Melissa's Musings

As One, Let Us Cry Against this Violence "May Day!"

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Fri, 01 May 2015 12:47:00 +0000

" Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

May 1st.
May Day.
An anniversary for me whereby only few years ago I, myself, cried "May Day" in a last, desperate, death-is-imminent call for help.

Yesterday, here in Australia a seventeen year old girl was raped at knifepoint in broad daylight. While many other crimes and tragedies no doubt occurred yesterday it is this assault that the media has latched on to. And the quote I opened this piece with is the "authorities'" response to what women should accept from this assault.

" Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

On this day a few years ago I was six months pregnant with identical twin girls to a man that claimed he loved me. Pregnant with the babies he had begged me to have.
On this day I called the police after he had physically beaten me, pinning me to the wall by the neck screaming in my ear that he was god and I should "submit to him or die". Thirty kilograms lighter than him and heavily pregnant it took all of my skill to get him off me and croak
"This time I'm calling the police..."
His response? He left the sole print of his size thirteen shoe bruised across my pregnant belly.
He was arrested and removed from our home and lives permanently.
I went to hospital fighting for my own life and the lives of my unborn girls.

The bruise from his final blow across my pregnant belly.
Image taken in evidence by Victoria Police.

My abdomen drawn tight with two babies growing within, that bruise shrouded my baby girls right up until the very day they defied him and were born healthy, strong and exquisitely beautiful.

Note that I said, "This time I'm calling the police."
This wasn't the first physical beating I received from him. No.

I never imagined that I would know empathy of domestic violence. Yet here I am.

According to VicHealth; "Violence against women is the leading contributor to death, disability and illness of women aged 15 to 44 years".

For men in the same age bracket it is heart disease.

It is time for all of us to cry "May Day!" against violence toward women.

I am a sole parent to five children, four of whom are my daughters. While I raise my girls to be capable, I will not raise them to fear men. I will not have them believe what the so-called "authorities" that are employed to care and protect them are claiming;

"Any woman, walking alone, is inviting being attacked..."

This day is a celebratory anniversary of our survival and freedom for my children and I. We overcame foul abuse and violence in our own home. We've long since restored it's sanctuary.

Yet this day, with the news of the protective parties wiping their hands of their duty of care and demanding women walk in submission and fear...

It is clear.

Never more than now do we need to stand as one and cry

"May Day!" against violence toward women.

A Bride walked alone...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sat, 21 Feb 2015 05:41:00 +0000

All is appropriate. All happens with purpose.

It's been a week now and this woman has not left my mind...
Please feel free to share your theories on where she might have gone or who she may have been in the comments below :)

A week ago today it was Valentine's Day and I was driving the back roads over the mountain. Weekends are busy up here with tourists, hikers, bike riders, day trippers, driving enthusiasts and weddings. With such an exquisite environment upon this gorgeous mountain you can imagine there are any number of busy reception centres and wedding venues and from Thursday through to Sunday the road is frequented by cars adorned with bridal ribbons.
I love driving myself, so on weekends, pretty much as I choose any day of my life really, I'll often take the uncommon road less travelled.
On Valentines Day, a gorgeous day, on such a road I came upon a sight most curious and unexpected:
A bride, fully gowned and veiled, carrying her shoes in her hand, was slowly walking along the edge of the unsealed road. A tiny, beautiful bride that had not made it down the aisle.
Alone.
In the middle of nowhere.
Not close to any venue, accommodation or even a home.

I had slowed when I saw her, and even more as I went to pass by her (after all, you don't want to throw a stone up into thousands of dollars of gown!) but as I drew closer I could feel the dark weight of desolation emanating from her...

She didn't look at all at the car as it approached or passed. Not with hope nor with fear. Her eyes did not even glance up from her focus upon the slow passing earth at her feet.
She didn't look up. Which I why I stopped my car.

My mind went powering into overdrive as to what this girl's story could be as I gently walked toward her, trying to anticipate what I could be dealing with.
You do not see a bride alone for any length of time on her wedding day. No-one else was even close. There was no car close by. The dirt upon the hem and the train of the dress suggested she had walked some way already.

Valentines Day can be a cruel beast for many. Based upon a farcical perception of what someone decided love should be like, it finds its roots in obligation. Obligation by its very nature, driven deep by expectation, always ends up in resentment.
Now add that burden to the expectations of a wedding...I wondered what had happened...

"Excuse me..." I gently touched her arm and she spun around in alarm.
Stepping back, I went on, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Can I help you at all? Do you need a lift somewhere?"
Silence. Staring me in the eye, dry-eyed, her face was erased of any emotion but a small furrow of confusion in her brow. The furrow didn't belong to me, it seemed to belong Life itself.
I spoke even more quietly, softly taking her hand and indicated upward, "The dappled sun through the trees is amazing, isn't it?"
A little smile flickered over her face and she looked up, closing her eyes, feeling the sun.
I was relieved. She was still in there. But buried deep beneath the day it seemed.

Deliberating what to do next as I elevated her vibration (via my gift in frequency), there was an eruptive noise from my car.
Johnson, my big pup of a dog, had been waiting in the car. He had jumped from the back, over the seats to the front of the car and launching out the open driver's door was galloping joyously at us.
I had no time to explain that he was friendly. Due to his size alone most people would have simply run.

Going too fast he overshot and slid past us on the gravel. Then trotted back happily, sitting down before her, he tucked his chin down and put his paw up to shake her hand.
He waited.
She looked expressionlessly at him.
He put his paw higher for her.
She still didn't take it.
Instead she looked down at the shoes in her hand and slowly passed them to me to hold.
The moment I took them, the very moment they left her touch,
she fell upon the big brindle bear of a dog.
Her arms clutching desperately around him, Johnson leaned in on her as she sobbed and cried rawly. Then as fast as it had happened it stopped. She pulled back and looked at Johnson, his big head in her hands, patting him and smiling at him, the gratitude in her sweet warmth for him.

Then she stood up and silently, started walking again.
Not a glance back.
Not a word spoken.

Johnson, my dog, and I watched her until she went around the bend out of sight. It seemed we both knew our part in the journey with her was done.
It was only as I got into the car again that I realised I still had her beautiful bridal shoes in my hand.
turning the car we went down the road after her...only to find no sign of her at all!
No other car had passed. There was nothing and nobody for her to disappear into.

Eventually I let it go and went on to where I was expected to be.
But as I said, she has stayed with me.

A bride, alone, in the middle of nowhere on Valentine's Day.
I have wondered again and again what her story might be. What had happened? How was a bride alone at all, let alone where she was?
But oddly, I know she's ok. She will heal eventually. She will love again. She did not need to be rescued.

All is appropriate. All happens with purpose.

I do not understand the purpose behind this.
I love that I don't.
I love that Life insists on keeping me wondering.
That Life, unlike Valentines Day, ensures no obligation. That any expectation is my own. And all experience is free.
Thus, it is a life lived free of resentment.
(A life now also left with the momento of a tiny, size 6 pair of exquisite bridal heels)

The Loudest is often the most Fearful

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Thu, 06 Nov 2014 03:53:00 +0000

Walking with my children through a car park, moving between the parked cars, my daughter jumped as a dog in a car we were passing erupted into a flurry of snarl, bark and growl. Through the window we could see him loaded backward, like a coiled spring on his haunches, his tail low and wagging with his vocal explosions.

"Look at him! These people should never bring a dog like that into a public area!", my daughter was frightened, edging away from the car, "Look! He's vicious!"

I caught her arm and quietly moved her back toward him, "No, he's not vicious. He's anxious. He's scared."

"Scared? Are we looking at the same dog, Mum?"

"Apparently not. It seems you're looking at some idea of what someone else has told you...", I looked in at him and he became louder, "I'm looking at fear."

Already contained in a confined space within the car, he had nowhere to go or run if anyone were to enter or threaten his space. "Flight" was not an option, "fight" is all he had left. He had to make his threat as aggressive, as alarming as he could in the hope it would be enough to discourage any intruder and avoid the fight.

" Do you see, babe?" We looked in at him snarling, his little back against the wall furthermost from us, "The most frightened is often the noisiest. The guy with his back to the wall and nowhere to run."

Photos of "Little Holly" care of Hope For Paws animal rescue organisation www.hopeforpaws.org

Dog trainers working with military, security or police forces often measure the capability of a dog recommended to them by this first reaction upon meeting. It is requested that they enter the dog's yard or space without introduction to gauge the response.
The loudest is often not quite right for the services. It is the quiet dog that holds mind under pressure that they will take into training.

The loudest is often the most fearful.
In all animals.
Including we humans.

MHH

The Great Art of Life...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Tue, 10 Dec 2013 09:26:00 +0000

Transcendent Existence

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 12:39:00 +0000

Shhhh! She is travelling between worlds right now. You can see her holding the tension of not knowing ~ she is simply breathing into her unanswered questions. Sometimes she drinks her coffee with quaking hands, not knowing where her relationship or her bank account is going.

But this time, she is holding on to the tension of not knowing, and is not willing to hit the panic button. She is unlearning thousands of years of conditioning. She is not being split between the opposing forces of fight and flight.

She is neither naïve nor ignorant. She is a frontier woman, paving new roads & making new choices.

She is willing to making a new transcendent possibility emerge. You may see her now ~ standing at thresholds, or at crossroads ~ breathing into her body ~ intently listening for inner signals. She's learning new navigation skills as she arrives at a most magical moment of her life.

No Heroic Quips. Just Do Better than Me

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 10:44:00 +0000

I wasn’t awesome today.
Please do better than me.

Today is the babies “half birthday’ (six months) and we decided we’d celebrate by eating out for dinner at our favorite restaurant.
I was teasing my son (quadriplegic with cerebral palsy/autistic), playing, and he was being his cheeky self right back at me. Laughing and quipping, it got a little noisy.
That was until a young woman sitting at the next table said loudly, with intent to be overheard, to her friends,

“Maybe she should shut her stupid retard up!”

We all fell into a silence, smarting with shock.
I looked across at Jack. His head had dropped. All of his animation, his light, his laughter was extinguished. His gentle gaze was into his lap when he quietly said the worst thing he could of possibly said,

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

I cancelled our orders and we left.

I didn’t throw a heroic quip at the girl. I didn’t insult her. I didn’t even look at the table. In fact I accidentally ran Jack’s wheelchair into the doorframe as we were leaving because I couldn’t see through the tears pouring down my face.

No matter how much you think you know it, unless you live with a child with special needs you don’t know how hard it is. How complex and difficult it can be. How much a thoughtless, ego-driven line like that girl’s will decay my son’s confidence. Jack and I live this journey, 24/7.

Its hard.

I’m not sharing this with you for sympathy.

I’m sharing this because I have an awesome community of friends on here.
You are, each and every one, awesome.
So please, do better than me:

when you’re out amongst life, be awesome.

And now we can say "Merry Christmas"

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Fri, 14 Dec 2012 09:09:00 +0000

In the pressurised crescendo to the big day, it can be all too easy to forget what Christmas is really all about. As diverse as our populous is, so is the cause and celebration of Christmas Day for each us. And yet, despite in some cases extreme differences about what it means to each individual, if we but take a little time to see, there is still a point of commonality for all of us...

We were forced to do it. We had to brave a major shopping centre, a few days before Christmas to grab some last minute items. The sweat, the throngs of desperation, the madness, the accelerated mental fatigue, the tantrums, the social ineptitude birthing from utter self-centredness in the fight for retail survival... And the crowds would be there too.

Our schedules being our schedules (never dull) it had unfolded that the kids would need to come with me. Five kids, identical twin baby girls in tandem stroller, two tween daughters, one autistic and wheelchair dependant teenaged son, its never an easy journey Christmas crowds aside.
Amid reminders of, "Best behaviour, guys. Let's stick together. We're in the last few days now. You don't want to blow it and hit the naughty list in the last minute!" Their protests fell on my ears deafened by the pulsing ebb of impending throngs as the automatic doors drew back, sucking us inward...

Within forty meters of entry, my nine year old daughter cops a stroller running into her ankle from the side, with the hostile father pushing the stroller hissing at her, "Watch out!".
Shoving powered wheelchair into his path and halting his progress entirely, I caught his eye, "I believe you meant to say, "I'm sorry. Are you ok?"." The now crippled nine year old sitting on her brother's lap on the power-chair, we moved onward...

Entering the depths, I lead the troops into the belly of nonsensical purchasing: The market.
More would follow that first hostile stroller incident, subjecting us to complaints of "taking up the whole moving walkway with the wheelchair" (how inconvenient of us!), a fearless four year old slapping my eleven year old daughter for holding the last pink ball, minor tantrums from my gang when Mum refused to purchase another DSI so "we don't have to share" (where am I going wrong?) and Jack blatantly taking advantage of his disability to barge in, completely jumping the waiting queue, to speak to Santa with the announcement of "Santa, thank goodness! I've needed to talk to you..." And once again, as happens every single year, Santa looked at my kids, looked at me and said, "Are these all your kids?" (who else would work this hard, I ask you?!)

Eventually we made it to the back of a four-deep crowd queuing at the butcher. People were yelling across the counter with items of meat and money flowing back and forth in rapid succession. Chatting with the gang (the kids) as we waited our turn, it took me some time to realise the crowd was laterally shoving one another but not progressing, the atmosphere frazzled, feet were tapping impatiently.
At the counter was a gentle lady, somewhere around the eighty-year-old mark, leaning heavily on her walking frame and trying to be heard over the counter that towered well above her.
She was trying to buy a piece of corned beef for Christmas Day.

Her frail but friendly voice called, "Could you please weigh that for me? Tell me how much it might be..." the piece the butcher held was not much larger than an apple . However upon weighing it was apparently far too expensive.
She asked, "Do you have a smaller piece?"
The butcher procured a piece barely palm sized. But alas again, with a slow and sad glance in her purse, it was too costly...
"Could you cut it for me please?"...

My daughter Colby, all heart, grabbed desperately at my hand pleading, "Mum, we have to do something! Can we give her some money? Please!"
"How can we do it, Col, without making her uncomfortable?" All of us huddled, three of us rapidly whispering different theories of how we could help this lovely lady without embarrassing her. Jack, my son, however wasn't sharing and instead kept saying, "Give me the money, Mum. Give it to Jack!", grappling at my hand with his clammy, cerebral palsy grip.
The crowd was shuffling, impatient, blatantly rude...To keep Jack settled I handed him the $50 note that we were still busily plotting to drop in the lady's bag somehow.
The crowd's muttering started to become decorated with audible baubles of "Ouch!", "Oh, excuse me." and "Oh, sorry, mate." A perceptible shift that tells me my son is on the move. I looked up to see Jack guiding his wheelchair through the crowd, ramming whoever would thwart his path (something he never does!) bee-lining for this frail little lady.
"Can I help you?" a voice called. It was our turn at the counter.
I smiled, "Please! First of all, I'd like to..." I began using Jack's distraction to my advantage.

The sweet lady only noticed Jack once he was right beside her.
"Excuse me, " he said to her, and with that Jack smile and a huge amount of effort he raised his quadriplegic affected arm grasping the $50 note, "This is yours."
"Oh no, it couldn't be..." she protested.
He interrupted, "No, it is yours. It is. Please take it."
She stared at him, then looked about the now silenced, watching crowd.
"Please." Jack said again, "It hurts to hold my arm like this."
She tentatively took the $50.
He smiled and cheerily called, "And now you say "Merry Christmas Jack!""
Her voice shaky, her hand trembling, she said, "Oh yes, yes. Merry Christmas, Jack." Then to the crowd, "Did...did someone drop this?" And the crowd all smiling, shaking their heads, murmuring utterings of "saw you drop it", "sure its yours".
I sidled over, grabbed the handle of my boy's chair and we quietly made our way through the gathering.
We were moving away when the butcher called over the counter to her,
"Here's your corned beef, ma'am.", handing her a large parcel of corned beef. As she again began to protest he went on, "No charge. Already paid for. Merry Christmas, Love!"

Well clear of the butcher's queue, safely camouflaged in the moving crowd, we turned to glance back. This lovely lady was softly crying, happy, the flow of her tears coursing the face of a life well lived. Several people from the once impatient and hostile crowd, strangers, taking time, warmly and gently comforting her.

We all looked upon the image from our distance and a quiet whisper came up from the wheelchair beside me as he looked on,

"And now you say "Merry Christmas"."

“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic..."

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 12:02:00 +0000

“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic,
and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’
It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion,
the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.” Catherine Breillat

I Am The Empowered Woman

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 22:42:00 +0000

The Empowered Woman,

she moves through the world with a sense of confidence and grace.

Her once reckless spirit now tempered by wisdom.

Quietly, yet firmly, she speaks her truth without doubt or hesitation

and the life she leads is of her own creation.

She now understands what it means to live and let live.

How much to ask for herself and how much to give.

She has a strong, yet generous heart

and the inner beauty she emanates truly sets her apart.

Like the mythical Phoenix,

she has risen from the ashes and soared to a new plane of existence,

unfettered by the things that once posed such resistance.

Her senses now heightened, she sees everything so clearly.

She hears the wind rustling through the trees;

beckoning her to live the dreams she holds so dearly.

She feels the softness of her hands

and muses at the strength that they possess.

Her needs and desires she has learned to express.

She has tasted the bitter and savoured the sweet fruits of life,

overcome adversity and pushed past heartache and strife.

And the one thing she never understood,

she now knows to be true,

it all begins and ends with You.

༺♥༻ Sonny Carroll

An RWE Favorite

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 03:54:00 +0000

A Sacred Choral

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sat, 23 Jun 2012 02:31:00 +0000

Let our dance of dimensional chords immortal
penetrate this presence,
a sensual intensity sculpted amid the colours of the sound
caressing the hold on the soul forever.

With his mystic immensity
the gentility
and passion designing each note;
we transit every vascular flow
of this sacred language intangible.

Our love in this realm made possible
in tone and in rhythm,
abandoning fears and costumes,
giving priority to shared tenderness and passion.

Let us write our song, beloved,
as a romance never before heard,
lest cruel neglect
transpires to end our Love.

MHH 2012

Chronicles of the Party Van - 1

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 03 Jun 2012 23:54:00 +0000

Impending autistic hysteria was about to break...
After exchanging our ruby red, intergalactic spaceship for a "loan car" today (as we await conversions on our new black gangsta spaceship), I received an emergency call from Jack's father saying he couldn't pick him up.
You don't play with an autistic kid's routine on a Friday. No. You certainly don't introduce "new".
I tore over the mountain, admittedly loving ripping through the manual gearbox of the paint peeling, rattling, random unidentifiably groaning, loan car, to get to J.
In my mind rattling off the variations I could use to convince Jack that this was fun and normal, not "different"...
I walked in, late, to his classroom.
He looked up and tears sprang to his eyes as he immediately started raking at his right arm (anxiety)
"Mum...but where is Dad? Dad is coming!"
Holding him, gently explaining, trying to settle him before all broke loose... then asking him, with all the enthusiastic tone I could muster, if he was ready for a "mad adventure" in a new car.
We headed out and at first glance, he gasped, more delighted than distressed,
"Mum! What is this?!"
I showed him the ramp, how the wheelchair loaded in, put him in, explaining all the way (his aides cracking up laughing at my explanations).
Locked in, ready to go, Jack was SO excited. I was surprised...a little confused...
I started the loan car and its random groan kicked up spectacularly.
Jack laughed loudly.
"What an great day, Mum! You did it! You did it Mum! You got us a real
Party Van!"
Autism: a walk in the consistently unexpected.

Being Crazy is Noisy

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Mon, 28 May 2012 09:18:00 +0000

John wrote this brilliant article himself. And it's a great read :)
I also love his wife's comments after it :) M
Thanks to Fiona Permezel

Being Crazy is Noisy

She is Goddess

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Tue, 22 May 2012 06:22:00 +0000

A goddess is a woman who emerges from deep within herself.
She is a woman who has honestly explored her darkness and learned to celebrate her light.
She is a woman who is able to fall in love with the magnificent possibilities within her.
She is a woman who knows of the magic and mysterious places inside her, the sacred places that can nurture her soul and make her whole.
She is a woman who radiates light.
She is magnetic.
She walks into a room and male and female alike feel her presence.
She has power and softness at the same time.
She has powerful sexual energy that's not dependent on physical looks.
She has a body that she adores and it shows by the way she comfortably lives and moves in it.
She cherishes beauty, light and love.
She is a mother to all children.
She flows with life in effortless grace.
She can heal with a look or a touch of the hand.
She is fiercely sensual and fearlessly erotic and engages in sex as her way to share with another in touching the divine.
She is compassion and wisdom.
She is seeker of Truth and cares deeply about something bigger than herself.
She is a woman who knows that her purpose in life is to reach higher and rule with love.
She is woman in love with love.
She knows that joy is her destiny and embracing it and sharing it with others to heal wounds.
She is a woman who has come to know that her partner is as tender, lost, and frightened as she has been at times.
She has come to understand the scars of the boy in him and knows that together, love can be the relief, the healing of their wounds.
She is a woman who can accept herself as she is.
She can accept another as they are.
She is able to forgive her mistakes and not feel threatened by another's even when attacked.
She is a woman who can ask for help when she needs it or give help when asked.
She respects boundaries, hers and another's.

She is woman who takes responsibility for everything she creates in her life.

She is a woman who is totally supportive and giving.

She can see God in another's eyes.
She can see God in her own.
She can see God in every life situation.

She is Goddess.

"Shards of the present Self"

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 12:30:00 +0000

Poetry is a medium I adore, a language so unique in expression...

This piece, written some time ago, recently called me home again in order to complete it...for now ;)

"Shards of the present Self"

Cheated by the scourge of emotion
decisions tinged with the blood of
desperation

Needing to be wanted
needing to feel safe
believing the accumulative hype

"Write a list of exactly what you want..."

A glance,
a smile,
an exchange that claims in delight this might be "it"
Compromise begins.
The list cast aside under a reality of reason only real in the mind of the desperately seeking, desperately wanting, desperately needing...

Wondrous encounters,
blissful smiles,
a touch, thrilling
a kiss confirming...
The initial so ecstatically sugared it strengthens the grasp with an opiate toxicity.

Claim in place,
held before law
the initial has fatigued in falsified effort,
the genuine lack now plainly opaque.

Fighting, struggling to hold grasp,
blind to the truth
believing
believing...
as the abuse rallies;
the language fouler
the venom rising
the violence escalating

Taken,

The face is smothered

The body demoralised

Disrespected, disregarded,

one more compromise, mere slave to the desperate need.

Used and Dishonoured.
Caged by vow
Used and Humiliated
Incarcerated by obligation
Used and Foolish

There is no love

Truth shatters the glass
all distortion abandoned...
Blame lies only in the fragmented shards of mirror.

MHH 2012

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 04:50:00 +0000

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking...
Our children are watching us
and doing as we do,
not as we say...

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hang my
first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately
wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed the
birds in winter, and I learned that it was good to be kind
to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make my
favorite cake for me, and I learned that the little
things can be the special things in life.

When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a
prayer, and I knew that there is a God I could always
talk to, and I learned to trust in Him.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make a
meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I
learned that we all have to help take care of each other.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you take care
of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have
to take care of what we are given.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw how you
handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't
feel good, and I learned that I would have to be
responsible when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hold
the door open for others and heard 'thank you' and
'you're welcome', and I learned respect for others.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come
from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things
hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw that you
cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be..

When you thought I wasn't looking I learned most of
life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and
productive person when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking I looked at you and
wanted to say, Thanks for all the things I saw when
you thought I wasn't looking.'

Little eyes see a lot...

Each of us (parent, grandparent, big brother, big sister, aunt, uncle, teacher, friend)
influences the life of a child.

How will you touch the life of someone today?
Just by sending this to someone else, you will probably make them at least think about their influence on others.
Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.

This image is taken from my own treatment room at the clinic. Note the incredible artwork, and the brilliant communication within it all, that I am frequently gifted from the children I'm privileged to work with. Each piece carries a tale all its own :) MHH

(Shared with you through my friend, Jackie Loson Rago. Thanks Jackie! )

Be You...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 09:50:00 +0000

Just a general observation but it seems to me far wiser to
Be who You are
Rather than trying to fit and portray someone you aren't.
Be who You are: because only you can do that!
No-one has ever been or could ever be you.
No-one else could ever be your own personal brand of "unique".
Only you can be You.
Be True to You

MHH

Too busy to "bless you"?

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 04:05:00 +0000

Running late, running fast, needed to grab a few groceries en route of my hastened journey...

Standing in line at the butchers/fish monger, I again watch the ladies behind the counter. I go out of my way to go to this butcher as the people that work there are so lovely. These ladies are such generous souls. Hard working, nothing special to look at, but warm and giving no matter how busy they are, how tired they seem...
The lady bedside me was ordering a portion of marinara mix,
"Does it have any salmon in it?"
"Not today it seems." the warm lady replied as she served.
The woman's face fell a little, then suddenly she went into a momentary facial contortion resulting in an enormous sneeze!
I smiled as I reached in my bag for a tissue,
"Bless you!"
She stared at me, astonished for a moment, then was taken by another sneeze.
I laughed, "I should have waited for the last one. Bless you again."

Her face then contorted into abrupt and brutal tears. As I reached for the entire package of tissues, the crowd about us silenced, she stuttered between gasping sobs,
"That's the... nicest... thing anyone... has said for...long time..."

I was running late, running fast, had no time to stop...so I took her arm and gently steered her to a cafe nearby, sitting her down. We ordered coffee and as we did, two of the ladies that had just been serving joined us. They had asked to take their break early in order to join us. More coffee was ordered, and another woman from the crowd asked if she might take a seat.

As we chatted, laughing, her tears drying upon her tired cheeks, a young guy delivered two bags to us both: our orders from the butcher. He said to her,
"We put lots of salmon in your marinara mix, ma'am."
New tears fell across her smiling face.

I explained to all that I was running late, people were waiting. Saying my goodbyes, I handed the waitress enough money to cover all of their coffees. Then off I ran, fast...in my departing ears the warm generous laughter of a table of strangers.

No matter how fast you're running, its never too urgent for a "bless you".

MHH2012

How does one describe the diversity...?

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 05:39:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I taught a course in facilitating healing through Quantum BioEnergetics International

( www.qbihealing.com )

Sadly, a few weren't up to being professionally accredited just yet (as happens in real courses).

The reaction of one man's disappointment upon receipt of this news was several very long, foul, personally attacking emails to me specifically, including several curses upon my husband, all ending in "we've spent many lives together and we'll be together again" threads...

Just got news that a beautiful lady also attending, who had a profound session as I was demonstrating on her, after years of trying, fell pregnant only days later. In her words, "I'm positive this baby has finally come along as a result of the healing I received. Meeting Melissa has had a tremendous impact on me. Particularly seeing the deep integrity that drives her..."

How does one describe the diversity of the incredible people I'm privileged to meet, teach and serve?

ps. I LOVE doing what I'm here to do :) MHH

Give

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 23:49:00 +0000

Every day, every single day, I help people.
I help them to heal themselves as never before.
I offer them a never-to-be-repeated moment in time, within an environment of balance in which to discover sanctuary in self.
And no, not because I'm extraordinarily gifted or "better" than anyone else.
Not because my gift in vibratory medicine is unprecedented and profound.
Not because I'm particularly "special".
Simply because they come to me,
uniquely me,
is their moment in healing uniquely their own.
My own heart knows an unfathomable gratitude that they choose to come to me as their healing conduit.

My true gift in healing is that I choose to
Give.
I live this gift in healing. It is not my "work" it is who I am. And so I
Give.
I do it believing people will come through gratitude to wisdom. To hold true in themselves that life is not about "give and take".

Its just about giving.

MHH2012

Creating your life

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 08:30:00 +0000

Create...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:40:00 +0000

"You will not attract into your life what you "want",

You will attract into your life who you are."

Create :)

MHH 2012

Choose your thoughts...

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 03:38:00 +0000

What would You have done?

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 07:55:00 +0000

Years ago I sat in court, alone, beside my barrister, as we fought to have a dangerous stalker shut down.
Today I stood before an all too familiar face, that was asking for help.

This afternoon, as we drove the road home from my son's new school, we stopped into a supermarket we've never been to to get a few things. Happily chatting as we usually do, ignoring the stares of strangers (Jack is quadriplegic with cerebral palsy) we were debating the quality of the apples when a woman approached us.

I looked up and within a millisecond, a flood of ill memory filled my mind. Two years of a harrowing experience can do that.

Years ago a middle-aged, unemployed woman came to me as a patient and sadly, rapidly became a dangerous stalker, seriously harassing and endangering my staff, my children and myself. With time on her side and a personality disorder that initially wasn't evident to people, she wreaked havoc wherever she could. When she entered my children's school, claiming she was one of my son's therapists, I took legal action. The magistrate had heard only a fragment of the evidence and readily awarded a stalking intervention order against this woman to protect us.

As those that are obsessed often do, she then claimed I was obsessed with her and thus the court case opened.

Throughout the case, every time she came to court she would bring a well convinced posse of bitter women with her. Whilst court was in progress these women would pull out their amulets, ribbons, crystals and anything else they could get past security and chant and mutter as they tried again and again to cast curses upon me. Eventually the magistrate was onto them and had them ejected and security on watch for them.

Today, in this foreign supermarket, the leader of this "posse" was now approaching me.

As she approached, she shakily enquired, "Meliss...I mean, Ms Hocking?"

Recognition left me silent as I looked at her. Even my son was silent.

"I'm not sure if you remember me but.."

Instinctively stepping between my son and her, "I do."

Shame filled her tone, "Oh." her eyes dropped to the floor. Looking at her I could she wasn't well and felt myself softening as she went on,
"I was wondering where your new clinic is?"

I paused..."Why would I tell you that?"

"I need your help. I...I need your help. I've been diagnosed with..."

I quickly interrupted, quietly, and said,

"I can see what's happening. I'm sorry to see you're going through it." My son was still silent, watching.

"So, your clinic?.." Hope filled everything in her voice. That same voice that had openly hissed curse at my back.

Perhaps you're a better person than me.
Perhaps you wouldn't have had to discipline yourself to not scoff incredulously as I had to.
Perhaps your face would have been softer than I imagine mine was...

I took a moment then said, "What is your name?" She replied.

I continued, "I'm unfortunately not available in public session right now and as it is there is large waiting list. However I will speak to the staff, explain to them your situation...it is of course at their discretion whether or not they see you..."

She was smiling, "I need your help. Thank you so much!"

I nodded, and quietly said "If you'll excuse us..."

"Yes. Yes. Ms Hocking? I'm...I'm sorry... I didn't... She said that you..."

"Goodbye." I spun Jack's wheelchair and we were walking away.

The intervention order ordered not just the stalker but her family and friends to stay 200 meters away from my children, our home, the clinic and the staff, and myself. Of course we'll review it prior to accepting this woman in the clinic. But...

What would you have done?

Fear claimed me as soon as I recognised her. Memory of the hideous years this woman and her posse put us through flooded back. I walk through life knowing that All is Appropriate and yet...

We were leaving the supermarket and Jack was still quiet. I said,
"Are you ok, mate? You're pretty quiet."

I looked down and he was looking right at me with that cheeky smile.
"She needs your help, Mum."

"Yes, mate, but if you knew..." shaking my head,

"Mum..." I looked down again, he was still smiling, "I'm so proud of you."

So...how about you? What would you do?

MHH 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Melissa Hocking Hughes) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 02:23:00 +0000

I love this. And on the turn of the calendar year, as 2012 arrives...well, I simply had to share it with you.

MHH