night python

In the early hours of the morning, before dawn, I was sleeping in a dormitory with around twenty others. My eyes closed, I sensed something move above me and heard soft sniffing near my face - something breathing in my scent. I knew without a doubt it was a python, and I instinctively knew exactly where it was and what I should do. Without moving any other part of my body, I stabbed my right arm into the air and gripped the snake around its throat below its head, so it could not swing back and bite me. I opened my eyes and stood up in the darkness, taking hold of the snake's tail in my left hand. Once secured, I moved through the grid of beds to the door and quietly let myself out, not wanting to wake the others. Outside, the sky was slowly changing to grey and I could see fields before me. I did not want to harm the python, but neither was I comfortable with the situation. I desperately wanted to find someone who knew what to do, how to handle the animal and relocate it somewhere far from me. It was heavy, so - still with its throat in my right hand, its tail in my left - I draped its long body over my shoulders and set off on foot. I could see a group of Indigenous people ahead, gathering for a dawn meeting, and thought they may be able to advise me. As I approached, a dear friend entered the field, standing tall on the path between me and the group of people. When she saw me, she went to hug me and seemed not to see the snake until I stopped her and held it up to show her. Rather than responding with fright, she laid a gentle hand on its head. I noticed her hand was older now, more weathered, but still I thought it beautiful. I knew she could not take the python from me; even so, I felt comforted by her presence. The snake began to struggle so I tightened my grip. Its emerald-green, diamond-patterned body writhed and it managed to push its head back far enough to sink its fangs a little way into the back of my hand. I wondered if it were poisonous.

feathers growing on my head

I was talking with a new friend and noticed she had tiny opalescent feathers growing from her scalp around her hairline. I touched them to feel their softness. I went out of the room for a moment and into another room I understood to be mine, and looked in the mirror. Seeing her feathers had sparked a memory: didn't I have feathers growing from my scalp too? I felt through my hair, searching for feathers and, sure enough, I found the stem of a large feather growing at the base of my head. I freed the feather from hair, being careful not to pull it out, and revealed a white feather stamped with a black mandala pattern. It looked to be symbolic. The feather also looked a little battered, as though it had seen better days. I went back into the first room to show my friend. She was amazed I too grew feathers and wondered why mine seemed older than hers. I imagined it was mostly because I was at least ten years older than her, and perhaps because I had forgotten my feathers.

night flying

We were lying in bed in the quiet darkness of our home. Our 'home', however, was nothing like our real home. The house was entirely open-plan, with all 'rooms' on the one level, mapped out only by the furniture. The walls were cement rendered, the ceilings were extremely high and the windows had no glass; rather, the windows were simply vast openings with wide sills that looked out to the forest. The night was dark and, instead of sleeping, I was awake, lying on my back, staring up to and through the ceiling, for the ceiling above the bed was made of glass. I could see the night sky and hundreds of stars shining. Suddenly, a helicopter with bright lights beaming down circled the area. Another joined it, and together they flew around and around, looking for someone or something. I jumped out of bed - a king-sized mattress on the floor - and ran to the window to see if anything was amiss, my dog barking at my heels. The search lights panned the forest floor; the helicopter engines roared. And then, as suddenly as they'd appeared, the helicopters left, and the night was quiet once more. Peace returned. I sat awhile on the window sill and breathed in the fragrance of the forest. Frogs croaked and night creatures hummed. On my way back to bed, elated, I felt the urge to leap into the air and fly. I floated up to the ceiling, and hovered there. My dog gazed up at me, not entirely surprised, and I flew easily around the house in the darkness.

dance class

I was on a raised stage, in character, teaching a dance class. People stood at the foot of the stage and all around me on the stage. Music pumped through the auditorium. I lead the class through a loosely choreographed routine, which was designed to make people let go, have fun and move. 'Imagine you are in a jungle,' I called to the class. 'Channel your inner jungle moves.' The entire group danced with abandon, many laughing hard and breathless. We danced our way through several tracks until the class came to an end. 'Remember,' I told the class, 'always see the opportunity for movement in every moment, for in movement you will find joy.'

house of horror

I travelled to Brisbane for a friend's art exhibition in a house on James Street in Fortitude Valley. I arrived alone and on dusk, and I seemed to be the first person there. The door was ajar, but not open, and the lights were dim. I peered through the window and I was frightened. There, next to my friend's artwork, I saw old photographs of hags covering the walls of the room: old and ugly witches with cruel eyes, hooked noses and twisted mouths. The photographs seemed to be from various times throughout history - even well before the camera was invented. I gathered this was a record of the owner of the house's ancestry, and I was repelled. I did not want to go in, but I feared disappointing my friend. She arrived and went happily into the house, which was now somewhat lit up and open to the invited guests. A few people arrived and I was more or less ushered in with them. I barely saw my friend's artwork, I was so horrified by the photos lining the walls. Photo after photo of evil-looking and grotesque people. I went into the second room - a dining room - where we were to have supper and a lecture on art. As I was supposed to do, I sat at a mammoth dark-wood, highly polished table in the centre of the room. The walls were painted a lifeless grey and heavy teal curtains were closed against the world outside., concealing the room within. A tall man in a black suit dusted the curtains and polished silver ornaments. He kept his face turned away, but I knew he was the owner of the house and would wear the same dreadful countenance of his family line. I felt this was some kind of trap; a scene of a crime about to be committed. I woke up.

swimming, eel and chase

We swam in a giant rock pool by the sea. The water was clear, turquoise and cold. It was like magic, diving like dolphin - so liberating. I swam with my family, my partner and my dog. We moved like fish in a school. After a time, someone announced they were going to reveal the giant eel in the pool. I was surprised as I hadn't seen an eel in the water, but unalarmed. We gathered around and a man tapped a rock, luring the eel to the surface. Sure enough, it came, but, at first, it seemed only to be the size of a tree snake. As we watched, it slowly revealed its full size: it was enormous; a giant, indeed. It's girth was perhaps a foot or more wide and, how long it was, I do not know, for it swam beneath the water - elusive, in and out of sight. At a guess, it may have been twenty metres or more. It was regally patterned, deep gold and black. I swore not to swim again and a man, upon hearing me, questioned why, when the water was so beautiful. I told him though the eel would not likely harm us, I couldn't risk it. 'I love my dog too much to see anything happen to her', I said. At that moment, a woman riding a very tall black horse rode past. She rode bareback and a young child sat in front of her. My dog ran after the horse and the woman slowed to reach down and raise my dog up onto the horse's back, between the child and herself. They rode away. I called out after them, but to no avail. I ran. I ran as fast as I possibly could, around the rocks and through the trees. I could see the horse ahead, but I could not gain ground. I noticed my dog was wagging her tail, enjoying the ride. I chased them through a shopping centre, pushing past shop assistants and customers. Up stairs, down stairs, around corners, in and out of buildings, but they were so fast and always ahead. Finally, I chased them right back to where the chase had begun: by the rock pool by the sea. The horse slowed and the woman alighted, bringing the child and my dog to the ground with her. I ran straight to her, gasping for breath, and hit her as hard as I could. 'You took my dog,' I cried. She looked surprised, but not hurt. 'I was just taking her for a ride', she said.

horse ride

Sitting astride a caramel horse, inside a community hall, waiting while other people readied themselves with their horses. My horse, impatient to run, suddenly cantered out the door into a field of long grass. I rode with my left hand high in the air, my right holding onto the saddle. I didn't have any reins. I steadied myself using my body weight and slowly brought down my left hand to join my right, gripping the saddle fast. I wondered about the horse's hooves striking something unforeseen in the grass - a snake, a rock, a hole - but the horse ran with confidence. I began to enjoy the ride, not knowing where we would go. We rode through the rain: a stone-grey sky against yellow grass. We approached a low-set, rambling wooden house and rode up the balcony stairs, through the front door, along the hall past the kitchen and came to a stop near a second balcony where my family was gathered. I felt pleased and liberated after the ride. I jumped off the horse and it trotted away, back outside, into the grass. I noticed the horse had left a small puddle on the timber floor, but I was not concerned. I simply cleaned it up.