i was walking to uni this afternoon. listening to james taylor through my headphones. the sun was beaming blue gold. impossibilities wafted tangible in the air. aboriginal children rolled in the grass by the buildings. a cheerful man smiled and said hello to me. another man sat and stared at his shoes sadly. i wanted to pluck the yellow wildflower in front of him, give it to him and tell it would all be okay. i didn’t. next time…
with so many miniscule adventures and opportunities ripe with each step, i had the thought: i need to open my ears. i need to listen for magic. a curious thought, but i pulled off my headphones, draped them around my neck. walking past two girls in black suits across a road and into a plaza.
it was there i heard it. the magic my instinct knew to listen to. music which twirled through the space between buildings. a man and his guitar. a voice that could sound like flutes. it soared over the traffic. it reverberated in my belly.
i followed the music. i found him, like a pied piper, calling me to him.
he stood in front of the supermarket busking. short. so short. like a little blue eyed joe pesci. a striped shirt. wizened face, bright eyes. the voice of a country. i am entranced. i place coins in his opened guitar case, i smile widely at him.
i go to continue on, but i cannot. i stop at the corner. i cannot bear to face being without his music in my ears. so i stand at the corner. lost in a music never never land. people have to walk around me. when he finishes his song, i walk back to him, breathless.
that was beautiful i tell him. your music touched the streets.
he doesn’t even reach my chin, but when he looks up at me, his blue eyes gaze at me full in the face. he is present.
he tells me the story of the song. he wrote it when his daughter was nine months old. a special time, he says. nine months in the belly, nine months in the world. a full moon.
his wife tells him ~ how nice it would be to have a song for their daughter’s sacred day. she goes into the supermarket and the song fell from the stars into him. there in a darkened car, on full moon, a man sang to his baby daughter a new song.
i tell him it is magical. he is magical.
i introduce myself. he shakes my hand warmly. studies my name carefully, rolls it in his mouth. we shake hands three times in our interaction. a phyical manifestation of our connection.
we speak for moments.
he asks me what i am, what i will become. firmly now, i say: i am student. i am becoming a writer, an artist.
he tells me: i too am an artist. i paint my pictures with my songs.
yes you do.
there on the corner we said our hellos and our goodbyes. there on the corner i followed the music and i opened my heart. it was there on the corner that i met johnny.
~ incredible interactions. blue eyed joe pesci angels. music that calls like pied piper. babies and fathers. strangers meeting on the street.
Pureness does not know where is above and where is below. It comes from the void. To the void it will return. Pureness and origin are one.
sometimes i am just so amazed by everything. just so damn happy i am speechless.
yesterday i was dancing by myself in the living room to james taylor, and i stopped dancing, stood still with happiness.
singing in the car on the way to the women’s circle, i cannot move the words out from my belly to the air. i am struck dumb with happiness. i’m not really exactly sure what this happiness is. things have been up and down, journeying, challenging, joyful, rocky all at once. and my skin is stretching from growth, my feet a little stubbed and scratched from mountain goat tracks. it’s been a good, leg working journey which leaves me breathless sometimes… but the view is beautiful. it really is. to see the sky clearer than i did before. to wade through murky rivers of my own doubt and fear to the other side of the river banks. to new places, new destination, new fields in myself.
some beautiful moments in my life of late ~
~ paris arriving at my work step at 9.30 am on a first day back from holidays with a “surprise something”. the most beautiful bamboo oracle set that he said he found and spoke one name to him. i was humbled and blessed by his gifting.
bus friends are blessings. and bus friends who touch your heart are miracles.
paris and me on ze bus.
~ the women’s circle last night. i am so blessed to be in this group of women.
~ my journey as an artist. months ago, when i went to the labyrinth with the women, ellanita our wise and beautiful leader taught me some important and beautiful lessons as an artist. she spoke about holding on to an art work until it was ready to move on ~ to learn the lessons that we as artists glean from our own artists.
months ago, a dear woman from the circle asked me to do a commission of a mermaid for her. and i did. she lived on a canvas in my living area for three months. i would look at her, she would look at me. there was love and wisdom and sharing between us. we became fused in spirit. those three months were beautiful. i knew we both were gestating, hibernating together before we emerged. there was a part of me that danced with her. she showed me lessons of infinity and beauty and a sky filled with stars. and yesterday, i looked at her, and suddenly i realised it was time. pregnancy leads to birth. it was birthing day. i am mother, she was mother. we gave birth to each other.
she spoke to me. she said: “take me with you to the women’s circle. it is time i go. i want to be a part of the circle as i move onwards.”
so i did. i listened to my mother the painting and my daughter the painting. she went to the women’s circle with me. she joined us women folk in our sharing and our reflection and our transformation. and she passed hands onwards. in love.
so at easter this year, i lay an egg. and i gave birth to a beautiful painting which has now fluttered into a new part of the world. and in so many ways, she gave birth to me. we shared lives for three months, and we will continue to. we are all one.
one day, when i’m floating through cosmic stardust one day i’ll flit by a fleck of a canvas. maybe we’ll be scales side by side on a mermaids tale. or a dewdrop kissing a rose in the morning dewlight.
I leave you, with me in my favourite tree friend, on my parent’s farm. I dreamt I could touch the stars when cradled in its branches. I grew up with this tree.