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Wnzdae 31/8/05 m nn bitvn ↓r.

Just wn w had wrkt owtn good tinri 4 thlrst 2 wksvth trp thpoptopz
gon bung. Twont ↑ bkoz thskruez hinjn thmknzm hv popt owt. Wr ½ nowrz drv E ← Moree nxt 2 n w
4kz off thhwae. W wr → Iluka nth N koestv NSW. Theez poptops rnli nstorld nth big  & rkwr
spshlst nlj. Propr funkshnnvth poptop &th taelg8 r2 ssnshl rkwrtsv owr kndv ▲n. Soe hz n-
sumrv wotz bkum thlrst daevth holdae propr. Thsmornn owr ♀/♂ woz ♪♪♫♪d x nPd Butcher (Cra-
cticus nigrogularis) 4 th2nd (1/4. ↑N p3) nthtrp (&  kn hsvrl now @ 5.15 pm h). Thn w →
4n rli mornn soek nth hot H2O (41.5° C) vthrtzian bor wch splz Rj. W wr thr @ 7.30 & shairdth
H2O (ftr thkmpulsri shwr) wth O 8 uthr  sumvhoom  talian, sum chk, but w  nglsh. Thrr 7000 
@ Rj thchk  us. Wmaev staedn nbit 2long zwn H → 4 ♀ showr ftrwdz ♀ nli faentd & koodnt st&
↑ 4 th1st 10 mnuets thn ♀ woz soe dsornt8d ♀ 4got 2 taekoff ♀r lthr s&lz nth showr. ♀ ← lookn nbit w-
on but OK (31/3/06. I’ve never felt so awful – I think my core temperature was way too
high). Thn w → O thoepl deelrz n @ thr wairz not n10dn 2 x nthn but w kaem † sum cheep
kntaenrzv oepl chips wch wood maek deel prznts (lauktuvės) 4 rloez shood  → lthol& (1/4. M-
elbourne → Kaunas; ŠIAULIAI; Vilnius 1; Vilnius (no. 2); → (no 1); → (no 2); Vilnius →
Melbourne) @ thndv fbueri (1/4. nstd m goen 20 mae → 16 rgst).  bort 10 tmz 4 $140. L8r w
 2nuthr deelr hoo dd ♀r bst 2  mi owtv →. ♀  twoodb 2kold & thfood 2greezi &  woz 2old &
thei woodnt lk m oepl (1/4. no 4 nthnthlji ( 13/9/05 p1): “ OP AL ¶ A long time ago, up north,
where its always dry and they m-ine opal a bloke passing through stopped in at a pub. The pub was
quiet as he entered. There were a few dusty drinkers sitting at the bar and the only noise was the
dull thud of a soft break at the pool table and the slow beat of the rusty fan which cut the air into
chunks. The bloke walked up to the bar but there was no barman behind it. He glanced around and
although the old Aboriginal fella was sit-ting perfectly still on his stool he seemed to explode into the
man’s field of vision. The old fella wasn’t drinking. There was a cigarette burning between his fingers
but he wasn’t smoking either. ‘G’day’, sa-id the man in an easy drawl. ‘How ya doing mate’, replied
the old Aboriginal fella. ‘You look to me like a fella whose looking for some work’. The man stopped
and thought. He noticed that as the fan beat it whistled softly. He felt sweat on the back of his neck.
‘Maybe I am mate. Maybe I am.’ He hadnt b-een but he thought what the hell I need something to fill
my days. The old Aboriginal fella spoke con-fidently. ‘Ah well, just so happens that I’m looking to pass
on a little stake I got, a little piece of land that I reckons got opal in it. You know I’m getting too old
to be digging holes.’ Although the man’s f-ace remained calm inside his chest his heart was beating
faster and his mind was racing with the po-ssibilities. Opal. Opal. He could get rich, these Aboriginal
fellas they know what they’re talking about. ‘How much?’ he said in a shrewd, business like manner
which belied his excitement for his decision was already made. ‘Hundred dollars mate’, said the old
Aboriginal fella with the burning cigarette wh-ich he never smoked. ‘You’re on mate. You are bloody
on’, shouted the man and threw a hundred d-ollar note onto the bar. His life savings. All the money
he owned in the world. ‘You got a deed?’ The old Aboriginal fella looked at him, ‘Na, I’ll tell you
where to go’. The man was taken aback somewhat. He noticed that there was no buzzing of flies in
this pub. He felt the sweat running down his ribcage. ‘Where is it then?’ The old Aboriginal fella
shifted his body ever so slightly. ‘Right, ya know that ridge that seems to jump up from the land like
it shouldn’t about twenty ks that way.’ He spat his finger out in the direction he meant. ‘I know where
you mean mate, that hill was mined years ago’ said the man sharply with a hint of suspicion in his
voice. ‘Yeah, you go up to the top of that ridge and you look beyond it.’ The man’s face was drenched
in disbelief. ‘All that’s over that hill is the bloody desert mate.’ The old Aboriginal fella leaned a bit
closer to him. The man felt the air move. Whoever was pl-aying pool had now stopped playing pool.
‘When you’re on top of that ridge look real hard and in the distance you’ll see a little bit of green.
That little bit of green is a great, big, strong peppercorn tree that’s always full of life. Then you look
beyond the tree and a bit further ahead there’s an old, dried up creek bed. That old creek bed has
never had water in it and it never will. That old creek bed it w-as even dry in the dreamtime.
Between the big, strong, green peppercorn tree that’s always full of life and the old creek bed which
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will never flow with water, that’s my land, that’s where I staked my claim.’ The man looked into the
old Aboriginal fella’s eyes, they were the haze of the ancient and th-ey laughed softly, softly yet
ecstatically. The man turned and walked quickly out of the pub. He stode across to his banged up old
car. He grabbed his short handled shovel from the back and threw it in the front with him. The sky
was a lucid, pale blue. The sun shone so hard it could not be seen and was an iridescent light. He
drove along a dusty road to the foot of the ridge, swung on a back pack with a few necessities in it
and with shovel in hand set off for the ridge. He saw a big snake which slithered away when it
spotted him. A shingleback lizard shuffled backwards out of his path. He clim-bed the hill avoiding the
old shafts that littered the area and sweat ran down his face as he looked out over the ridge and saw
an immense, flat, arid land. Far away a speck of green sharpened his fo-cus and he took a bearing
with his compass and set off down the other side of the hill. He spotted a mouse which was so quick
that it vanished as soon as he saw it and could only ever have been a me-mory. High above he
noticed an eagle, a black speck circling miles up until it went so high that he lo-st it in the blue. He
walked for hours, shovel in hand, until he spotted the peppercorn tree which gr-ew bigger and bigger
as he came closer and closer. Finally, aching, he stood under its huge drooping branches in the shade
of the thick green foliage which hung down to the ground. He pushed through to the other side. Back
in the sun now he saw the dry creek bed. All that was in the creek bed was dust. He stood between
the tree and the creek bed and he looked out across the huge dry land. He slipped his back pack off
his shoulders and it fell to the ground. He pushed the shovel into the earth and felt the sun hot upon
his back as he began to dig. It was not long until he had dug out a rock which he rolled out of the
hole before sitting himself down on the parched soil. With the flat of the shovel he belted the rock
and it split into two pieces which fell away like the shell of an egg revealing a dirty black sphere. The
man picked the sphere up and it fitted well in his cupped hands. As he spat on it and started rubbing
it he thought that yes, it is perfectly round, like a crystal ball. As he rubbed the sphere and old dirt
began to shift he detected some colour. He rubbed the sphere harder and it seemed to him as if he
was rubbing colour into it. Or was he rubbing dirt off to reveal what was alre-ady there? Either way
his hands were turning black. He continued mesmerised as if in meditation un-til he realised that all
the dirt was gone. His hands were black like the hands of the old Aboriginal fe-lla at the bar and what
he held in them was a ball of pure swirling colour into which he gazed. He w-as gazing at the essence
of life as it spun so many beautiful shades upon each other. He saw the su-n, he saw the blue sky, he
saw the green tree, he saw the brown earth, he saw the pink sunset, he saw all colour at its point of
birth. He saw it all. The sphere rolled out of his hands back into the hole. He sighed wearily, stood up
and pushed the earth back, burying the sphere. He threw on his back p-ack. He picked up his shovel.
He began the walk back to his car. ¶ Ben Zizys”. (2/4. ♂ ntrdt →2n sh-rtstri komp nThe Age nth y
2000) ( 21/3/05 – 25/3/05 p14 re Borgesz ALEPH (“1 of th ●s in th ‫ ٱ‬th-@ kntainz all ●s” (but
kkordn 2 umbEeCrOto ← on literature (Vintage 2006) p21: “The first Aleph appears in the
final canto of the Paradiso, where Dante sees (and, as far as he can, makes us see)
“bound with love in a single volume whatever is spread throughout the universe,
substances and accidents and their behaviour, almost fused tog-ether …” (Par. 33.88-
89). In describing “the universal form of this bond”, with “mind suspended and
inadequate la-nguage,” in “that clear subsistence,” Dante sees three circles of three
colours …”)))) prznts z♀ had fowndowt w-n ♀ had → yugoslavia wn ♀r pairnts wr n. ♀ wozv serb
bakgO  rkn & thrzn serb rthdox > nth . ♀ hadsum sperb spsmnzv m@rx oepl 1v wch  woz
tmptd2 x eevn @ $50/@. Fnli w → & hw r & 2moroe w hav O ½ owr ← Moree b4 ↓S → Dubbo
& → Melbourne. Oyair, v kopt 2chips nth wns-kreen soefr, 1v thm 2dae. Vrthn hzn ↑sd but – thsl
saev H O 2wks wrthv jrnl nzv tpn. Thurs-day 1/9/05. Good news! Our initial
disappointment at the imminent end of the trip was replaced with relief when John
discovered that one of the back corner hooks which holds the pop-top down when driving
was still in place. He remem-bered opening it but he either remembered wrong or it
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flukily snapped back in-to its holder after he’d released it. Whatever. He beat himself up
for awhile but I was just relieved we could continue with our planned circle back to the
coast. (31/3/06. Come to think of it, perhaps he was just beating himself up because he
wanted to come home early so I could start typing – I wouldn’t be surprised. The lot of
the writer’s wife is not as easy as it seems - just remember Mrs. Tolstoy.) Passed through
some very attractive country all the way along the Gwydir Hi-ghway to Grafton with
heaps of byways to explore including a magnificent riv-er, the Mann, which is island and
boulder-strewn along long stretches and de-mands further attention. We’ve earmarked
the whole stretch of the highway fr-om Moree to the coast as a future trip. Stopped in
Inverell for coffee and paper. The shop with a coffee machine charged us $9 for 2 mugs
(1/4. vvri bad kofi). Stop-ped at Glen Innes for a snack (hamburger (ordinary) for him and 3
potato cakes for me) and South Grafton for petrol. All three towns had interesting old
buildings in their main streets and looked comfortable. The country is very dry for this
time of year though and lots of young trees have died. We are now at the Sedgers Reef
Hotel in Iluka, an old-style single-storey sprawling wooden p-ub right on the water which
is a developer’s wet dream.. Drinkn RUM&KOEKS. v d x 2 z, lrst 4 thtrp. Sins w wr lrst h
lotsv nue Ø▲ (rsleepn oevnt) NWHR snzv gon↑. Wv bn nth N koestv NSW nnuemrbl z but v
nvr ‘publsht’ thjrnl nz. W plan 2b nSydney nn wk. Hz n The di Medici Bride x “New York Times
Bestselling Author” Heather Graham. & l  ue zn xprt – Sedgers Reef Hotel nth 4shrv Iluka z
1vth GR8 DINKUM (uel nvr HOjWoAhRnD h) OZZI PUBZ. Fr -dae 2/9/05. Wr @ Wooli Bowling
♣ (4.25pm) 46kz ↓→v Grafton. Tz n stdli owtsd & wr nbt sogi ftr nmeel ndr th taelgaetvth van @
npknk taebl x th shor. Nth mornn  woek↑ ←nlong&dtaeld dreem O b-n gnoesd wth kansr nth rm.
Thdreem nkluedd ndskushnvth proeznkonzv opraetn &v posbl owtku-mz. Thsrjn woz wairn wot
Bronwyn Bishop woodv dskrbd zn konk & dlbr8li prvoktv MUZLM owtft nstdvn srjkl gown. Wn 
woek↑ ← thpraeshn ♂ gaev mi 2 ndk8t hdgon wl & ♂ ddnt hv2 mpuet8 m rm. Twnt n&n.  kndoo
wthowt dreemz (13/4. re Freud 16/2/04 – 27/2/04 p11,12,13) lk th-@. W wr ↑ vri rli & → 2 th
n  rtrnn ftr thntv n & thn b-n nloedd. W  2n 4mr mungr & lsoe 2th oenrv 1vth s
wch ♂ woz wrkn 2gthr wth ♂z gr&☼ & thfrthr. ♂ paed thgr&☼ $600/wk & ♂ @ thoenrvth neiborn 
hoo livd nt, nvr wosht, & paed ♂z ☼ $300/wk. Thmoest przd  hz b-or but ue woent gettnth
shops zth r keep thfue thei k@ch. L8r → Maclean 4 ppr/kofi & → Y-amba 4 npeesv  eech (H
– floundr, mi – snapr) → Grafton whr  gotn nueli publsht stv NRMA ma-psv NSW (rkdd prsv
$6.95 but ue getm 4 0 fue rn thRACV) & w → pub nSouth Grafton (thrjnl 2 )‫ ٱ‬studi em. Thn → Minnie
Water → Wooli. Not shor wr wr ▲n 2nt zth Ø▲ snz hv prlfr8d h2. Nsdntli, njuen thei hvn
GOANNA PULLING (1/4. Outback p8) kmptshn @ Wooli. Oyair   mum ← Grafton 2  ♀r
weedb nSydney ← thrzdae nxt 4 nfue daez n owr wae →. B4  4gt  must -shn th@ th w
spnt nYowah & Rj n @ oepl &  2 deelrz ddnt ↑ th sltst nstalja n mi thoe wn  woz ↓&owt
nWhite Cliffs & ofn sins d flt  had bn nm nchrl sOnz & mung th  wr  blongd (-1/4.
29/4/04 – 1/5/04 p3-10 (2/4. ntrd 4n ltrchr prz ndr thttl The Mail Run ( Savannah p2));
30/11-/04 – 9/12/04 p5-12 (2/4. pp4 & 5 ntrd 4 prz ndr ttl The Yabbying Expedition; pp8
-10 publsht nn buetfl maed ttld Sideways (a Stalingrad intercalarium) ISBN 1920811141 x
OSfO&WlSKI. Thanx.); Melbourne – Syd-ney p8-15). v bkum justz muchn nchrl mmbrvth l@é
sipn ch@rn klrs & m bsshn wth lngwj (az ndv-jualz wr subsjri 2t zth meennz hv2b ngoesi8d wth
thO → wch wr joind but lngwj (thoe w doent noe whr →) tslfz subsjri 2 thO) hz morthndwktli
rplaest thOEPLBUG. 2 nvst n $ nth poekeez b4 n 4 n● 4 2nt. Tzn oepnr 2 spnd nbtv nn ♣ l
k ths nth koestv OZ – ue getn diov how us prvljd, kumfi & rlaxt OZZEEZ hoor hlpn saev thO ←
EEVL MUZLMZ liv thrstvth . KANGRUEZNMU-EZ 1dr O nth stsv theez ltl koestl z. LUKI
CUNTRI. Saturday 3/9/05. Had a little stroll along the beach this morning before
heading back to South Grafton where we’-d seen a great coffee shop yesterday, but it
was closed. So was another one. The only two open were in Grafton and one was of the
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lace tablecloth kind which we avoid like the plague and the other was in an arcade and
very pedestrian, but the coffee was good. On to Coffs Harbour for fish, a walk on
Muttonbird Isl-and, an ice-cream and a walk along Coffs Creek – mangrove boardwalk,
thr-ough a salubrious suburb and ending at a wine bar overlooking the creek. Ve-ry nice.
Now we are back at Urunga from where we set off for Carnavon Gorge only two months
ago but it seems like a very long time. Kntnuen wth m kts ← y-strdi : wn slbrteez & pop
z ndors prdukts bthei shuez, hair spraez, pantilnrz, thoe thei maeb noeb-trthn kmpeetn prdukts wr
nklnd 2 x em soaz2b lk th w dmr. F10 wn w dmr thxmplvnz lf w lso nvst ♀r/♂m wth
thorti 2 maek prnownstsn tpks owtsd thskoepv ♀r/♂z xpiens. Orlth -nz vth gr8 rz (ie
MOEZS, JEEZSV NZARTH, MUHUMD, thBOODA) rtrzuerd x thr foloerz. Butf wot thei  braeks
throolzv meenn wch orlvus (ue &  (zn r (thoe ksntrk) m knshuzv m rspn-sblti) maek
owr modst kntrbueshnz) hv stablsht 2 ngoesi8 owr O, thoe w @rbuet thortiov god hmslf 2 thr
, & thoe thei rzon8 nkreesnli oevr th aejz (but tz knseevbl th@ nz wch maek 0 sns @ th
kwr meenn l8r zw rngoesi8 stablsht meennz), thei knotb ndrstood x us & uezd4 thperpzz
wdploi lngwj.  fndt stj m f10 mor mprst x thdeedz & thxmplvth gr8 rz thn x thr nz.
 doent spr2 setni kndv xmpl – nli 2prsue nkwrki ntrst nth UESZ & BUESZv lng-wj. 2b
kntnued nuthr dae, maeb. ☼di 4/9/05. Lrst nt thvan nli got kruncht. Lukli th St Kilda vs Ad-elaid
gaem had just fnsht & d lnt → frunt dshbord 2 swchf thraedio wn  d n rvrsn  owrz &
wzaebl2 th nthnikv . Thnt d orlnt. Now gtnloedvths, tz how thprvljd liv: thsmornn ♀/♂ 4n xtr-
long 2th v  nth roofvth van. Soe w ddnt ↑ til 9.00. Thn w droevth15kz → Bellingen wchz n owr
listv prmyr OZZI z (v +d Halifax (nIngham QLD nth trpkl eest koest (6/4. Tropika – 1 p1)) 2
thlist (wch nkluedz Beechworth, Vic. & Mullumbimbi, NSW & Yungaburra (6/4. v mapn Tropika – 2
p12) nAtherton)) bkoz w tr 2hv owr l@é wth ppr nth groovist kafé wkn fnd. Ttookn long 2 th
Weekend Australian.   baeknnegz 4 brki & H drue m @10shn 2 Czeslaw Miloszz kmt :
“-Once a writer is born into a family, that family is doomed”. W droev ← Urunga → nbeutfl
bakroed korld So-uth Arm Rd wr w fowndn good ● 2  4 thnt 4 thfuechr. v dsdd th@ ftr brunch
w shood drnk n-nn swanki br vrlookn th H2O & soe w → Nambucca wr w nue thr woz suchn1 & 
drank 2 redz (H n lmnskwosh) zw knsuemd grlk brd wth olv tapnrd, bazl pstoe & ☼drd tmrtoe. Thn
w →d & big  nth H2O. Now wr @ South West Rocks (owtv Kempsey) nn pub wchz bn bilt
sins w wr lrst h& wr m drnkn nv red. H drank kofi &z goen 2 x nuthr butrskch bki. Thrr 9 uthr 
nth huej br vrlookn th Macleay River (w wil zzzz x thbank nx) & 10 TV skreenz. L8r l ↓ $1 →
poekeez. Oyair, thkolniov fruet b@s (000,000z) n Urungav lft th ‫ & ٱ‬w  t owtvth bakvth van nth
bankvth rvr ndr n-Coral  nflowr wr nBrown Honeyeater (Lichmera indistincta) woz feedn nnktr. 
spoez  shood-shn thrz bn nHURKN (3/4. twz RINA)(SKLOEN n OZ; TFOON n NIPN
(not2b knfuezd wth TORNAEDOEZ (WILI WILIZ n OZ) wch r l& baest) n th USofA. Monday
5/9/05. I think I ha-ve corrupted A…Z – he is planning where we can go for wine and
garlic bread each day! Did a stroll along the river to the opening where we saw a school
of salmon thick in the waves just off the causeway tantalizingly just out of reach of the
fisherman on the adjacent beach. Shopped up before we left S.W.Rocks. In-vestigated
Ryan’s Cut where we have often stayed – the sandbar is closed so the water is very high.
Had a drink at the pub at Crescent Head and wasted some dollars on the pokies. Now at
Ryan’s Cut for tea and journal writing. Petrol at S.W.Rocks hit 133.9c for unleaded and
137.9 for premium unleaded in the wa-ke of Hurricane Katrina (though I’m sure the
petrol in the storage tanks pre-dates her). Wonder what they’re charging at Bedourie
(3/4. lftv kuvrmapv & p7v Outback) now. The weather is cooling as we head south and the
wind was quite st-rong off the ocean today. There is lovely country all along the coast
between S.-W.Rocks and Crescent Head with many coral trees in evidence – they fill the
ni-che taken by the African Tulip tree in the tropical north and seem hard to kill. We saw
many where lopped branches had simply taken root and kept on grow-ing. Mor UESZ &
BUESZv lngwj. Nweekgoe thr woz nuthr 1v thoez nuezppr rtklz O how maeznli s-mlr w wr 2 chimps
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zvdnst xth dskvri w shaird 95%v owr DNA kwns. v rmrkt nth rdukshnst naech-rvth ssershn b4 (6/4.
3/6/03 – 12/6/03 p11 & 13) & now rpeet m kts, taeknm nbit ferthr. Fm-unkeez shaird 0
DNA wth us but plaed thpianoe, red s & ↓t ATOM Z theiwdb mor lk us thanf thei hd 100%
saem DNA zus but hungowtn jnglz n ndrumn thr chsts. W mt jstz eezli rgue th@ bkoz
chimps EET & SHIT thr maeznli lk us rbkoz boeth z &  r maed ntrli ← slz thr dntkl.
Owr mstaek hz2 dskrb thO ntermzvn part r sumvth parts wch maekt↑ (2/4. “I have heard
of a man who had a mind to sell his house, and therefore carried a piece of brick in his
pocket, which he shewed as a pattern to encourage purchasers.” – Jonathan Swift.) wn
eevn 2 dskrbt ntermzv orlth pr-ts wdb nsu nt. Nprtklr wv nnklnaeshn 2 (wth n wch b-n
prtvth O knot tslf) thbodi zs-epr8 fromts kshnz & thknskwnszvth kshnz (6/4. 11/11/02 –
20/4/02 p9). Thknskwnszv WOT-wDOO ( nklued lngwj & th 4maeshnv meenn) zhow wr
joind 2 thO wch owr kmprhnshn knot grasp bkoz wr subsjri 2t. Wr nli sltli mor lk munkeez
thn wr lk  r  r  bkoz WOTwDOO spraetsus rrvokbli ← owr sluelr frndz. W maek
th saem rdukshnst mstaek (3/4. Howz-ths 4 thknfuezionz ue getn2 wn yor wontn2 hvt boethwaez?(&t
wil hv2doo zm trdshnl eestr (9/4. 12/4/03 – 24/4/03 p13,14,15) rflkshn): ← The Age p14
(2/4): “FAITH ¶ I’m in the process of giving up all I believe about God. ¶ It’s pretty
annoying actually, because I’ve only just sorted it all out. ¶ But there’s a tiny whisp-er
deep inside me that’s growing louder. My well-constructed words are beginning to feel
hollow. The whisper has been fuelled by a line from a song by an obscure Irish band that
seems to me to be playing wherever I turn – the soundtrack to my life : God, rid me of
God. (Is this an Irish joke?) It seems the universe is conspiring to make me let it all go. ¶
Christians believe that its through the life of Jesus that we know who God is. But as we
look at the time leading up to Jesus’ death, surely we have to question our ability to do
that. ¶ The Bible tells us that Jes-us spent the weeks before his death proving wrong
everything people believed about God : that God would rescue them, that God is only
concerned about morals, not politics, that the leaders of the established church have the
ins-ide knowledge about God. The recurring theme in every one of these stories is that
those who knew and loved Jesus best kept getting it wrong. ¶ In Holy Week, Jesus
stripped away everything the world thought it knew its saviour sh-ould be, and his
closest friends watched the God they knew die on a cross. ¶ Perhaps my intelligent,
rational faith needs to be critiqued in a similar way : God, rid me of God. ¶ The tradition
I’ve grown up in values intelligent, rati-onal faith. There’s another stream of tradition –
the Christian mystics – that offers an alternative. They say that all we know of God
touches only the edges of the mystery of the one we dare to call God. Our words that
describe G-od are like the rippling white foam at the edge of a vast sea. They can only
hint of who God is. Some mystics would even say that to presume to speak of God is
heresy. Forget using words to describe God, use them instead to descr-ibe your yearning
for God. ¶ I long to yearn for God. I long to move beyond playing with the white foam,
and to si-nk into the vast and endless sea. The only way to do so is to let go of my hold
on the story. I need to be willing to be stripped of all I know of God, in the hope that I
may once again find God. ¶ It’s enough to say now that all I kn-ow of God is not enough,
and to own the truth that much of all I know of God is wrong. So I let it go. It’s an act of
faith, my prayer for this week : God, rid me of God. ¶ Cheryl Lawrie works with the
Uniting Church in Australia on an Al-ternative Worship Project.”) wn w klaem th@ ngodz 
vri1z = (rth@  v dfrnt kulchrz rth saem koz thei hv th saem Qz etc, etc) but  noetis eevn thbstv
>nz lk 2 havt boethwaez (rknzn w knotb spra-etd from how w bhaev) & kredt god wth thntljns 2
rword thsaents (John Paul II) wth ts @ thslstial t-aebl & 2st thsinrz ↓ 2 roestnhl 4 orlvtrnti. Wr
joind2th O x how w akt & th knskwnszv owr kshnz r xd 1000fold & rvrbr8 thrue th jnraeshnz. 4 
(4.47pm). Tuesday 6/9/05. As we left Ryan’s Cut one of the sea type raptors (Osprey
(Pandion haliaetus)) flew overhead with a sizeab-le fish in its talons – the only one who
5
had fresh fish today as John’s quest for a fillet of same was unsuccessful when he had to
settle for Hoki (mportd ← New Zeel&) at Port Macquarie which was poor. Wandered around
the port till about 2pm – coffee over paper on the waterfront (Rydges), garlic bread and
drink at a nice pub next door, op-shopping in the LifeLine op-shop (black jeans ($9) for
him , dark green Calvin Klein’s made in the USA for me ($15)) and a stroll along the river
where a bloke sitting on the grass called us over to ask a question. The question was
addressed to John : "Did you get trapped into marriage?”. John replied that no, he was a
willing participant and cited me as being able to co-rroborate the fact. I’m a bit slow on
the uptake these days and I didn’t think to take offence till we’d moved on, or to come
back with the retort that I was rich enough and good lookin’ enough not to have needed
to do any trapping. On to Lake Cathie (pronounced Cat Hi) where we checked out Perch
Hole on Lake Innes where the placid waters are fringed by paperbark forest as a possible
spot for the night. A group was playing with a remote-controlled miniature speed boat
which made a noise like a mosquito on steroids, magnified. We went into Lake Cathie
itself, strolled on the banks, went to the newly built shopping plaza and tavern in search
of Sheaf Stout and Bundy and Coke and then returned to Perch Hole hoping that the rev-
heads had gone. Alas, they were still disturbing the peace of the lake with the mini
speedboat and had added a kid on a trail-bike. What is it with some males? Unless they
are making a ferocious noise (so-upd up car, mega-base sound system pumping, jet-ski,
motor-boat, power saw etc) they can’t enjoy themselves. Some women do it with shrill
laughter or un-ceasing loud conversation as if everyone is rivetted by the stories of their
lives. I reckon they are born with the aesthetic gene missing. Hooray, the noise junkies
have gone and its blissfully quiet – you can hear the ocean across the highway about a
kilometre away – and we have the place to ourselves for the moment except for the
company of lots of insects. Speaking of which in the big Port Mac-quarie Central
shopping complex we found a large handsome green grasshop-per sitting on a window.
John wore it as an ornament on his shirt for a while but finally deposited him on a potted
palm after he’d hopped off onto the floor where he could have been stood on. Rang Dan
in the arvo as he had left a mes-sage on my message bank to contact him – apparently
someone from Hervey B-ay hospital had rung his mobile. He’d contacted them and found
out we hadnt been admitted, but thought he’d check with us just to be sure. The
guttering at the front of the Ivanhoe house has been replaced (3/4. but Outback p4, & wv
sins dsk-vrd 2 ruef tlz wr bustd)and the fridge is working (last time I rang it had conked out
but Dan managed to get it back on its feet by defrosting it and thoroughly vacuuming
the back). Unleaded petrol at Lake Cathie was 138.9c.  kntnue wth UESZ & BUESZ. Mor
gzmplzv rdukshnst ssrshnz. Sum   vrthn w dooz moetvaetd x slfntrst. Fue hlp nltl old † thst yr
doont 2maek yrslf feel btr & fue doen8 → thpor ‫ ٱ‬rth ? pl8 tz 2 skor brownee s r get krdts →2 hevn.
But wotvr thei  thdfrns btween robn n por wrkrv ♂z longsrvs nttl-ts r kntrbuetn 2
nnmploi t rleef rmaenz xktli thsaem. d rthr liv mung sl  hoo gv2th-por thn mung
good kmpni drktrz hoo rob thr loil wrkrz 4 thbnftv shairhldrz. Thdfrns btween S-HIT & KLAE
rmaenz thoe boeth stk2 yr boots. Simlr k t kn b maed O Schopenhaurz noeshn th@ vrthn
znfstaeshnv ‘will’. Freudz dia th@ ni ntns ktvti (eg chrti wrkvn nun, th setszmz-vn hermt)
maeb nsublmaeshnvth 6drv zn nuthr xmplv rdukshnzm. Ue mt jstz eezli maekn kmpleet
nvntriov orlth ktvteez  ngaejn &  thei r thsaem koz thei r dun x . Ue kood  m nz
thsaem kndv bsshnl ktvti zHz reednvth Woman’s Day (leedn rtklz nth kurnt 1: “JEN CONFESSES
– MY MARRIAGE WAS HELL ¶ I wanted a baby, Brad didn’t ¶ He’s been so insensitive ¶ He
changed when he met Ange ¶ We don’t talk any more”; “NICOLE & KEITH – INSIDE HER
SECRET ROMANCE WITH THE AUSSIE COUNTRY SINGER”; “MARK HOLDEN TELLS – I HAVE
A LOVE CHILD”) butt duznt maek1 nmor lk thuthr. Thmpuls 2 uez rdukshnst moovz nlngwj
(gaemz) zn POWR PLOI (noet how thx-panshnv kndshnz dskrbd x thwrd ‘ILLNESS’ (eg dsizion 2

6
kmt suesd bkumzn ‘dprsv ilns’) nkree-sz throelzvth medkl frtrnti & vrius gvt jn z) 2 dmnsh thsubjkt
butth reezn thei kan sound knvnsn zbkoz tz lso thmthd x wch w x10d owr reech wn w gree nth
prss meennz & dfnshnz wch ma-ek mthm@ks, sns, & tknlji posbl. But z  reechz owt 2
thmoest dstnt glxeez owr nkreesn d-pndnsn owr labr8 knstrkshnz dmnshz thndvjuel & thrtnz 2
NIOL8 usorl. The good book says “Judge not, lest you be judged” – I did and I was. The
only rationalization I have is that at least reading mag trash is a quiet occupation and
annoys no-one but the intellectual elite among us and they deserve to be annoyed
occasi-onally so they don’t get too smug. Wednesday 7/9/05. From Perch Hole to Lauri-
eton. Walked along the breakwater where we saw a Darter with a fish it had speared
dragging it across a flat stone repeatedly as if removing scales or spi-nes before he
swallowed it whole. To Forster-Tuncurry where we had fish from a co-op on the Tuncurry
side (flathead for him : large, fresh and well cooked, mullet and two potato cakes for me,
likewise – probably our final fish meal this trip) and then wandered along the water side
watching some quite large bla-ckfish in the marina. Garlic bread and a drink overlooking
a branch of the Manning river in the sun, quietly relaxed. Now at Smith’s Lake in our
usual sp-ot (nth Frothy Coffee Shop). Therzdi 8/9/05. Smiths Lake ← Forster (4 ppr & kofi
oevrlookn thH2O) → Brooklyn (nth Hawksbury rvr; hadn v grlk brd & grlk prornz washt ↓ wthnn
swanki rstr-ont oevrlookn thH2O gn) → Beecroft (dropt nn Rasa hoo  wr xpktd mdrvoe 4 
ns@rdae & @ Egl-ez (3/4. Savannah p6) nth eevnn n ☼di) → Epping (mumz ngoodshaep; w
showrd etc; 8 ngr8  zu-ezuel; m O 2 Gift and Mystery x Pope John Paul II wch woz n ♀r shlf
(givn 2 ♀r wn ♀ woz krook x Milda); m drnkn nHunter Valley Shiraz). (7.17pm) … “The word,
before it is ever spoken on the stage, is already present in human history as a
fundamental dimension of man’s spiritual experience. Ultimately, the mystery of
language brings us back to the inscrutable mystery of God himself. As I came to
appreciate the power of the word in my literary and linguistic studies, I inevitably drew
closer to the mystery of the Word – that Word of which we speak every day in the
Angelus; “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us: (Jn 1:14).”” …← 2 UESZ &
BUESZ.  1td 2 rmnd m rz ( sspkt eevn m mum hz gvn↑) vth wae  uez thterm ‘rduk-
shnst’ nrdr2 dror @10shn2th fakt th@ thbleef th@ thxmplvn lf (m rfrn2 thlvzvth gr8 rz: JZUS-
vNZARTH (3/4. June 28/29 p21), GAUTAMA, MUHUMUD, MOEZS, KNFOOSHUS etc) vld8s thr
nz zn rdukshnst noeshn (zz Borgesz ALEPH & thmstkl nst th@ ue kan th O nn gv s&). m
not shor fWittgenstein hoo plaest soemch mfasz n ♂z own ntgrti & setszm hz ktd nth sshue. 2 kl-
aem, zth rljus foloerzvth gr8 rz rnklnd 2, th@ vrthn nsezz true bkozv hoo ♂z (eevnfn
wrk-rv mrklz) z2 dvalue thmeennzv lngwj 2 wch orlvus maekn kntrbueshn (subsjri meennz (eg
sistm-zv ethksr sthtks (&  gree wth Wittgenstein th@ th prmri staetts wch w hold frst n wch
thuthrz (theez kanb rjd & rrjd but not nihow (eevn wn  x thoez hoo leed xmplri lvz) zwrdz nli
ft2gthrn srtn waez bkoz thei r drkshnz 4 moovz) rst r n m@rv greet. Butf thoez greets kntrdkt
eevn m-or baesk greed meennz (or snkrnzaeshnz) w doo not noe wot w meen x em)) r n
wrknproegrs but baesk snkrnzaeshns suchz IN/OUT, B4/FTR, ↑/↓ r mbodeed (3/4. March 11
p10)). 2 krktrz th O x th @rbuetsv 1vts mmbrz zn klskl rdukshnst moov & lk orl such
moovz tz prpz z2 knfr p-owr. M oen dmraeshn 4 thgr8 rz znot dmnsht xth rialzaeshn th@ not
vrthn thei  z TH GOSP-L TRUETH. Frdae 9/9/05. 8.35am. Wn BOODR  thO zn lluezion (8/4.
30/11/04 – 9/12/04 p14) rJZZ  O thnxt lf, rMUHUMUD  thrz nli 1 GOD  lae theez zv
spshl nolj 2 thsd.  doent hv2 sspnd m dsbleef z doent → ● whr  ndrst& wottz thr klae
2 noe. m nklnd 2greewth-th BAHAI ( Tropika – 2 p9-11) th@ knsrnn how w shood liv thr
moestli ngreet &  thinktz rt th@ thr @ tmz nknfkt, @ tmz nknsstnt, sumtmz kntrdkt
rlier meennz, & sumtmz rknfuezd. F thr z giv km4t 2th dvowt – lettb. Tz w hoo chuez 2 ↑ em
soeth@ vri WERD thei  bkumz GOSP-L. Th gr8 rz rn xprshn (nths sns w lredi noe vrthn (z
LfOrVaEnCkE hz ) & wot w k zth lv p-proovl zwoz thkaes wn w wr told WOT2DOO wn w wr
chldrn) vowr joint hueti & thr need 2b kntr-dkshnz. Wr nwrknproegrs & th knfuezionz 2wch
7
thei giv lngwj rowr oen. Z4mi m nPRZNRV MEENNZ. TZ M VOEKAESHN.  R@L
THBRZVTH KAEJ …. → Balmain (uezdth Garricks vztr n prmt; pootn x6 roelzv flm 4 dvlpt) →
 ( ppr @th Sydney Dance Company kafé; →d long th4shor x2 owrz) → Balmain (klktd foetoez;
↓tnn thGarricks) → Epping (bak @ 6.30 zpr greet 4 nuthr xsv ; m hoepn  mt getn chans2
nbtvth Sydney/Geelong AFL gaem; m stil n Gift & Mystery (fnshtt, 9pm)). S@rdi 9/9/05. 4n 84 y
old (20 yz ldr than mee) mumz doon ort. But th- z pproechn wn sumthnl hv2gv. ♀z luezn ♀
balns: ♀ ∕ z 2thrt sd. ♀ hz x2 vzion nboeth z. Nvr-thls ystrdi & thdae b4 ♀ nsstd ntaeknowt hot
baekn & kasroel dshz ← thuvn & pootnm nth taebl ♀slf 4 x2 kors z (wthmaenli 4 mee) floed x kofi
(+ lkeur). ♀ lwaez waetzn us lk th@. ♀z knsdrn getnn moetrzd soe ♀ kn → 2 poest z & →
Coles 4 thshopn & → ?. ♀ thinks ♀ mt saevn tak z & prlong ♀r blti 2 rmaen nth  x nkuplv yz
buttzn long wae 2th shops oevr hli & nsuetbl te. ♀z m-or lkli 2 tpoevr & haesn ♀r ntri → nnrsn.
Rasa hzn room nofr @ ♀r  butt woodnt wrk. Mumz hd-strong, pnion8d, bstn8, ndpndnt & uezt2 gtn
♀r wae. Thei wood kum2 dslk eechuthr. Nwae ♀ duznt wontt. ♀z trfdv sln th wn th kumz 2
pae4th nrsn whr ♀z rjstrd ♀slf. Yt ♀ rmaenz rmrkbli kl mndd & skrtv (♀z not short) zvr O ♀r .
 think ♀r maen thrlnlf kumz ← Louisz skolstk cheev-ts (8/4. Tropika – 1 p14) & ystrdi ♀
lrnt ♂z dux (♂ woz owt x-n nsuet 4 thprzntaeshn nt; muml gt2 wair 1v ♀r glam owtfts & sum jwlri)
v♂z skool (St Andrews). ♂l bspndn 3 weeks hswotn↑ 4 thx-mz & voidn Matti&Hannah hoolb
nSydney ← Canberra (ANU). Th@s howt goez wn ue rn old ♀ hoo owtlvz ♀r prtnrz. …☼di 10/9/05.
Wr rpeetn owrslvz ( Melbourne → Sydney p15 & 16). Nhuej v sueprb foodz &i kndzv
z (nkluedn maed Krupnikas) @ thBlansjaarz. Orl thr kidz r nth wrkplaes & kkuemuel8n reelst8. Z
@ m rl@vz tz bvius w xmlf th skssfl mmgrnts nth LUCKY COUNTR-Y. (Thrzn xlnt rtkl nystrdeez
The Sydney Morning Herald p35 x RAaMlSaEnY ttld “Second-raters are still in charge”
kmtn n dHoOnRaNlEd hood d thprvius thrzdi).  mt bth od1owt – thksntrk, th♂ hoo wairzth
msmacht sox, pnshndoff nth gOzv nsanti. Thei orl doo jobz wchr vlued nth kmuenti & 4 wch thr paed
 wraz  doon kndvn. 2nt wlb @ thGarricks 4 thfnl Ovn & n & b-n td lk roilti. Tzth
dvntjv b-n thlrst srvvn ♂ vth rjnl ŽIŽYS (9/4. 12/4/03 – 24/4/03 p11, 12) famli ( Elen-a’s
Journey x Elena Jonaitis © 1997. Text Publishing Co.) hoo mgr8d → OZ n1949 (7/4. tmustvbn
hrd4 mfrthr, nnon vrbl ♂, 2 theez z → mgdfthr Napoleonas. Ftr m fthrz  Napoleonas dm
→ mmum nOZ. L8r Eglė trnsl8d & bowndm →2 nfmli  : “THREE LETTERS FROM
AUSTRALIA ¶ These three letters were written by our father Vytautas Žižys to his cousin
and best friend Napoleonas Markiewicz. ¶ They tell the story of his emigration and
settlement in Australia. ¶¶ 14 Leonard St ¶ Northcote, N16, Vic ¶ Australia ¶ 31 Octo-ber
1960 ¶ Dear Napoleonas, ¶ I promised to write a second letter soon, but later I thought
I’d better wait for your reply. But not receiving your reply, I am writing to you again. ¶ I’m
rea-lly pleased that you wrote to me. Apart from my family, I have no written contact
with either my relatives or my friends, because I don’t know where everyone is living and
I don’t know if my friendship is wanted. So I am very pleased to be able to write to you
about at least some of the misfortunes and experiences which I have gone through with
my family. Just as much, I want to hear about your sorrows and joys. ¶ We left Lithuania
in July 1944, we were evacu-ated together with the workers of the “Aga” factory. After
crossing the German border, my wife, with two small children (Arūnas was 2½, and Rasa,
7 months), travelled on to Vienna, to some acquaintance or other, and I was arrested on
the border, where after one day’s ques-tioning, they let me go, later I had to go and work
in various jobs near Koenigsburg. My wife, having got to Vienna, got into difficulty
because that “friend” of hers wouldn’t take them in: she had to make her way through
the camps and only after a month, when I made contact with her, there was the
opportunity to move her and the children into a small village near the Danube not far
from Deggendorf in Bavaria. Later, before the war ended I also managed to leave work
and join up with the family. The end of the war found us not far from Regensburg in

8
Bavaria, where we lived in a village. ¶ Later, from there, where we met up with the
Americ-an army, we moved to Augsburg also in Bavaria, where we lived in a displaced
persons’ ca-mp together with other Lithuanians. Still before going to Augsburg, I located
a small truck and I managed to work transporting various things. Living in Augsburg I
started to work for the Americans in the US guards unit, where I worked as an officer for
about two years in var-ious German towns : Manheim, Wurzburg, Bad Kissingen and
Keiserslauterne. Later, as I wan-ted to emigrate, I left that employment and moved with
the family to Stuttgart (to a camp) from which we emigrated to Australia. In Stuttgart we
had a third child – our son Saulius-Tom-as who, having reached 5 months died in Italy, in
Naples. We lived in Italy 3 months and got onto a boat in September 1949. We travelled
via the Suez to Australia. We got out at Sydney harbour, we were sent to a processing
camp at Bathurst (about 200 miles west of Sydney). Having lived there a few months, my
wife and children moved to Sale township in the state of Victoria, about 140 miles to the
east from Melbourne, where through correspondence she got a teaching job at a convent
school. After a few months, they also let me out of the ca-mp and I got a job in the
hospital in Sale township as a sanitary worker, and later, working as a boiler attendant.
After spending 3 years at the hospital, I passed the radio technologist’s exams and got a
job working in the same town in the government radio station (radio-phone), my wife
meanwhile, through correspondence, while teaching and bringing up the children,
finished a degree at Melbourne University. Then we had another child – a daughter,
named Egle (born in 1953). Not long after that I got a job in another government radio
station in Melbourne, where the whole family moved. When we lived in Sale, we saved
some money and we bought a small house in Melbourne. My wife got a job again in a
private school but soon went onto a better paid government high school. I started
studying radio technology at night in the Engineers College and got my Engineers’
Diploma and with the help of that diploma, 1½ years ago, I got a job as an electronics
engineer in the Governm-ent Patents Office, where I am still working. My wife continues
to teach successfully and has reached quite a high level as a teacher. She teaches
French, German, Latin and Science. While I was still living in Sale I bought an old Ford,
which I later sold and bought a new Volks-wagon a couple of years ago. It hasn’t been
easy to live in Australia, especially from the beginning because when we came here we
didn’t have a cent, and with two small child-ren, we had to quickly grab at work, just to
survive. The biggest difficulty was to get a home, because no-one here wants to rent.
That happens because of some strange government regulation which does not allow the
price of rent to rise. We were lucky to get a small place straight away in that little town
near the school where my wife was teaching. Because food and clothing is quite cheap,
we later managed reasonably. The children are growing up healthy and strong and we
also don’t feel too bad. We are soon planning to move from Melbourne to Canberra to
live (Australia’s capital) because they have to move the Patents Office where I am
working. In Canberra I will get a government house, and I will sell mine. Probably it will
happen in about a year’s time. Well that is roughly my and my family’s story of woe. I
havent gone into details here. Some terrible things happened at the end of the war in
Germany, a few times we just escaped death. Our start in Australia wasn’t pleasant
either – no-one met us here with bread and salt. It was good that both I and my wife
could speak reasonable English, that means a great deal in a foreign country. For my wife
and I, our knowledge of the language allowed us to be able to study immediately, which
we did. ¶ I was going to send some photographs, but I don’t want to send any old ones,
because they wont accurately show what we look like. I had a new film developed but
they didn’t come out well, so I’ll wait until I take a good photograph, then I’ll send it to
you. ¶ Somebody at home has already written about you and your son’s visit to
Lithuania. They didn’t write much, so please write what you saw there, in Lithuania, and
9
what you think of the lives of all our relatives. But first of all write about yourself and
your family’s life. ¶ Having now made an introduction to my life, I will later write to you
about our current life. Although I’ll wait until I get a letter from you, as I don’t know if my
letters have reached you. ¶ Best wishes to all of your family from all of us. ¶ Vytautas. ¶¶
14 Leonard St ¶ Northcote, N16, Vic ¶ Australia ¶ 10 February 1961 ¶ Dear Napoleonas, ¶
Thank you for the letter, and the Christmas greetings, as well as the photographs (2) and
for the Christmas Eve wafers. The photographs gave me great joy, as I was able to see
the faces of my relatives, whom I havent seen for 17 years. I have to confess, that you
are little changed, looking at the photo, I recognized you at once, - still the same
“Napolce”, who I knew in the old days in Lithuania. Stasys, although he does-n’t look
bad, has changed a great deal and looks much older than you. Jadzė is also little
changed. Your three families look well. Your wife, even though she’s older now, looks the
same as when I saw her in Ukmergė in 1944. Your son Mykolas (or Michaelis) reminds me
of you, when you were younger. ¶ It was great that we were able to share the wafers you
sent for our Christmas Eve dinner – in our thoughts we felt re-united with you. It was also
pleasing to hear that you have a warm feeling towards your birthplace, as it has not
always been friendly to you and that you had also felt the need to organize a group of
friends of Lithuan-ia. (By the way, who is that engineer Markowicz who gave the lecture
about the Grunwald battle? There was an engineer Markowicz with us in the camp in
Germany, he later emigrat-ed to Venezuela. He was quite an elderly man.) ¶ The five of
us are well at the moment. We have just returned from a summer holiday, which we
spent about 200 miles (300 kms) to the east from Melbourne near the sea and lakes.
That place is called Lakes Entrance and it is like Kuršiu Marios near Klaipėda, because
here as well a narrow sandspit divides the lakes from the ocean. My wife and both
daughters have started their school year, you see in Australia schools start in February.
My wife’s school is about 2½ miles away, to which she drives in her own car and where
she is teaching French and Latin. My daughter Rasa (17) started matric-ulation and little
Eglė (7½) has just started 3rd grade in primary school. My son Arūnas will start his
studies at the beginning of March, so he’s still got a few weeks of holidays, he’s in his
sec-ond year of humanities studies, altogether the course takes four years (if all goes
well). His main areas of study are English language and history. When he finishes he will
probably bec-ome a high school teacher. (In Australia a teacher’s salary is similar to an
engineer). My older children don’t display any particular talents, but they are quite
tenacious and conscientious. I tried to have them both learn music, but it didn’t work for
neither has a musical ear. Rasa isnt too bad at drawing. Both are not bad sportsmen –
good swimmers. Rasa is her school’s running champion, she’s the fastest girl in her
school. ¶ I am still working in the Patents Office and if there arent any unexpected
problems I will be there until I get the pension (at 65). Not long ago I got a promotion at
work, because I passed some exams in law for that reason, last year I was studying in
the Faculty of Law, where I had to study Introduction to Law, and Patents Law. To put it
another way, in order to be qualified as a Patents Examiner, it is not en-ough to be an
engineer, you have to be well versed in the law as well. After a year or so, I’ll have to
move from Melbourne to Canberra (Australia’s capital), because the whole Patents Office
is moving there. My wife will also try to get a teaching job there. ¶ Economically we are
living not too badly, although after we pay off all our debts and bills, there is no money
left for entertainment. We have bought a wooden house, for which I still have to pay to
the bank, while I have paid for the car already. Food and clothing arent expensive here. If
you’re interested, I can let you know the costs of various foods and things, and measure
these against earnings. ¶ There are about 8000 Lithuanians in Australia, who came here
after the second World War. About 1500 Lithuanians live in Melbourne. In our private life,
we mainly associate with other Lithuanian families: almost every week we either go
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somewhere or someone comes over to our place. Sometimes we get together for a ball
organized by the Lithuanian community, up to 300 people may attend. In Melbourne we
have a Lithuan-ian priest, who holds Lithuanian mass, even though we are not allowed to
set up our own parish. ¶ When I think of the past, it seems that our two lives have
certain parallels. We both started our lives without assistance. From your side, you spent
a lot helping your brothers with their schooling, especially Stasys (Stasys would probably
never have become a doctor with-out your help), and I from my side, paid off all the
debts accumulated by Jonas’ and Juozas’ studies and have helped Juozas find his feet,
when he finished his course. Now the two of us, having left our native land, have become
colleagues in the same engineering profession. ¶ Even though I have been writing to
Juozas and his family, your writing of our relatives lives is much fuller and I have learnt
things, which Juozas hasn’t written to me. It still isnt clear to me why Juozas and his wife
were sent to Siberia, and why it was that Juozas was living on his own in Poland. I keep
asking him that in my letters, but he hasn’t responded. ¶ I havent got a single letter or
greeting from my brother Jonas, although his older son Saulius (who has alrea-dy finished
his course at the polytechnic institute) sometimes writes to Arūnas. ¶ The time which we
have been separated has been so long and so eventful that it will still take some time
until we can fully reconstruct together again and fill in the unknown parts through our
letters, so to make sure we don’t also forget the present I will write a few words about
our daily life. Of those people who live in Melbourne, I knew a few from Lithuania, but
most were people I didn’t know, who we met here. By the way, your friend Leonas Kanas
and his broth-er Paul live in Australia in Adelaide. I havent met them because Adelaide is
about 1000 kms from Melbourne, but people have recently told me that they are both
living well: Leonas is working as an engineer in the City Council, and Paul is working as a
manager of a factory. They have both married. They both are part of the Lithuanian
Community, Paul was for some time the leader of a Lithuanian theatre group in Adelaide
(I read it in the newspaper). ¶ Wh-en you have some spare time write to us again. We
would be interested to learn more about your everyday life and worries. Did you get the
photos I sent you? During the holidays I took quite a few new photos and if they come
out well, I’ll send them in the next letter. ¶ Best wi-shes from me to your wife and son.
My wife and children send everyone their greetings. ¶ Yours, Vytautas. ¶¶ 28 September
1962 ¶ Dear Napoleonas! ¶ I havent heard from you for a long time, although I have got
a few cards – one, during Easter, another from your wife from Zakopane. Besides, I also
got one issue of “Aušra”. Thanks for all ot that. I understand that you are busy working,
because you’re left at home on your own, while your family is away holidaying in the
mountains. ¶ It happens, that when we write so rarely to each other, that later you don’t
know where to start and what to write about. Lately for some reason I’ve been feeling so
worn down by work that I havent had time to write even to my closest fam-ily. At this
moment as I am on holidays and feeling a little recovered, I am hurrying to write to you.
And I am writing the letter from my villa! To tell the truth, this villa is as far from a real
villa as water is different from porridge (devintas vanduo nuo kisieliaus). It happened
that a few months ago, we bought a block of land about 20 kilometres from Melbourne,
near some hills and on the river’s edge, in the bush. On that block (20 x 100m) was a
little shack – this is the villa I refer to. Later we hope to build quite a decent villa here, so
that the whole family can live here during the holidays. At this stage I’m here on my own,
and I am resting away from the noise of the big city and the joys of family life. This area
is not wild, because it is not too far from the big city, and some people are already living
around here, there is electricity, soon they will be putting in piped water. Tomorrow my
wife will come or my son Arūnas and I will again go back to “civilization” that is, I’ll be
finishing my holiday and returning home. ¶ We are all the same, as we were a year ago.
My wife and I are working in the same jobs, the children are studying – Arūnas – in his
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third year in the humanities faculty, my daughter Rasa, in first year in the architecture
faculty. If they both finish well, Arūnas will still have one more year of study, and Rasa –
four years. Both children have scholarships and I don’t have to pay their fees. ¶ How long
were your wife and son Mykolas in the Tatra mountains, and is it their first time in those
mountains? And you? Have you ever been in the Tatra? From what you tell, it seems that
life in Poland is little different from what it was before the war. ¶ Now a little ab-out your
godson. Recently he has felt a real man because he is now 21 (August 19). He no longer
ruins my car, because he has learnt to drive well, he has started going out with girls, and
there are at least a couple of Lithuanian students who have their hearts set on him. He is
doing well with his studies. ¶ Last year he finished his second year very well. He passed
all his four subjects and for three he got first class honours. He likes songs and he has
joined the Lith-uanian choir. ¶ Truly, I don’t know what else to write, because I don’t
know what will interest you and your family, apart from our personal lives. ¶ I’ve added a
photo of our “villa” with my wife in front. ¶ Best wishes to you and your family from my
wife and myself. ¶ Your Vyt-autas ¶ Best wishes from Arūnas as well. V. ¶¶ Postscript : ¶
Vytautas Simonas Žižys died in the Austin Hospital just under a year after this letter was
written – his last to Napoleonas, his cousin (their mothers were sisters) and dearest
friend. He was already sick with cancer at the time of writing this letter, although he
wasn’t aware of this at the time.”).  stl rmmbr wn w d thrue thhdz nth AMARAPOORA nn ☼i
dae prst th red rooft z 2 dok nn mgnfsnt hrbr nxt2th SYDNE-Y HRBR BRJ. Now Eglė znchrjvth hrtj
‫ٱ‬z vth hrbr & Joez n ftr naevi s. But  snsn az O2b knkluedd & m foolv pprhnshn. Mundi
11/9/05. Ystrdi @ thGarricks  noetst th@ Eglė knsdrzn $35  (nfrdi Louis bortn $200 shert 4 th4ml)
nn rstront (thei had dnd @ nSpansh stblsht nDarling st wth frndz thprvius eevn) 2b cheep (♀
 us ngr8 stori O owr unkl Al. Wn ♂ & Vida fnli kort↑ wth Matti nCanberra thdzgn8d meetn ● woz
@ nbskuer footi ♣ Matti had nvr rdv. Tzowt Al (4mr njn-n prof) had sum FREE LUNCH vowchrz
♂ kood uez thr. Th  woz bufé stl & Matti rports Al & Vi-da reeli tuktn zf theid skipt nfue z rwr
O2.). Mor sprzn woz th@ thGarricks ddnt noe th@ Rasaz moeblti woz soe rstrktd ♀z lmoest nnvld.
Louis woz thr 2 - ♂ topt thskool nvri sbjkt ♂ dun. zn sumr-iovth st8tv thrmaenn ŽIŽYS famliov 49 :
Mum: 14 plz/dae (hzn ♥i pptt butz luezn w8); Rasa: 10 plz-/dae (Joe taeks x2 (8/4. but ♥ @k rkw
rd x3 stnts 2b nsrtd sns w wr thr) (hzn ♥i pptt buttz pootnn w8); Eglė: 2 plz/dae (John: 0) (looksn
xlnt shaep); mee: 2 plz/dae but nli 1 wn ntrps (H: 0) (4n fulr hlth rprt Savannah p10-11). Th
(12/4: the other day / I met / old father time himself // instead of we-aring black / he dressed in
shimmering white // I’ve always seen / the scythe before / but never seen / the hour-glass // he
tipped it / back and forwards / like jewels / in a vase) z 9am & wr O2-→ Melbourne …. (ptrl @
Gundagai – 141.9c.) (9/4. thsz thlrst nth reez bgnnwth Melbourne → Sydney (60 nthnthlji (
13/9/05 p12)). Ththrz wr ↑N (61), ‘pblsht’ n2005, & Tropika – 1 (62), Tropika – 2 (63), Sa-
vannah (64) & Outback (65) pootowt n2006. ‘Wingdings’ z 66 nthnthljiov mstrkpeez  hv . 
doent noe frwn lb pootnowt nthr1 zm → lthol& @th ndv mae 4 x3munths.  thank m rz.)

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