Winter 2017, Golden Bay. NZ.
I had signed up to volunteer for a team of healers to find my call. As a healer myself I regret not really believing in less empirical or more spiritual forms of healing in order to make it an extra salary of something different and less physically demanding.
What I encountered there was the very face of my esceptic nature and a lot more vanity around than I could handle.
If days were hard to ignore, nights were the worst. I'd sleep in a tent, and mind you, to have a bit of insulation I had bought an air mattress. I was sleeping in a second hand bag, old school made of wool, all my clothing on top, a blanket from a neighbour and the cape of the tarot reading witch who slept in a caravan. Still, the temperature would drop to under 5 degrees and I couldn't handle the cold, that was numbing my legs. I had pitched next to a bunch of Kiwis, who seemed nice enough. I had made friends with a guy in his 40s, with whom i could take walks in the woods instead of taking drugs, dancing to electro ear-raping noise or spending the night howling (must have been the drugs, people howled all night). During the day I would be, as usual, the responsible adult covering shifts for my "I'm so high this is awesome" co-volunteers, running around to make sure everyone had coffee and slowly dreading a vibe everyone loved but me.
Moved from the Kiwis when a German pitched two days later in the middle of our tents with his car and his smelly joint smoking self. I had to go.
I moved to the spot where the sun would hit last, to suffer the least during the night, when I would get muscle cramps and feel rusty, in pain, uneasy. I cried so many nights, while the vanity-ridden crowd howled and all I wanted was that it all ended.
Quan penses que el viatge ha valgut la pena, per aprendre,
la nit escup gel i tremolor.
And when the noise, the smells and the sensations were unbearable, I would take my notebook and write mantras like:
What doesn't make you better doesn't serve you.
Aquest es llença, no es recicla.
Indiference will be your condemnation.
Damn! I really couldn't wait for it to end...
I was approached by many people daily, since I was there, arranging appointments for the healers, and the common question was: how are you enjoying this festival? My answer was: I can't wait for it to end.
Nobody understood.
In the meantime I attended a lot of workshops and made great contacts in the hopes to build an Earthship to raise a commune.
Time went and possibilities dropped, contacts faded.
I realise where I am now and how much distance you take from dreams, when you are struggling with reality.
15 de juny 2019
14 de juny 2019
Sydney
Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney...
your name like a person, like it is alive.
And I feel for you like Neruda did in his poem 20. I don't love you any more, but when I loved you, my face searched every night the harbour sunset to tell you, each night, before the stars started to tremble above the harbour bridge, before the moon painted Diamond Bay silver, down the hill on Clairvaux road: this is the life I want.
I don't love you any more, true, but maybe I still love you. Love is so short, forgetting eternal.
Eternity. The word that shone on the bridge in 2000, at the change of millennial. I repeated that to myself: ETERNITY. This is where I want to be, each day, every day. Forever.
I landed in Australia in 1998, after a more than a 24 hour flight, sitting with eager people, checking facts, getting excited each mile.
I moved in Vicar Street, coackroach paradise, memory lane. My days were lazy, dragging on after alcohol abuse, party, lust in easy prays and poor sleep from loud roommates. I couldn't drag myself to uni, all I wanted was to go down the beach, feel the sand soft like flour. Run, drink pineaple with ginger, run some more. Swim. Love. Dance.
I found the love twice in Sydney, the life changing one. And I chose Sydney above them each time. But you are there, and I am here and I would choose you every time above anything, anyone.
I came back in 99, in 2000, in 2002 and in 2010 I had decided to stay. But I wasn't a good fit, you had better plans than me.
If I have been able to accept my life without you, everything else doesn't matter much.
your name like a person, like it is alive.
And I feel for you like Neruda did in his poem 20. I don't love you any more, but when I loved you, my face searched every night the harbour sunset to tell you, each night, before the stars started to tremble above the harbour bridge, before the moon painted Diamond Bay silver, down the hill on Clairvaux road: this is the life I want.
I don't love you any more, true, but maybe I still love you. Love is so short, forgetting eternal.
Eternity. The word that shone on the bridge in 2000, at the change of millennial. I repeated that to myself: ETERNITY. This is where I want to be, each day, every day. Forever.
I landed in Australia in 1998, after a more than a 24 hour flight, sitting with eager people, checking facts, getting excited each mile.
I moved in Vicar Street, coackroach paradise, memory lane. My days were lazy, dragging on after alcohol abuse, party, lust in easy prays and poor sleep from loud roommates. I couldn't drag myself to uni, all I wanted was to go down the beach, feel the sand soft like flour. Run, drink pineaple with ginger, run some more. Swim. Love. Dance.
I found the love twice in Sydney, the life changing one. And I chose Sydney above them each time. But you are there, and I am here and I would choose you every time above anything, anyone.
I came back in 99, in 2000, in 2002 and in 2010 I had decided to stay. But I wasn't a good fit, you had better plans than me.
If I have been able to accept my life without you, everything else doesn't matter much.
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