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.

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.