Dear Inner Circle,

Standing on the footpath and talking to some of our visitors, a well-dressed man walked up with a warm smile and said, “Do you remember me?” I replied, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before in my life.” He gave me a friendly punch on my upper arm and said, “You’re a character!” Apparently I’m a character, with dementia.

It was dark when I left last night and there were a lot of people around. Our Twilight Team had their hands full. It took me a while, as it always does, to be out of the front door and walking up the road. A young, fit looking man who has been around Wayside for a couple of months came up to me. He’s a friendly, likeable bloke, and although we have greeted each other several times, I know nothing of his back story. In passing I said, “Are you sleeping rough tonight?” “Yeah,” he said and a wave of despair came over him. He put his arms around me. In my arms his voice broke and he said so that only I could hear, “I’m so sick of waking up.”

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Dear Inner Circle,

The Governor of NSW, General David Hurley, put a medal on my chest last Friday afternoon and proclaimed it official – I have Amazing Mates. I requested that I be allowed 15,000 guests at the ceremony but was strictly limited to three. Having Robyn, my daughter, Mandy, and my eldest granddaughter, Paityn at my side meant the world to me. I made one mistake on the day. I told my daughter to book us into the kind of restaurant I would normally avoid so that for this one occasion, we wouldn’t worry about the cost. My daughter took us to a place that was not only a cultural shock, but I may need counselling for some months yet. The menu on one side had a lot of choices, none of which I understood. The other side of the menu was called “Devastation” or something similar. It’s the only time I’ve seen a menu that anticipates the moment when you get the bill. With this choice, you are served everything on the page. A couple of times I was served a large plate with what looked like a small pile of bird seed with a few squirts of something that didn’t look like food. I asked our waiter what it was that was on my plate but he answered me in French. I don’t speak French but I’m pretty sure he told me that my plate had been put into a bird cage for an hour and then the contents were arranged by their star chef. He then said, “Bon Appetite” which being translated from French means, “Our bird wasn’t very well today”.

In the morning on the same day I went to the intensive care unit at Prince of Wales Hospital where one of our dearest Aboriginal friends was dying. Our Senior Aboriginal Worker, Mon, was already at his bedside. Mon’s tenderness with our brother stopped me in my tracks. I’d already had a busy day with quite a big day ahead but I stopped, captured by the awesome sight of love. Our dear brother was a dark-skinned, handsome-faced man who somehow carried thousands of years of pride, hurt and wisdom in his face. He...[read more]

Dear Inner Circle,

“Is that really you?” It’s a funny question and I was so tempted to claim that I wasn’t really me. “Graham Long?” he asked. “Guilty as charged” I replied. “Well I never thought that I’d actually ever meet you even though I’m your friend on Facebook.” The man offered a handshake and introduced himself as “Eddie, the Big Issue seller from Brisbane”. “Gosh” I said, “Are you the Eddie, the Big Issue seller from Brisbane?” It was a fun way to get our warm discussion going. Eddie has always known about Wayside and he follows closely all our posts on Facebook. He came to Sydney partly just to check us out. I gave him a guided tour of Wayside just now. He just loved seeing Aboriginal people with their own space and busy preparing some food. He was blown away by our rooftop garden. It was lovely to hear him begin to wonder about how he could help transport some of our ideas to Brisbane. It gave me a big kick to see how all our staff members greet Eddie with the same dignity we’d afford the Premier or any other person of importance. I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve met Eddie the Big Issue seller from Brisbane and he’s a lovely bloke.

On Father’s Day I was quite touched by how many people claimed me as their Dad. What an honour! My own daughter sent me a message that said, “Without me, this would just be another day for you! You’re welcome.” Although she wasn’t in church, she suddenly appeared for communion, took the bread, gave me a kiss and said, “Happy Father’s Day” and then walked straight out the door again. I love my girl.

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Dear Inner Circle,

The more we become masters of experience, the less is our power to enter into relation. We live in an age that has turned our spirit into a means of enjoyment for the self. That which ought to be supple and flexible, to make connections with others, has hardened and divided the world into the realm of feelings and the realm of all other things. Our ingrown spirits, like ingrown toenails, keep us focused upon that which, if we were well, would be of no consequence. With our heads up our bums, constantly analysing how we feel about matters past, we become easy as sheep to manage and we’re inclined to buy anything or sign up for anything when someone proclaims, “I’m excited”.

There is nothing much more human than a conversation. Believe it or not, I think they are a rare thing. There is a lot of “syllable exchange” – you give me 20 syllables and I’ll give you 20 syllables and we’ll be satisfied while the count is even. There is no lack of talking, selling, sharing of how we feel, telling off and unloading, but not a lot of conversation. I’ve become quite used to sitting in a group where people are facing one another and conducting three of four unrelated chats. What a miracle when among all the talk, a conversation takes place. I had a conversation with a young man yesterday who walked into my office and said, “I’ve lost my ‘mojo’”. We began with the familiar theme of, “If I don’t feel good, something must be dreadfully wrong”. As he extracted his focus from his inner life and we looked around, it became clear that an important relationship was rocky and needed some investigation and repair. I believe this young man couldn’t diagnose his troubled relationship because he couldn’t entertain the idea that it might end, yet he was almost already blaming himself for the failure that was yet to occur, or which might never occur.

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