summit

I was driving the roads of my hometown. The houses were absent and there were no buildings, as far as the eye could see; yet, I recognised this place - the rise and fall of the landscape. My car laboured up a steep slope, but I was preoccupied, surprised by the changed flora: fruit trees laden with fruit grew jungle-like, fringing the road. Through the trees I could glimpse the sea, skirting the hill up which I drove. I realised I had my handbrake on, so I released it and found the car travelled more swiftly. However, the fruit trees now grew so densely they blocked the road ahead. I left my car and continued on foot, the ground sandy beneath my feet, the road now a narrow track. There was only a short walk up the hill - not more than a minute - before I reached the crest, but I was fearful. To go on, I would need to climb over branches and sidle around trunks. I thought of snakes. I felt alone. I knew, from the summit, I'd likely see the lay of the land and the ocean around me. I knew I'd witness the beauty of place and feel a sense of freedom. Yet, I turned back.

bionic blood

I was with a practitioner of Chinese medicine. The doctor, a man, asked for my finger and he pricked it with a pin, squeezed it and drew blood. Red blood dripped into a petrie dish. Upon pooling, the blood grew luminous green crystals, tiny jewels glittering like precious green diamonds. The doctor was surprised and told me it was as though I was bionic; I had bionic blood. I felt pleased, as though I had supreme health. I understood bionic to mean super-human. My blood was bursting with health.

dead head and crossroads

Two dreams:
A head was on the table, lying on its back, facing the ceiling. The head of a man my friend used to know, she told me. I picked it up and looked at it. He looked to be in his fifties. He had good skin for his age and an honest face. He had a beard. I turned the head over in my hands and found it was flat at the back, as though it had been sitting on the table a very long time and had, over time, flattened. I stroked the face of the man and noticed a tear escape from the man's eye and travel down his cheek. I was surprised and, feeling for the man, I spoke to him. He opened his eyes - blue - and asked me to sing him a song. The song that came to mind was a chorus I'd learned in church as a teenager. So, I sang him the song and he cried.
I was walking across a road flanked by tall trees. Although I couldn't see it from where I was, I knew I was walking toward the ocean. I became aware I was being watched and looked up into the branches of the trees to the northern end of the road. A pair of Wedge-tailed eagles perched there, and one of them flew at me, swooping down close to my head, before rising and landing in a tree south of me. The other eagle followed, diving down and narrowly missing my head, before flying up to meet its mate in the tree down the road. Suddenly, there were two more birds - a pair of griffon vultures - perched in the trees to the west of the road. In the same way, they began, one at a time, swooping me, flying down, close to my head, and back up to perch in the trees to the east. The eagles and the vultures kept swooping me and, for a while, I was stuck in the middle of the road, covering my head, not knowing which way to turn to escape. I began to run south, although I wanted to go east, and as I ran I dipped down to scoop up a handful of damp sand, which I shaped into a ball, planning on throwing the sand at the birds as they rushed at me. I looked up behind me and saw the first eagle flying, but it was tangled in a string of bunting flags. I was both relieved and concerned for the eagle; although they seemed intent on harming me or driving me away, I wanted the birds to be safe.

the rules that bind us

I was with an old friend I've not seen, in waking life, for years. He had his arm around me as we walked the streets to his car, having just left a gathering of his friends. He had invited me along and I had been the only woman there. I knew my being there had caused the men to alter their behaviour, to behave more respectfully than they would have usually, these being rather androcentric men. As we walked, I thanked my friend for inviting me and said I hoped the group had not been put out. He nodded and accepted my thanks, but, even as I spoke the words, I wished I hadn't and I resented his superior attitude. Why should I apologise for my attendance at his invitation? How was my presence any less worthy than any other there? I had not enjoyed the evening with the the boys' club and, rather than now behaving pleasantly and doing what was expected of me, I wished I had spoken my truth or held my tongue. I silently vowed to fight against my learned cultural urge to be nice, play second and not stand in my full power. When we reached his car, we noticed a hibiscus shrub had grown, arching over the car and sprouting red and yellow flowers in through the ajar windows. We had to wind down the windows fully to free the car of flowers. I noticed another car parked close by. It was almost covered by grass, the roots having grown up the tyres and over the car body. Imagine, said my friend, if we'd stayed here a week; that's what would have happened to our car. Upon getting into his car, I realised he had a driver. The driver sat in the driver's seat, my friend sat in the front of the car in the middle space between the driver's seat and the passenger seat, and I sat in the back seat in the middle of the car, directly behind my friend. For the first time that night, it seemed my friend and I could speak, regardless of the presence of the driver; I felt the driver and he were close friends and he certainly knew the ins and outs of my friend's life. I asked my friend how he was, really. Immediately and unreservedly he told me (and the driver) that his marriage was terrible and his life was a sham. I noticed we were driving the streets of my childhood, towards my family home where the driver would presumably drop me off. I felt the driver had heard the story many times before and my friend was chained to his life by the rules laid down by the society in which he existed. He felt he couldn't escape.

an uncertain road

It was a dark night in the city and I needed to be somewhere. To get there, had to ride a bicycle far too big for me - my feet didn't touch the ground. It was an usual bike: the seat faced backwards so that, riding it, I could only see where I had been, not where I was going. Not only that, the roads were all downhill and the bike had no brakes. I was scared, but knew it was what I had to do. I rode the big bike - backwards, down the hill, with no brakes, in the dark - twisting around to attempt to see where I was going, dodging traffic and hoping I would not crash or fall. Eventually, I arrived at a midway point where I naturally slowed and dismounted. I walked through a maze of a high-rise building - corridors, rooms, more corridors - until I reached a door blocked by a stack of boxes, both full and empty. I rearranged them, careful not to damage them, basically tunnelling my way through. Once through, I descended the stairs and found myself in the basement carpark of the building, thinking I'd find my car and drive the rest of the way. I saw what I thought was my car, but someone was in the driver's seat about to drive away. 'Wait,' I called. 'You're in the wrong car.' As they drove away, I could see it was not my car after all. I wondered how I would travel the final leg to my destination when someone asked me, 'Well, how did you get here?' I realised I needed to find the bicycle and brave the dangerous, uncertain journey - to dare - if I were to arrive.

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!