It's been almost four days now since we arrived in this blessed, dreamed land, and life has been so damn filling that I've been bursting within to express it to someone, whether electric or not.
I suppose as usual the temporal method of ascribing events would be best, but perhaps the blur of existence could be best conveyed in a more fitting, abstract story line. No worries, I'd say on the streets of Melbourne, advice I should take to heart now.
Jessica advises I begin with the total lack of visible poverty in this beautiful city, which although a somewhat underwhelming start, could be easily manipulated into a metaphoric introduction to our feelings here. Maybe: The hearts of Australia are ceiled, while the streets of our minds sleep barren and unrustled. No? I thought so. I guess I'll just start in the beginning. (Oh, by the way, I've decided that from now on on the all those occurences where I wish a word existed, I am just going to invent it anyway, so deal with it.)
Our trip here took 48 hours, and was suitably soaked in recycled air and drool, Jess providing one of those critical ingredients. I would like to deeply thank Jennifer Woodroff of Public Outreach for our wonderful seats located slightly above the fusilage of our aircraft, including the gulag-style feeding program and militant flight attendants. Our warmest regards Jen. Never the less, the extreme jet lag has stalked my every waking moment, most of which have been plumply stolen from my deserved sleep.
I have been mostly working since we arrived here, and the task of creating a thriving office, indeed creating a thriving country, has been rewarding and invigorating. Until I procure a home for Jess and I however it has been difficult to unwind and reflect, an essential part of such demanding days. Evenings of cheap scotch, misguided adventure, and a mysteriously salty rooftop pool do allow come element of relaxation however.
I must make mention of a beautiful moment in my life that happened upon me last night. Lately, as my journal will unhappily attest, I have been very torn about the directions and motivations my travelling life has wandered upon. Principally I have centered on the dissapearance of my previous travelling motivations, and the confusion that naturally besets us all when our paths become murky and unknown. Put simply, my first years of travelling echoed with purpose and direction, a resplendant passion and clarity unfound anytime previously in my life. As I have continued on my way though, the initial glow has faded as my goals were met, and I have worried hard recently about what my reasons for wandering still are, and what joys I can expect to pursue. Anyways, this is not time for a emotional tirade, fear not a recourse to those dark december days, rather a primer as to what peace decended last evening.
As Jessica and I stumbled off Fitzroy into the moonless calm of St. Kilda's beach, I found something I have looked for my entire life: a calm sky, the dirt of another earth, and the skies of a people I have never seen. The southern cross blazed crossways on the cosmic seal, and the echoed ghosts of my seasoned friends blew their Melbourne memories across my back. And the grains of sand fell from my fist. And the stars fell from my eyes.
I know one thing, that the spoken secrets of our heart are endlessly cheapened with their sharing, and held dearest when in concert with our silent lips. By speaking of the purest hearts I demean my passion, from my quieted skin you see a fradulent story, because we guage our greatest loves by their unshared audiences. So by writing here, in this most unpersonal and tarnishing forums, you can assume that I take lightly the occurances that grace my psyche. Maybe it is a grevious fault that I share this, I am open to the consternation, but please do not assume a moment told is a moment sold.
It was a very nice night. I found something I had put in a box a long, long time ago, and finding it again, forgiving, upon a strange island in the south oceans, I hope to never forget. There will be many years yet of wandering, should the moments grace me again, and please my glistened brow with the angelic peace of grace.
I suppose that's all for now, my thoughts turn over and over again to one source anyway, the pleasure of my place, and the gift of my companion.
G'Day,
Nicholas
No comments:
Post a Comment