unearthing treasure

We were living in an old, rambling home with many bedrooms - a Queenslander, of sorts - perched on the edge of a hill with a view to sea. The backyard sloped down away from the house and flattened out, so as to create a natural sitting area. The yard was overgrown and bushes flanked the back fence - actually, it was a wall, a faded terracotta wall. We were down there, looking at the potential of our home and grounds, as though seeing them for the first time. A man was digging away at the earth, assessing it; taking a look to see how much work we had in front of us to create a lush vegetable garden. As he dug, he unearthed some terracotta and blue tiles. We realised that, buried under the earth, were the remains of an old Italian courtyard - the ideal site to restore and turn into a beautiful hillside outdoor cafe. We also realised we could rent out the many rooms of the house to create an income. I was excited to think of the changes in front of us, thrilled to uncover the existing possibilities. It was like discovering treasure already owned; we just had to open our eyes.

books

I was in a room, much like a meeting room, and through the glass windows I could see the night sky. The walls of the room were lined with shelves of books, and several tables housed stacks and piles more. I was excited for I'd had an idea and was here to explain it to a woman I took to be my mentor. I sorted through the books quickly, searching for a few particular editions to show her my source of inspiration. I found a black-covered book with old-fashioned type. It was an illustrated novel for older youth. The words were shaped into loosely formed paragraphs and arranged to frame, even merge with, the illustrations. The illustrations were black-line drawings, gorgeously rendered. One was of a grizzly bear - a fat and bristle-furred fellow; another, of a six-stringed guitar. I particularly noticed the lines and the space between them, and I felt thrilled by the design. I showed my mentor and explained my concept while sketching words and images in a notebook. She was approving and supportive, and I felt elated. A new project!

teaching my first movement class

I was at my maternal grandparents' home - the home they lived in when they were alive - in the 'number one' bedroom: the room I used to sleep in when I stayed with them as a child. The room was now much bigger with windows lining the entirety of one wall. I was about to teach a movement class and realised I had not prepared. This was somewhat alarming as it was my first-ever class. Even so, participants had arrived and were in the process of laying thick blue yoga mats in a grid on the wooden floor. I had to proceed. I lay my mat on the floor on a diagonal in a corner, facing the class, with the windowed wall to my right. I could see the sun going down and knew we would soon experience the peace and ambience of dusk. The room was full to capacity - perhaps 20 people, both male and female, with room around each to stretch and move. I knew I had the perfect playlist; I'd been creating it for years. I had to trust all I'd learned - all the dance and movement I'd done in my lifetime, the warm-ups, breathing, stretching, moves and cooling-down relaxations - would come back to me now.

changing old habits

I was at a party in my family home. Not the house my parents live in now, but the house we built and lived in while I was growing up. Friends, family and strangers gathered in the lounge room and kitchen. As the party started, I poured a white wine for my friend and myself, then we spent the afternoon and evening hosting the guests. As the party was winding up, with only a few guests remaining, I offered my friend another glass of wine, which she refused. Although I didn't really feel like a wine, I found it difficult to get my head around that I'd only had one the whole party. I was experiencing inner conflict, which sometimes coincides with change - hanging on to old habits. Finally, the party finished, everyone had gone and I stood alone in the lounge room. My family were downstairs. I looked around and realised everyone had brought presents. Opened presents and wrapping paper were strewn all over the lounge room floor and I realised they were all for me. Although exciting, the room was a mess. I was tired, so I wondered if I could simply close the door, block out the mess and return to clean it tomorrow. I went to the doorway leading to downstairs and saw opened presents and their wrapping everywhere - on the landing, down the stairs and beyond. 'Did everyone think this was a house warming party?' I asked my parents. I realised I needed to begin the sorting process now.

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.