Enlightenment

The one true story in my life

This is a true story dedicated to everyone
who feels a little crazy every time they hover
between the real world and the one made in books.

Copyright© Roditch All Rights Reserved
http://www.roditch.wordpress.com

The dog stayed at home with Pamela; this
was one trip I had to do on my own –
something I had a history of not doing. No
amount of last minute pleading from Pamela
to come with us would change my
determination to face what fate had install
for me when I got to Melbourne. It was hard
enough for me to escape my personal
boundaries and to pluck up the courage to
leave home for two days let alone have to say
no to Pamela. With great relief Francis’s old
Citroen finally pulled away from the curb
like an aging ocean liner leaving the dock for
chartered waters but unsure of the weather
ahead and Pamela’s yearning for travel
faded into the road ahead.
The atmosphere in the car changed quickly
as the shackles of Warrnambool’s Western
District isolation was replaced with a feeling
of excitement and anticipation. Three
friends and three totally different
destinations: Sally was going to Bali with her
old boyfriend David Reyne; a trip they had
arranged before she had met Francis and I
am sure Francis’s extra weird behavior (very
nervously looking for more dope in the
house) was brought on by jealousy. The
atmosphere in the car was intimate, all good
friends living on an edge, full of happy
future consequences, the entree was served
and the main course was being conjured in
the cosmological kitchen – we were all
sensitive beings staring at the droning lights
with a childhood reality.
We made a funny threesome because we are
so alike when we got stoned and when we
are normal: pretty sensitive and quiet and a
bit eccentric. Sally and I had waited for ten
minutes while Francis searched their flat
three times (he came out the door, walked
down the steps and would turn around and
go back inside for another look and Sally and
I would laugh and think OH! MY! GOD!) for
dope to take with him to Melbourne. Francis
always forgot where he had hidden his dope.
His house resembled a mouse house, stored
treasures in every conceivable nook and
cranny, yet because Francis smoked too
much he had to always hide more to find
more and he knew he would.
It was hard to disassociate the man from the
weed. Sally was in school an unconventional
one where the headmaster (Francis) wanted
to convert her from a good natured, naive,
happy and content country girl to weed
wisdom, a fleeting grasp of truth, a
transiting truth passing through the night
and often leaving Sally unconscious in the
arm chair. Some people appear to handle
their dope while others are left in a smoking
ruin, shipwrecked in never never land. My
ship never left harbour as every joint parked
me in neutral. Like religion; I was left asking
does this do me any good? Either way
Francis was good fun, being child number 11
he was used to hanging out with people and
fitting in.
The car droned on as if self-controlled as the
passengers played on uncontrolled, glee was
taking over from fear and by the time we got
to Colac (half-way), we were pretty happy in
this half lit moving metal French steed. So
many indecisive thoughts led to this
moment, a lifetime of fearing most things
unknown had kept me from taking this
journey to sort out my finances. My friends
helped me to decide to do it and start afresh,
new beginnings. Little did they know the
chain of events they had helped set into
motion. It was all working out; even though
I felt guilty leaving Pamela and the dog at
home; I knew this was a personal journey,
one taken without distraction and
compromise.
Geelong appeared as a silent sentinel: the
outer gates to the great estate called
Melbourne. Once passed we were in the
realms of Melbourne city. Not a day passes
in the country when in a precious moment,
the silent oath of fresh air and peace passes
one’s lips. Ode to a natural life and wide
open spaces. This knocking of all foul air and
freeways helps justify ones place in the
countryside. Do people actually live in this
city wasteland by choice? Nature a refuge of
peaceful celebrations a communion with
fellow bark and kindred leaves, a recognition
of fellowship and friendly spaces. The forest
speaks of love and peace, resting in her
bosom to face another crazy city day. I can’t
remember a false forest or being ripped off
by a Grevillea bush. . My body is moving six
inches above the asphalt at 100kms an hour
but my mind is green.
Sally and Francis are more streetwise than
me, they negotiate the transition into this
technological mist with ease, beyond my
childlike vulnerability and paranoia. The
first stop was a Cappuccino machine in the
city, a favourite hangout of Francis’s an
Italian cafe that sold the best coffee in the
CBD. The caffeine did jolt me out of my
traveling reverie. We had only traveled 300
km but I had become the world traveler;
without a home and resting place. My mind
was free to muse and contemplate now I was
free of the morning dishes and the ongoing
wars over the carpet cleaner. Two more sips
and I was back to reality.
It was anticipating to walk to the finance
joint and give myself up and receive the wise
advice I needed to manage my affairs. The
appointment had been made from
Warrnambool so they were waiting for me to
come in from the cold and hand in my
license to kill businesses. For over three
years I held my naivety close to my chest
and now I could confess at my utter
ineptitude to follow in the steps of the
Rockerfellers.
I had nearly finished building my brick
house in the hills of Castlemaine when I saw
an add for a foam insulation business, the
latest technology. I went for it all the way
and within a few days I had a loan from the
bank and was up to my knees in soap suds.
It went all right for the first 3 – 4 weeks
when the foam didn’t melt through the
ceiling dripping down into Mrs Jacob’s
lounge room. But when the Revivalist
Church minister in Bendigo who had
baptized me in front of a lot of babbling
foreign languages, in a bath on a stage, in a
dress (much to my surprise) so I could
impress my new girlfriend who had just
started speaking funny and when my ex
partner who I had been living with in the
bush for eight years left me the moment I
(lazily) swept the lint (this was the last
straw) from the kitchen floor just two feet
outside the door started a similar business
as mine things started to go wrong.
To compete with this minister I started
advertising more and more in Bendigo,
Ballarat Castelmaine etc. He kept
undercutting me all the time and there was
no way of competing. The advertising was
part of the end. The other end was spending
all the money I was making on my new 18
year old girlfriend, and spending all my body
as well.
The man behind the desk suggested I was
small fry and it was no big deal that the
world was full of deluded business people
and it was his job to get us out of tangle and
give us a new start, to patch the guilt and say
its ok you tried your best. No more
businesses for five years and if I make any
money give him some please. When we were
finished he said goodbye, good luck and take
this form to another Government
department and it will be all over.
Skippidy doo daa down the stairs I was free
and still had both hands, just one more stop
and it’s all over. The next building was: old,
dusty and musty and showed that the
Government is not going to spend a lot of
money on making losers feel interior
decorated. The people behind the counter
were weighed down with earrings, leather
jackets and hair. They looked like me in
some ways, no ties no fuss; just sign on the
end of the line and on this page as well and
again here and hope to never see you again.
Sally was to meet her friend (David Reyne)
at the airport that night and fly to Bali
together, adding to Francis’s unlimited
jealousy (this undesirable trip was getting
too close for comfort). The queues for Bali
were long, long enough to hide a Russian
spy, creeping along his row. Francis, hiding
behind a pillar spotted him first and
pointed him out to me and whispered
‘Russian Spy’. Surely Francis was wrong, he
looked more like an American tourist going
to America for the first time (oh! That is a
Russian Spy). But he kept gesturing to me,
maybe I need glasses? no where did I see
KGB on any of his belongings. Francis
seemed serious, is he kidding me? I have no
idea! am I a big enough fool to believe him
or was I controlled by a raging cynic,
navigating me around all pregnant
experience – ha maybe he was a spy. Surly
he wasn’t serious, no one could be that
stoned and drive a car, could they?
We ended up leaving Sally waiting for her
traveling companion. For one of us the
journey was well under way, within a few
hours Sally and David would be in Bali being
faithful to Francis enjoying a happy simple,
fun filled trip: pleasure, fun soaked and
Cooter Beached. It was easy to imagine what
they were doing; closer to home it was a
blank mind and fearful heart. This close
friend of mine was becoming more
mysterious by the hour. With Sally gone I
felt uneasy she could look at my normal
serious countenance and laugh at it with
ease; fun face left me with Francis for three
days.
So often I go places; on journeys as a
bewildered passenger, with little knowledge
of the Captain and course. All my life I never
understood why I was anywhere. My
destiny was to trust these collective Captains
that the universe was providing me, though
with bent notions through characters way
too bent to receive. I could never tell if they
were aware of their instructions, knowing
the plan? Or unconscious recipients of Godly
synchronicity dancing an unknown dance,
but somehow feeling the tidal rhythms of the
cosmos.
Too many coincidences for coincidence, the
dance went on for all sensitive enough to feel
the vibrations. a fine line between heaven
and earth, a thread of light joining the two,
one not able to exist without the other but
each one ignorant of each others identity.
One day we will join both heaven and earth
and see who we are for the first time; for
now though God’s fool was behind the wheel
looking purposeful and full of intent. Our
first stop from the airport was one of
Francis’s girlfriends. We had the ceremonial
smoke at the kitchen table where wave upon
wave of consciousness changing paranoia
carpeted me to the seat. I couldn’t breath,
my heart was racing my mind, there could
be no winner; quick, get outside, get some
fresh air, oh no I was losing or gaining
consciousness. A large elm found me poorly
and rested me in its limbs. This was an
escape from confronting strangers stoned
and the fresh air helped after a few dizzy
minutes. I didn’t know what was happening
to me I felt sick and scared vroomp vroomp
my heart was pinging. The physical
sensation of my racing heart brought me
slowly back to reality. My mind was gone
and I was unzipped like a coke can all the
bubble and froth floating to the upper
atmosphere. Francis seemed good natured
about my excursion into nature, but then
again all smokers are good natured aren’t
they? This trip was one trip I didn’t think I
would be taking on this trip. My look was
friendly vacant as we baid goodbye to
girlfriend two.
I had no idea or explanation of Francis’s
behaviour or itinerary, I was left in a
helpless bubble like a child; Francis my
father? had me for weekend access. Our
friendship was a bond that had me in the car
with him in the first place, this invisible
bond was no comfort now. Girlfriend three
didn’t smoke and turned out to be Francis’s
sister, we talked on the footpath surrounded
by middle class Melbourne and some trees.
Still fresh from Warrnambool, salt spray
instead of blood in my veins, Melbourne
seemed big and by inference a terrible place.
I asked big sister if she had been bush
bashing lately?. She had a pronounced sense
of forgetfulness and amnesia, the country
oh, I remember, no I have not been there
for years I must try it again soon. We were
talking about two different Gods, mine was
mother nature a celebration of God’s work,
hers was father technology a celebration of
mans. This experience more than most had
me thinking of peoples’ personal realities,
living in an invisible bubble erected by our
constant thoughts orbiting our brain with
such wizardry we believe them to be real on
one hand yet hardly ever aware of their
existence.
One thought could hold power over our lives
for a lifetime, we grow into it and become it,
yet completely forget what it was. This
experience was a prelude to my encounter
that was coming up with Nikki and Marshal
a counterpoint of mind versus mindlessness.
As we left Francis’s sisters for our destined
meeting with a bush band I realized I had
been strengthened by this encounter in some
way; because I was the observer and
thinking about my encounter with her, I felt
better because at least my mind was
questioning itself.
The journey to the outer suburbs to meet
Nikki was peaceful. I had survived my first
12 hours with Francis in the city. As usual I
had little foreplay by explanation from
Francis and again was to hold his hand and
step through what appeared to be a dance
hall door, but was really a passage into
another dimension, another world, one that
was completely foreign to me. The room was
being pumped full of bush music, the band
happily sent out jigs to a meager audience. I
also played In a bush band with Francis:
fiddle tunes and polkas felt very familiar and
made me feel at ease. By the time we had
crossed the dance floor to meet Francis’s
true love Nikki, I was full of happy
countenance. . Her smile in the introduction
went straight to my heart, never had I
encountered such an instant loving
response, instantly I loved this woman, her
inner beauty shined through her body,
straight through her clothes and appeared as
rays of light, piercing my own inner
darkness: illuminating my inner cavern for
the first time. Joy was overcoming me, my
whole being seemed to vibrate with hers. I
was lost in time and space, which was to
become a common experience, a sort of
norm compared to found in space, where my
mind still had its bearings.
This feeling of incredible joy, peace and love
in the presence of an angel felt better than
anything in my life previously. Even though
I was falling in love with the woman this was
a divine encounter, I had met God:
appearing as a fairy like creature, long black
hair, pointy chin and thin. Sitting at a
mixing desk, keeping the bush band in
harmony. Memories become a little blurry as
my mind was lost in this world of hearts, I
have no clear recollection of how long it took
for her love to fill my tank with high octane,
low lead love drops. this was the beginning
of what I was searching for all my life, it was
Francis and many joints that had led me
here to a place where drugs were like
matchsticks in a bushfire. This was no
momentary escape, I had arrived. It was
only natural? that I mistook this universal
love for personal love and attraction, I was
falling in love with the holder of the light,
and the light itself. So easy to be attracted to
a person who is so joyful and blissed out.
The spell was partly broken when Francis
wanted to move on to another destination.
He arranged with Nikki and her boyfriend to
meet them at his house at Kangaroo Ground
after they finished their gig. We both left the
hall feeling good; Francis was in love with
Nikki too. They had a fling two years ago and
have stayed in touch since. When they split,
Francis characteristically didn’t agree, he
followed her to Mexico and caught her and a
friend in skin contact on a beach. Ownership
in relationships is a big problem for partners
who are sold out. The scene outside the car
was unfamiliar, an endlessness, like a desert,
everything coated with a sameness,
corridors crossing more corridors with boxes
filling in the spaces. While we were driving
down them my mind was in Mexico trying to
capture the expression on his face and the
surprise at finding he was out to lunch, while
Nikki was eating raw flesh.
Both scenes inside and outside the car had a
lot in common; they didn’t seem the
slightest bit real or possible. Once touched
by God, humanity seems a little off key,
missing a few sharps, imperfection, all
playing but no-one winning. Life was too
absurd to contemplate without a higher
force or intelligence to place on a pedestal
above and out of the muck. At this moment
my mind has a pleasant rambling relaxing
feel, like its me thinking not my mind,
somehow I had become the programmer not
the disc. Could this be heaven, a place where
love conquers two million idle thoughts and
erases memory with no un-delete. All this
free space inside my head was the prelude to
bliss. For once in my life I had faith and
didn’t have to rely on my mind planning
everything to keep me from all those
unforeseen unknowables in life. I’m not sure
as usual how we got to Nikki’s and
Marshall’s that night, but remember well the
reception when we arrived.
The mud-brick house set on the side of a hill
outside Eltham in the bush was a beautiful
sight. No more endlessness, here the journey
through corridors ended, this was nature
and I love her dearly. Before moving to
Warrnambool I had lived near Castlemaine
in a two storey house I had built out of
secondhand bricks and timber. The house
was on the edge of a 40′ deep dry creek one
side and surrounded by forest. It was hard
leaving this place and moving to Kilarney, a
potato growing area 10 ks out of
Warrnambool to join a bush band. There
were few trees, it was a green desert with a
view of the ocean from the house.
Arriving at their house at night was
expectant, the beautiful warm red-yellow
glow from the windows contrasted with the
deep dark bluey green of the surrounding
forest. Like a moth I was attracted to the
light this place was emitting. Pulled closer
and closer by the desire for more of what
these people had. I wanted some. Here were
two people who had received the bounty of
the universe they were living in God’s love
they were free of their obvious limitation,
their humanity. The warm yellow glow
leaking outside on our arrival was to
symbolize the radiance of Marshall and
Nikki. Marshall built the house out of mudbrick
and natural timber with large living
areas divided by furniture and objects he has
collected — this was a real house, not a box
but a home made from friendly familiar
unpasteurized materials. With this type of
house you expect you feel the bank
managers had a hard day at the office trying
to sell life time nooses for your everyday
gooses. The flexi teller machine has no menu
for do it yourself. I had come to the city and
found the bush, all this reminded me of life
before Warrnambool, the Castlemaine days.
I felt suddenly that Warrnambool had been
more barren than I thought. That I had an
affinity with the forest, somehow it
represented life to me, a voice calling from
the mist.
Michael Roades had changed my
perceptions forever. He was an English pig
farmer turned aboriginal who could talk
about the dreaming in white fella talk. The
recognition of nature being alive and
intelligent, like we are sometimes. Somehow
the trees connect to a higher intelligence
more capably than us two legged folk,
especially us white ones. The intelligence
that is in all that is created and uncreated
must wonder why white skin means thick
ears so often.
We seem to to excel at cutting our source off
at the knees. Once your eyes and heart are
opened your seeing changes. These silent
sentinels with Whitely haircuts are speaking
to us if you listen. As the forest felt warm
and friendly so did Marshall and Nikki, the
bush attracts its own kind and here we all
were. Francis stayed for a short while, and
looked as if he was arranging my future
putting me in the hands of his friends. I
needed a cure and they held it; with beaming
faces like kids who had a very special secret
hiding place and were offering to take me
there.
Francis left me for the night and arranged to
meet me at his brother’s (Ollie) hairdressers
in South Yarra the next day, had he already
visited the hiding place before or was he
afraid that this place may hold untold
mysteries that once gone there would be no
turning back. Either way he left me with
Marshall and Nikki to concentrate on solo.
The three of us huddled up in the lounge
room and bade goodbye to Francis as he was
leaving this perfect place and setting forth
out of the womb and out again into the
faceless corridors, womb hunting. I didn’t
mind being left it made me the centre of
attention. Niccie and Marshall were happy
and stayed happy because I was getting
happy, off my face really. The night
progressed as if charted by a glow chart.
Seven PM 4 glows midnight 85 glows,
morning off the glow meter and facing father
glow rising above the trees. Marshall was
more pushy or conservative than Nikki; she
was more a presence, saying you can be me
too, Marshall was only recently converted to
glowdom and was still pulsing off and on
depending on his minds travels.
Nikki emitted a steady stream of peace, love,
patience, bliss and most of all she was
beautiful. By 3 am Marshall went to bed,
either he was tired himself or was tired of
selling his new found stuff to me and retired.
Nikki and I stayed up all night. She was
embroidering a button while continuing to
talk about how good it was. I would not
know how much I had changed under her
spell until I got on the train later in the
morning. She told me the button was for a
friend of hers and that the pictures she
painted in cotton thread were intuitive
portraits of people that had blown the
glowmeter.
A badge of success and arrival, a joyful
colourful symbol of knowing her and her
goddess. The badge she was doing had
transformed into a blue sky, stars, yellow
moon and a silvery path in a dark blue
ocean. Because of my readiness to accept
what her heart was teaching me, my glow
meter went off the end of the scale and she
presented me “a Moon ruled Cancerian”
with the badge and said that during the
night it had become mine. There was no
mistaking this as the most important
possession I have ever had. Twelve years
after it was made it still sits beside my bed in
a carved wooden box with 2 or 3 other
precious pieces, all reminders of a time in
the light.
After 10 hours inside the warm red/yellow
womb it was refreshing when Nikki and I
went outside to watch the Sun rise. The rays
pierced the blue-green haze of the landscape
before us in gentle spear like rays of love.
The early morning sun beamed down and
touched me like Nikki had all night. Were
these two beacons of light love and warmth
related, they seemed to be made out of the
same stuff, the essence of life, the ultimate
driving force behind everything. Turning
from this haze piercing light I looked at how
it fell softly on Nikki’s pixie face: a mask of
warmth, highlighting her eyes like a
photographic spotlight. There was an
homage expression oblivious of my
presence. I was witnessing a sacred ritual
between my goddess and her source. This
experience of worship was far distant from
the constant drone of male robe and pulpit.
I had never felt good about white man’s
church all my life and now I knew why. Here
the connection with the divine was one to
one, no pompous intermediary stuck acting
the part on a sin stained aisle holding back
walls of doubt and uncertainty of practise.
In a sideways glance I had crossed the
border between darkness and light; a simple
movement, one we can achieve easily, just
turn sideways and there is a view of life
hidden. Our fears protect us from
experiencing this view too much. Ye old
devil Saturn does urge us to construct
barriers preventing us experiencing the
uncertainty of the unknown universe and
Saturn also fears that once you merge with
the whole universe you will lose touch with
your important material world of identity
and possessions. In the western world
Saturn rules comfortably over all the
technological city structured environments
which contrasts greatly with our natural
environment where energies beyond Saturn
reign supreme and beckon us to listen to
their voice and experience their worlds.
The time had come to catch the train and
head back into the city. Marshall had risen
all chirpy and was happy to drive me to the
station. It was early in the morning, the
transition from Marshall and Nikki’s was
quick and painless. somehow during the
long night I learnt how to speak their
language and hear their tune. A conversion
had taken place in the bush just near
Eltham. I had welcomed their teachings and
now some 12 hours later I was to leave the
womb and go whence I came, with a skip in
my step, clarity in my eye and faith in my
heart. After lots of hugging and beaming
smiles the train became the symbol of my
new journey. The carriage had beautiful
pressed metal everywhere and was occupied
by me and a young couple. This was my first
encounter with the other world and it
appeared totally different. The actual
volume of space in the carriage had
increased four fold just by looking at it with
different perceptions. The young couple
were probably only feet away yet appeared
metres away in their own space and their
own world yet they sent loving vibes.
The sun shining thru the windows of the
train had an extra luminous glow,
permeating every corner of the carriage,
Nikki’s love was following me in the form of
light, a mystical ethereal light. From the
moment Marshall had gone to bed and now,
on my way into the city from Eltham I had
been in a woman’s company, the peace and
relaxation of sensitive understanding and
mutual feelings was joyous compared to
Francis’s mental confusion. I was musing at
this loss, as the train of light softly and
smoothly flew into the city to make a
connection with Francis.
The mere thought of catching up with him
was changing how I felt: the spell would
weaken and lose its hold each time I
pictured the reunion with brother weed and
the trip back to Warrnambool. Arriving at
Flinders St. Station my perception of
Melbourne had totally changed, no longer
was I concentrating on the negative, the
light which followed me from Eltham gave a
golden yellow wash over everyone and
everything, nothing was left untransformed.
I could see the light from heaven shining
down on everyone, that they did not notice
made no difference to the beauty of the
scene. A remarkable change had taken place
in a major way. I felt more confident and
together. There is no way I could ever be the
same again. With so much talk of personal
change, transformation and growth in our
daily literature I was now living and
breathing these words; feelings had replaced
concepts and possible future events, I was in
the now, which, was in me and it is a
miraculous thing that God can rupture your
ways and open your mind through another.
It is the way of God to greet you through
another just like electricity saturates water
infinitely; so does God transmit through the
wary.
Uncomplicated feelings and perceptions. By
opening myself to the love from Marshall
and Nikki a crack appeared in my Saturnian
armour and fear quitely slipped out. To rid
myself of 30 years of community and family
behaviour, I was suddenly cured, and able to
see the world through fresh eyes, eyes, that
led straight to my heart which led to…… This
is the greatest turning point for anyone, that
is to feel yourself without any
encumbrances. To know the freedom of an
unpolluted mind, a septic tank, sucked dry
to reveal the shining inner chamber. At no
stage in my life have I felt more native and
connected to all the beautiful natural
energies around us, blue sky, shining sun,
wafts of air laden oxygen and perfumed
molecules floating past the very end of my
nostrils. This is it, the meaning of life is
none, no ideas, no thoughts, no shit, no fear,
no schedule, no money, no walls, no city,
nothing. As all internal matter flows out so
does the voice of nature and the universe
flow in. All living energy is perched, waiting
to be received, all we need, is to welcome
these spirits of natural sources into our
internal abode to take residence.
The train to South Yarra was more modern
than Eltham’s pressed metal rattler, more
people and more silence. The elevator effect
was in full force, until I got off at the wrong
station with another lady in her 60,s, she
was traveling to Prahan and got off one too
early and I was off one too late, my reverie of
past hours mixed with silent elevator
atmosphere had taken me to a different
destination. This lady and I met on the
platform both at Toorak Station and
instantly decided to combine both our
mistakes into a shared solution. Lets share a
taxi and get to South Yarra? no! we decided
that was not the answer we could wait for
the next train together because now we were
kindred souls brought together by our untogether
. We walked back down into the
station from the taxi rank and found a large
wooden seat near the edge of the railway
line. She looked at me with faraway close to
you eyes, and I replied with something
similar. The first words spoken were about
the embroided broach I was proudly wearing
of the Moon over the sea that Nikki gave me.
It was like a boy scout badge saying I had
passed bubs in spiritual experiences, look
everyone I am a graduate. This friendly
lady’s soul disappeared inside my broach
into the image of the sea and moon taking
her into the past; when she had a house by
the sea with the same scene from her
bedroom window every moonlit month.
I could see her going back. Somehow the
past was more than a distant memory of a
past life it was though she was remembering
a dimension of life sliced from her memory
by some cataclysmal experience an
experience that somehow I was part of right
now. I stared wondering if the same fate was
coming my way. Will I? because of my past,
change the future, will my ship change
course, losing my bearings. The far distant
shore behind me merging into the sea spray.
Family and childhood disappearing over the
horizon. Funny to think that we are both
strangers sitting on a bench at Toorak
station, but our minds were taking us
somewhere else. The sea and moon
beckoned us and we were being pulled into
the picture, leaving me to ponder what was
the most powerful reality ? the physical
world or the realm of mental imagination.
The next train to South Yarra arrived; we
sat together in a crowded carriage that had
an overall blue theme, blue suits, blue seats,
blue faces. I was back in a bubble like before
on the way to the city but this time my lady
friend was in it with me. We were more
yellow. Our conversation became animated
as we rocked along. We talked about many
forgotten things, and I could not stop
thinking how everyone else in the carriage
seemed dead. Blue for dead yellow for alive.
The more animated we became the harder it
was to detect any life or movement from the
other people in the carriage. They were
working so hard at being strangers. There
was great comfort in being yellow not blue,
why couldn’t we all be participating in our
reverie and sharing the wonders of life
together instead of committing life to the
dustbin, maybe the day was already
programmed blue; even before getting out of
bed and yellow would only come about by
accidental interaction with a spontaneous
stranger but not before noon thank you.
I was more interested by now in my
confident and joyous conversation in the
blue train than what we were actually talking
about, i think our lips moved? The journey
from Toorak to South Yarra was quick
because we were enjoying each other and
slow because we were in a time warp. We
managed to recognize the stop and departed
from the train together. Walking towards
Toorak road my lady friend asked me if I
was coming with her? All hell broke loose in
my mind, I felt confronted. My first Libran
experience, will i go with her? wherever that
was , did she mean continue this mental/
spiritual journey to its ultimate end quickly,
or home for tea and scones. I freeked out,
this question left me rooted to the ground, as
if i was being asked to let go of everything,
Francis, Warrnambool, Pamela, and take a
giant leap of faith. My mind was happy, it
was back in total control, indecision was its
fuel, panic its slave and fear the engine. No I
am sorry, but I said I would meet Francis at
3.30 at Zimmers Salon, sorry I can’t meet
my destiny right now I have an appointment
with Francis instead. My new found friend I
met in the moon shining over sea, bade me
farewell and took off on her way as if she
was happily meeting her maker, like me at
3.30. did she have a Francis in her life too?
Waving goodbye, no exchanged phone
numbers or addresses, just a look to say we
will meet again, even if she isn’t her self next
time.
Walking happily hurriedly towards my
familiar past, I knew I had lost in this
parting and would, someday, have to meet
the same intersection in life again, but that
was okay it wasn’t now, and right now,
Familiar Francis, was looking good.
Francis’s brother Michael (Ollie) worked at
Zimmers, a rather trendy Toorak hair
salon.It was a first time for me and even
though I knew Mick I felt very
uncomfortable in body beautiful, especially
after a night in the hills of Eltham
communing heart to heart. Here I was
hairdo to hairdo, with a Goddess inside the
door to greet me. I knew I had been
enlightened this past night because I
manged to squeak out the name Francis
before I was completely beauty dumb
struck.
I was early, so Mick with wave of silver
pointed scissors pointed to the back room
where reality waited silently in the wings.
While beauty born of hope gave birth to
temporary youth and the fountain of life was
resurrected. Before windswept pillows and
restless dreams undid the magic web of
spray and gossamer illusions. After
sometime Mick came out to see me with a
friendly greeting to say obviously Francis
was not here, and it has been awhile since
we looked into each others eyes with a
familair love.
Francis finally arrived to rescue me from
this intense and scary encounter. I was
becoming too aware of the craziness of
having to match my head space with the rest
of the world. There was so much love and
peace in Eltham where had it all gone?
These feelings have never left me in all this
time. When will someone bring me down
and take my soul for a joy ride. I need a cave,
somewhere where I can call my feelings my
own. There is so much talk about pollution,
what about my mind? It has been a
receptacle for environmental trash since
sliding down that dark and slimy. unknown
corridor into life. My mother was not an
artist, she created me from her naive
palette,a tidy neat attempt at colonial
realism, here I am trapped and glazed over
and trying to free myself from a forgery and
furtively whip this tired canvas into my own
infinite creation.
Nikki had scraped through this tired replica
and exposed the clean canvas
underneath,trying to escape to the surface.
For a start i needed much more colour;
quickly…. paint over this tired Hollywood
realism….. broaden the canvas….. stretch it
to breaking point and tip buckets of colour;
flowing and merging right off the edge.
Movement, release, I can see the picture
transforming. No more hard edged
restrictions; letting my nose find its own
border line. I am now my own artist and my
life will be my painting. I yell as the last
parts of my mothers image disappears and
dies under the waterfall of colour.
The car is heading westward over Wesgate
Bridge to the Western District I am quietly
wondering if Francis actually recognizes me
any more, after all, in his absence I had
switched paintings. With this thought in
mind I was able to smile again and feel less
threatened about my new state of
psychological undress and address Francis
with the notion of well I had a good time
how about you? The relaxed chit chat was a
salve to my fragile nerves, I was free of my
first real encounter in the world after leaving
it and the escape, although it was a partial
retreat, unfortunately I needed lots of time
to unlock the puzzle of life in the soul zone.
After getting home my life was entangled
again in personal relationships. Pamela was
happy to see me but I felt the same
confusion about how to love and be loved by
another. Oh my God! this will follow me to
my grave. How could I tell Pamela what had
happened when words couldn’t stand
upright in my own thoughts. I settled back
into life but would never stop thinking about
Nikki…… a dream across the oceans; the
same as any woman would feel with their
husband in the trenches. A beautiful woman
and a God merged into one glowing sphere
of longing would carry my thoughts to the
sandman every night. One year later we
would meet again and have a relationship of
moons apart and she took me to Satsang.
This Indian spiritual gathering would gather
at night and new souls would sit and face
everyone and talk about their experiences
and they all were like Nikki and they blew
my bliss meter off the scale. Their words
were not words but some kind of alphabetic
drug that could mist from their mouth to my
mind. I met a leader of the group this night
and she asked me if I was ready and I said
yes and then we left.
The next night we went to a party in the city
and I was challenged to understand what
was happening. I had no idea why I felt like I
was the centre of attention and would be
amazed at the feelings and impressions I
would get from someone’s gaze and would
often feel I could hear their thoughts. During
the night I felt alright but my mind gave way
to fears and worries and confusion which
meant I took flight. I ran I was scared
because everyone was the same as Nikki and
the energy was too powerful for even my
ready heart – like being in a room with 100
Mandelas. I ended up escaping and was
alone and slept in my car and the next day
went back to get my shoes but I couldn’t find
the house. I spent days in Carlton lost
between worlds, caught in a fracture of
reality and timelessness.
I would eventually return to Warrnambool
completely transformed but never again able
to function as me. This quite normal
spiritual experience with Nikki and her
Indian meditation group had unlocked
more than usual and I was unable to control
what was happening and they left me to find
my feet or drown as there was absolutely
nothing they could do. Many Buddhist
Monks walk a lonely road in search of or to
hang onto enlightenment and the day I left
Melbourne after the second round of a
spiritual metamorphosis I have been a monk
walking the road and at the same time
driving every woman I meet along the way a
bit crazy coz they never really ever knew who
I was and I should never have stopped.
Talk about scizo reading signs — the TV is
talkng to me. Electronics with a mind of
their own. One night I sat and watched the
full moon for hours and felt incredibly
‘normal’ then as I slept I woke up to a
chanting ranting world and have felt
incredibly alone ever since – will it be like
this to the end? Yes! unless I go back to
where it all started and ask what really
happened to my mind?
Many months later I walked the back roads
of Warrnambool through town to an isolated
beach surrounded by farms. A place where I
had an acid trip years earlier when my mate
Peter sent me some LSD from England. It
was a necessary escape from the maddening
world of people. It is only now in my sixties I
have met myself on a page that I call my best
friend. A conundrum every day. Some one
wants something from you and you feel
unable to give it. This whole story is about
one and one makes one. Whether I am one
with everyone and feel like the world is my
home and everyone in it my family — but
still alone within the script that keeps
writing anew every day until I don’t know
what to say anymore.
Like excuse me can you tell me the way to
nirvana? Did Plato really have the full
handle on everything? Ummm please do
you know how to be happy? Tell me… how
did you manage to manage yourself into this
current state of being? Oh shut up keep
drinking, have another smoke, go root some
sheila get a life mate. Not a good idea, sorry
I don’t know the way, ha ha never did and
never will as a boy I was blinded by the Sun
as I watched my brother Bill kick another
speedy goal between the posts.
It was a warm night and the stars were as
beautiful as always. I felt wonderful the
moment I left the town borders and entered
natures gateway. I did meet a farmer as I
was walking and I said hello and he
motioned to grab me so I ran and ran until I
couldn’t see him anymore and that brought
me close to the sand dunes and the beach. I
walked over the dunes and onto the sandy
shore and saw a cathedral of stars and
waves. The stars were touchable and my
hand played with them like fireflies. The
ocean sounds changed from a crashing
roaring sound to a haunting chorus of
mother nature singing her cosmic song –
like the sound of a whale.
The beauty in the cathedral was alive and
living and breathing and it became more
beautiful just for me like any artistic
symphony was meant to impress with its
virtuosity: more dazzling, more energy and
often changing to a Miles Davis Jazz tune
when the whole scene undid it itself from
reality and came out to play. There was
another moment in Melbourne when my
thoughts and my eyes were one, but this was
so more beautiful and I will never forget this
one magical hour when nature and I
whoever I is were happy knowing that us
atoms have a soul and matter only prevents
their play if the mind is weak and play we
did. This is not an exclusive experience as
the many religions of the world will speak of
the Dreaming, the Dhama, the Christ but it
is hard to know how to teach someone to let
their atoms go free.
This symphony of atomic bliss cleaved my
reality so with some fear and confusion I
started the 10 km walk back into
Warnnambool: following the moonlight in
the spent waves gliding up the sand. The
Moon pipered me all the way back to
Penguin Island which was only metres away
from the main surf beach. I crossed over the
road and walked to the Surf Club and saw a
couple of people walking like me: it was
around 11 PM. The same as leaving Nikki’s
months earlier I felt the cold transition from
spirit to human slowly take over and capture
my thoughts. I walked into the main street,
passed pubs with drunken ghosts l falling
and stumbling out of the doors speaking in
tongues and looked like evil spirits. I kept
walking and walking and continue to walk
like Forest Gump because my heart and soul
are fragile and cannot bear to be human
again.