swing and found woman

I was on a wooden swing, swinging in wide arcs across a large room, back and forth, from one side of the room to the other and back again. The swing hung on thick ropes, suspended from a bar across the high ceiling. As I swung, a conversation was taking place below. I believe I could have been included in the conversation but I preferred to swing, stretching my legs out in front of me as I soared forward, and curling them back underneath me as I rushed back, the wind in my hair.

Next, I observed a family (much like watching a film although I was present in the walls) particularly identifying with a young woman in her twenties. She had gone to live with her new boyfriend, not knowing him very well, about five years earlier. She had noticed that he could be petulant, and even, at times, cruel. Just as she was beginning to have doubts about the relationship, he had an accident or an illness that left him bedridden. His mother and brothers moved in with them, and they treated her like a house slave. They were almost despotic, posing as ‘good’ people and telling her that she wasn’t good enough. They established rules and had ridiculous expectations of perfection, also insisting that she do everything in a conventional and traditional manner. His behaviour too, changed so that he made unfair demands of her and treated her with derision. She responded by conforming to their wishes, feeling somehow responsible to her boyfriend and sorry for him. She became quieter and quieter, doing everything she could to please. She answered questions with what she knew they would want to hear, doing her best to be ‘good’, and eventually lost touch with how she truly felt or what she thought about anything. One day, something triggered a change. She ran up the street, feeling the power of nature, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When she returned, she had found a new lease of life. She began to make things the way that she wanted, not conforming to their rigid ways of doing things. I watched as she made jewelry: she glued different coloured bangles together, one on top of the other, with no concern that each should sit precisely, rather, they sat haphazardly, at different angles. There was a fantastic beauty in the asymmetric design of her jewelry that she loved. Eventually, she left the house; she was not held prisoner, rather, her own submission kept her there. She went to a school where she began to study art and design. She made an emerald green skirt and I observed as she presented it to a teacher, standing on the sandstone steps of the college. The teacher noticed the intricacy of her design, the fabulous colours and detail, as well as the inconsistency of her tailoring. She understood that it was deliberate and saw the uniqueness of it, the genius. The young woman had found herself again.

underwire

I dreamed I had a pain in my chest. I found an underwire from a bra, beneath my skin, lost inside my breast. I moved it around, trying to maneuver it so that it would come out.

healers

I was sitting at a table. B and I were on one side of the table and two people, healers, were sitting on the other. They were showing us a ritual that was supposed to aide in the healing process. As they demonstrated, the ritual became increasingly dubious. It involved placing a shiny green sequin on the tip of your index finger and sticking it to the centre of your forehead, then flipping it over a few times without dropping it. There were others around us who seemed to believe what the couple were teaching, but B and I were very skeptical – it was only a sequin.

Later, B and I walked into a café which the male healer now owned. We sampled one of his dishes: an avocado, baby spinach and snail salad in a pumpkin puree. He implied that it had special healing properties. Again, I was uncertain.

Later again, he was sitting in a room, singing against the far back wall, playing the guitar and singing a song. The song had a country feel to it and he was singing with a slight American accent. He hardly seemed like the same man and I quite enjoyed his song, but again, I wondered about the truth of the situation and who he really was.

haircut

I was in Newcastle and I decided that I needed a haircut. I walked along a busy street, searching for a hair salon. I found one that had time for an appointment. I sat down and the young hair stylist wrapped a smock around my shoulders and proceeded to comb through my hair. Someone else was speaking with me so I was momentarily distracted from what she was doing. When my attention returned to her, I realised that she had parted my hair around my head and was preparing to streak the crown section. I thought that the method she was using was dated. I also began to watch her in the mirror and noticed that she rolled her eyes and appeared to be bored with her work. I stopped her and told her that I did not want to continue with the hair appointment and when she asked why, I told her that she was obviously jaded with her career, that her vibration was negative and that I did not want to risk a bad haircut. She was initially offended but then agreed that she was, indeed, bored and frustrated with her job. I suggested that she search for something more fulfilling to her and then left the salon. I still wanted to get my hair done, so I continued looking for a hairdresser. I could see a large shopping centre across the road, so I made my way up the street to the crossing. I was half walking, half gliding along the footpath and as I walked, I realised that I missed my car that was back in Brisbane. I entered the car park which fronted the shopping complex, and noticed that there were very few cars parked there. Upon entering the shopping centre, I realised that it must be a public holiday as only the supermarket was open, and the rest of the complex was in semi-darkness. I travelled up the escalator to the next level, just in case I found an open hair salon. From this level, I could see down to the other levels of the centre. There seemed to be some construction happening and there was no railing on the balcony wall. Just as I realised this, I heard footsteps behind me and I felt vulnerable. It turned out to be a youngish man who went to walk by, but I swayed and fell to the ground, suddenly feeling very strange about the lack of railing and the unfinished mezzanine floor, as though we might fall to our deaths. The man stopped to help me get to my feet and encouraged me to keep walking.

escape and three birds

I was a young boy who had been orphaned, but I was lucky enough to receive a scholarship to a good school. The school was very small, only one teacher, and initially I was encouraged and did very well. I made a very special friend—our bond would be lifelong. As time passed, the teacher developed a disliking for me; I was not sure why. I decided it would be best if I left the school. My friend and I had a very tearful farewell, but she understood that I was being treated cruelly and that I should go. I made my way down through the neglected back yard behind the school, retracing the steps that I had taken when I walked into the school grounds a year or so before. I knew that I had to go through a hole in the fence and walk for many miles to reach my home. Before I could reach the fence, a few people that I know gathered around a table in the yard. I did not want to alert them to my leaving, so I pretended that everything was alright, and went to see them. I found I had very little to say to them; I did not relate to them anymore. Three birds appeared, shaped much like chickens but with pretty heads like doves. Each bird was a cloud of candy-coloured feathers, puffs of fairy floss: an icing pink bird and a lemon sorbet bird alighted my right arm, their claws scratching me and their beaks grazing my skin as they nibbled my arm. The third bird, sugar white, was wrapped in fine chicken wire. I picked her up and held her in my left arm, cooing to her and telling her that it would be alright; she would be free soon. The birds disappeared and I went down the shed at the rear of the yard, to wash my hands and arms. I rubbed tea tree oil into the light scratches the birds made on my arms, ensuring they would not become infected. I waited for the right moment to make my escape.

two friends

I visited my friend in another part of Australia. She was welcoming but I sensed a distance. Her partner appeared and hinted that my friend had changed, she said she was a ‘bad girl’. I asked why she was bad, what she had been doing. She answered that she was taking drugs and they laughed. I not only felt the distance but a separation that comes with someone who you think you know suddenly being someone that you no longer recognise. Another close mutual friend appeared and I felt relieved. I turned my attention to her. She was lovely but our interaction was strained. The first friend took my hand as we walked down a road, walking with our mutual friend leading the way. I began to sing a song about young friendship, and they both joined in. The leader friend sang in a particularly clever and tuneful way. I asked her if she had the gift of mimicry and she said that she didn’t. I felt awkward as though my question may have offended her, although I felt great admiration and love. The first friend again took my hand, urging me away. We walked back to her house where she expressed her disappointment about how she and our mutual friend now related. I felt torn between the two.

going home

I was trying to go home to Newcastle to visit my family. I caught trains and buses; I walked across cities, over bridges, and through underpasses. I wept when I saw another woman saying goodbye to her family, knowing that it may be much longer than she ever imagined, before she would be reunited with them. I said goodbye to people at the airport, and then found myself back in their home where I had been staying, packing my bags again. Again I said my goodbyes. I drove a plane through the streets, maneuvering it so that the wide wing span would not clip anything we passed, heading toward the airport. I waited in my car to transport others to the airport, and then, once we were on our way, the car skidded out from under me, rearing up and throwing my passengers out onto the street. I climbed up many flights of stairs, aiming to reach street level so I could travel to the airport, but as I was about to climb the final few stairs, I fell down a hole and plummeted downward, waiting to hit the bottom. As I fell further and further down, I also grew more concerned about the probable hard impact upon landing. I reached out and grabbed a pole, skidding to a halt. I then had to climb back up out of the hole, using a ladder that appeared. It took all my upper body strength to climb the ladder as many of the rungs were missing or snapped off in my hands upon grasping them. I passed people in their apartments and spoke briefly with a Japanese man who had been practising a martial art using a sword until he saw me climbing past his window. Finally, I climbed out of the hole and emerged into the street. It was late and I was still no closer to flying home.