choosing abundance

Driving over the apex of a city hill on dusk, I could see a traffic jam ahead in the bottommost curve of the road, before it swept once again up the hill. The red brake lights of all cars in front of me glowed dimly in the darkening day. As I approached the queue, I saw that the road divided: I could either join the long line of cars inching along the road, or I could drive up a set of cement stairs that reached high up above the city. Taking a risk, I drove straight at the stairs, hoping, believing that the car would not simply crash into the staircase. Indeed, the car eased onto the stairs and drove powerfully, confidently up the steep incline. I realised that I was driving a black Lexus, and felt assured, knowing my car was capable. At the top of the stairs, I drove into a wide and spacious mezzanine area. I left my car to take a look around. Up here, there were people enjoying the view, children having private art lessons from master artists, boutiques selling exquisite clothing and art works of great beauty. All of this and more, in the city and yet above it.

three dreams

Three dreams -
One: A friend was voluntarily locked in a room. I tiptoed around outside the room, doing my best to be silent. I collected glass after used glass from the floor, all of them drained of one or another alcoholic drink that my friend had consumed. Wine glasses, champagne flutes, beer glasses and empty bottles; I collected as many as I could, setting them upon the sink, doing my best not to wake her.
Two: My friend shouted at my brother over the telephone. I was appalled, outraged, and would not let it be. It was as though she had attacked the most precious, most vulnerable part of myself. I insisted that she call back and apologise; not until she had done so would I even consider continuing any kind of friendship. She called, the other members of my immediate family present. She apologised, but insincerely, without actually taking responsibility and with no remorse. It was not enough. I did not believe her, or sense any kind of true understanding of her actions, only that she did not want to be punished. My mother and my sister backed me. We all wanted her to call again and truthfully express her apologies at having vented so misguidedly.
Three: I was driving my car, attempting to park at a venue around four in the afternoon. The venue carpark was closed and so I drove around the nearby streets, searching for a park. I wanted to find somewhere close and well lit so that once the event had finished, I could return to my car quickly and safely. I saw someone leaving a great spot, directly opposite the venue, on a corner. I drove easily into the park, but, once there, realised that it was reserved for buses and other commercial vehicles. I left and drove around a couple of streets, each taking me further from the venue and increasingly dark. I saw what I initially thought was a great park; certainly easy to get in to. However, while driving into it, I looked around and saw that the surrounding houses reeked with bad energy. I senses danger. I looked back to my park too late and drove straight into a pit that had opened in the road before me. I dropped through the ground into darkness and, immediately, my car turned into a bicycle and I caught it between my knees and grabbed onto the side of the road so that I hung from it, and my bike hung from me. I waited there for someone to give me a hand up. I thought that, should they come, I could pass them my bike (which I knew to really be a car) and then climb out of the pit with their assistance. I did not want to fall, knowing that it would be into the unknown.

not me

I had had an accident and I no longer had control of my body or mind. I was taken to a church event, which seemed fine, but I was in despair for I no longer had choice or expression. I wept. I cried for myself, for my brain, for my body. I was encumbered by the existing, surviving, misshapen, incomprehensible remnant of who I once had been.

insectile bird

A tiny bird, the size of a matchbox, flew through the window and circled the room. Featherless, it resembled a robotic bird, an insect, more than a bird. It whirred musically, mechanically as it flew. A flesh pink insect ten times its size snatched at the bird flying past. It scuttled after it, legs needling air, desperate to clutch it, to eat it. The bird hummed past, erratic, frantic, until it escaped back through the open window.

trapped

I was on my way home, having travelled far away. My luggage was packed into the back of a taxi and I sat in the passenger seat, waiting for the taxi driver to collect another person before we could be on our way. The taxi was parked on a road in a park. Rain suddenly bucketed from the sky and pandemonium broke loose. People were running, cars drove wildly around the path and across the grass. In the confusion, the taxi driver started the engine and drove, without the other passenger, attempting to move the car away from the chaos until it had calmed. I was nervous and felt trapped. We drove up the street, through a lot of construction, overseen by numerous police and security guards. We passed a marching band and maneuvered our way through narrow streets and tall buildings. I was lost. The taxi driver, an old man, tried to kiss me. I told him to stop but he persisted until I shouted at him. Even then, he crossed boundaries and I repeatedly had to defend my space. I did not try to leave the taxi; I felt I couldn't. We drove back to the park where we picked up my friend. While the driver was busy with something, I asked her if she would mind being dropped off at my house, then I could drive her home. She was puzzled, but agreed. I didn't want an opportunity where the man might try to come in. I then realised that the man was going to see where I lived, and I tried to concoct a different address. Through the car window, I could see a dear friend in the park and I wanted to go to him, but, again, I felt trapped in the taxi. The driver steered the car across the park and, instead of turning onto the road and going home, he drove through the pond to the other side where he lived in a shack. We alighted the taxi and visited his home. I did not want to be there. The memory of other women haunted the place, women he had taken there. I could not only feel them, but hear them. Some were laughing at us, some were warning. I hoped they knew I was not there willingly, that I would continue to defend my space and that of my friend.

blissful home

We were inside our home with guests. While B was talking with them, I wandered outside into the garden. It was late in the day and the moon had risen; a white disc high in a serene blue sky. The garden was in full bloom and huge soft pink roses had opened overnight. They were fat and lovely, their velvety petals wide and fragrant. I went back inside, eager to tell B and show her our garden. She was in the middle of a conversation so I waited until the time was right and then took her outside. The sea had now risen and instead of a distant view of the ocean, its clear turquoise waters lapped at our garden. We were delighted and surprised. I told B that I thought we were dreaming. She agreed and, knowing that it was merely a dream, we decided to enjoy it, aware that if it was real, many people would now be homeless or drowned. As it was, we experienced a kind of magic. B saw the roses and many other flowers - white and pink trumpet lilies, jasmine and other fragrant flowers - all in bloom.

missing out

I was inappropriately dressed, wearing only underwear and boots, and aware of it. Although I was in my house, I was in the presence of strangers and I was extremely uncomfortable, although they seemed not to notice. I did my best to conceal my body while searching for something more appropriate, more covering. Even when dressed, I felt uneasy, and I realised that I was home alone with four strange men. I pretended to see someone I knew outside the window and rushed out, running away.
Now, it was Christmas Eve, at about five or six in the early evening. Everyone seemed to be preparing for great festivities. I opened a suitcase and found a few items of clothing that I added to my attire, but, before I could leave, I was asked to help clean up, even though it was not my home. I carefully washed and dried the dishes in the sink, and cleaned the cupboards, finishing the job, long after other people had left. I wondered how best to celebrate and thought I would wander up the hill to a cluster of huge buildings where people seemed to be flocking - perhaps there I would find B. I saw a dear friend at the entrance of one of the auditoriums and, embracing him, he asked me if I could help him in the next auditorium, to open and close the curtains for a show. I hesitated as I wanted to be on my way, but I followed him through the crowd, into the building and backstage, where I helped him for a while. When I was no longer needed, I left and continued on my way, but I could not now find B anywhere.
Next, it was Christmas Day and I was walking up a busy road, on my way to visit a friend. I thought we would go out to celebrate. I was again aware of what I was wearing - this time a black short dress with heavy black boots. I felt quite strong and determined as I walked. Upon arriving at my friend's house, he said he needed to shower and asked me to make him an omelette. I did so, but all the while I felt amiss, as though I was continually waylaid by other people's needs, and distracted from my purpose. Other people were celebrating while I was otherwise occupied.

marching band and circus solo

I watched an unusual performance. An Australian circus performer, well-known for burlesque, physical performance, and particularly trapeze and hula hoop, was doing a wild and extremely energetic dance. She was dressed in a fantastic red and blue drummer boy outfit: very short glittery shorts, a sparkling midriff top, a tall soldier hat and long boots, and she twirled and tossed a baton. Her physical strength and skill was compelling. Behind her, accompanying her, was a Christian marching band. Perhaps one or two hundred young people, playing a range of instruments and dressed in blue school uniform, marched behind her. The music was sensational; featuring brass and percussion, providing a strong and driving rhythm. The contrast between the two looks was very striking. Where she was extraverted, highly individual and sexy, the band, though moving in time to the music, were uniform, conservative and modest. Together, it worked brilliantly.

conformity

I trekked from Brisbane inner city, homeward bound, over the Victoria Bridge, on nightfall. Once over the bridge, I followed the street curving around and under it, so that I emerged near the art gallery and the library. Gathered on the grounds were hundreds, even several thousands, of artists, writers and arts practitioners. Every single person was wearing black. I looked down and saw that I, too, was dressed entirely in black. I was disappointed and determined that I should change my outfit, that I would dress, from now on, in colour.

crossing and crocodile

I was driving up a hill and, at the crest, my car came to rest, balancing precariously. The hill was so steep that the car was stuck, see-sawing on top. I left the car and carried on the journey on foot, walking through shallow rock pools, avoiding anything that looked to be dangerous. Soon, I came to a crossing. The police had organised a barricade and were directing traffic across and around it. Still on foot, I reached the front of the queue from where I could see into a deep pit filled with water. One policeman instructed people at the top of the pit, and a second policeman stood on a platform inside the pit, helping people across. A crocodile repeatedly jumped up, out of the water, snapping at the heels of those passing overhead. The first policeman told me that I would have to jump as far as I could, and trust that the second policeman would catch me and help me travel safely to the other side. While I waited for the right moment, the crocodile was leaping ever closer, his mouth gaping wide. I could see that he had no teeth, and his mouth was shaped more like a strange fish. The first policeman grabbed one of my bare feet and held it above the crocodile, teasing it. It was too close for my liking and I struggled free. While the first policeman was busy directing the next people in line, I jumped, without warning, and landed lightly in the arms of the second policeman, the crocodile snapping at me all the while. I was delivered safely onto the other side of the pit, with the crocodile still leaping up out of the water, trying frantically to catch me and eat me.

dreaming

I was in my late grandparents' garage, in the semi-dark under their home. I was in consultation with a naturopath who had evidently been treating me for something. She brought up my results so far, which manifested as a light display around the room. Coloured lights shone and shifted, flitting from one wall to the next, and beaming through the space. She was delighted, noting how well I was, how the brilliant lights reflected my growing state of health. The only odd thing, she seemed to think, was that my brain waves were showing unusual activity, which would be accounted for by wild and vivid dreams if I was a child, but, as an adult, she thought it unlikely. I told her that I did, indeed, experience extremely lucid and inventive dreams. She regarded me curiously and I was left with the feeling that this dreaming was unusual.

he turned out to be the devil

Hurrying somewhere through a public place, I heard a thud and the sharp knock of bone against cement behind me. I turned to see a man sprawled on the ground. He had fallen and broken his arm. Although I was keen to keep going, to be on my way, I knelt beside him to check on him. He was obviously injured, his arm broken. I asked someone to call an ambulance and I held onto him, keeping him conscious and doing my best to comfort him. I stayed for some time, waiting with him for help to arrive. As time passed, he began to ask me questions about my life, my family. I felt uncomfortable as his questioning grew increasingly intrusive. Finally, he seemed to have recovered from his fall - without the intervention of medical aid - and I left him to repack my suitcase so that I could leave. Somehow, all of my belongings were now strewn across the ground and, knowing that he would hide something of his in my bag given the chance, I checked everything thoroughly before packing it. Someone helped me to pack and I told them to look for anything strange as 'he would try to bait me', with the object of somehow tracking me. Sure enough, I found his necklace - a stylised silver cross on black leather - among my things. I threw it back over to where he was waiting, hoping he didn't notice. Unfortunately he did and he came over with the cross, insisting angrily that I should have it. Realising that he was the devil, I looked him in the eye and told him that I wanted nothing of his, nothing at all. My certainty drove him away.

giant python

I was inside family home where I lived as a teenager. The house had three levels: the garage, laundry and 'rumpus' room on the lower level; the entry, lounge room, kitchen and sunroom on the middle level - the 'heart' of the home; and the bedrooms and bathroom on the upper level. Balconies came off various rooms on all levels. I ran up the stairs from the middle level to the bedroom level toward my bedroom, knowing that there was an intruder, a giant python, in the house. I was desperate to see if the pets and children were unharmed, as the snake was large enough to eat them whole. I raced to the bedroom, calling out to them and, by doing so, distracting the snake, which turned to focus on me. I stayed long enough to observe that the children and animals were alive and well; it appeared that the python was just about to attack them. I then ran back down the stairs, to the front door, the snake - a clammy pale-skinned creature with an enormous head - in close pursuit. I opened the front door and, though the snake reared up and attempted to strike my face, I somehow ushered the snake through the doorway and closed the door firmly behind it. We were safe.

crocodiles and water rising

I was in a room under my family home. The ocean was just outside, waves encircling the house and rising fast. Soon the water gushed into the house and many people swam out into the sea, meeting the waves head on. Rather than venture out, I swam through the now-open glass sliding doors and climbed on top of a corrugated iron shed to watch the crowd. I was eating dates. A crocodile swam out of the shed and into the ocean. I knew that my family were somewhere in the waves and I hoped that they would make it back alive. Twenty or more crocodiles emerged from the shed and powered out into the waves. One huge crocodile lurked below, circling the shed. It reared up out of the water and snapped giant jaws at me. I threw a date in its direction, which distracted the beast long enough for me to leap off the shed into the water and swim back into the house, where the water had now subsided. I closed the doors. After a time, the survivors of the sea left the water and began a long march away from the ocean. The caravan moved steadily, with purpose, the well aiding the injured. I ran through the crowd, searching for my family, and found my mother being carried on a stretcher by a few of her close friends. To my horror, I saw that her hands and her feet had been dismembered, but she had them with her. She seemed to feel no pain and, in fact, was quite happy, confident that her hands and feet would be reattached. She asked me to look for my father. I ran back along the line until I found him, sitting on a hospital bed watching the crowd file past. His legs had been bitten off and he was hooked up to a drip and another monitoring machine. I was devastated, but again he appeared not to be in pain and was sure that it would all turn out for the best. My brother appeared, also searching for family, and we wondered what to do. We were discussing the cataclysmic event and how each of us had done our best to survive it, when again the waves rose and crashed around us. With no time to lose, we unhooked my father from the various tubes, grabbed the hospital bed and pushed him through the waves, joining the procession away from the ocean. I wondered where my sister was and hoped we would find her.

blocking my way

I was in the home that my parents built, where I lived in my teenage years. I was trying to leave the house, hoping to be somewhere on time. I was the only one of my family at home as the others had all left before me. There was, however, another creature, or creatures, there with me, doing their utmost to stop me leaving. The other being was at times one person - a screaming toddler - and at times twins. Sometimes it seemed to be an older, sickly person in a wheelchair. It was both human and otherworldly, perhaps demonic. It had reddish hair and greenish skin, and screamed at the top of its lungs. I ran around the house, doing my best to gather my things, and, at the same time, to find amusements to quieten the creature. It followed me around the house, blocking my path, grabbing at me. It was incredibly strong and its hands were huge, out of proportion with its weedy body. It - they - clutched at me and grasped my wrists, holding me back. Finally, I made it to the front door, but they lunged past me and snatched at the door, again, blocking my way and forcing me back inside, screaming at me all the while. At last, I turned to the creature instead of running from it and talked to it. I cannot recall what I said. But, suddenly, it was quiet. One of the twins, leaned into me, seeking my affection and comfort, but the other turned away from me, distant and cold.

home burned down and snakes

I was sitting on the ground beside a very shallow stream. I was facing the stream, my back to a dead-end area - a small open space flanked by rocks. I was aware that something seemingly catastrophic was about to happen, that a building or a place was about to die, to burn or some such thing, and that the hundreds and thousands of snakes that had inhabited the place needed to flee and that they would be travelling down the stream. I held a stick in one hand and waited for the snakes. They began to appear. First, hundreds of small sandy-coloured snakes swam downstream, following the course of the water. I brushed my stick across the ground at the shore, hoping the vibration would shepherd any stray snakes back into the water, so that they would pass safely by. The snakes doubled, then tripled in number and variety. Striped snakes, green snakes, pythons and more swam down the stream, travelling somewhere. I continued to brush and tap my stick on the shore until I noticed that there were simply too many snakes, that their perpetual writhing motion had caused a rivulet to form that branched off the stream and wound around into the dead-end space in which I sat. Some of the snakes continued to pass by in the larger stream, and some now followed the rivulet and became trapped in the cul-de-sac. I had to leave and the only way to go was up or down stream. I decided to go back to face the disaster, or whatever had occurred. I was grateful that I was wearing high black boots as I stepped into the stream. I waded up-stream, stepping with great trepidation but also a certain calmness, as the snakes passed by me. I was alert for poisonous snakes - brown snakes, red belly black snakes and more - but I did not see any. Most of the snakes appeared quite innocuous, and some were barely snakes at all, more like long leeches. Indeed, some of the leech-like creatures darted out of the water at my legs, most slipping off the wet, black suede of my boots. Again, I was grateful. As I climbed further up the hill, wading through the water, I passed increasingly frightening-looking snakes: huge black snakes with pronounced heads and flared nostrils, snakes with visible fangs and canny eyes. None, however, struck out or bit me. Finally, I reached the top of the hill and stepped out of the stream. I lifted my skirt to check for leeches and, sure enough, there were plenty, attached like barnacles to the area behind my knees and further up my thighs. I set about plucking each of them off, their long green bodies coming away but leaving their mouths still attached to my skin, which I then, with a little more difficulty, pulled off. Their must have been about fifty or more leeches, but, finally, I had removed them all. I looked around me and took in the nature of the disaster: I was standing outside the shell of my first school, which I also understood to be my family home, the place of my roots and my foundations, which had burned down. It was destroyed. I prepared to go inside and salvage what I could, if there was anything indeed that needed to be saved. I was not sure if I felt utterly devastated or greatly relieved, as though now, at last, I could enter a new phase of life. My phone rang. It was my brother, calling to check on me and to tell me that the only thing he wished he could have saved was his music. I told him that I was going in and that, if his music was still there, I would save it for him.

not as daunting as it seems

As I sang, my friend accompanied me on the clarinet; a striking and spare rendition of a well-known song. 

Next, I was walking down an urban street with another friend, and, as we walked, I told her about my musical experience. I felt convinced that singing was something that I had to pursue. The street changed and narrowed and soon we were walking along a lane, flanked either side by tall stone walls, heading toward the harbour. We could see the water at the end of the lane, which was rising at an alarming rate. The water - bright blue and very clear - towered before us, creating a third wall that was growing with each step closer. We were now wading through thigh-deep water. I caught sight of a whale's tail, disappearing into the king waves. The tail was frighteningly huge, and, judging by its size, the whale would be truly enormous. We stopped walking, afraid to go any closer. We watched the water and saw the whale's tail again. Suddenly, a man standing on one of the stone walls, reached into the water and pulled out a dolphin with a very strange shaped head. He placed it atop the wall. It was not a whale after all; what had seemed to be so terrifying and so large, was not so. The dolphin leapt off the wall and into the water in the passageway, swimming swiftly up the lane, past our legs. I wanted to touch him. As he turned and swam back toward the harbour, he brushed against my legs. I was delighted.

dismembered

I had a premonition and ran into the bedroom. I could see that my friend was lying on the floor under the bed, and that she was bleeding. I knelt down, trying to see how she was hurt. With horror, I realised that she had deliberately cut off both of her big toes and both of her thumbs. She simply lay on the ground, staring up at the bottom of the bed, blood pooling around her. I pulled her out, cradling her, and pleaded with her to tell me why she had done this. She looked dazed.

car crash and miracle

I was driving up the mountain, climbing the curling roads. The car seemed unfamiliar and I was trying to drive while doing up my seatbelt and fiddling with the radio. I could see another car coming toward me, swerving and winding. I realised that I was going too fast to handle the sharp bend coming up. I couldn't control the car and, as I swung around the bend, the car slid, screaming across the road, crashing through the fence and suddenly I was flying through the air. For a moment, the car seemed to hover before plummeting down the enormous drop to the bottom of the mountain, and, in that moment, I had time to realise that I was most likely about to die. I wondered how the other driver felt, having witnessed my car drive off the mountain. I thanked God for my life; asked forgiveness for anything I may have done that was not yet resolved; felt a little disappointed that I had lived for so few months on the mountain as I was looking forward to spending much more time there; prayed for my family and B; asked God for a miracle so that, if I survived, I might be physically and mentally whole, and then plunged to the ground. I do not remember the impact, only that, a short time after, I was alive and well, that, somehow, I had survived.

boat crime

I was with my family on a boat, moored on a river. We were sitting inside the cabin, talking about people who live on boats and why they do. Suddenly, a speed boat shot past us and motored directly into another boat, which was moored only about five hundred metres from us. We watched as the boat reversed and then, purposefully, drove straight into the boat again. A man in his sixties appeared from within the boat and we saw two men on the offending boat, grab him around the throat and strangle him. They turned around and saw us watching and I pointed at them so that they knew that we had seen. I then jumped out of the boat as they would undoubtedly come to get me, as I was witness to their crime. I called out to my family to escape, and I tried to swim under the boat, to hide there under its frame. The men were too fast and, in no time, their boat swung around our boat and I saw them draw their guns. I drew a small pistol and shot one man, first in one shoulder and then in the other, effectively maiming him. The other man released his gun. We called the police and were safe.

letting go of old behaviour - coffee parable

I was in Brisbane city, visiting the Metro Arts building, where I had worked for many years. I noticed many changes in the surrounding landscape: new hole-in-the-wall coffee outlets, cafes, shops and such. I went for a walk around the block, taking it all in. On the way back, I found a cafe that was owned by people I knew, who also own wellness stores. I thought I would buy a coffee there. I wondered if I should buy a coffee from the coffee house on the corner of Edward and Charlotte Streets, just near the Metro Arts building, as I had heard that their coffee was great, but I decided to support my friends. I waited at the counter for someone to serve me. While I waited, I could see into the theatre adjoining the shop. There were about a thousand wooden ant puppets lined up like and army, a choir, with another marionette dressed in dark red conducting them. In time, the ants waved their legs and clicked them. The scene changed and there were several actors on stage, rehearsing for a musical show. I knew several of the actors and could see at least two of them who also formerly worked at Metro Arts. My attention returned to the coffee house, where I was still waiting for someone to serve me. Finally someone came my way but she went instead to serve someone who had just arrived at the counter. I objected and the woman served me. I felt a little embarrassed about complaining and I made a joke of it. I ordered a soy flat white, which arrived shortly after. I gave her five dollars and, instead of the two dollars change I was owed, she gave me a tiny plastic pearl. I looked at it and saw that it was broken and chipped. I showed the woman and she went to give me another plastic pearl, but I asked for my two dollars change instead. I could plainly see that this pearl was barely worth anything at all and was certainly not a fair exchange. I started walking back down the street with my coffee and decided to take a sip. It was awful; luke warm, weak and overly milky. I realised that I would have to go back and complain again as it was simply not good enough. Now I felt that, at the point when I realised I was waiting a ridiculously long time, before not being served, before being cheated and then served a bad coffee, I should have walked away. I should not have put up with it and I should have simply walked down the road, back to where I was going, and bought a coffee from the place that made great coffees, rather than feel obliged to support people I know.

altered reality

I woke and sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the side. I found my ugg boots and put them on, but noticed that they were much longer, reaching up over my knee. I removed them as they were not my boots and found my own boots, slipping them on. I wondered who had left their ugg boots beside my bed. I walked up the stairs and, once up there, found that our house had changed. It was no longer completely private, but adjoined to a busy hotel foyer with shops, restaurants and a gym. Still in my pyjamas, I walked through the foyer to where I thought my bathroom should be. It had transformed into a bath house and there were women in there, enjoying monsoon showers, steaming hot tubs, saunas and more. I walked though, amazed, and realised that as I walked, I was actually wading through shallow water. I left, eager to preserve my ugg boots, and wondered why I had not before noticed the bath house. I passed an orchestra gathered in the foyer, perhaps about to rehearse for a concert. I felt a little self-conscious about my attire, and headed back indoors. Later, we lounged in the hotel pool, strangers walking around us. Again, I was perplexed as to why we had not noticed the transformation of our house. Later again, we were seated at a table in the hotel restaurant during breakfast service. Plates arrived on our table and, instead of the scrambled eggs we were expecting, each large white plate had only a small mound of dry crumbs carefully arranged upon it. Apparently this was the latest food fashion - dehydrated food. Angry and amazed, I asked the waiter if they ever had repeat business. He looked appalled and gestured to the crowd around us. Obviously, they were very popular and I was out of date.

two steep hills

My sister and I were riding bicycles down a very steep road. My sister seemed to have no difficultly and she streamed ahead of me. Everything about her appeared relaxed, even her clothing. She did not wear a helmet, her hair whipped up in the wind, and she wore a blue patterned summer dress that allowed her ease of movement. I, on the other hand, found the steep hill extremely challenging. I felt restricted on my bike, and I could see potholes and gaping gutters appearing on the road. I steered my bike to avoid some of them, and rode - fingers crossed - over those I could not miss. My bicycle felt out of control, flying down the hill at breakneck speed. Even so, my sister was well ahead of me and stopped, halfway down the hill, to wait. As I reached her, I applied the brakes but, in so doing, I toppled the bike and skidded some way down the hill, gripping the road with my body to stop the motion. I was not hurt, though I was shaken. I warily hopped back on the bike and, together, we rode the rest of the way down the hill.
Later, I was driving through the streets of Newcastle, going home. I felt that I had travelled a long way to be here. I was only a street away and I had to turn right and drive down the steepest hill in the city. The road was long and built on such a slope that it was nearly vertical. With my foot planted on the brake pedal, I drove cautiously down the hill, my muscles clenched. At any moment, I felt the car could roll as the nose was pointing so low, or the brakes could fail and I would go sailing off down the streets and crash into the harbour. I passed other cars parked on the hill and I wondered how the owners could park there and feel relaxed about it. I felt that I would be fearful of both the actual act of parking and that, once parked, my car might slip off the hill. I braked all the way down until, finally, I reached the bottom of the hill. Through the window of the house I could see my family and my extended family - including family members no longer with us - gathered in the lounge room, but the gate in the fence around the garden was locked. I lay down on the ground and began to crawl under the gate, until my mother appeared to open it for me. Her cheeks were unusually flushed, as though wearing rosy blush.

floating and snakes in hole

I was in a lecture that was presented by a space scientist. He was visiting from the most progressive and prestigious space centre in the world, most likely NASA. I sat in the banked seating with B, but, while she was extremely attentive and interested, I fell asleep. I woke toward the end of the lecture, somewhat embarrassed that I had been sleeping, just at the point where the lecturer was asking for volunteers to try out the new 'floating' technology. B raised her hand, along with several other people, and we left our seats and walked down into a laboratory of sorts. There, the lecturer equipped each of the volunteers with a foam covered bar, which they were to hold in front of them in a horizontal position, like gripping a steering wheel rod. The volunteers were then asked to focus their thoughts on floating, 'believe' that they could float, and then sound the word 'hep' every so often, which seemed to boost them up. They each made various progress. Some volunteers slowly lifted a few feet in the air, others barely made it off the ground. I realised that I already knew how to do this, without the bar, and, through a kind of faith and lightness, lifted myself off the ground and floated up toward the ceiling. The lecturer was both impressed and angry, feeling outdone by my performance. I floated and flew around the room. The lecturer wanted to see if I could control the flight, so he yelled out 'Stop!'. I came to a gradual halt, unable to stop on cue, but able to slowly ease to a hovering position and then wheel around. I realised that this was something I could do naturally, but that, with practice, I would be able to master and control.
Later, I had uncovered a hole in the ground and was pulling out some items that I needed. The lecturer appeared and, alarmed, told me to stop, to wait. He said that there may be snakes inside and that, after uncovering such a hole, I should allow time for the snakes to emerge before prodding about, removing my things. If I was too hasty, the snakes may become angered and attack. Sure enough, as we waited, a black snake came out of the hole, as though it had been awoken from a long sleep. It noticed us but, as though it yearned to be outside, it slithered past us, out into the open. I thought that may be all, but a second snake, this one a huge brown, came into view. It initially slid out of the hole and past the lecturer who was waiting with me, but then turned and glided to where I stood. I did not know if it was going to strike or not, so, without waiting, I snatched at it, grabbing the snake around its throat. It was a precarious hold and I could not tell if I had managed to grip it just under its head where I knew it would be safe, so I threw it as far as I could away. It immediately came back, rearing up at me. I grabbed it a second time, this time definitely under its head, but I could feel a second mouth opening in the snake's neck, lined with sharp teeth. The lecturer yelled at me to throw the snake away, and so, again, I threw the snake as far away as I could. It did not come back. We both peered into the hole. I was very tentative now, but knew that I needed to extract what was mine.

unit and art

I was visiting some people in their new unit. At first, I was only observing the scene as though watching a film, but gradually I became a part of it. The unit was on the top floor of a complex of six units; three on the ground floor and three on the top floor. The inhabitants of two of the top-floor units were friends and divided their time between both units; perhaps more of them knew each other well, but I did not see them. It reminded me of Melrose Place, or some such situation. I did not know anyone well at all and they all seemed to be in their mid thirties, but, even though I am older than that in waking life, I felt a year or two younger. My older sister was there and it became evident that they were her friends. One unit was already furnished and lived in, while the one I was visiting was barely furnished. A blonde woman had nearly finished painting the walls of the entire unit a pale mint green. The style of the unit was quite retro and, although it was not to my taste, the colour quite suited it. Another woman arrived home and became outraged as she had not been consulted as to the new colour. She did not like it and felt that it should be a neutral colour such as white. She and the first woman argued for a while and then the first woman left the room. I had not offered an opinion but as soon as the woman left, the second woman asked me my thoughts on the matter. I said that I thought it would be better if the entire unit was painted a chalky white, with colour introduced by soft furnishings. I suggested warm-coloured furnishings to give the unit a lift. The first woman returned and, immediately, I felt reserved again, aware of the effort it would have taken to paint the unit and not wanting too to attract her anger. I walked around the unit and, as I did, time seemed to pass. It was now painted white, highlighted by soft furnishings and paintings in warm, earthy colours. Fabulous art books and objets d'art were scattered about the place. I went into the dining room and, on the table, saw a crystal bowl. Inside the bowl were several small sculptures of dogs. I picked one up to look at it and then replaced it. Instantly, the dogs came to life. Four tiny dogs walked around inside the bowl. I picked one of them up - a tiny, golden curly-haired dog with sad brown eyes. After putting him back into the bowl, they ceased being live. I walked around the unit again and decided to collect art, to visit galleries and invest in beautiful and valuable pieces.

family home

I was about to travel home with a companion. Instead of the coastal route, or even the usual inland route, we had just discovered that we were to drive from Queensland to Newcastle via western New South Wales, skirting the border of South Australia. We called my aunty who gave us directions, and, as she did, a hand-drown map of New South Wales appeared before us. She told us the name of a particular road we were to take; the name of the road, although now unclear, had something to do with the word 'safe'. The road appeared on the map, and I circled it. The map and the added markings were in black ink.
Next, I was in Newcastle, walking the streets with some of the male members of my extended family. We were heading to the beach, but we seemed to travel an indirect route, via the railway lines close to the suburb where I lived as a child. We climbed the stairs and crossed the pedestrian bridge over the railway line. As we passed a public pool, I asked my family to wait outside while I ducked in for a moment. I felt I needed to dive into the pool, to do a few laps. Joy surged through my body; I anticipated the wonderful ease of movement and strength I would feel as I moved through the water. I stripped off and jumped in but, instead of feeling lithe and powerful, I felt greatly encumbered. Each stroke took enormous effort. My arms were like heavy weights dragging me down, with very little strength at all. I knew, however, that, should I complete two laps - to the end and back - I would begin a journey toward wellness, and that tomorrow, the laps would be a little easier, and easier again the day after that. I struggled on, willing my arms to circle through the water with each stroke. On the homeward lap, I chose to backstroke, as this had once been my strongest stroke. I tried to find ways to make my arms and hands glide through the water, but still it was as though I had bricks tied to each hand. Nevertheless, I continued until I reached the side of the pool. I jumped out and dried off, dressing again. I checked my reflection in the mirror and noticed that I was still wearing lipstick and, satisfied, I carefully collected my belongings and a few items of my mother's. I was worried that I had taken far too long, but my father, my uncle and other family members were still waiting outside. We continued on. On the way, we stopped at the family home, which was now occupied by my uncle. I had the sense that this house (that does not in real life exist) had been passed down through the generations of our family. We all sat in the lounge room, enjoying one another's company until a team of workmen entered who had been working outside. The leader told my uncle that the work that needed to be done would cost a great deal more than he had originally quoted, and he mentioned an estimated figure that was huge. My uncle stood up and told them to leave, ushering them out the door, a little red in the face. We were all quiet and we could hear the workmen laughing and visiting the hotel across the road. We were not sure if this meant that we would lose the family home or if we could find a way to raise sufficient money to repair it.

tigers

I passed from outside to inside, crossing the threshold of a communal space, but, just inside the doorway, my path was blocked by about seven tigers on leashes, held back by a man who was letting them, one by one, out the door. I stood with my back to the wall while each of the tigers approached, a breath away from me, sniffed me and passed, without incident, out the door. I concentrated on calming myself, knowing that should I allow fear to take over, I would be in grave danger. The tigers were powerful enough to break free of the man's strong hold, each of the leashes grasped tight in his fist until they were released outside. With each tiger passing, my fear mounted, though I focused on maintaining calm. By the time the last tiger was to due to be released, the man was distracted, talking to another person behind him, and, noticing this, I felt afraid. This tiger looked slightly different to the rest: less beautiful, his chin pronounced, his manner menacing. The tiger sensed my fear and sniffed at me, his breath hot. The man felt a pull on the leash and immediately snapped to attention, tightening the leash, the black leather strap doubled around his fist. He held the tiger, and neither of us were sure if the tiger would have attacked. Instead, the tiger passed through the door and I was free to venture further inside.

friend, noisy men and colour

All fragmented, scattered dreams of late. Difficult to piece together and communicate.

I was outside the house of my late grandmother and grandfather, having walked the streets to get there. It was now dark and I wanted to go in. I found my dear friend, also heading there, and we arrived together. I felt that we were closely bonded, though we hadn't seen each other for some time. His family and some of mine were inside. I noticed a huge painting on the wall, a dark blue and green abstract of a woman, painted in acrylics. I recognised the style as my friend's wife's. I went into number one bedroom to change my clothing, but detoured to another place, another house. There, I was expected to eat dinner and, although I wanted to see the people there too, I was rushing as I knew I was expected back at my grandmother's house before midnight. I understood that I was to meet someone there. The dinner was delicious seafood  in broth. I didn't want to hurry, but I felt urgent. After dinner, I remembered that I needed to change my clothing. I found a suitcase of clothes and rummaged through it, finding a pale pink shift, jeans, a chocolate coat and brown boots. This would do. I changed and started the journey back, but it was nearing twelve and I could not remember how to get there.

Later, I was driving out of an industrial estate. Buildings ringed with scaffolding, men leaning on ladders, machinery roaring. I wanted to be somewhere quiet. I drove along the footpath, as though walking, and waited at the lights. My car diminished, becoming nothing more than a scooter or something similar. The protective walls of the car were gone. A man stood in the middle of a main road, conducting traffic around the roadworks. Car engines, trucks and heavy machinery; all loud. A young man working on the site, came over and leaned on me, his arms around me heavy and blackened with grease. I felt uncomfortable.

Later again, I was at a hairdresser's studio. I was going to have my hair done and I was looking at colour swatches, to choose a shade. Instead of swatches of hair, the colours were displayed in an intricate drawing, each aspect of the drawing a different colour. It was a complicated system as, say, part of a leaf, or a rabbit, might be a different shade of gold, with no label or information to clarify the shade. I was supposed to find a preferred shade among the hundreds, and name it.

past, glass, man and walking on knees

I was in the neighbourhood where I grew up, across the road from my home, walking through the yards of our neighbours. I was the age I am now and I wondered if anyone would recognise me if they saw me. Apart from a secretive kiss in the shadows, against the wall of the house across the road, I cannot recall what I was doing; I am only aware of revisiting my past.
Next, I was in the bathroom of the family home. It was very changed and now seemed to be open to the public. I put my hand up to a broken window and tried to pull out the sharp shards so that no-one would lacerate themselves upon visiting. I extracted shard after shard, but somehow ended up with dozens of tiny splinters of glass in my hand. I then turned my attention to removing the glass splinters, red blood covering my hand and dripping onto the floor. Someone came in to use the bathroom. I asked them to wait while I cleaned it up a little. I washed my hands and scrubbed the sink and the floor where a puddle of blood had pooled.
Next, I was to meet a colleague who was visiting from overseas. He was a tall, rotund man, around my age. We were to go to lunch as part of business proceedings. I stepped into a toilet cubicle for a moment and he followed me in, assuming intimacy. I asked him to leave, which he did. Outside, my sister appeared and I told her about the man, saying that I thought I should cancel the meeting because of his actions and expectations. She was certain that, indeed, I should not proceed any further with him. I went to find him, but I could not see him. I travelled up and down escalators, climbed endless staircases and crossed vast expanses of empty space.
Next, I was walking on my knees through a crowd. I saw a lovely Chow Chow dog adorned with black jewellery and feathers, walking alongside a circus performer. I fell behind the person I was walking with, as she was standing properly upright, walking normally. I was struggling, each step awkward and labouring. I continued on and eventually sat to rest awhile. A young woman approached and I told her that I thought she had a beautiful face. She said she knew, and, in response to my surprise at her candidness, she said she felt that it was important to be honest and not falsely modest. There were other aspects about her person that she would improve upon, but she was perfectly happy with her face. She was at ease with herself.

black sea

B and I were wading in a tranquil sea in the dead of night. There was no moon and it was so dark we could barely see the water let alone what lay beneath. Though the water felt silky and nothing stirred, we grew fearful and decided to climb onto a large pile of sticks for a reprieve. We hauled ourselves up and, as we did, we realised that it was actually was a huge stack of oyster racks, piled one on top of the other. Standing on it, it gave way, the entire structure tipping sideways, plummeting into the water. We jumped out as far from it as we could, diving under the water and swimming as fast as possible away from the looming structure, afraid of being pinned beneath it. I knew that should one of us be trapped, it would mean almost certain death. It was far to dark to find one another under the water. Fortunately, we both out-swam the crashing racks; they collapsed into the water, smashing the sea, disturbing the stillness of the night. We resumed wading and, along the way, B told me that she had an old black dog called China.
Suddenly, I was back on shore, working in a dark office. I was trying to finish some work so that we could go out and join a group of others who were having a fire down by the river. It grew late and I had not finished. B went without me, hoping I would join her. I continued working until, finally, hours later, I realised that I needed to go. I changed into warm clothing and went to find her, wishing that I had not worked for so long. I didn't find her by the river. I went back to the sea where we had waded earlier, but much had changed. There was construction everywhere. Buildings being built, roads, trucks and ships, all in action although it was, by now, quite late at night. I waded into the sea once again and, on the way out, saved a scruffy ginger dog - a terrier - from drowning. I picked him up and carried him, looking for B. Finally I found her sitting in what appeared to be a kind of bus shelter, floating on the shallow water, far out from the shore. She seemed to be dazed. Around her sat a few old people; no one seemed to be very aware of their surroundings. I urged her to come with me, telling her it was time to leave this place. She didn't stir. I put the ginger dog in my basket, and grabbed B's hands, pulling her off the seat. 'Come on,' I said. 'Come on.' I asked her where China was, her old black dog, but we couldn't see him. We waded together, back through the water, calling out for China.

audience

I went to the theatre. The square stage was set low in the centre of the space, with four banks of raked seating flanking each side, rising high above the stage so that the audience could look down at the actors. My friend and I arrived late; the show had already begun. Three sides of the seating were reasonably full, with the fourth side empty. We crept along the space between the front row and the railing of the empty side, aiming to sit over in one of the more crowded banks. The railing, part of the wall that enclosed the bank of seats, and the entire wall below gave way, tipping over, falling like a tree toward the performers below. I was hanging onto the railing, falling with it, so I gathered all my strength and heaved the wall - as though it were a giant piece of cardboard in the wind - to fly over the actors and land beyond them on the far side of the stage. Danger was averted and the show went on. I climbed back up and found a seat on the opposite side of the stage to where my friend was now sitting. In fact, I discovered that I was sitting alone in the light box and, from there, I had a particularly good view of the audience. I watched my friend, and her behaviour - she heckled and laughed at the actors, stealing focus - made me pleased that I was not sitting with her after all. Rather than watching the show, I continued to watch the audience. I could see a person, renowned for brief love affairs, sitting with a very young woman. I hoped that this was not the latest fling as she was far too young. I then saw a dear friend of mine and caught her eye. She joined me in the light box and we cooked a meal together, separating fine slices of meat and laying them in a pan.

antique store

We were in a vast antique store, wandering around, just before closing time. The woman who owned the store seemed keen to lock up and leave, but B had just spotted an elegant chest of drawers that she quite liked. In fact, she seemed so taken with the small cabinet that I wanted to buy it for her. I went to fetch the woman to ask her the price. She seemed a little put out. When we returned to the spot where the drawers had been, I could no longer recognise which of the furniture items it was. I called to B and she pointed out a set of drawers that, to my surprise, looked little like the drawers she had liked earlier. The woman told me the price and I followed her to the counter to pay, the drawers, now quite small, in tow. By the time I reached the counter, the drawers had transformed into a big dream catcher made from black horse hair. I looked at it, wondering why we were buying a dream catcher, but placed it on the counter and rummaged through my bag to find my purse. I couldn't find it and, again, the woman seemed to be losing patience. I said to her, jokingly, that I didn't like her either, that from the moment I saw her, I thought her to be disgusting. She looked at me and laughed and, instantly, we liked one another after all. During this time, although she wanted to shut the doors and close for the day, people kept wandering in, and I knew that the sooner B and I were gone, the sooner the woman could go home. I went to find B to see if she had my purse. I found her outside the store, leaning up against a wall, talked to a woman who we both know. Without saying hello to the woman, I interrupted them and asked for my purse, urgent to pay for the goods so that the woman could lock up and leave. I was aware that I was being a little rude. On the way back inside, walking up the stairs, I bumped into a young woman. She turned around and it was my dear friend A. We were so surprised to see one another, in an antique store in the middle of nowhere.

buried alive

I was watching a television program about an abduction case. It was horrific, although the victim, a young woman, possibly still in her teens, had survived to tell the tale. The program flicked between interviews with the victim, reconstructed 'footage' of the happenings and interviews with the police who had investigated the crime. The perpetrator, a man of about sixty or older, had abducted the girl, and buried her alive in a vault beneath his house that was fitted with a bed, sparse furniture and even some decoration. In the interview, the young woman recollected how, sitting on the bed, which ran parallel to a wall under the low ceiling, with her back to the wall, she looked to her right and saw the cut-out pages of fairytales, particularly Red Riding Hood. The man had selected the most frightening of images of wolves and nightmarish characters to line the walls. She remembered how, in the dim light, she looked around, slowly realising by the strangeness of the air - its gradual depletion - that she had, indeed, been buried. The police talked of how they later found the skins of various reptiles in the man's possession as the camera panned over skin after skin of snakes and lizards. They mentioned that his mind had been affected by drug-use in the sixties. The program also showed a reconstruction of the man's wife and daughter arriving home on the day of the abduction, unaware of his harrowing deeds. They both went into his study, the room from which the underground chamber could be reached. I, somehow, went into the scene and slowly drank a glass of water in their kitchen, waiting for them to come out, knowing that they were about to discover that something was horribly wrong. They walked out of the study and into the kitchen area, stunned, and looked to me for help. I went with them, back into the study, to see the man lurching about. He had a bleeding cut on his forehead from where his wife had hit him with something, and he was ranting about spitting, saying that it was wrong to spit. He staggered toward me and, although frightened and repulsed, I grabbed his hands to steady him, hoping to calm him and sit him back down. He was clearly out of his mind. The worst and most sickening thing about it was that I recognised the man, though now he was disturbingly changed.

old woman, trespassers and snake

I was at once visiting an old woman and I was the woman. She/I lived in a terrace house in the suburbs. We were lying down, sleeping, on an enclosed verandah that jutted out into the front garden. From there, with eyes half-closed, we could see the passers by. Drowsily I noticed that someone was walking down the driveway and going through the garage to the back yard. A few more people, all carrying things, followed. At first I assumed that they were coming to tend the yard, but as more and more people arrived, I began to grow anxious. With difficulty, I roused myself from slumber and asked a few of the young people what they were doing. Were they using my property as a short-cut to somewhere else? No, they answered. They were here to have a party and, it seemed, that they had a party in my yard on a regular basis. I realised that the old woman had lacked the energy to prevent it. She was far too tired, far too old to protect herself. Now that I was awake, I became angry. I marched through the garage and into the backyard, to see a horde of people setting up speakers, making fires, putting bottles on ice. I scanned the crowd and could see that there was one young woman who appeared to have the most authority among them. She was setting up a table at the entrance to the yard. I confronted her, telling her that they were no longer welcome here, that they were not to party here any longer. I had moved in and now owned the house. She seemed to care very little and I could see that it was going to take more than my word to evict the trespassers from our home. For this night, we resigned ourselves to the circumstances and went upstairs. I looked around the rooms, as though I had never been there before, though I now lived there. The house needed work. The walls, the furniture, everything needed some care. I sat with the woman and toyed with a few things that were lying on the table; among them, a sock stuffed with something, and, sewn onto the sock, a face. I stroked the sock for a moment, as though it was a pet. The thing inside the sock moved and hissed. The woman off-handedly remarked that perhaps I should not have done that as inside the sock was a snake. Sure enough, a short, purple snake emerged from the sock and eyed me, hissing. It slid over and tucked itself in the crook of my arm. I told the woman I was not particularly good with snakes and asked her to remove it. She did, and the snake disappeared under the table. I was edgy, thinking that the snake would dart out from somewhere and bite me. Instead, the snake appeared, pushing a branch bearing flowers, which it left at my feet. It looked up at me, retreated, and again came back with another gift. I was still tentative and the snake left to get something else. When it returned, it had transformed into a creature, still purple, that was more similar in shape and size to a goanna. I was somewhat relieved.

unprepared

I visited a friend who was starring in a theatre production, staged by a national theatre company. There was a very minor role that needed filling for the matinee performance the following day. My friend asked me if I would mind doing it, as it required no speaking or rehearsal, just a brief appearance on stage, following her, like a lost child. I was wary, but wanted to help her. The next day, I arrived at the theatre well before the opening time. I donned my costume in the dressing room and then waited for my friend to arrive. No one told me when I would be required, but I trusted that my friend would arrive soon and would tell me what to do. The show started and still she didn't arrive. I paced the floor backstage, growing increasingly anxious. As the huge crowd applauded - the curtains closing, marking the end of the first act - my friend arrived. I saw her walking, self-assured, around the rear of the building to the backstage area. Once there, she set about readying herself - makeup, hair and costume. I asked her what I would need to do in my minor role. She handed over a script and, suddenly, I was frightened. Where yesterday she had told me there was no speaking required, I now realised this was indeed a speaking role, with far more acting needed. I had not rehearsed, I had never seen the show and I had not acted in years. She continued to remain frustratingly nonchalant. I tried to wrestle information from her. Where were the props I was to use, how was the stage set, what was I to do? The script informed me that I was a young boy, pressed to make a choice between remaining loyal to someone, or signing a cheque that somehow sealed the fate of another actor. I was to sign the cheque, have a conversation, appeal to the audience and then leave the stage. I did not know where the cheque was or how I could possibly learn the script in the few minutes before we were due on stage. I was furious with my friend for misleading me and now failing to properly prepare me for the role. I considered walking out, but didn't want to let down the rest of the cast and crew. I realised I had to go on stage and entirely improvise the part, in front of an audience of a thousand or more.

home

B and I were sleeping in the bedroom of what seemed to be a spacious caravan or a boat. In any case, I had the feeling that our home was relocatable, that our current situation was temporary. I woke and looked through the window directly behind our bed head. I could see that we were parked on a road leading to the beach, only about one hundred metres away. The tide was high and giant turquoise waves rose and curled toward the shore. I watched as a surfer braved the mammoth waves, and then saw an enormous shadow riding the wave behind him. It was so vast, dwarfing the man on the board, that I knew it could only be a blue whale, the largest animal on our planet. I woke B to show her as yet another wave rose high above the sea bed, another titanic shadow revealed in the curl of the wave. The waves towered above us, crashing closer and closer until our home was carried by the water, rocking back and forth and butting against the rocks. We were at the mercy of the ocean and cowered under the massive shadows of the whales, which endangered our very lives.

gift of spite

B and I were in my bedroom in my family home. My sister was in her room, opposite. A delivery man arrived with two bunches of flowers - one enormous bunch of soft pink roses, perhaps six dozen or more, and one small bunch of hot pink lilies or something similar, about four stems. He gave the roses to my sister and the lilies to me, and left. Though the flowers were extremely beautiful, incredibly so, we received them with trepidation. We knew that they were from someone, a woman, who resented us and that this was her way of communicating her ill will. Attached to my flowers was a small gift-wrapped parcel. I opened it to reveal three pairs of silver earrings, each pair bearing engravings depicting scenes from our last interaction, some years before. Again, though they were exceptionally intricate and precious, I felt very uneasy. My sister's bunch of roses hid a similar parcel containing fine jewellry; this time, a set of silver rings, each banded with diamonds. The beauty of her gift was so overwhelming that I almost forgot who had sent it. I tried on her rings, too large for any but my largest finger, and admired them glinting in the light.

how to float

I was living in the family home where I lived as a teenager. I was a student at a university, of sorts; a school where very alternative disciplines were taught, among them flying, levitation & floating, complex business for arcane arts, total body integration, and much more. I recall very little now about the teachings, but I remember the final week of the third year of study, when I suddenly understood the lessons, the years of learning, and knew which of the disciplines I wished to master. A moment of dawning occurred while I was dressing in my bedroom, so, mid way through putting on some clothes, I raced out of my room, wearing only black swimmers, and ran through the rain to the campus. My body felt fit and powerful and I had no qualms of self-consciousness, though I ran past crowds of people. Inside the building, I quietly went from room to room, careful not to disturb the classes, searching for a particular teacher - the teacher of levitation and floating - to tell her about my breakthrough. She was a beautiful woman with silver-grey hair. She was, at that time, teaching a physical integration class, so I waited impatiently outside the room.

travelling through the pipes

We were standing in the shower of a bathroom, in a downstairs unit of an old apartment block. Somehow, we were to travel up through the pipes to a unit upstairs. We sent some of our belongings up ahead of us and then we entered the pipes, shot upward and emerged in the shower of the designated apartment. This shower was above an old, pink enamel bath, enclosed by a plastic shower curtain. I hopped out of the bath, thrilled that our journey had succeeded, and waded through the items we had sent before us, which had spilled out of the bath and over the tiled bathroom floor. I opened the bathroom door, about to walk into the living room, but I heard the television and realised that someone was home. I quickly closed the door and ushered B back into the shower. I collected as many of our things as I could and jumped into the bath, closing the shower curtain around us. Through the curtain, I saw a young man enter the room, having heard us trying to get away. He glanced at our remaining things lying on the floor, walked straight over to the bath and grabbed the curtain in his fist, about to wrench it open. We held it closed and, although we could see through it and watch his response, he could not see us. I called out: Please don't open the curtain, I'm simply having a bath. He retreated, but said he would be back. B and I tried to send our things back down through the pipes, desperately trying to recall how we had morphed to fit in ourselves. Through the curtain, I could see the man. He had closed the bathroom door behind him and was again approaching. Suddenly, it worked. The pipes received us, opening up like a tunnel or a black hole. We travelled downward and, soon, B and I were back in our own unit, again standing in the shower, surrounded by our things.

birds

I was sitting high up on the front verandah of my first house, the family home where I lived until I was eleven. The cement was old and cool under my legs and the old metal railing enclosed the space. Trees stood tall around the verandah, so that some branches reached over, almost to where I sat. An elegant white, blue and black bird, as big as a hen, flew down onto the verandah and sat quite close to me, close enough that I could reach out and stroke her silky tail feathers. I was amazed at her trust. A pair of crows circled around and perched on a nearby branch, content to observe the scene. Then another pair of birds arrived. The male was magnificent: ruby red, emerald green and sapphire blue designs embroidered his plumage and his chest was broad and strong. His beautiful mate was soft grey and white, a smaller and more delicate bird. She flew onto my right shoulder and nestled her body into the curve of my neck. I placed my hand upon her and felt the light weight of her body. I immediately understood that she wasn't well and that her mate, who watched me intently, was entrusting her to me, that he had brought her here to regain her strength.

neglect and spiders

I am at my grandparents' home, in the suburb where I grew up. As in real life, they are no longer alive, and the house is run down. I am staying overnight, perhaps longer, and it is dark - time for bed. I am walking around the house, shutting windows and doors, somewhat afraid of what lies beyond the walls of the house. The house itself is in semi-darkness and each corner, each doorway poses a new ordeal: is there someone hiding in the shadows? I walk out onto the enclosed back verandah and notice that I have left the back door unlocked and the window leading into the bathroom gapes open - a black hole. I steel myself and pull the window sash firmly down. From here, I can also see that the laundry windows are open. I step toward the dark doorway, but find myself caught in spiders' webs. Ten or more spiders have built webs that drape over the entrance to the laundry, all non venomous species, but large and frightening just the same. Spiders clutch at my skin. I backtrack, extracting myself from the webs, shaking the last of the spiders free, shuddering at the memory of their touch. I close the back door and then notice Snuffy, my grandparents' dog, sitting inside on the verandah. She looks neglected, her hair bedraggled and wet, her countenance sad. I thought she was dead. I reopen the door to send her outside, down to her bed, but as I am closing the door, I see her plead with me, lifting one paw into the air. I cannot send her outside. I open the door and bend over to pet her. I feel her oldness and her vulnerability and I want to take care of her. It is too heartbreaking and I wake.

spiders

It is the middle of the night and I am going home. Home is my family home, where I have not lived for over twenty years. I am late and I know my mother will be worried; I hope she is not waiting up. I am walking down the street towards the house, urgent to arrive. As I approach the house, I can see that the lights are on. I check the letterbox and there is mail for me - a lot of letters crammed into the box, dated back months, even years. I particularly notice a hand-addressed yellow envelope and I am keen to open it. I go to climb the stairs to the front door, but there is a large spider in its web blocking the way. It is too dark to negotiate a way around the web - I am not certain where it begins and where it ends - so I make my way around to the other side of the verandah, to the other entry stairs. There is more light here and I can see more webs and more big spiders, blocking my way in. There are giant Gold Orb-Weaving spiders and spindly St Andrew's Cross spiders, all passive in their webs. I break a stick off a small tree in the garden and wave it around and around, winding the spiders into their own webs, clearing a path to my home. Later, once inside, I am holding the yellow envelope and I tell my family about the spiders. They notice a spider bite on my hand; I had not noticed it before. There are two punctures on my palm, quite large, most definitely from a spider. I do not appear to be poisoned.

strangers

I was living with my parents in the house we built when I was young. My bed was in their bedroom - 'the main bedroom', as we called it - and their bed was in an adjoining room, where the verandah was in real life. It was the middle of the night and, instead of sleeping, I was walking as quietly as possible around the house, looking at my artwork. I was trying to price the various pieces for sale, doing my best to set a good price with which I was happy, but that I knew would move the work. I noticed that the frames of several paintings needed repair, that the work inside had slipped. After making some decisions, I walked through the dark to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. The mattress was on the floor, as though I was there only temporarily. I noticed that it was warmer than it had been when I first arrived some months before, and that I no longer needed the quilt; it was heaped in the corner. Suddenly I noticed a light - torchlight - beaming about the room. I hid under the quilt and the intruders obviously thought there was no one home, for they immediately began talking loudly and switching on lights downstairs. They flicked on the television and the stereo and the house, in the dead of night, was filled with ugly noise. I went into my parents' room; they were waking, not sure what was going on. They were each holding a cigarette and a packet of tobacco was lying on the bed. They looked surprised, as was I, as neither of them have ever smoked. They put out the butts and we went downstairs to see what was going on. I went first, my temper flaring as I saw two people - a young man and his girlfriend - taking food out of the refrigerator, helping themselves. I raced up to the man, whose horrible energy betrayed the kind of person he was, and shouted at him: This is not a share house, this is a family home. You have no right to be here. Take yourselves out of here. Get out. Instead, he grabbed me around the throat and pushed me up against a wall. I could feel how strong and wiry he was, how pumped up with aggression, and I knew that I was in an extremely dangerous situation. The girl kept laughing, louder and louder. Her mouth was open, screaming with laughter. My parents stood to one side and I knew my father was about to intervene.
Later, I was on a beach. I could see my family (my extended family) swimming in the water, but I sat up on the sand. Finally, my father came to fetch me. We walked down the sand and stepped into the water, which stretched out under a ceiling of rock - a cave of sorts - before continuing on past the cave, out to the ocean. Under the arch of rock, the water was in semi-darkness. It was quite scary, not being able to see properly. I felt bits of weed and other creatures brush past me, and I was not sure that I liked it here. My father assured me that it was alright. After a while, someone came to usher us out. It was another family's turn to swim in the sea. We filed out and up the sand, while a Maori family filed down the sand and into the water. They were also going to give a small performance for their extended family, later in the day, and I wondered if we were to stay to watch. I saw a woman sitting to one side, someone I have not seen for twenty years and whom I was excited to see. I ran over to say hello, but she didn't recognise me. I reminded her of our connection, but she was entirely unenthusiastic. I wished her well and walked away; as I went, I could hear her laughing behind me.

averting disaster

I was in my bedroom, toying with what appeared to be a paper shredder. There was a long slot at the front designed to receive paper before shredding it and depositing it in a tray. I had pushed my hand into the slot and was now desperately trying to extract it, hoping my fingers would not be mangled. My brother appeared in the doorway, but he was many years younger than his real-life age; in fact, he was just a child. I called to him and asked him to help. He quickly checked that the power was off and then we pulled my hand free of the shredder. I picked him up (he was only small) and he wrapped both his arms and legs around me. I kissed him on the head and told him I loved him, rocking him gently.
The scene skipped forward and we were both in a giant building made of ice. We understood that there was a tremendous amount of water stored behind the walls and ceiling, and that, though safe right now, the situation was quite precarious. Someone was singing and we moved about the space, gliding around as though on an ice rink. Suddenly, the person singing punctured the ceiling with what I think was a knitting needle, cracking the layer of ice between the enormous body of water above and everyone below. Panic. Everyone wanted to get out of the building at once. My brother (still a child) and I rushed to the nearest exit and began sliding on our bottoms down the narrow corridor of ice, aware that the wave of water behind us was mounting. The line of people sliding with us started and stopped, people getting stuck in crevices and snared by ice build-ups. When I saw that my brother was struggling, I started to sing a song about letting things happen, allowing life to take its course and energy to flow. Somehow it helped him, and others around us, and we all slid effortlessly through the rest of the tunnel, emerging into the daylight, safe at the end.

horror

I recall very little of the dream, except that I was both watching the goings on as though watching a film and, at times, in it. A grim group of men gathered in a hut in the woods, all big, powerful men, dressed in 'rural' clothing such as flannelette shirts, jeans, strong boots and thick jackets. The men had faced recent and ongoing hardship; they battled one problem after another and it was wearing thin. Their group had dwindled, a man killed, another maimed, another suicided, and they were buckling under the relentless pressure. Finally, the horrors of the last few days or weeks seemed to be over and they were, though now few, poised to leave the hut and go about their lives. I both watched them and was one of them: a man called Todd of great stature, with fair hair and enormous shoulders. The group of remaining men were standing around an old wooden table in the one-roomed hut, and I watched myself as Todd lift my bright blue flannelette shirt over my head, preparing to leave. At that moment, another man, who was chairing the meeting, interrupted the flow of his speech and asked, 'Where's Todd?' I had left my vantage from inside Todd's body and was now only watching the events unfold. Todd, who was still standing on the far side of the table, sighed and pulled his shirt back on, dreading yet another disaster. The sound of chopping wood was heard and the men opened the door and went outside to see what was going on. The view shifted to the source of the chopping sound: Todd was standing aside a tall wooden fence, wielding an axe; he had chopped his own head off. His body was still moving, just as a chicken continues to run after losing its head. His headless body continued to chop, one blow after another, the axe sailing through the air, hacking into the fence.

the way things should be

I was at the home of my closest friend, taking a shower in her old bathroom at the back of the house. While showering, I looked out the window, watching the goings on of various people in the backyard. I felt the line of my body, aware that time was passing. After, I walked through the house and saw two small pictures, cut out of magazines and stuck up on the corner of an old sideboard in the kitchen. One picture was of her husband and the other was of a man I admired, twenty years ago, in the years that my friend and I lived together. I realised that she had kept the pictures all these years.
Later, we had been to a formal event for which we had all dressed in our best clothes. The women had all donned beautiful dresses and elaborate jewels. I was now putting my clothes and necklaces away, smoothing the folds of fabric and untangling strings of beads. I came across a necklace and one matching earring that had been made from some of my most treasured jewellery; two necklaces, one consisting of several strands of black crystals, the other several strings of pink crystals, had been unthreaded then rethreaded so that it was now one necklace with both black and pink crystals. In the same way, two earrings, one adorned with black crystals, the other with pink, had been dismantled and restructured to make one earring, heavy with both black and pink crystals. I was dismayed as I didn't like the new jewellery. Where before the pieces were elegant and spare, they were now garish and overstated. My mother was in the same room, putting away her formal attire. I asked her who had done this. She suggested that it may have been one of my friends who had also gone to the ball, but I couldn't think of who. Then we realised that it had been my mother's dear friend, who, we recollected, had worn the jewellery and a matching pink dress. I was offended that she would take something beautiful and precious of mine and, without my permission, rework it to suit her needs, to fit her idea of how things should be. I determined to ask her to undo her work, to restore the pieces to their original form.

rabbits

Rabbits. I walked through the door, visiting an acquaintance, and I was greeted by rabbits. Several of them twitched and hopped about, each a different colour and size. An excessively fluffy rabbit with caramel and white silky fur stood on its back legs and put its front paws on my legs, just as a dog would. For all its softness, its little claws were slightly painful on my skin. I gently pulled its paws from my leg and it latched onto my wrist. Again, I removed its paws, noticing that it had more than one claw for each toe; in fact, it had many, many small claws, each pale and creamy but extremely sharp. I ventured inside and the various rabbits huddled at my feet, moving with me as I walked about the room.

the roof of my home

I was looking at the internal structure of a roof, at the metal beams that held it in place. Although I was not familiar with the house underneath, I knew it to be my home. The metal beams formed a pyramid shape: a square around the bottom with four beams reaching up and in from each of the corners, meeting in the middle point at the top. Each length of beam was actually made up of smaller beam sections, interlocking, so that the structure was, theoretically, quite sturdy. I was up inside the structure, looking around, and, from this vantage, I could see that there were three pieces of the beams missing, all from different parts of the structure and each a different length. I knew that without these three pieces, the roof was both incomplete and unstable. I climbed down and searched the house for the missing pieces. I found all three in different rooms of the house. The longest piece I found last, tucked away behind the door of the bedroom cupboard. I then set about putting each beam piece in place, the two shorter pieces first and then, most challengingly, the longest beam.

journey to a new home

I was on a bus, travelling through an unfamiliar city, although I understood that I had made this journey many times before and that I had spent great lengths of time on board, even living on the bus. I also knew that this was one of the last times I would travel this route. I gathered my bags and collected my personal belongings, some of which were strewn about, under seats and such. Approaching the stop where I was to alight, I scanned the bus, thinking that I may have to come back to thoroughly search out any remaining belongings. I thanked the bus driver and he leaned forward, pressing a gold coin into my palm. I looked at the coin, noticing how incredible the designs on either side were and how unusual the shape. I leaned forward and pressed my nose and forehead against his for a moment before a grass green butterfly flew between us as I stepped back. I left the bus and walked to where my friend lived in a huge, old white house. There seemed to be quite a lot of people loitering about the grounds and in the rooms. I felt unsure of what to do, being quite new to this place. I looked into great pots of food that were being prepared and thought that this was an area where I could contribute once I had settled in. I followed my friend outside and around the corner of the house to where the outside tap was. The mud under the tap was extremely slippery and we both began to slide down the hill, alongside the house until we shot out into the back yard. The yard was filled with big mud puddles and we continued sliding. I was wearing my long black boots so my feet were quite protected. I concentrated on maintaining my balance and held out an arm for my friend - who was not wearing any shoes - to hang onto. In this way, we slid down the sloping backyard, past a couple who were relaxing on the grass, through deep puddles nearly reaching my knees, and then coming to a halt on the other side of the house.

ticket and man

I was journeying home. I had been away for some time and now it was time to return. I boarded a bus and purchased a ticket from the driver. It was quite expensive and, although I asked him to select my cheque account, he selected savings. I knew that I did not have the money to cover the cost and that I would be fined for overdrawing. I was a little annoyed but told him not to worry. He wrote out a receipt and I left the bus, aiming to return when it was due to leave. I wandered down through an underground terminal, searching for something to eat as I had not eaten since early in the morning and it was now night. I found a kiosk that was closing so I quickly took a big bottle of water from the refrigerator and stood in line. The lights of the kiosk flicked on and off. As I waited, I scanned the shelves, but there was little food left. A man in front of me in the queue with longish brown hair was playing up, teasing the person behind the counter and creating gentle havoc. He scooped out the few remaining hot chips onto a plate and then handled them before throwing them back into the counter tray. Though the chips had been touched, I was hungry and bought the remaining hot chips. They weren't great but they would do. Suddenly the man, his friend and the few people in the shop started to head down the stairs of the terminal, outside and down a hill. I too sensed that the bus was ready and hurried after them. As I reached the man, I started running and grabbed his hand, pulling him after me. We gained speed, running incredibly fast and leapt up and over the fence that blocked our path with great ease. Landing, we laughed, sitting down on the grass. I started searching through my bag for my ticket, but couldn't find it. I found numerous receipts, notes and brochures, but not the ticket. He too rummaged through his bag. Embarrassingly, I pulled out a wad of papers stuck together with stray chewing gum, but, somewhat comfortingly, he too found papers in his bag glued together by chewing gum.

pink flower

Again, I was with a lot of people, camping in a big building and this time we were all studying. Again, I went into the next room and found my friend there, asleep with a pink flower in her hair, this time a hibiscus.

camping and pink flowers

I was with a large group of people, camping in a huge building. Our sleeping mats lined the floor forming a grid of bedding. I ventured outside onto the verandah, and sat on a high stool. A man, who last time I saw him was a teenage boy, ran his hand over me and I smiled at him, telling him that I had always allowed him to get away with too much. A second man, who I also knew in my teenage years, copied the first man's actions, but with him I felt angry. I told him never to touch me again, not to assume such intimacy. He appeared surprised, presented me with two long-stemmed yellow roses and justified his behaviour saying that we were on a date. I could not recall arranging a date with him and told him so. I went inside and took the flowers with me, but I forgot about them, later finding them on the ground under some clothes, their petals damaged and browned. I went into the next auditorium where hundreds more people were preparing to sleep. I found two close friends there, their beds next to one another, and I felt a little envious seeing as I was alone in the other room. They had arranged beautiful pink frangipanis in garlands around their heads. I wished that there were enough flowers so that I could wear a garland too.

sea creatures

Walking through knee-deep water, ice blue and crystal clear. The body of water, though vast, seemed to be indoors, under a giant roof. Swimming in the water were all kinds of sea life: fish of many sizes and colours, small sharks, striped sea-snakes, neon jelly fish, florid sea horses, and nebulous life forms moving through coral and waving sea grasses.
Later, I was swimming in the ocean, way out at sea. The sky was grey and the water was immeasurably deep and dark. Fear crept into my body, rising within me. I scanned the water for shadows, sensing danger. With my mounting fear, I rose out of the water and found myself sitting on the edge of an old wooden jetty. From there, I could see several huge shadows moving through the water and I realised that I was surrounded by sharks and killer whales. The grey sharks remained submerged, zigzagging menacingly beyond the point at which the waves were breaking, whilst the black and white Orca jumped out of the waves, diving and dancing. Suddenly a killer whale leapt out of the water at the jetty, but a dolphin leapt with it and knocked it away from me, protecting me. I was delighted and, as the dolphin leapt out of the water again, I reached out and touched its skin, feeling it briefly as it descended back into the sea. A third time it reared up out of the water, but this time I could see that it had changed shape, that it was now a predatory shark, perhaps a great white, although not fully grown.