Today, every word, every brush stroke, met with judgement. While I enjoyed the colours meshing and colliding, there was nothing in those moments of pure creation that I wanted to keep. Nothing I judged worthwhile enough to commit to posterity. I suppose that’s okay too. I remember a time when I wandered quite happily in my head, and no acts of imagination seemed too wild – all could be pondered and explored, embraced and then let go.
When you have lost large pieces of your life and put them back together, I suppose a sense of disconnect is not unexpected. Attachment to thoughts is different too. You seek moments of brilliance, and your inner perfectionist has to settle for mediocrity.
I will not settle, however, for less than a return to that dreaming state.
This afternoon I felt exhausted and light-headed. I rested on the bed for a moment, and it was as if I stepped back in time to some other half-sunny place. Outside was an expansive sense of spring, and it seemed at odds with the midwinter, but then not. I had to go to an appointment and listened to tales of holidays in Hawaii and Mexico. My first thought was – I couldn’t go there – not with all that sun.
Given a choice, would I? If the sun had not become an enemy, where would I go? I do miss the beautiful beaches of my childhood and early adult life. I would “go bush”, walk to a mysterious billabong, bowed down to by eucalypts and sandstone cliffs. I would cross rivers infested with crocodiles, trap tadpoles, and weave grasses into bracelets. I would wonder about my brothers catching yabbies, and what a yabbie was. I never did get to see one.
Where would you go if you didn’t automatically say, “I can’t” or “I couldn’t”? What places in memory would open up? Would you be, as I was for a moment, ten years old, and “gone bush”? Would you come back?