close your eyes and imagine for a moment,
golden light speckling gently through the swaying tree branches.
from that protected space,
into the light.
She looks to the sky, for the first time.
contemplating the clouds that pass overhead delicately
It’s early October. Summer comes to me, riding in on the sunshine streaming through the gritty train window. Zillmere, Geebung, Sunshine…and so on, the repetitive oblivion of routine. I need air. I need soft, gentle sounds to help me weave my way through these strange emotions. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the art of letting go lightly. Loosening the grip when things come to an end. Immersing myself in the soothing balm of the continuum, the sweet understanding of no endings, only beginnings, riding the wave of continual shifts that morph and mould, punctuated by things, people, experiences, jolts, shocks, becoming thin layers of life, tree years, laid one upon the other, outwards and outwards, swallowing each other up, into the light, ultimately into nothingness. I rode to the end of the line of these past four years on a wave of elation. Yet today, in this place, in this seat, I feel the hot breath of fear just behind, breathing down the back of my neck. An inexplicable fear to be here once again, always on this train seat, still watching the landscape go past. Watching, but not touching. The train lumbering endlessly on towards god knows what…. I realise now my fear has always been here, riding next to me, silent, invisible, masked. Suddenly appearing………………………………………………………………….. BOO!!! ….on a morning like this, on this train. Holding my body and my thoughts hostage, it parachutes out of nowhere and into my chest, threatening to slice me open, drain me, end me. I want to run, but there is nowhere to run, from this fear of ending. Silently, fear speaks to me. I look down at my hands, at this moment they seem empty. I thought I had constructed something, but now I see it is only shimmering air. The promise that kept me going still glimmers in the distance, the perpetual dangling carrot. It is the grandest of anti-climaxes, a near orgasm slipping gently away into the dark, beyond my reach, never to be seen again.
This is the moment.
A first hit of sweet richness on the tongue, turning sharply into a subtle bitterness.
How do I articulate the spasmodic blip of excitement followed by silence? The crash bang moment when I hear my own voice, my exhortations of happiness and excitement. They are so loud, so crass in their unconscious fakery. A wise man told me recently that real power is packaged in silence. Now, those words fly into my heart, like all good words do, and as I stare out the window they take root. I can feel their fibres burrowing down, helping me to silently settle into the ride, the eternal moment of not knowing..