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You push open the door and realise you can hear the crackle of the fireplace and the sound of Jakob Dylan on the stereo. Then there’s the unmistakeable sound another person makes when you share thirty square metres.
I am a dream catcher. Once I take hold of a dream, of an idea – it is only a matter of time before it becomes a reality.
We hope that we belong to each other but in the moments of crisis, we learn whether we are flotsam, jetsam or trash. We learn what we are capable of, when we’ll do anything to stay afloat ourselves, at any cost.
Sometimes, you look up from the best meal you’ve ever had and realise the restaurant has closed around you and the chefs are sitting at the table with you.
Anger demands you pay attention and answer the question of what is right, what is true and what is good. Even if we learn we were wrong, anger is part of our pathway to truth. It is brave and beautiful work to be angry, especially on your own behalf.
When people ask how your travels were, they mean ‘tell me a story about where you went’. They never mean to ask about how you got there.
My mother made an escape from the world, where Tennyson, Browning, Keats and Longfellow made sense. I would arrive home from school, discard my bag and books and disappear into the world of poetry and novelists she gave me, sinking into one of those pink velvet Edwardian chairs.
I think this is how we live and die; in equal, perfect measure. Balance. But it is not the seasons that change to keep the earth in balance in cycles of decay and rebirth. The earth moves herself to stay in balance with her life-giving and her dying. The seasons do not happen to her but Earth steps into them, breath by breath, back towards the moon and on towards the sun.