queue

I was at an awards ceremony and I was taller and thinner than I am now, with long red hair. I was so pleased with how I looked that I kept glancing at myself in a nearby mirror, admiring my new locks and figure. I was wearing a long silvery-grey dress and dark-rimmed spectacles. I hunted through my handbag to sort my belongings and transfer what I needed to another bag. Whilst I was doing this, the crowded auditorium was suddenly plunged into darkness and a voice came over the loudspeaker advising everyone to pack their things and go to the next point. I was back in my own body. I didn't properly hear our instructions and was immediately in confusion. I knew I needed to gather my belongings, which I did. It seemed to take me a long time. I then followed the thinning crowd through the darkness, filing through the door and into what looked like an underground terminal. The last of us to leave were lined up in queues before a ticket booth, buying tickets to travel somewhere. I was not sure which line to join and felt that time was running out. I felt relieved when I saw a friend of mine walking toward the queue, and then disappointed as she walked past me, too urgent to reach the front of the line. She pushed in right at the front. I didn't feel I could follow her so I joined the end of the queue. As I neared the front, my dear friend B found me and joined me. I felt so grateful for her company; she would know what was happening. At the desk, I bought a ticket. I had to hand over my large bag and was allowed some carry-on luggage. I was worried that I had lost my phone, but B called it and it rang in my bag. It was there after all.
Time rewound. I was sorting out my belongings again, transfering my things from one bag to another, in the darkness of the auditorium. This time, though little changed, I felt less confused. I wanted to make the bags as light as possible so that I could keep my luggage with me, and I needed to wear as many practical clothes as I could, knowing that we were being moved to somewhere like a prison camp. And this time, I checked that I had my phone with me. My bags felt almost empty. I walked through the auditorium and again lined up in the queue, waiting to buy a ticket. When I reached the front of the queue, the woman told me the cost of the ticket. It seemed to be a lot and I wondered how I was to afford this if I had to buy a ticket repeatedly. I looked in my wallet and found that my bank card was missing. I called to B; surely she had it after we used it to buy the tickets last time. I saw her walking into a toilet cubicle, but this time she did not respond other than tell me to wait. I waited, but I lost my place in the queue.

flying down the stairs

I was again on a road that skirted the beach, high up, as though on top of a very tall cliff. An extremely steep and long set of old cement stairs ran all the way from the top to the bottom, perhaps five-hundred stairs or more. I began to run down the stairs as fast as I could and someone beside me ran too, racing me to the bottom. My feet were moving so fast that they became a blur. I was amazed that I could run that fast and not stumble. I wanted to win the race to the bottom and my friend was so fast that I decided to leap into the air and fly down. I jumped and continued to travel down the stairs, hovering above them only a few inches. To show off a little, I lifted my legs up into an almost cross-legged position and placed my hands above my knees, curling my fingers so that the thumb and index fingers touched - the lotus pose. In this position, I flew even faster through the air, descending the stairs at great speed. Nearing the bottom, I stretched out my body so that I dived toward the sand, dipping down and then, at the last moment, ascending again, so that I didn't hit the ground with any force. I floated back down and came to rest on the sand.

fair boy

I was travelling along a road that ran alongside the beach, high up, as though on the edge of a tall cliff. I was with a blonde toddler who was on a skateboard, and I was running to keep up with him. Suddenly he turned off the road, hoisted the skateboard onto his little shoulders, and ran down a flight of stairs. I ran after him, concerned that he would lose his foothold or become unbalanced by the weight of the board and fall. The old cement stairs twisted and turned so that he was just out of view. I passed someone I knew from my teenage years and said hello, but had to keep moving on so that I could follow the boy. As I ran, I approached a landing area somewhere in the middle of the steep flight of stairs and I saw the youngster open the rock lid of a secret chamber in a wall and climb inside, obviously hoping to play a trick on me. I was terribly anxious about his safety, thinking of the creatures that might hide in such a damp and dark space and hoping that he would be able to get out. When I reached the wall, I opened the rock lid and could see his fair head ducked down inside, but the neck of the opening had contracted and he was now too big to climb out - his head was larger than the hole. I ran my hands over the wall, desperate to find another way to pull him out, terrified that he would be entombed. I found an opening further up the wall and could see that there was a small tunnel, only just big enough for him to crawl through.

brothers

I was in the family home that we built, where I lived as a teenager. I was taking care of two children, one only a toddler, the other - his brother - in his early teens. I heard a noise and sensed that something was amiss. I went to where the ghost of my grandmother was standing next to the older boy, looking out the window, and saw the younger boy hanging precariously off an aerial that jutted out from the wall under the window, at right angles to the house. The older boy, upon seeing me, risked his own safety by hanging out the window, balancing his weight on the aerial and pulling his brother back inside. I took the baby from him and cradled him in my arms. The older boy looked sulky and went upstairs into his bedroom. The ghost of my grandmother turned to me and told me that she had seen what happened, that the older boy had pushed the toddler out the window, trying to harm him. She disappeared. I went upstairs, the younger boy now asleep, curled up against my body, and went into the bedroom of his brother. I asked him why he wanted to hurt his brother. He didn't answer for a while and then flatly denied it. I lectured him about it until, finally, he confessed and said he was sorry. I told him he was a good boy. The little one woke up and, seeing his brother, began to cry. He was scared. The older boy leaned over and hugged him, quietening him, however, from my vantage above, I could see by the way that the way he touched his baby brother, the way he looked at him, he was insincere.

things not as they should be

I was visiting my parents. They lived in a home unfamiliar to me, a one-storey brick house with a level back yard. I was attempting to do my washing, but the washing machine appeared to be full. I investigated further and could see that under the layer of clothing on top of the load were a lot of things that simply should not have been in the washing machine, particularly grass clippings and sticks. I skimmed the clothes off the surface, piling them into a basket, and then fished handfuls of the grass and foliage out of the tub. Once all the grass was removed, I could see more clothes stuffed underneath, floating in muddy, grimy water. I looked around to find some rubber gloves, unwilling to dip my bare hands into the water.
Next, I was in the kitchen with my parents. The window looked directly into the neighbours' kitchen window next door and I could see our prime minister inside, visiting with them. He was happy and laughing, and soon the walls between the two homes melded and he was in our kitchen. He asked me if I could edit an essay for him later this week. I told him that I was booked up with other work and would not be able to fit it in. He said he would reward me handsomely and so I said that I would look into rearranging my schedule. He told me that he would have been an editor in another life and I answered that I imagine we all have other lives we could have lived, that I could have pursued dancing or singing and that I had studied them at university twenty years earlier. We talked for a while and I fell asleep.
Later I woke, opening my eyes very slowly, doing my best to orientate myself. I appeared to be in one of the bedrooms of the family home, although, again, it was unfamiliar to me. The contents of my bag were scattered around the bed, some items littering the sheet around my head. I could not recall what I had done to arrive here and wondered if I had been drunk. I looked under the bed and could see a bottle of perfume that I had obviously brought with me, but I noticed that it was much larger than I recalled it to be. I wondered if I was really awake or if I was still dreaming. As I looked around - at the room, at my belongings, and at my own body - I became increasingly convinced that none of this was real, that I was, in fact, still asleep and that this was part of a dream. I tried to wake up, but still I sat on the bed in a strange bedroom, surrounded by my things.

learning

I swam in the ocean through the night, arriving on the coast of Sydney in the early hours just before dawn. I found my brother on the shore - he was much younger than in waking life, little more than a child. I took his hand and led him through sandstone passages and down rock stairs, taking us on a walk through a reknowned university. He marvelled at the architecture, at the golden stone, and at the early morning light reflected on the walls. Already, the grounds teamed with life. Students walked along the corridors, across green-grassed squares, heading somewhere. My brother wanted to go there, to learn. I pressed my forehead against his and we could feel the vibration of energy, of thought, our skulls buzzing.

family chapel

It was about twenty years ago. Everyone in my dream, including me, was much younger than they are now - twenty years or so younger. I was at my grandparents' house, looking out the front window. I could see the street stretching up the hill, leading up to where my parents lived at the top. An old model dark blue station wagon raced into view, appearing on the crest of the hill and crusing rapidly down, coasting all the way in reverse. I watched it with excitement as it backed into the driveway and parked in the garage under the house. I knew by the daring driving that it must be my uncle. I heard my grandfather go down into the garage to check over the car, and the rest of the family waited for my uncle, aunty and cousins to come upstairs into the house. I checked my hair and lipstick in the mirror, eager to see them. They arrived; my cousins were young children again and I hugged them to me. We went into a room, much like a family chapel, that had a section for sitting and praying, and an alter section. The entire family sat on the ground as the room sloped dangerously down toward the alter. The wall behind the alter was painted a dark red. I was nursing twin cousins (who don't exist in waking life), admiring their pumpkin-coloured curls, whilst doing my best to control my growing anxiety about the sloping floor, fearing that I would slide down and disappear.

lesson: the power of the mind

I was on stage with a performer. She was a magician of sorts and I was there to assist her in her act. I could not see the audience as the lights bearing down on the stage were so intensely bright, they curtained anything behind from view. I could, however, hear the audience and, because of the vast size of the stage and because they were quite vocal, I guessed that the audience was large. I felt no fear, rather I was intrigued by the woman's act. She threw a balloon in the air, toying with it for a moment, perhaps to establish that it was indeed the weight and buoyancy of a common balloon. She then batted the balloon to me. I went to bat it back, but at her command and just before it reached me, it stopped and floated straight up into the air. I could vaguely hear the crowd respond, although my attention was mostly on the occurrences onstage. I looked at the floor to see if there was something - an air vent, a camouflaged fan - that would have changed the course of the balloon so sharply. There was only an indent of someone's heel in the old wooden floor boards. The balloon descended and I caught it, felt it for a moment, and batted it back to the magician. I noticed that my arms felt very weak and that I was barely able to muster the strength to hit the balloon with enough force to send it to her. She put the balloon aside and produced a ball about the size of a basketball. Again, she toyed with the ball for a moment to communicate to the audience its weight and bouncing capacity. She threw the ball at me and, this time, I caught it. I attempted to throw it back, but, again, my arms felt as though they had no strength. Even raising the ball to prepare to throw it was extremely difficult. I lamely tossed the ball back in her direction. It bounced only a few feet in front of me and more or less rolled along the ground to her feet. She looked at me, scooped up the ball and again threw it to me. I caught it, awkwardly and with much effort, thrice feeling the utter weakness of my arms. I took a deep breath and concentrated. I thought that if I could only think it, if I could draw on my inner resources and use my mind to overcome this state, I would be able to throw the ball. I closed my eyes, focused on my rising strength, visualised it growing and saw my body powerful, and threw the ball. It shot past the magician, across the vast stage and off the other side. The magician spun around to face the ball, stretched her arms out in front of her and, using her mental energy, drew the ball back into her hands. The audience cheered and I was impressed by her ability. I realised that it was a lesson on how to use the power of your mind.

accidental tattoo

I noticed a skin irritation and wanted to investigate the cause. Could it be something around the house? I searched until I found a particular blanket that had recently been to the dry cleaners. Ah ha! A chemical. We decided to conduct a small experiment and isolated each of the chemicals used in the process of dry cleaning. We did a patch test on a small portion of my skin to see if there was a reaction to any of the substances. Upon contact with one of the chemicals, my skin erupted. An angry red rash appeared on my left wrist and flowered across the skin, covering my hand and the lower arm. Rather than calming, it then settled into a permanent colourful scar - a tattoo, complete with different coloured swirls and patterns. Though an admirable design, I was very disappointed as I did not want a tattoo, especially not one so prominent. I realised that I would have to wear long-sleeved shirts and such to hide the tattoo if attending formal events.

heaven

I was with two old friends and we had been looking for something for a long time. We had searched the flat plains of the landscape, and now we were climbing a seemingly immeasurable ladder, stretching up into the sky. The ladder was of an unusual structure in that it had three sides, much like the legs of a stool, so that the three of us could climb the ladder, roughly on the same height rung, at the same time. We had been climbing for such a long time - I cannot say how long ... days, weeks, even years. We were determinedly climbing, working as hard as we could, trying to reach the top. At the top, we imagined heaven. A wonderful place. Suddenly, one of us - I cannot recall who - stopped and asked just when we were going to reach the top. Hadn't we been climbing and searching forever? The knowledge came to us - perhaps one, perhaps all - that all we needed to do was to let go of the ladder. To be, not do. To have faith. We could see an endless drop below and the top seemed not so far away, and, yet, we let go. Immediately we rose quickly through the air - effortlessly. We reached the top without struggle and we climbed through the hole into the space beyond. We seemed to be in a vast office block of some sort. Old walls, filing cabinets and heavy metal doors. I ventured into a room where two people were working, dusting the furniture, their faces lined and mapped by their lives. Where is it, I asked them. Where is heaven? We thought it was here. Heaven is all around you, they answered, and at that moment, I saw the view from the window. A magnificent blue sky day. Sweeping green fields surrounded by voluptuous, undulating darker green hills. A body of water - perhaps a river, perhaps a sea - bright blue and shining. An orange tree bearing giant oranges bent over the water, its fruit ripe and ready to be eaten. Flowers blooming in pockets of the surrounds and animals playing. Some people were already out there and we went outside to join them and to explore. Upon stepping outside, the beauty of the landscape was magnified. The air buzzed with life, the gentle warmth of the summer sun kissed my skin, and the scents of earth, water, flowers and animals filled my nostrils. I wanted to go to the orange tree, so I headed out to the water. I stepped into the water, washing off the past, immersing myself in the wonderful cool. I looked around and could see the tree further down, around the bend. I climbed out of the water and walked along the damp sand. Thousands of ants crawled along one part of the sand and into the water making hundreds of tiny tracks. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: were there imperfections in heaven? But I brushed it away, walked carefully around the ants, and found the orange tree. There it was, an ancient tree, its trunk and limbs gnarled, reaching over the water. Huge, bright orange oranges hung heavy on the tree above the clear blue shallows of the water. I imagined how juicy, how delectable the fruit would be. I wanted to stay here forever. A big, happy dog bounded over, splashing in the water, tongue hanging out and hair flying, rushing to greet me.

seeking the answer

I was in a crowded place. Lots of people that I have known throughout my life were there, as well as many I have never known. It was night time and the crowd was both indoors - inside a vast building - and outdoors in the immediate surrounds. I had already been inside and I was now outside, searching for someone or something. Some of my old friends were sitting at long benches or in dark corners in twos and threes, talking with one another as though in private. I wandered through the grounds and saw more people talking meaningfully with one another, seemingly as though they were trying to find the answer to a question. Suddenly I saw that I still had a burning question that I have carried with me always and that some of these people were the people I looked to in earlier years to find the answer - and they were searching too. I hurried through the crowd, trying to find the key people I have respected deeply in my life, to see if they were here, to see if they knew. I passed old friends and acknowledged them, but didn't stop. Heading toward the stairs that led to the building, I bumped into a tall police officer - a woman who was at least six feet tall - who was walking with another tall police officer - a man of about six four. I joked with them for a moment, feeling so small yet quite confident in their presence, and then continued up the stairs. The male officer walked up the stairs too, to greet his wife who was coming downstairs. She was about my height and was holding a newborn baby. The officer bundled the baby in his big arms and we said goodbye. The crowd heading upstairs had come to a halt so I excused myself and climbed through, urgent to make it to the top of the stairs. There, I could see a group of people I had known in my childhood that I did not really want to spend time with now; I didn't feel comfortable with them or trust them. The leader of the group spied me and immediately starting chasing me. She was only playing, but I sensed a volatile undercurrent. I responded, however, as I hoped to humour her for a moment and then move on to find the people I had come to seek. She chased me into a part of the building that was a maze. I ran around the labyrinth, both trying to find my way and to lose her, confused by the mirrors and many doorways. Finally I found my way through and I set through the crowd once more, looking for my guides.

fear

I am waiting to cross a very busy road. Enormous trucks like road trains hurtle past - smoke blowing, engines roaring, lights beaming. Giant tyres spin past and I wait, anxious. B walks across the road easily. I can see her on the other side. An old woman with a walking stick and wearing lavender also waits. She hangs back from the kerb and I think she must be worried about crossing too. The lights change and it is time to cross the road. I go to help the old woman and she calls me 'dear'. Crossing the road, however, proves to be terribly hard. My legs won't work properly and each step requires enormous effort and concentration. My fear paralyses me so I walk with long, wobbly strides, swaying and very slow. The old woman thinks I am drunk and shuns me. She disapproves. The lights have changed again, the old woman is safe on the other side, and I am still crossing the road, trying to master my fear so that I can walk easily again.

stairs down

Walking through an underground shopping centre, pushing a trolley. My brother is just ahead. We need to walk down steep, spiraling stairs, so I grip the trolley with one hand, holding it in front of me, and hang on to the balustrade with the other. There are many people climbing down the stairs, all in a single file for the stairwell is narrow and grows increasingly steep. More people enter the stairwell from underground railway platforms, adjoining the stairs. My progress down is slow, with the weighty trolley, hanging now, in front of me. I see my brother further ahead. He is walking with ease down the stairs, his hands comfortably by his sides and his feet sure. Suddenly, the balustrade ends. There are just stairs and nothing to hold onto. I am even more careful. I do not want to fall, nor do I want to lose my grip on the trolley and injure anyone below, particularly my brother. An old woman enters the stairwell from one of the railway platforms - she steps out of the light and into the darkness of the underground. For some reason beyond my control, my arm flies back and I hit her in the stomach. She is furious and tells me she is going to press charges. I am confused - I did hit her, but I didn't mean to. I try to joke, to diffuse the anger or sidle out of the situation, but she will not be appeased.

fixing situations

I was in Newcastle and I drove to a venue that regularly housed an art exhibition, open to the public every weekend. The woman who organised the exhibition was there and she told me about the latest sales and encouraged me to display more of my work for sale. I was inspired by the idea and returned home where I sorted through old canvases, deciding which ones I would paint over, ready for the exhibition next weekend. I went to a shop to purchase some art material and, upon paying for my goods with my new eftpos card, two hundred dollars was inadvertently debited from my account. I waited while the man reversed the transaction, crediting the money back to my account. The next morning, Sunday, B and I went down the road to a cafe that opened at nine. We talked about their late opening hours realising that it brought them their target trade. We had breakfast and went to the counter to pay. Again I used my new card and again money was wrongly debited from my account, this time one hundred dollars. The man pointed it out to me and I told him I would wait whilst he rectified the situation. Not sure of how to do it, he charged one of the younger workers with the job. She went to find instructions on how to proceed. The line grew behind me and someone else started serving the waiting customers. I waited for forty-five minutes, growing increasingly angry. Finally I found the young woman for whom I was waiting and confronted her. My anger bubbled up until I was shouting at her, telling her how long I had waited. As I shouted, she backed toward the cupboard behind her, her body disappearing, until finally, she evaporated and passed through the closed wooden doors of the cupboard, hiding deep inside. I felt sorry and called out to her, saying that I didn't think she was stupid, that I believed she could do a good job. The cupboard doors opened a little and I hoped she would come out. Instead, her two shoes stepped out - she was still invisible - and walked quickly away. I was alarmed that my anger had caused such an extreme response, but felt sure that I could right the situation.

escape

Running along a road, being chased by an enormous black male gorilla. He ran past the other gorillas, focussed on me. I ran as fast as I could, but it was clear that he was far too powerful to outrun. There was only one thing for it - go up. As he gained on me, almost upon me, I manifested flippers and used them to push off the ground and fly into the sky, flapping my flippers. The confused gorilla watched me from the ground and soon I had flown so high that he was a mere speck on the ground. I looked around and saw others flying, mainly in small hot air balloons. I didn't want to fly too high so I kicked my legs more slowly, ascending more slowly now. I enjoyed the sensation of flying whilst also wondering how to land.

warning

B and I were living in a house directly opposite the New Farm shopping centre in an old cottage that was in need of structural repair. It was night and we were sitting in the lounge room, watching television. B was waiting for someone to arrive with some important documents, so I was attentive to any sounds of visitors at the front of the house. Someone knocked at the door and I ran through the house, opened the door that divided the lounge room from the entrance, and called out, asking who it was. A male voice answered that he was the secretary and, without checking further, I opened the front door. A man of about fifty, balding with grey hair around the sides of his head and with a grey beard, wearing a dirty white t-shirt, stood at the door with a group of others lurking behind. He said he wanted a cup of coffee. I hesitated as I didn't want to let him in, but another man stepped forward and produced a cheap plastic stanley knife with the blade fully drawn. He threatened me with it and I could think of no way of preventing them from entering. Knowing I had no milk in the house, thinking that just maybe this might deter them, I asked how he liked his coffee and he answered 'black'. They walked forward - the two men and about three other people behind them - backing me through the house. B had heard them coming and was in the kitchen, putting the jug on. She too asked - urgently - how he wanted his coffee and again the man answered 'black'. It was, of course, a ruse to enter the house and I knew that B would be trying to think of a way to protect us. The man wielding the knife had me cornered, and I could do nothing.
I woke briefly and went back to sleep.
I was in a house where many people lived. Again it was an old house in need of repair. While the others were busy with their own business, I ventured out the back of the house and around to the side gate. The afternoon was darkening and I retreated, through the back yard which stretched out into the vacant block next door, with no fence to divide the two properties. On the vacant block I could see a woman who I knew was with the group that had entered our house in the dream earlier. I knew too that it had been a dream and now I recalled it like a warning. I hurried to the back door, but was cut off by the same man from the previous dream who had threatened me with the knife. Again he held a cheap plastic stanley knife with the blade fully drawn and he toyed with it, placing it to my throat and pretending to slash the skin on my arms. Again he wanted to come in.
The dream skipped forward and I was inside the house, safe from harm, but quite upset. I found two friends who were also living in the house. They were both friends from my school days and I knew they knew me well. I need to tell them about the experience. I explained the first dream as though it had been a harbinger, and then told them, in great detail, about the second occurrence.I felt that had I listened to the message of the first dream, that I wouldn't have been faced with the danger twice.

house and confidence

I was staying in a huge house, perhaps a vast homestead, overlooking the sea. I wandered between two rooms in particular, feeling that I had stayed here many years ago when I was a child. I sensed that my sister and I had stayed in the smaller of the two rooms, our twin beds pushed against opposite walls of the room. I went into the larger room and found several other people, including a blind man with a walking cane that was painted red and white. I touched the end of his cane and then wondered if he was completely blind or if he had seen me. I felt a little embarrassed. More people gathered in the room and we lined up, ready to practise a dance. Music played and, driven by the rhythm, I broke out of the line formation and danced around a frangipani blossom that was lying on the floor. Instead of dancing, the entire group left the room and ran along the ocean shore. I called to my friend S and we and a few others abandoned our shoes and ran across the sand. I felt very free and quite able to run the distance without losing by breath. I hitched my skirt up and felt the wonderful sensation of physical confidence. I knew that my mother was watching me from a window in the homestead and I felt strong. After a while, I stopped running and began conversing with a woman who wore earthy clothing and had dreadlocked hair. She asked me if I liked earth music and I told her I did. She showed me a book of illustrations that she had created and I was most impressed. I told her that I was illustrating a book, but that I had found it difficult to find the time. Whilst we spoke, she drew, and I realised that this is what it would take to finish my book. She did not seek time alone or dedicated drawing time, she simply worked at it continuously no matter what was going on. She drew easily and confidently, without precision or indecision, letting the lines and ideas flow steadily onto the page.

hippopotamus

I caught a bus home. The bus travelled up my street and dropped my at my driveway. Upon entering the house, I noticed a balcony that I had never seen before. I sat on a chair on the balcony, enjoying the afternoon sun, amazed that I had not been here before. There was a beautiful view of the river - a deep blue body of water only a few moments walk from where I sat. To my close right, I saw giant hippopotami wading through the water. I was careful to be still and quiet as I did not want to disturb the enormous animals, having heard that they can become quite vicious. I marvelled at their size, their massive heads poking out of the water. One hippopotamus walked out of the water and I could see that though they were huge, they were also quite lean. Erring on the side of caution, I decided to leave my spot and go inside, just in case the hippo wandered too close.

the end of home

I was in the two family homes of my childhood, somehow both at the same time. I threw several pairs of black stockings into the corners of a few rooms and each pair burst into flames. The homes were on fire. Furious orange tongues licked the walls, fire raging through the houses. I searched the rooms, trying to find something precious to take with me. I asked myself what I treasured most and I decided upon only one thing: family. I found my phone, my connection to the ones I love, and texted my brother. A terrible storm hit the houses and rain sheeted down into the rooms, now open to the sky, quenching the flames. The houses flooded. High, powerful waters washed away all that had been. Memories, possessions, walls and all traces of our lives in the two homes were gone.

festival

I was at a festival, camping with others. I sorted through my bag, finding the most suitable items of clothing to wear for an all-night concert and a chance of a swim. I put on layers of clothes, ready for anything. We lay on the grass, listening to music and later, in an arena with raked audience seating stretching right around the performance space, watched an amazing theatre piece. Toward the end of the show, two characters transformed into intricate wooden puppets - a boy and a girl - and the set turned to wood. The girl puppet - with no strings or obvious means of movement - ran up the wooden staircase, her wooden dress fanning behind her, away from the boy who stood below looking up at her. The stairs became the entrance to her palatial home and she continued running, the sound of wooden shoes tapping on wooden streets filling the space. As she passed through the rooms of the home, the set continued to change so that she ran through the house, out into the street, under street lamps, past towers and into the city, all the while running around the arena stage. I was mystified as to how the puppets moved and the set changed, seemingly without human interference. It was magic. The show over, the huge audience prepared to leave. I realised that I was utterly exhausted and found it difficult to keep my eyes open. I sorted through my bag, looking for something, but fell asleep, tumbling out of my chair and down the aisle. Though I was aware that I was lying on the stairs, I wanted to stay there and sleep, but because of the crowd, I stood and we left the arena. Next we went into a building where a security guard was checking ID on the way in. I noticed that everyone was wearing a festival badge with their name and photograph displayed. I found my badge in my bag, but the photograph was missing. I was worried about not being able to get in so sifted through my bag to find another photo or form of identification. The security guard reassured me that we would find matching ID and I would be able to enter.

ChrehDoch

I was in my old bedroom, listening to the radio, when a fabulous song came on. I immediately recognised the woman's voice though I had never before heard this song. It was very unusual in style. The woman sang with great power, using her voice in a particularly throaty way, much like the way Bulgarian folk singers do. She was backed by musicians with a gypsy fusion sound, influenced by tango and underscored by dance music. Julia Lester announced that it was indeed my friend singing the song with her new ensemble: ChrehDoch.

overcoming obstacles

Climbing up a short hill, only as tall as my shoulder though extremely steep. The two others with me reach the top easily and wait for me there. They are puzzled by how difficult I find it. As I climb, the ground turns to wet, slimy mud and my feet and hands slide back down with every attempt. The hill becomes even steeper, until it is at right angles to the ground. My legs feel weak and powerless, unable to carry me to the top, yet I am determined to make it. I find plastic mesh buried in the muddy hill wall and cling to it, pulling myself up. I have to throw my right leg forward, then my left leg, moving them manually, one after the other. I pull myself up the hill - the others still waiting - and finally reach the top.

missing man

I was lying on a couch watching a television program about a missing person. The footage was old, in black and white. A group of men were going to work, entering a big building like a shed. The man in question was dressed like all the others: overalls (which I assumed to be dark blue) and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up). He had overgrown dark straight hair, although not long, and a big bushy beard so that much of his face was obscured. His eyes were serious, dark and possibly evil - although people often appear sinister in old footage. The man was last into the building and, as he crossed the threshold, he looked behind him, seemingly straight down the lens of the camera. He went inside, the door shut behind him and the commentator said that that was the last time he was seen alive. Suddenly, there was a pile of blankets and sheets on top of me and the man, dead, was lying to my right with his limbs sprawled across me, weighing me down. B stood at my left looking down at me. The man was still in black & white, or rather, shades of grey. The colour was drained out of him - he was lifeless. The blankets and sheets shifted so that they covered my face and I felt pressed down into the couch, buried under the weight of everything on top of me. I tried to scream, but could make no sound. Breathing became more difficult and with each exhale I tried again to scream or to ask B to pull the blankets off so that I could breathe, but I could barely muster a noise. B tried frantically to uncover my face, eventually unearthing me in the pile of blankets. Again the pile shifted, burying me under. Again I desperately tried to scream or tell B that I was suffocating, again making no sound. B scrambled to uncover my face, pulling away the blankets to allow me to breathe. In an instant, B was gone, disappeared from the room, and the second she vanished the man shuddered - a deep shudder, shaking his body. I was not sure if he had been feigning death, or if he was now waking from death, but I knew that either way, he was a terrible man. I was filled with horror and woke.

beetles

For some reason, I put three beetles in my mouth. Immediately I spat them out, realising that they were alive. The beetles landed on the ground at my feet. One beetle, the largest, stretched its wings and its legs, testing its body to check that it was in one piece. Satisfied that it was alright, it approached the second beetle which was also in the process of stretching; they both appeared to be okay. The third beetle had somehow turned inside out. The fleshy, juicy brown interior of its body was showing, like a skinned grape. The biggest beetle walked over to it and tapped it lightly, encouraging it to recover. With sudden effort, the last beetle flipped itself back so that its insides were inside and its wings and legs and shell were back where they should be. Unfortunately, in the process, the beetle's shell, its protective armour, had cracked and some pieces of it were missing. The other two beetles, however, patted the third beetle on the back and they continued on their way.

diving

Diving from a high cement platform, way down into the water below. The pool was inside a vast building and the space was in semi-darkness. It felt more like the bowels of a power station or some such thing than an inside pool. Nonetheless, the water was inviting: cold, crystal clear and iridescent blue. It took quite a bit of courage to actually leap off the platform, it was so far above the surface of the water, but I leapt off and arched my body over into a diving position. On the way down, I had time to realise that I was wearing jeans and a shirt with nothing underneath and wondered if the shirt would become transparent once wet. I plunged into the water, feeling the thrilling rush of cool, and opened my eyes to see a maze of pipes and tunnels further down below. I surfaced and swam around awhile, enjoying the buoyancy of my body. I climbed back out of the pool, up a steep metal ladder that led to the cement platform above. Once there, I could see through an internal window into the next room where a group of people were being guided around the building; students on a tour. I recognised their teacher and felt a little embarrassed as I certainly did not imagine that I looked my best. I caught sight of myself in a mirror and was somewhat dismayed by my wet, pale reflection. I decided to dive straight back into the water. I ran and leapt off the side of the platform, buzzing with the rush of it, and dived down toward the water. Just before entering the water, I realised that my clothes had dried and I didn't want them wet again. My change of mind halted the dive so that instead of shooting down into the blue, I changed directions, skimmed across the top of the water and scooped back up, landing on a lower platform. There I removed all my clothes. I was stunned that I was able to control my body in motion, in flight, and relished in this newfound power. I dived back in and practised somersaulting through the water.

lion

I was standing in the corner of a room. On both sides, the walls comprised glass sliding doors, right up to the corner, so that the room appeared to be both inside and out. Someone said that I shouldn't worry about the lion, that the glass would keep him out. And then he appeared on the other side of the glass. A huge, wild lion, desperate to get in and eat me. I locked one of the glass doors, but the other wouldn't lock and wouldn't close properly, leaving a small gap between the door and the frame. The lion prowled around, pacing backward and forward, occasionally swiping a paw at the glass. I pushed the glass door that wouldn't close as hard as I could, trying to keep the room sealed. The lion could see the gap and wedged a long claw into it, trying to fit the rest of his paw in too so as to widen the gap and open the door. I pushed with all my might, forcing the lion to withdraw his paw. He roared furiously, his long mane bristling around his angry face, still determined to find a way in. I leaned my entire body weight against the door, doing my utmost to keep the lion out, whilst the lion continued probing the gap between the door and the frame, intent on getting in.

camp, suitcase-car & giant sea eagle

I was camping with my brother and his partner in a tent that had two sections - one for me and one for them. We seemed to be on the outskirts of a large camp, at least one hundred or so tents spread across a field. I had packed enough clothing for a week or two. One evening, just on dusk, I left the camp to explore further afield. I took only the clothes I was wearing, a little money and my car, but instead of driving the car, I folded it up into itself so that it formed a compact suitcase. I ran along the road that curved around the bay next to the water. Darkness fell and soon I could see very little. Still I ran, enjoying the evening and the cooler climate - I believe we were in the southern regions of Australia. Suddenly I realised that I had run straight into the water; the road had disappeared and I had plunged, with my suitcase-car, into neck-deep water. I was very concerned for my car and hoped that it was airtight. I waded through the water back to the shore and resumed my walk along the road. Eventually I found another camp where people were settling in for the evening. I also found a tent that I was to share with another person who I barely knew. We settled ourselves inside the narrow tent, much like a child's first play-tent, and realised how uncomfortable we were. I asked him to move his sleeping bag over a little, which he was reluctant to do, but I insisted. The tent walls were terribly slack and dipped down in the middle. I hopped out to tighten them, pulling the pegs out and repositioning them. The pegs were not anchored in the earth, rather they were lodged in the soft wood of the jetty on which we seemed to be perched. Back in the tent, I read a wonderful book with black and white illustrations and photographs, until I fell asleep. The following morning, I continued walking around the bay. Strangely, I saw a giant sea eagle, brown and white, standing on the jetty, interacting with a woman. I was very surprised as I knew that I had dreamed about a huge brown eagle the night before. This eagle was, again, slightly bedraggled and quite old.

classroom, eagle & presentation

I visited a room where a woman - a friend and teacher - presided. The room was ominous and exciting both, for its shadows concealed rows of books, new and old, and a huge brown eagle, watchful as he lurked in the darkness. An impressive and imposing creature, he was nonetheless bedraggled, as though he had been through an ordeal. The feathers around his head and on his chest were thinning in places and a little skewwhiff. Time passed and I left the room, only to return at a later date in the bright daylight. Now it was a classroom, filling with students. The woman entered and I asked her where the eagle was. She replied that she had had to scrape him off the road. I was greatly saddened for him yet not surprised as he appeared to be close to his end, a little relieved that he wasn't hiding somewhere in the room. Another teacher arrived and on her way to her desk she asked me if I was ready for my presentation tomorrow. Apparently the entire class was to be assessed on an end-of-year talk that was built from an essay produced earlier in the year. The talks would be lengthy and so were scheduled over several weeks; I was first. I raced home (to the family home where I lived when I was a teenager) to do my best to prepare. I pored over my diary in case there was some mistake and I was not really first, but I found the reminder confirming that I was, indeed, to present my paper tomorrow morning at nine. I realised that I could not possibly do the research and writing required to build a well-rounded talk in just a few hours. I felt terribly anxious, but decided to resurrect the essay I had written earlier in the year and for which I had received excellent marks. I thought that if I harnessed all of my acting and speaking skills, that I may be able to present the information in a such a new way that the class would not recognise it from before. I studied and practised all night and, in the morning, readied myself to go to school to do my talk. My sister called out from her bedroom to ask me to wait for her so we could travel together. I was really quite panicked, but waited. Time ticked over and nine o'clock drew close, but my sister was not yet ready. I ran downstairs and asked my father to drive us to the school as it was now too late to catch the bus. I ran back upstairs and called to my sister who was still in bed. She had decided to stay at home. I ran back downstairs, papers in hand, and glanced at the time - five to nine. My father walked through the kitchen wearing a hot pink scarf, gliding, on his way to the car. I urgently texted my friend, S, to tell the teacher that I was just leaving home and that I would be there soon. When I looked back up at the clock, it was twenty past nine. So late. I threw down my papers and screamed for a moment, overwhelmed by the whole ordeal, then gathered myself and ran to the car. The dream skipped forward and I arrived in the classroom, one of the first to arrive. We waited for a long time and finally the teachers arrived. They laughed, saying that they had travelled to the Gold Coast in search of a particular book for one of the students after yesterday's class and had somehow missed the last ride back and had to stay the night. They were sorry, but the talks would have to be rescheduled to commence next week. I was both furious and immensely relieved as now I would have a week to prepare.

in the air

I was in the church hall next door to the church I attended as a child. There was a group of people gathered there, awaiting an event. A long rope hung from the high ceiling in the far corner of the hall, in front of the stage. I held onto the rope, walking around in circles, not quite swinging, but almost. I had not the arm nor core strength to lift my body off the ground and so I walked around and around, imagining what I could do. As I walked past the wall, holding onto the rope, I imagined that I could run up it and somersault away, circling on the rope. I imagined that I could perform aerial acrobatics, the way a tissu circus performer would. I realised that if I did this every day, slowly building up my strength and flexibility, plus visualising the movements, that soon I would be able to do it - lift myself off the ground and gracefully, powerfully spin on the rope in the air.
Next, I left the hall, travelling toward home. Instead of walking, I hovered above the ground, using the power of my mind to keep my body a foot or so above the ground and float forward. I moved through the crowd outside, weaving my way over the verandah, down the stairs, and across the church grounds to the road. As I floated across the road, I saw a bus approaching at high speed on my left. I faltered and stumbled on the ground so that the bus had to scream to a halt. It stopped a breath away from my body. The bus driver alighted the bus and yelled at me, telling me that I should use the crossing only a few metres away. I apologised and walked down to the crossing where I crossed back over the road into the church grounds. There, I found my pillow, which was covered in a coral-coloured slip. I held onto the pillow, much like I was leaning on it, and used it to propel me back into the air. I floated back into the crowd gathered outside the church, hovering a foot above everyone, listening to their conversation but concentrating on keeping myself afloat.

python, girl and baby

I was observing a young girl playing near a drain. At first I was not physically there, only spiritually, but when she needed me, I manifested in her space. There had been a great rainfall and the waters were unusually high. The girl wielded a long stick, poking it about in the water and in the drain that ran between the creek and the road. I saw a huge brown python swim into one end of the drain, heading toward the other end where the girl was playing, hitting the water with her stick. Knowing this would agitate the snake and that she was likely to be attacked, I interrupted the scenario and grabbed the snake around the throat just under its head as it appeared from out of the drain. The python was furious. It writhed about, its mouth gaping wide open, desperate to bite me. It was so long that the other end of its body was still in the drain. The young girl seemed oblivious to my presence and continued beating the stick about in the water. I was not sure what to do about the snake. I felt certain that if I let it go, it would attack me or the child. I continued holding onto its throat, squeezing quite hard, puzzling over how to end the experience and keep the girl safe. Suddenly B appeared holding one of her chef's knives. I called to her and she came. I knew I could trust her accuracy to chop of the snake's head even while it was writhing about, without lopping off my fingers. I woke.
Later, I dreamed that I was in the home of my youth, trying on a pair of jeans. I realised that the jeans were maternity pants with a big elasticised section at the front. I went into the parent's bedroom and B was there, folding up clothes. I showed her the jeans and told her that I was thinking of having a baby. She paused and said that it was a good idea, that I would make a good mother. We determined that the baby, who we imagined would be a girl, would be called Micchi.

a need to be free

B and I were travelling. We caught a plane and flew over the ocean and across countries. When we alighted, I was not sure where we were. We caught a bus to our hotel and slept soundly through the night. In the morning, I gazed through the window at the vast field of red, gold and green shrubs, stretched out as far as I could see. B asked me if I knew where we were and I guessed that we might be in Arizona. I was right. We hired a car and travelled around the continent, taking in the sights. In one place, we stopped at a huge building that was still being developed. There was a maze of paths and walls divided by pools of water, around a giant pool of water that adjoined the sea. A crowd had gathered as something was about to happen: an enormous ship sailed with speed into the pool of water and stopped only an inch from the wall that separated the water from the crowd. There, the ship morphed a few times into a sea creature and a whale, before resuming its shape as a ship (shipshape). For some reason, I lay down, fully clothed, in one of the shallow pools of water between the paths and rolled around until I asked B for a hand up.
We then journeyed on, stopping at a man-made beach area surrounded by shops where hundreds of people, both residents and tourists, were shopping and wading. There were about eighty or so women wearing the same bad outfit that they had bought at the shops. I felt embarrassed for them and vowed not to buy off-the-rack clothes that were so obviously cheap and mass-manufactured. I imagined that I could sew all of our clothes and maintain a sense of identity. We wandered on and entered a touristy building built on the side of a canyon. We walked down stairs and down sloped floors, rode down escalators and elevators, until we saw a cafe ahead. B visited the bathroom and I stepped carefully down the now steeply sloping floor toward the cafe where we would find something to eat and drink. I began to take in my surrounds: the floor was carpeted with awful pink carpet and the cafe was decorated in pale blue and pink. The room between the walls became increasingly narrow so that the cafe came to a point. It seemed to be the most southern point in the whole complex, hanging down below the rest of the building, and overhanging the cliff. I began to hyperventilate and started to back away, crawling back up the carpeted floor. B came out of the bathroom and saw what I saw - we had to get out. We felt the weight of the building pressing down on us, felt the precariousness of it, and noticed the ugliness of the place. We left the building as quickly as we could, travelling back up the stairs and escalators, until we were back outside in the open air.

missing out

I was at a lunch function where hundreds of people had gathered. I went to the bathroom and realised that I had not told anyone about my food intolerances and would probably have difficulty eating what was to be served. I went outside and looked for the right person to talk to. A young waiter asked if he could help, but I was determined to speak with a waiter that I had seen earlier - I felt that he would know what to do. I found him and followed him to the service kitchen where a team of chefs was preparing the meal. He went inside and asked the head chef if it was too late to cater for a wheat-free, dairy-free person, and I heard the chef reply that it was. The waiter came out to tell me and I assured him that it was okay, that I should have planned ahead. I thought I could probably go and eat at the local pub, just down the road. I felt that I had missed out and, out of view, shed a few tears.
I was in an airport terminal with my father. We waited in the departure lounge to board the plane for what seemed like a long time. Finally, the plane was due to board, but I had opened my suitcase and was rearranging my luggage. I had a spare corner in my bag and offered it to Dad. He sorted through his things, deciding what he could put in my suitcase to lighten his load. The air stewards announced the final call and we were still occupied with our luggage. I closed my suitcase and hurried to the gate, but my father (who in waking life is always on time) was still in the seating area. I showed my boarding pass and went through, waiting for Dad on the other side, terribly anxious that they would close the flight and not allow him through. I woke.

dark times

A young girl of about seven years old went missing. I was devastated. Before her disappearance, she had attended a place where I was working - perhaps a school of some kind. She was a loving child with a sweet round face and dark hair and eyes. Her family was a wonderful tapestry of colour: some tall and black-skinned, others lighter-skinned - all beautiful. She was collected from the school by someone we assumed to be a member of her family and was not seen again.
Later, a woman arrived and delivered two children to the school - a baby girl and her older brother who was about three. He was a very blonde child with a very dark energy. Even at such a young age, his presence disturbed the other children and he was intent on wreaking havoc. Somehow, he conjured up a spell that set in motion an evil wind. Wild animals rallied and nature roared, warning of a terrible time ahead.
Later still, I was sorting through a suitcase, doing my best to find the most practical things to wear. I knew that outside the door of the room I may encounter violence for a war was at hand. I found sturdy shoes, layers of clothing in dark colours and a bag to carry water. Most of the items in the suitcase I put, regretfully, aside, hoping that I might make it back one day to enjoy them.

exhibition

I was at the state art gallery to view a new exhibition of illustrated books, wandering around the vast space, when I came upon a small exhibition wall dedicated to my book. The book was there, printed and bound, sitting upon a white plinth. Around the book, someone had created a display in hot pink and orange with lots of white space, using various items to make an eclectic installation, such as boxes of tea and fine fabric. I went over to a lounge and sat down, my breath taken away upon finding my book included in the exhibition. I watched as a woman picked up the book, turning the pages carefully. She came over and asked if I had seen the book, pointing to a specific illustration of a young woman's face surrounded by leaves and flowers arranged in an intricate pattern. I was not sure if I should tell her that I had written and illustrated it, but I did and she was appreciative. I then noticed one of my paintings hanging on the wall, again predominantly pink, orange and white, and I realised that the entire section was dedicated to displaying my work. I saw empty walls and wished that I had produced more work to fill them, that I had made more of the space.

sock puppet & baby

Sitting next to my mother on a bench against a wall, I held a baby of indeterminate gender in my arms. The baby was wrapped in a soft blanket - a bundle. I reached into a bag and found a dark blue sock from which I created a sock puppet that played with the baby causing it to laugh and gurgle. The baby was so delighted with the sock puppet that its little arms and legs thrashed about. I bumped my mother a few times, rocked by the happy movement of the baby. The plain blue sock grew button eyes and a red mouth, becoming much more puppet-like. The baby was enthralled.

old home & advice

A girl who went right through infants, primary and high school with me, visited me in Brisbane. I decided to take her somewhere, so we drove through Newstead then along the river via Kingsford Smith Drive. I was driving. At times the car became a huge 4WD and I drove with one wheel on the footpath whilst I sped around other cars that seemed stalled along the way. Eventually we reached an old mansion divided into units, situated where Portside is in waking life. I understood that I used to live there and I wanted to show her my old home. Approaching the house, I could see that the blue-grey paint on the walls was flaking away and that the wood was rotting. We climbed some stairs and walked along a platform through the middle of the building, then out to the rear landing, overlooking the river. We began to climb the stairs to my unit, but the staircase was rickety and far too dangerous. We retreated. I then realised that my unit was no longer there, that the staircase leading to it was a dead end and that the entire upper floor had been removed from the building. Instead, we visited another of the units where a friend of mine was living. She made tea and we sat at the entrance to her unit, talking. She told me that I had the classic symptoms of someone whose diet included foods that were blocking the production of amino acids, in particular, she told me that coffee was affecting me.

reunion

I was at a school reunion, or rather, my entire year at school were gathered, waiting to be taken to the school reunion. It was dusk and everyone was sitting by the side of the road, dressed in the bottle green school uniforms that we wore back when we were at school. I sat apart from the group, doing my best to finish some artwork that I had started. I was happy drawing though aware of being separated from everyone. Periodically, I visited the group, spending a little time with the people with whom I was closest at school. I could see a few others - old friends - sitting by the roadside, and I hoped to catch up with them later. I returned again to my drawing, determined to finish.

gifts

I was wrapping presents for people. I had not bought or made gifts, rather I sorted through my belongings that were packed into a suitcase, searching for something suitable to give away, and found various items of clothing. In particular, I prepared two large sarongs - one deep pink, the other rich turquoise - folding and refolding them so as to present them beautifully. Both sarongs were embroidered and decorated with sparkling sequins and beads and I was able to straighten the sequins and alter the colours of the leaves embroidered on the cloth. I sifted through reams of wrapping paper to find the ideal piece, again to present the gifts beautifully. My brother appeared and commented upon the paper; he liked the same ones that I chose. I was pleased to be able to give the presents, although I also felt as though I was taking away from myself.

moment in the sun

I went for a walk to find a patch of sun. I was wearing a white toweling robe, wrapped snugly about my body. Arriving at a gentle slope of white sand, I decided to sit awhile in the sun. I could see hundreds of bees flying just above the sand and crawling around in it. I waved my hands through the top layer of sand, clearing the way to sit down, sweeping away any bees. I felt something crawling up my left sleeve and thought I must have scooped up a bee. Reaching my right hand up the sleeve, I, sure enough, could feel something up there so I shook it out. A daddy-long-legs spider fell out and scuttled away, then a ten dollar note fell out. I picked up the money and flattened it, ironing out the creases with my hands. After a short while, I stood up and walked back in the direction from which I had come.

cult

B and I paid one hundred dollars to a man as a deposit on a home in St Lucia, Brisbane. Having secured the house, we walked around it, looking in each room and exploring the garden. The previous owners - a man and woman, still living there for now - invited us to come back in the morning to hike to the end of the garden. The man said it would take an hour to walk to the far reaches of the property, and at least an hour to walk back. We were surprised as the back yard certainly didn't seem that big, but we agreed to come back. The next day we arrived, prepared for a long walk. We set out, down the front steps of the house, around the side, through the back garden and further afield. We trudged through muddy patches and scaled the side of a hill. As we ventured further, our memory of where we had come from faded. We ended up arriving at a place where the man and his wife ran a cult. An entire community of people lived there, working away, oblivious to a world outside. We too began to live in the community and work. A couple of years passed when, one day, my friend (who was now a man) awoke to the whole pretense. He began vocalising about how wrong it was and immediately left. I decided to leave too, but I was more covert. I escaped the cult, running from the grounds in the dead of night. On the outskirts I was spied by a group of cult women who screamed at me and chased after me. It was then I realised that I too was a man. I sped on foot as fast as I could possibly go, back through the hills and down the tracks we had walked a few years earlier. I could hardly comprehend how much time had passed or what had transpired. I ran, exhausted yet also exhilarated, all the way back to the house we had bought, narrowly escaping the deranged cult women who threw rocks at me and followed me as far as they were able, until some invisible barrier prevented them from running further. Safe at the house, I found my friend. We no longer wanted the home and happily forfeited our deposit. We set about attempting to resume a normal life in society.

snake swallower

Crossing the threshold of a small house, I was startled by a fat brown cobra sitting just inside the room. He flared his hood threateningly, but I quickly grabbed him around his thick body, one hand just under the hood and the other around the tail, preventing him from biting me whilst I wondered what to do. He writhed about, furious, trying to bite me. Summoning my strength, I hurled him out the door, hoping that he would take the opportunity to escape and disappear into the scrub. Unfortunately, he was too vengeful and returned. A young girl sat in the corner by the door and saw the snake enter. The snake reared and again flared its hood. The snake had changed shape a little: it was now long and thin and its hood sat around its neck like a wide collar out from which it extended its neck, reaching up into the air and striking down repeatedly as it now attempted to bite the girl. Rather than retreating, the girl played with the snake, mocking its angry attack motion by swiping at it, two of her fingers curled in imitation of its fangs. I called out to her to stop, fearful for her safety, but she continued and the snake lunged at her again and again, just short of sinking his fangs into her flesh. Suddenly, as the girl went to say something, the snake extended his neck way out of his collar and poked his head into her mouth and slithered down her throat, his long tail still stretched out across the floor. I was horrified as the girl just sat there with a surprised look on her face. I waited for her death as I imagined the snake would bite her internally and that would be the end. Instead, the snake continued sliding down her throat until even his tail disappeared. His collar was left behind on the floor.

death

I was in a large, bare room with three other people: a woman and a man who were conspirators and were plotting my murder, and a man I believed to be my ally. We had successfully evaded our enemies up to this point, but now we were trapped and our deaths were imminent. They did not force us, rather they compelled us to sit on two wooden seats in the centre of the room. The woman held a syringe in her hand, drawing out the moment. I looked at my friend, one last time, lamenting our premature end. The woman injected me with poison and I immediately died and became a ghost, separating from my dead body, though my spirit, invisible to the others, looked exactly the same as my body had looked in life. My ally stood and embraced the other two people; they did not kill him. It dawned on me that he was, in fact, a conspirator against me. I was deeply betrayed.
I travelled through the halls of the immense building. The rooms teamed with people, walking up and down stairs and riding escalators. Most people I passed could not see me, but every so often I encountered someone who could. These people did not seem to understand that I was dead; they assumed that, because they observed me, I was another living person. I began to realise that people had different levels of awareness and that they saw only what they could comprehend.
At the junction of three escalators, each leading upward in a different direction, I saw a young boy trapped in the space between them. He had somehow jumped the moving handrail into the gap and could not now get out as the mechanisms propelling the escalators - cogs and wheels and loud machinery - blocked his path. The only way out, it seemed, was to wriggle under one of the escalators, through the small gap between the motor and the floor, timing the exit so as not to be crushed by the moving parts. Most people seemed oblivious to his predicament as he did not cry or make any noise; indeed, it seemed that he was too afraid or embarrassed to attract attention to himself. He was focussed on learning the pattern of the machinery, hoping to shoot through the gap at the appropriate time. I joined him on the floor between the three escalators and gently held him back, knowing that the wrong move would lead to a gruesome death. I hailed down an old mechanic wearing dark blue overalls, happy that he could see me. He fiddled with the buttons of the escalators and switched them all off. The boy slid out through the narrow space and was gone. I, however, felt terror at having to go through the gap. Though the machinery had been switched off, the exit was suffocatingly small. I hesitated for what seemed like a long time before noticing another way out that I had not seen before - an opening like a doorway. I simply walked out of the space and the mechanic started up the escalators once more.
I walked up a flight of stairs and, at the top of the stairs, I saw my father. To my delight, he could see me too. I was not sure if he would be able to feel me, so I extended my hand and he held it. He could see me, hear me and touch me. Dad asked me if I was going to come back and live with him now, but I told him that I was held to this building until I finished whatever business I needed to before leaving Earth. We embraced and he went back home. There was no sense of sadness, only joy. I noticed how well and vibrant he looked and I could see that he had extremely developed awareness, that he was able to see and sense my spirit more than anyone else I had met.

pressure

I was sitting toward the back of an auditorium, waiting for a show to begin. The huge room was filled with people and it seemed that there would be speakers and performances of various kinds. The old man next to me began speaking with me and, where at first I didn't mind, he became increasingly confronting, making me extremely uncomfortable. First he said that he could sense when people had too much caffeine pumping though their system, that they were tense and charged. I confessed that I had earlier had two small cups of coffee, but felt fine. He then went on to say that he had lived at the time of Jesus, that he remembered his life and that he remembered me. He said I was Elizabeth. I did not believe him but felt curious nonetheless. He then asked me to sing a particular religious song that I vaguely recall from my youth. I declined but he insisted. Again I declined. Instead of accepting that I did not want to sing, he amplified the pressure. He called the main speaker over from the stage to support him. The man, his voice booming over the sound system, walked up the aisle to the back of the auditorium where we were sitting, stood over me and told me to sing. There was no way now that I would sing, none at all, and my anger and embarrassment was too much. I walked out of the auditorium, turning my back on all that the crowd stood for. Outside, I found my friend, S. She was looking for me, walking through a maze of tents and stalls. We were obviously on the grounds of a big festival, probably religious.

lost camera & manifesting thoughts

I was sitting at a bus stop, somewhere in another city. I had a few items of luggage with me, including my camera. I placed the camera on the footpath while I rummaged through my bag, head down, looking for my ticket. When I looked up again, my camera was gone. I panicked. I searched around the bus stop and stopped anybody around, asking for my camera. No one had it nor had they seen anyone take it. It had simply disappeared. I was desperate to find my camera as I had photographed a friend's wedding the day before and all of the photos were stored on the memory card in the camera. I was terrified of losing the photographs and ruining the occasion, plus I value the camera greatly.
Later, I was inside a house with the friends whose wedding I had photographed. I was still searching for my camera, checking inside cupboards and suitcases, under lounges and other furniture, anywhere I thought it could be hidden. Finally the bride's mother, another dear friend, told me to remember the last time I was anxious about losing photographs: I greatly feared something going wrong with the camera and then the memory card malfunctioned. Though I was able to retrieve the images, she said that I had manifested the near disaster. This again, she said, was a manifestation of my thoughts. Be careful what you think, she warned me.

pink monkey

I drew a pink monkey called Sphiros, to put up on the door. She - for it was a very pretty monkey with long eyelashes around blue almond eyes - was going to help us become all that we could be. Her image contained her spirit and she would act as our familiar.

camping out

I was with hundreds of other people, camped on a green in the middle of a city. It was late in the afternoon and we were all setting up tents and preparing for an evening out at a special event. People were walking around in their best clothes, having already visited the communal bathrooms, showered and dressed up. I realised that I had a lot to do: I was yet to erect my tent, unpack my belongings, queue to visit the bathroom and get dressed for this special occasion. I gathered my things, a heavy suitcase and my handbag, and went to where I had earlier left my tent and sleeping bag. I found that a couple that I knew well had erected their tent on my site but had left a small patch of green for me to use, only big enough for one person. Instead of unpacking and putting up a tent, I proceeded to build and make up a bed, complete with sheets, pillows, a white quilt and beautiful cushions. Once finished, I wondered if it would rain whilst I was out at the event or during the night, and worried about sleeping under the stars. I noticed that someone had put up a tarpaulin that could be stretched over the entire sleeping area, so unless there was driving rain, I would be dry.

laundry

I was in the home of a close friend's parents, attempting to do a load of washing. Their laundry was a step down from the rest of the house, adjoining the main living space where the parents were sitting, watching television. They appeared to be either drunk or in a bad mood; they were somewhat cranky and careless with their words and actions. I closed the laundry door and loaded the clothes into the front loader washing machine. Instead of a simple door, the washing machine had three separate doors to shut: the first a rubber flap, the second a plastic sliding door, and the third a lockable swing door. I closed all three and started the machine. Regardless of the care taken to close all of the doors, water poured out of the machine and flooded the laundry, ankle-deep in no time at all. I rushed to the the far end of the room and could see two drain pipes built into the cement floor. I stopped the machine and waded through the water, creating a drag toward the drains so the water would empty quickly. I was grateful that the laundry was lower than the rest of the house so that the water would not flood the living room as well. Once the water was gone, I opened the laundry door and called to my friend's mother, asking for her help with the washing machine. She simply grunted and continued to watch the television. My friend came into the room and offered his help. I could not help but notice the remarkable difference in their attitudes: he was open and warm, they were cold and indifferent.

festival

I travelled by train up the coast to attend a festival, much like the Woodford Folk Festival. The train was old with wood panelling and open windows, just like the trains I caught as a child. I stayed in hotel-style accommodation; again, the building was quite old with wood panelling on the walls. After settling in, I wandered around the grounds of the festival. I was early and the crew was still setting up, erecting tents, stalls and stages. I found a place to have a drink and a bite to eat, and then continued walking the festival site. I looked in a few shops - temporary buildings - where treasures and books were for sale. I turned the pages of an antique book, the illustrations changing shape before my eyes. Before long, I found a few friends who were due to perform. I sat on a fold-up chair in front of a low stage and watched as my friends did an acrobatic yoga show. They were extremely impressive and very strong, balancing their bodies, standing atop one another. Suddenly, my chair lifted into the sky. I circled above the festival grounds, flying through the air, until I came back to land close to where I had taken off, and stopped by bumping into a wall. The festival site now teamed with people. I saw various women with whom I have shared house over the years, all attending the festival. I searched the crowds, looking for my friend.

floating

I was on a bus with B. She sat toward the front on the left-hand side, while I wandered up to where the old driver was sitting and watched him drive. I suddenly floated up to the ceiling and I realised I was naked from the waist up. Hovering below the bus roof, I covered myself with my hands and looked down to B who reassured me with a smile. The driver looked up at me and said, "A dwarf naked angel! Just what I've always wanted while I drive." The bus stopped and I floated out the front door, B joining me. She changed into a close friend I had throughout my teenage years who died when he was only seventeen. He wanted to float too so he ran up the hill, holding my hand, while I floated beside him, anchored by his weight.

burning bath

I took a bath in a sunlit room with high windows and a skylight. I was in the bath for about an hour, enjoying the calming water. When I emerged, I walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel. Some people gasped, looking at my naked arms and legs. I looked down and could see that my skin was burnt where it had been immersed in the water. It was quite pink and raw and the top layer of skin was peeling back in sections. I thought it best to ask my brother to photograph the burns so that I could produce evidence should I need to, before calling a doctor. Someone commented that I must be upset, particularly as I was due to be married the next day.

blood red

As I walked, I must have scratched my legs on the scrub, as now I noticed I was bleeding. I looked at my body and found that I was bleeding from cuts on my shins, on my arms and on my face. My nose was bleeding too and I cupped my hands under my chin as the blood ran down my face and pooled in my palms. I walked swiftly toward a sink and a mirror to see what was happening, doing my best not to drip staining red blood over the floor.

I opened a small container, peeling the lid away from the carton. It opened much more quickly than I intended, and red paint shot out, spurting into the air and spraying the far wall. I watched as it splattered a big red abstract painting hung high above the stairs and spotted the white wall below. Immediately, I grabbed a cloth and did my best to clean the wall, wiping the red paint away. I couldn't reach the painting and hoped that the paint would simply blend in.

falling baby

I was standing with B on the side of an extremely steep hill of concrete, which was about a kilometre high. We were two-thirds of the way up the hill, waiting for a bus. A woman stood a few feet away, hanging onto a pram, and her baby played about her feet, just old enough to walk. Suddenly he slipped over, falling on his stomach, and instantly shot off down the hill as though it were made of ice, sliding at breakneck speed toward the bottom. There was nothing to stop his descent but the huge brick building at the bottom. We braced ourselves waiting for the tiny baby to come to an abrupt stop. Tears ran down my cheeks in horrified anticipation. What happened was even worse. Instead of impacting with the brick wall, the baby skated with dizzying speed through a narrow opening and disappeared under the building. Gone. The woman passed out and I, too shocked to bear it, woke up.

man, joke and mouth

We were in another place, another city, far south of here. I had not been there before but B seemed to know a little about where we were.
I met a dark-skinned man who was dressed in white. He showed me a short story that he had written, typed on several sheets of white paper. I read the story, excited both about the story and about meeting this man with whom I could see a long friendship. I imagined how he would look when he was old and felt that t we could help one another on a creative level.
At dusk, B and I walked the streets, heading to a club. Once there, we sat in the glass-enclosed foyer, waiting to go in. People outside looked in at us as they passed. I felt quite conspicuous. A car pulled up and suddenly we were in the back seat. The driver, whose face was obscured by the shadows, was familiar to me. She had something in her hand that she passed back to us - a tiny photograph - and something about her mock-secretive manner instantly gave her away. It was our good friend C. We all laughed as though she had played a great practical joke.
Next, still in the same city though now in daylight, we visited the man's home. He played loud but pleasant music as he moved about the house, doing his own thing. At one stage, he sat down on the internal stairs and invited me to come over and listen to his heart. I knelt on the steps below him and placed my ear to his chest. His heart beat in time to the music and I could hear his breath, in and out. He then asked me to listen with my other ear. I placed my left ear to his chest and now his heart beat backwards. A clock appeared in the air in front on me and I watched the hands tick backwards, in time with his heart.
Later in the day, as we were preparing for a gathering at his home, the roof of my mouth felt strange, as though there was something stuck to it. I put my fingers in my mouth and pulled out some bones that resembled the rib cage of a bird. I removed more and more bones from the roof of my mouth until my mouth felt normal again. The bones fitted together to form a complete arched skeleton that I reassembled on a white plate.
Later again, in another part of the house, my mouth felt strange once more. I realised that I was chewing gum and so I went into another room to remove it. I pulled at the gum but there seemed to be so much of it; the more I pulled out of my mouth, the more there seemed to be. It was wedged behind my teeth and stuck to the roof of my mouth. I pulled at it until it was all out, a huge wad of chewing gum about the size of my fist. I took it out to show a few people as I was amazed that I had been able to fit so much chewing gum in my mouth. No wonder my mouth had felt strange.

eating hair and transformation

My friend took a huge handful of her hair from her head and began to eat it. I was terribly concerned and attempted to wrestle the hair out of her mouth, but realised that she had already swallowed some of it and I would choke her if I kept pulling at the remaining hair. There was nothing to do but let her finish eating her hair. I told her that next time I saw her eating her hair, I would call a psychiatrist. Immediately, she changed her cavalier attitude and became quite serious. She called a doctor and made an appointment to do something about her health.
We then went into a booth, much like a sound booth, where we began to do some work. Through the glass windows, we could see into the next booth where a group of people were working, though it seemed that they could not see us. We waved at them but to no avail. My friend visited them in their booth and told them to turn off their lights so that they could see us. They did so and those of us remaining in the lighted booth waved again. When they turned the lights back on, it was evident that they had seen us from their enthusiastic response. I too went to visit the other booth. Their equipment was extremely high tech. I recognised two of the men as two boys from my childhood; they had grown into lovely men. They showed us around the incredible equipment, playing wonderful music that was charted on big screens and totally interactive. As we listened, I became aware that I seemed to be fighting gravity, that my body, particularly the crown of my head, was drawn toward the electronic equipment. I had to brace myself to remain standing erect. I was amazed that no one else felt the pull and, so as to see what would occur, I succumbed to it. The top of my head was drawn like a magnet to the equipment and the rest of my body levitated off the ground so that I was almost parallel to the floor. With effort, I could 'climb' down and stand normally, but as soon as I relaxed, my body was lifted off the ground and the crown of my head drawn toward the source of the music. We played around with this for a little while, experimenting with distance from the source, and even when beginning by standing on the other side of the room, my body was attracted and drawn to the electronic equipment. My head felt light and buzzy as though the energy waves had altered my own brain waves.
After we left the booth, I immediately felt my centre of gravity return to normal, though my head still felt light. We walked outside and down a hill overlooking a beach and the ocean. Everything was brilliantly coloured: the sky, the sea, the mountains, the faces of people passing, were all illuminated and rich with vivid colour. I felt transformed by the music/gravity experience and as though now I saw everything anew; everything pulsated with life. We continued down the hill until we were on the shore. A tall hill appeared before us and we wanted to climb the hill for on top was the best place to be to see the sea. My friend climbed the hill easily but as I approached it, the hill changed into a wall covered with tiny pebbles. I felt it was impossible to scale the wall without injury so I approached the hill from a different angle, taking the longer route, winding up a grassy slope. Finally, I arrived on top. People lay naked on the shore, basking in the sunshine, and others paddled in the shallows. Still the colours of the landscape and the people were divine, in fact, the whole scene was heavenly. I stripped off my clothing and lay naked on the sand, relishing the sensuous, delicious experience.

shared spaces - no place of my own

I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor in a vast room, the size of a small church hall. Other mattresses were laid out on the floor all around me in neat lines; the room seemed to be a bedroom for about thirty people although no one else lay sleeping on the mattresses. I roused myself and crossed the room, stepping over the mattresses, into the adjoining room where other people were stirring, and then outside to where other early risers were going about their early morning business. I looked briefly around for my good friend and, upon not finding her, went back into the room where I had slept, determined to go back to sleep. While I had been outside, a few people, both adults and children, had gathered and were sitting on my mattress, talking and laughing quietly. I decided to move to another mattress so as not to have to move them on, but found that I was now unable to get back to sleep.
Next, I was living in a small apartment with my entire family plus a few other people. The apartment had a few security issues and we were all a little on edge as we listened to groups of drunk people pass by our door as they searched for their rooms, up and down the corridor. At one stage, my father ventured outside in order to check the hall and safeguard our apartment. I was concerned and followed him out so I could be by his side to face whatever we must face. Another group of drunken louts rioted down the corridor and mistakenly attempted to enter our apartment, thinking that it was theirs. We blocked the doorway and did our best to move them on, suggesting they try the next floor up. They left and we closed and locked the door. I leant against the door, looked at my father and told him that I was not sure that I could stay here very long, that I wanted to move somewhere safer.

driving, rebirth and pointless tasks

Scattered, strange dreams ...
I was driving around the inner city streets of Brisbane when a man jumped in the car and sat in the passenger's seat. He wanted me to take him to the Convention Centre so I drove around the block and dropped him off at the corner, close to the entrance. I pulled out from the curb and resumed driving but found I was now in the back seat behind the driver's seat so that my vision was extremely obscured. I did my best to navigate around upcoming obstacles, peering out from behind the seat and reaching around to guide the steering wheel, whilst I considered the best way to stop the car without being able to reach the peddles.
Next, I was at my grandmother's house (my grandparents are no longer alive) watching a documentary on "Little Red Riding Hood" and other stories, explaining the symbolism of each character and their character traits. I felt excited about the depth of meaning behind the stories and, somehow, the newfound understanding helped me to make sense of my own life. I was particularly affected by the section on "blindness" of characters indicating that those characters were not only visually impaired but blind to what was going on in the story. In an adjoining room, a group of people were gathered - some old, some around my age. One of the old women had earlier left the group and had taken up residence in a smaller second house, nestled in the back yard behind the main house. I knew that it was time to visit her, that it was part of my duty. I went down the back stairs and into the second house and, once there, several days passed. I had become ill and repeatedly vomited into a plastic container. Eventually, I staggered out of the second house, down the sandy shore of a nearby beach. There, someone showed me a portrait photo of myself that had been creatively treated: my photo, just head and shoulders, was in black and white, and there were hundreds of tiny coloured clocks studded across my forehead and lots of brightly coloured mobile phone faces around my neck. The person who showed me the photo asked me what I thought it meant. I answered that the clocks represented time and the phones technology, that I was racing time to keep up. I noticed that someone had drawn an enormous grid into the sand, that the entire shore was divided up into small squares with a small mound of sand in the middle of each. I quickly ran around the shore, using the last of my energy, stepping in and out of the grid, as I understood I was meant to do. Exhausted, I levitated my body, rising about twenty feet above the shore, and resting there in a vertically upright fetal position, so that I could view the happenings below without being involved. Time passed and people came and went until I was ready to join the world again. I landed on the soft sand of the shore and, now, I had a very young, brown-eyed baby girl in my arms, swaddled in white and pink. I cradled her as some close friends, both older women, came to welcome me back. One of them offered me a sparkling wine to celebrate but, considering the responsibility of caring for a baby, I declined. I was not sure that the baby was mine, seeing as she had simply appeared on the shore at the same time as I, and was about two months old. Suddenly, in a very young babyish voice, although obviously beyond her stage of development, she said that she remembered living in the circus. Both disappointed and relieved that she was not mine, I now accepted the offer of a wine to toast my rebirth.
Next, I was with my family in the first house that I lived in as a child, tearing up pieces of white paper into similarly sized rectangles that I then dipped in oil, covering both sides of the paper evenly, before stacking them on a plate. I repeated the action again and again, until I felt urgent about completing another task. I cannot recall what that was, but I finished it and resumed tearing up the pieces of paper and dipping them in oil, although I did not know what the pieces of paper were for. My mother asked me if I thought that I was using my time wisely and I was not sure, I just knew that I had to finish the tasks.

skeleton in the cubicle

Walking through a public toilet, along a row of cubicles. Each toilet was full to overflowing and quite unclean. I ventured into the cleanest cubicle but was put off and decided to go elsewhere. Some other women came into the bathroom as I exited the cubicle and I hoped that they wouldn't think that I had left the toilet in that state. They too walked along the row of cubicles, searching for a clean toilet. In the cubicle I had visited, there was now a skeleton torso - the skull, shoulders, chest and ribcage - sitting on the floor in front of a mirror, so that the skeleton, which was painted yellow and black, was reflected. The whole scene was rather eerie.

hacking at hair

I was sitting in my bedroom, secretly cutting my hair. Instead of using scissors, I had a pocket knife with five different blades, each entirely unsuitable for the job. One blade was serrated, another corkscrewed, a third blunt and so on. I hacked at the ends of my hair using all five blades at once, aware that I was damaging my hair, but strangely enjoying the process.

river and boots

I stood on the edge of the Brisbane River and felt utterly compelled to dive in. Though I knew it was not entirely suitable for swimming, I succumbed. I left the bank and shot through the blue-green water, surfacing around the middle of the river. I saw a shadow pass across the river to my right; I was not sure if it was a shark, a crocodile or a person, so I continued on my way but lifted my body out of the water so that I skimmed the water's surface. At the other side, it was shallow and murky. I decided to swim back but had to navigate around the musicians that appeared, performing from their vantage on the river bed. I swam around them and made my way back to the other side. There, I noticed that a couple of younger people had followed my lead and I felt terribly responsible, as though I had followed an irrepressible urge that had somehow led others astray.
Later, I was at a cobbler's shop, somewhere in a tunnel under the city. I passed the female cobbler my boots that I wear everyday and discovered, to my horror, that they were absolutely worn and full of tiny tears and holes. I couldn't fathom that they had worn out so rapidly, or that I had not noticed they were terribly made and of the poorest leather. My boots, the shoes I wear to walk around each day, had worn out.

film & friend

I was watching a film in an old cinema, sitting toward the back. The film followed a young woman through the Queen Street Mall. She was performing, interacting with the crowd, on a busy shopping night. She was slim with shoulder length brown hair, and she wore unusual long wool gloves with long fingers that extended well past her own fingers so that the tips waved freely in the wind. Weaving her way through the people, she would target someone and appear behind them, touching them with the dangling fingers of her long gloves. People responded varyingly: some laughed, some ignored her, and others were irritated and embarrassed. Suddenly she saw a group of older businessmen sitting at a round table in the mall. They were talking with one another, drinking coffee and wine, and they were unaware of her presence. Her whole demeanor changed significantly, as though she was guided by a divine force. She walked directly up to one of the men, a man of about sixty with short grey hair, and said, "I choose you. I choose you." As she spoke, my perception of the film changed, my point of view, and I was now inside the girl's body, seeing everything through her eyes and feeling what she felt, though still a witness. The seated men were baffled by her words and the girl began to walk away. A young man emerged out of the thick of the crowd and grabbed the girl from behind. She (we) struggled but he was far too strong. He forced her across the mall and roughly pushed her toward a dark alley. She grabbed at a brick wall, protesting and doing her best to grip onto the wall, but again he overcame her. Now, she was defeated. She knew that this was the end of her and rather than experiencing the horrors ahead, she simply collapsed into herself, submitting. Her spirit was dying. From inside her body, I could feel that someone had just struck the man who held her trapped. I didn't know what was happening, but I could feel the impact of someone beating the man's body and I willed the young woman to stay alive. The young man fell backward and the young woman fell to the ground. I could see the older business man that she had chosen, standing above her - it was he who had beaten the young man and now he was watching over her. The film then skipped forward in time and, though the young woman had died, the older man was now father and guardian of her child.
The film finished and we were back in the cinema. I was weeping, having experienced the film so completely, and my friend was beside me, hugging me. He was surprised that I was so moved and did his best to comfort me. He told me that he didn't think I was the type to cry so much over a film. I couldn't explain that I had seen and felt everything from the young woman's perspective. We left the cinema and my other friend who had been sitting beside me, left without saying goodbye. I thought about following her to see what was wrong, but decided to let it be. We walked through the night streets, arms still around one another, and took a short cut across a vacant block with grass up to my waist. We saw a large peacock perched on the fence and watched as it flew the short distance down into the wild grass.
On the other side, at the mouth of a street, we stood for a moment, contemplating what to do. A young woman appeared and spoke to us, insulting me and very cavalier in attitude. I slapped her lightly across the face with the backs of my fingers and told her that if she was going to speak to people in their forties and fifties, she should speak with respect. My friend let go of me and I waited to see what he would do: if he would back me or if he would be embarrassed. He too slapped the young woman lightly across the face with the backs of his fingers and told her that she should respect us. The girl disappeared and I felt very pleased that my friend was loyal to me.

Valley

I was in Fortitude Valley, trying to cross from Anne Street to Wickham Street, one block down from the mall. It was early in the morning and not yet light. I ventured along the cross street but it was blocked off with roadworks. Regardless, I continued along the footpath and climbed the scaffolding that stood in my way. At the top, a disheveled council worker wearing a maroon shirt, sat in a fold-up chair, resting before starting the day's work. I attempted to pass him but he told me that I couldn't go that way, that it was out of bounds. I heard a noise and realised that I was standing atop the temporary dormitory of the council workers and that a second worker had woken and was emerging from the makeshift lodgings. I retreated hurriedly, concerned for my safety. As I walked back along the cross street, a group of police, men and women dressed in dark blue, ran after someone, pointing their guns but not shooting. At the corner, they retired their pursuit and headed back toward the mall. As they passed me, a policeman grabbed a handful of my hair and said, "What's this? Bristles?" I answered that that was my hair and he looked at me in disbelief as though my hair was not real, and then walked away. I walked up the road and down the mall, observing seedy characters idling along the way. I decided to catch a bus the short distance to the other side of the mall and hailed one down. I sat next to a Chinese woman with whom I struck up a conversation. She too disliked walking through the Valley for fear of danger. We visited a woman who lived in a tall terrace house on Wickham Street, a witch of sorts. There, she supplied us with various herbs and bottles necessary for our health.