his fingers were geometrical doodles, spirals that began anticlockwise but ended up snaking clockwise. Now a triangle that grew into a star. The shapes flowed from his pen as if the pen itself inscribed the signs. Still, the scribble continued, now over half the page from the center was filled with shapes and lines.

The stars on the page weren’t even noticeable, only the light blue of the sky ran down the page making a huge teardrop. As he picked up the page with the letterhead, he noticed that the stars had grown a little brighter. He held the piece of paper up to face the window, as he did light streamed through the stars as if they were holes. He touched the spot where a star was, and he knew that it wasn’t a hole. The star, in fact, seemed to radiate more heat. Leaving it on the desk, he picks up the phone and calls Tony. No answer.

He sat down and began to scribble on a piece of paper he found on the shelf. It’s not as if he had a message for anyone in particular. In fact, he didn’t even know how he came to be in this room. The scribbles continued, forming a maze of lines and shapes that seemed to have a life of their own. The room, now filled with a quiet tension, held the secrets of the man at the desk and the enigmatic symbols he was creating. Tony walked in, the door creaking slightly as it opened.

“What’s going on, Joe?” Tony asked, eyeing the chaotic patterns on the paper.

“I don’t know, Tony. It just started. The shapes, the symbols. They won’t stop,” Joe replied, his eyes fixed on the mesmerizing dance of ink on paper.

Tony took a moment to study the page, then looked around the room. “It’s like you’ve opened a portal to another world in here.”

“Yeah, a world of shapes and lines,” Joe mumbled, almost to himself.

The two men sat in silence, watching as the scribbles unfolded. Joe pulled the blinds open. The stars outside the window seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, casting an ethereal glow on the room. The air was charged with mystery, and the wall between reality and imagination blurred.

As the night deepened, Joe continued to sketch, and Tony remained, captivated by the unfolding spectacle. The shapes on the paper seemed to tell a story, a story that transcended the boundaries of ordinary existence. The room became a sanctuary of creativity, a realm where the ordinary transformed into the extraordinary.

And so, in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the enigmatic symbols and the soft hum of the city outside, Joe and Tony witnessed the birth of something beyond comprehension, that defied the constraints of the mundane.


Gypsy Bob and the Aussie Dollar Note

December 26, 2023

I found an old Aussie dollar in the drawer. Reminds me of Gypsy Bob and me back at Bob Gould‘s Third World Book Shop on Goulburn Street in Sydney. For a while I was attending Bob Gould’s Socialist Resistance group meetings. Later I met some others who had more of an anarchist bent and I left Resistance. My new friends and I, put out the first and only Yippie paper in Australia, ‘Plague.’ Gypsy Bob was nothing like Bob Gould. Gypsy was a wild character with a silver and purple dyed beard and long hair with glitter. He sported a patchwork coat & trousers crafted from assorted materials. I, on the other hand, dressed plainly, but our ideas clicked.

Gould had Abby Hoffman‘s ‘Steal This Book’ and Jerry Rubin‘s ‘Do It!’ for sale.

As we aimed to stroll out with both books, Gould halted us, asking, “Where do you think you’re going without paying for those books?” Gypsy quipped, “Hey, it says ‘Steal This Book,’ and Rubin’s says ‘Do It!’ so we’re doing it!” Gould retorted, “No way!” I clutched the books, and Gypsy brandished a dollar note, declaring, “Hey, Mr. Socialist, watch me burn this dollar if you don’t step aside!” Mesmerized, I observed as Gould protested, “Don’t burn the money, you hippie!” Igniting his lighter, Gypsy slowly brought the flame to the lifted dollar note. Gould erupted in a frenzy of profanities as we made our escape, books in hand.

I wish I still had ‘Do It’ and ‘Steal This Book.’

Months later, I revisited the shop, the sole source of alternative news and views in Sydney. Gould treated me warmly, asking, “Why’d you get mixed up with those crazy mystic acid heads? You were OK in Resistance.” I replied honestly, “Because it’s more fun than Resistance.”

Pretty dumb, huh? I was just 19.


My Mother’s Anatolian Icon

December 19, 2023

On a quiet Sunday, December 10, 2023, my mother left this world. A cherished relic, once belonging to my grandmother, had become my mother’s dearest possession. It rested faithfully by her bedside, accompanied by the constant glow of an olive oil lamp, flickering day and night.

In her room, when I visited, she would present the icon for me to kiss and cross myself.

This icon held profound significance for my family, hailing from Pontic Greeks who endured the harrowing attempted genocide in the 1920s. Known as the Great Disaster among Greeks, my grandparents faced unspeakable challenges during their escape, carrying with them this sacred icon. In those trying times, my grandmother, a beacon of strength, invoked the Mother of God, Theotoko, for solace and sustenance.

Picture a group of weary children and adults, huddled around a fire by the roadside, hungry and desperate. My grandmother, with unwavering faith, would bring out the cherished icon. She urged the children to kiss it and make the sign of the cross. Then, with profound devotion, she raised the icon to the heavens, repeating the ritual three times—for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost—beseeching Theotoko for divine intervention. Each time before she raised it to the star filled sky, she brought it back to her heart.

Amidst the crackling of the fire, my grandmother, holding the icon aloft, turned to share its grace with the circle of souls around her. She dipped the icon into a vessel of water three times, each motion filled with fervent prayer. As the icon emerged for the last time, she declared that the Mother of God had provided. The once-hungry children filled their cups, drank deeply, and found their hunger miraculously satisfied.

This faded icon, a witness to survival and faith, now holds a special place in my heart, connecting me to a resilient past and to my mother and her mother and to the Mother of God.

I’ve included this story in the book I’m writing which I am dedicating to my mother.

Below is a two faced icon also given to me by my mother. I thought I’d include it here. Found out through Twitter that it is a Byzantine Fan used in Liturgy and is called a ripidion, or hexapterygon.


A Special Day in Bethlehem, Palestine

December 4, 2023

Just remembered a special day in Bethlehem, Palestine back in 2000. I visited the place believed to be where Jesus was born. Afterwards, I wandered into a shop to check out Palestinian belts. The owner, a Muslim, and I started talking. He was puzzled by how Christians believe in the Holy Trinity and that God was crucified. We chatted about our different beliefs.

The spot where people throughout history believe is where Jesus was born

While we were talking, a customer came in, and the owner had to leave in a hurry. Surprisingly, he asked me to watch over the shop while he was gone, even though I didn’t speak Arabic, just Greek and English. I was a bit worried about communication, but he assured me it would be okay and that he’d be back soon.

For about an hour, I had the entire shop to myself. People came in, looked around, but nobody talked to me. When the owner returned, he made me tea, and we continued our conversation about religion. It struck me that even though I was a stranger and not of his faith, he trusted me to take care of his shop and not take anything.

I realized I could have easily taken things and walked away without anyone noticing. But something special had happened between us during our conversation. We connected in a way that made him trust me. As a parting gift the shop owner gave me a Palestinian belt. It was an incredible experience—a unique day in Palestine.

A Palestinian belt with some badges pinned on it. The embroidery patterns and motifs of Palestinian belts convey specific meanings related to the belts’ origin – the village, family, or marital status of the potential wearer. The intricate designs and variations in the Palestinian belt reflect the rich diversity and cultural heritage of the Palestinian people.