Tag Archives: Banksy

Sparks will fly #32 #shrapnel

The fragments of shrapnel, fly loose after the bomb has exploded and continue on a trajectory to hit their target. The pieces of metal arrive through the cylinder that has contained them and with the force of the explosion breaking the casing, separating what was bound together, each piece finding its target and lodging to cause pain and destruction. Often lethal, always hard to dislodge, sometimes almost impossible to detect, sometimes becoming visible though in an infection caused by the puncture, shrapnel is designed to destroy.  There are a few ways to get out of the way of shrapnel, run, hide, protect, not being around where the bombs are likely to go off – all very good and effective strategies. In acts of terrorism, part of the power of that process, you don’t know when those bombs are going to go off, you are completely caught unawares and that is the whole point of it being a terrorist act and not an experience of being at war where the usual rules of engagement apply.

Grief is a terrorist with shrapnel at its disposal.  Just when you think you in safe territory, and have fled to a place where you won’t be under attack or even subject to friendly fire, you are mistaken as the terrorist arrives uninvited, and you have left your amour at home.  I find myself caught out more than once and despite well executed plans, I may well end up in a place or a time or have a thought that will paralyse me leaving me in the path of shrapnel that finds it way to me.

Protective clothing is not enough, not travelling to the places where I might be at risk, following directions to lead me out of unsafe locations, still leave me exposed. It seems so unfair but this is not about fairness, it is about revolution. I am freedom fighter and this is a revolutionary struggle. I need to have my own shrapnel to blast Grief and bring my  own acts of terrorism and show up when Grief least expects me too. To lodge myself into Grief’s body.

I am channeling Banksy.

I am bringing my revolution to life and sparks will fly.

Banksy flower thrower

Banksy’s Flower Thrower


Promises to Tomorrow #9 Stardust

Through the window of my bedroom I see Orion’s belt move across the sky on the last day of summer, the every evening reminder of our inheritance and our legacy – we are stardust.

The constant evolution from the big bang in our bodies is aching to transform our hearts and minds too. It is a story so big we can barely contain it, yet our body’s contain it and all of creation, past and to come is passing through us, pulsating in our veins and echoing in the dynamic dance of all living things. The rocks and stones themselves shout out Alleluia, and who hasn’t looked to the skies and seen beauty or to a wilderness landscape and taken a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied sigh?

What if we always acted from this knowledge that we are stardust, how would we live differently? The children’s author Elin Kelsey invites us to blow kisses so we can spread pollen and to notice we shed our hair seasonally just like the leaves on the trees. She invites us to deepen our knowledge and connection with all of nature. Joni Mitchell was right we are stardust, we are carbon, we got to get ourselves back to the garden. She was on her way to a farm to sing, dance and play in what become an acclaimed act of resistance party with the elements of rain, sweat, blood and more than a few tears between the riffs and beating drums. What party are you going too? Are you turning bombers into butterflies? I saw Banksy has opened a hotel on the West Bank and his images are doing just that turning Palestine considered by some including Banksy, the world’s largest open prison.

The hotel is in Bethlehem and I wonder how long it will take for there to be no room at the inn? There was a star in that story too. We are stardust is a poetic metaphor. We are stardust is truth from physics. We are breathing in and out the past and the future, whether we are complicit or understand, this act of creation goes on without our consent and mostly without our knowledge, but what if we did know, understand … remember?

Knowing we are stardust is a reminder of our common start in the sky and our common destination while we travel on our common planet. We do need to get back to the garden, to find ways of beautifying walls with messages of love and alternate ways of being, and to find ways of not building the walls in the first place.


Banky’s Bethlehem images are alternative futures, glimpses into what might be possible from little girls frisking soldiers and pillow fights instead of guns drawn. From the place where a star hovered over head to bring news of salvation to a people occupied, so too does a new inn offer possibilities.

We are stardust and the stars are all around us, twinkling and glowing in the bodies we connect with, in the nature we are refreshed by, in the crashing of tectonic plates under the sea, in the cacophony of the pink galahs arriving for their evening conference, in my heart beat and the salty tears that are as salty as the ocean

My promise to tomorrow is to sing more of stardust, to notice more golden moments and to find myself in the garden more often. There is always more stardust to celebrate and be found in every breath. I will blow more kisses as my sacred stardust duty.


We are Stardust – created by children at Adelaide Writers Week 4 March 2017


by Joni Mitchell

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him where are you going
And this he told me
I’m going on down to Yasgur’s farm
I’m going to join in a rock ‘n’ roll band
I’m going to camp out on the land
I’m going to try an’ get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it’s the time of man
I don’t know who I am
But you know life is for learning

We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation

We are stardust
Billion year old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil’s bargain
And we’ve got to get ourselves
back to the garden

© Siquomb Publishing Company