Keep it simple, silly

Sunday, September 25, 2005

This trip is such a gift! It has taken my mind to the places it didn’t want to go, and shown me not only how few of them there are, but also how easy they are to overcome.

In essence, it has all boiled down to relationships: relationships I was uncomfortable with and relationships I was uncomfortable without. The same thing really, only seen from different perspectives. And in this moment, as the cicadas begin to chirp on this grey-pink evening, I find myself feeling as comfortable as ever with all the relationships that come to mind.

What happened? I came home. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I found that none of these relationships exist outside of me, and I came to see that every single ‘problem’ was nothing but a misperception on my part. I read between the lines when there was nothing there. There never is – that’s what empty spaces are for: nothing. I collated assumptions into stories and wrote a work of fiction.

And now the truth has come. The truth turns out to be love. The confusion came because I didn’t think I could love some people the way I love others. It turns out that not only is this untrue; it is impossible. I don’t love E any more than someone I believe has slighted me. I can’t. It is all the same, and love is the constant, for love is eternal.

And this is the thing: love is eternal, it knows no bounds or limitations. The human form is limited and is therefore not of love. It is not even E I love! Love is the space between us and it is so easy to enter when we share it. I do not love, for ‘I’ do not exist in love. Love simply is, and it is this understanding that we are coming to live in together.

It is such a beautiful thing, eternity.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Driving on. The first leg of my 48-hour journey back to Australia - the drive from Floyd to Roanoke. From there it was a bus to DC, a plane to LA, another one to Taipei, and finally one to Brisbane. It's a ways!

It started (and ended) with a kiss. A parting kiss before hopping on the bus and heading back to the lucky country. Only thing is, I like getting lucky with E!

Monday, September 19, 2005

I’ve re-entered Storyland. Outside, waves pound the crisp, clean sand; the sun shines through the day and the moon fills the night. Outside it is paradise.

In here, the narrator of Storyland lives in darkness. Shades of grey dim the bright lights of day as I curl into a ball in desperate need of warmth.

That’s a little dramatic, but you get the gist.

I am home again and have found that home is Storyland. All of a sudden I have stories about relationships, money, work, family, you name it – they all come ready-made and packaged neatly in Pandora’s boxes.

Like any good story, what they lack in truth they make up for in drama; and I find myself as principal actor, director, writer and producer of a black comedy that I just know I’ll find funny when I make it out into the audience.

But first I need to wake up. First I need to realise that none of it is true, even though it seems so real. Before I landed here, I was playing a role in a mystery – an adventure that could have gone in any direction at any moment, and wherever it went I would have been happy. Now I think I know what I want and so my role has changed – now I try to run the show in the hope that the improbable plot has a predictable end.

You see, it is still a mystery, only my interpretation of it has changed. Everything remains as improbable as ever, only now I imagine I have some control over it. And that is a story to write home about.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

I love simple directions. I’ve been following them to the best of my ability since I left the School for The Work in October, and they’ve taken me all sorts of interesting places. On Monday morning I was given a very simple direction: go back to Australia within nine days. The customs officer at the Canadian border was very clear about this: he said that if I stayed longer than nine days I’d be overstaying my visa, and that I would need to return to Australia before ever coming back to the States. Very clear, very simple.

So this leg of the journey is as good as over. Next Wednesday afternoon I fly out of LAX, landing in Brisbane Friday morning, and once again Australia becomes my home. For a couple of months, anyway.

It looks as though I have found a new home in Floyd. Deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains there is a woman willing to wait for my return. Here in south-western Virginia is someone I am willing to fly around the world for. And in a couple of months I should have a visa that allows our paths to meet for as long as it takes to know whether they are meant to intertwine or unravel.

So as one journey ends, another adventure begins. Isn’t it always the way? We’re never given more than we can handle, and often given just a bit more than we think we can. This time I’m being given two months to learn to want to be where I am when what I think I want is on the other side of the planet.

I’ve already been given a couple of practice runs: in the short time that E and I have known one another, I’ve already spent two extended periods of time away from her, and both times I suffered. It is so difficult, impossible even, to be centred and grounded when I’m wanting to be somewhere else. And when I’m not centred, naturally I’m unbalanced, and when I’m unbalanced I suffer. It follows.

Ironically, as I’ve been travelling through I’ve been working on becoming more grounded. For me, being grounded is simply being here, wherever that may be. I thought I found grounding in San Miguel and with E here in Floyd, and it’s quite possible I did. The other thing I found, however, was attachment to the idea of what that grounding meant. Consequently, I found myself crossing the Mexican border into Texas wishing I’d never left San Miguel, and therefore feeling lost and confused. Similarly, my recent visit to the wondrous Niagara Falls was not the happiest of outings either. Can you imagine? I was not ‘here’ on either occasion, and both times it was painful.

So now I’m being given two months to try again. It’s been said that nothing happens to us, everything happens for us, and that’s the perspective I’m taking with me on the airplane. Two months to love where I’m at, wherever that may be, whoever I’m with. Two months to free myself of the idea that I want to be thousands of miles away. Two months to come home.

I love simple directions; they give me so much to be grateful for.