There was a little bit of triumph there in the beginning. Dancing into your mysterious clutches with a bunch of new family, no more than strangers just three months before. There was sunshine and serenity for the majority of your first month and then loss. Deep aching loss for a place and a time I knew I could never return too. Not wholly the way it had been anyway and how much I crave that simplest yet hardest segment of my life, even now eleven months later waving you goodbye.
The homecoming was vacant, the love was there but my distance was tangible, a brutal thing. I was dressed up like Nikki but not at all acting like her, hallow and wanting, a brat of child in an adult woman’s body. I’d experienced the world in that year away and now there was a stagnancy that whittled away at me week by week. But I persisted in it, I worked and I planned and I dreamed and I conquered and soon, mid year, I was boarding a plane to my favoured side of the planet once more. There was a sense of loss on arrival, I was stuck between that “home” me and that home me, the heart place and the soul place. I was on the road again, a nomad again, unsettled, unburdened and it was a release I’ve never experienced before. The contrast to months of working back “home” was so startling I was at a loss as to how to accept the new path so unchartered in front of me. They say comfort tricks you into settling and it almost had me in that alien moment I touched ground in New Zealand. But I didn’t turn back.
A new family came soon, they didn’t replace the dependable love of Newcastle or the nurturing dependency of Coffs Harbour, they were the wild things, the night owls. Ignited. That’s what it was, in Wellington I was myself with bells on. I just stopped caring. There was this imminent sense of self in those months and when I left the city and the safe support I’d earned there I kept that time with me in a way I failed too when I left Australia. In Wellington I had been completely alone, I’d listened to my intuition and I’d been selective about the company I kept. Only bright energy was allowed to surround me there and it supercharged me, prepared me for a departure from the first hand source. I couldn’t be more grateful for those people.
The South Island was a selfish time, I drank up the conversations with strangers that I partook in with purpose and certainty. The scenes were stolen from the pages of my precious adventure novels I swear. I was living in the fantasy worlds of my imaginations creation, only they were real and embracing me, a strange wild thing, an amalgamation of all the fierce women I’d read about and dreamed of being. For those three weeks my most craved reality was the life I was living. The euphoria of that is not something easily structured by words and I hold onto it now that I’m back in Newcastle again. But even this time at home is different, I’m strong in me. I don’t fear my reflection or the words that might spill from my mouth. I’m filled with conviction in my being. I believe in myself and because of this internal revolution seeing you go saddens me.
Globally you were a bit of a disaster, the plague of humanity managed to spread through the lives of it’s own “weakest” links and against compassion and integrity, two things we should value and let guide us above all else we looked to dictatorship and egotism to lead us. I hope in saying goodbye to you we can at least say goodbye to our tarnished unity, that we can build something admirable and peaceful in the coming months. The New Year is a cliched excuse for a new start but I just hope we can use an old tradition to bring new enlightenment. Maybe I’m a fool to believe in peace and unity but you’ve proven to me that I can work in my own space to make sure I’m surrounded by it wherever I go and if everyone makes that effort then there’s no chance that the world can resist it.
Thanks for your lessons,
your highs and your lows,