Black hole sun
Won’t you come
And wash away the rain
She suddenly realised that her ha-ha moments and a-ha moments were intrinsically entwined. The rising of this sun would obliterate most people on that planet. Humour rushed out through her pores with the force of annihilation tied around its core. She had dreamed of the snake wrapped around her spine weaving its way around her vertebrae, but the symbol escaped her. She understood the animals and their desires for survival. They lived most of their lives in fear and they welcomed her energies, which felt foreign to them but remarkably good. She had seen the snake fall away from her and land on the ground at her feet. It then burned itself up in a pile of ashes. Other smaller snipers she had noticed coiling round her shoulders and back, soon they also fell away. Her body began to glow unnaturally. Golden sheens and metallic hues assumed themselves on her skin. She understood intrinsically she would make it through this.
He finally stepped out of the woods into the clearing. Time had stood still in that space and he pulled himself away from its heaviness. The animals all gathered here, from every variety. Predators and prey stood together in an uneasy alliance. Birds circled the space creating a wind spiral that gathered sounds and objects in its strength. Beyond this the silence was supernatural. In the centre the snakes coiled and knotted themselves into a sculptural form rising up. He hadn’t noticed the woman at the edges for a long time. She stood there glowing and untouched by the great lion at her side. She absently curled her fingers through his mane and his eyes remained half-closed. A swallow came to land on her other hand and she held it up in front of her. This was a very good sign and it changed everything.
I could not escape
A plea from the heart
Mysterious sympathyCrowded House
Eastermystic had heard the news but she hadn’t believed that a carrot could do such tricks. She had consulted the charts and had endless conversations with sages and seers. The laylines crossed over perfectly where the body was entombed and was another tick on her list of hallelujahs.
She had the help of Zoe Smitten, previously mistaking her for a plain household cat. Smitten had her own delicate powers that went beyond stalking and hunting. She was a superior burrower. Eastermystic had known of some great burrowing heroes in her warren, but Smitten far outweighed them. She had started as a kitten burrowing under bedsheets to outrun the cold, and had then progressed to blankets and heavy quilts. Her work at the tomb had proved magnificent and Eastermystic had easily made her way in with carrot in tow.
This was no ordinary carrot like the ones that were sold at the dusty, old markets of this desert town. This carrot had been left by His female counterpart Mary Magdalene. She was a hidden priestess, for women with power could not be acknowledged in public or it would drive the men insane. One evening she had come to Eastermystic and whispered such sweet words of eternity to her. She had embued her with the power of courage to entertain thoughts of pursuing this very special mission.
It couldn’t have gone any easier. She had taken the carrot through Smittens expert tunnel and made it into the quiet dark place where His body lay. The cold corpse was only casually wrapped in linen from Turin, and she had accidentally left her face print on it in her haste to unwrap His face. As Magdalena had advised her, she only chewed off a small piece of carrot then dropped it into His mouth. She wasn’t ready for such tricks and fell over backwards when His eyes opened. Jesus, she had shouted both as a question and an exclamation! The carrot had worked its magic. He was alive again!
You know what’s so good about the truth?
Everyone knows what it is however long they’ve lived without it.
April Wheeler, ‘Revolutionary Road’
The gift from her father was cloaked in tyranny, terror, rage, and bloodshed. Her life was kept well hidden in the towers of the impossible fortress, away from the varied textures of the world. She paced her cage like a wild animal waiting for the keymaster to turn its back so she could bear witness to her own great escape. Her older brother free as the bees played merrilyin the fields, and her sister escaped her own imprisonment by marrying young. This girls escape would eventually come through the crescendo of her voice. The devastating gift given to her became the changing of her being and in fact gave her a voice. When that voice came it was large and sat inelegantly in her slight frame. It was her ‘first’ voice and there were others yet to come.
This voice echoed the furious noise of the beast. The howling banshee raged against the ‘machines’ devastating stereotypes. She rejected hypocrisy, social archetypes, and roles of pre-established patterns of behaviour. She refused to play the roles that her parents or society wanted to impose upon her. When Gwen Stefani furiously sang I’m just a girl in the world, that’s all that they’ll let me be she encapsulated what this girl’s migrant Croatian family expected of her. She was fated to marry, breed, and play house, but destiny had other plans. As Johnny Cash wrote she went out there in search of experience to taste and to touch and to feel as much.
Let a wild thing out of her cage and she will run for years crazily releasing everything she has held back for too long. Unleashed and exploding into the new world she has an extreme view of life battling the blue sky, awkwardly baring her fangs trying to catch up on all she has missed. When the time came the ringed globe compelled her to walk under the atomic sun of her Croatian Ancestry, her tribe held a mirror to her soul and declared “This is who you are!” The realisation of her Australian identity inspired her to kiss that Great Southern Land.
During her 36th Summer, the God of the Underworld saw the trail of destruction left behind her. Her heart lay in tatters in the gutter, fragile and forlorn in want of recuperation. Most of her heart skew-whiffs were made as a reaction to the memory of her gatekeeper. The perils of magnificent love eluded her, as she took great care to handpick men of weakness. She laid claim to fantastic acts of sabotage and enforced herself with beliefs taken from quotes in the novel ‘The Leopard’ Marriage is a year of fire and a lifetime of ashes.
Divine timing eventually made its stand when a King wandered in from the city streets paved in gold. Her perceptions about love and marriage entered a transformation, and were then given a fresh lease of life. The King gave her a ring of infinity and became her husband at her 40th Spring.
Amidst the journeys of lifetimes she came into her ‘second’ voice. It sings sweeter songs of authenticity. It is instinctual, sensual, earthy, feminine, and is focused on a passionate representation of the Divine. It is a voice of strength that is able to withstand her husband’s tribe and their dark spells of obedience, that allude to the olde world from her dark days in the tower. The ego of his clan becomes a faded sound unable to ignite firestorms within her as would have happened in days gone by. She realises she has come a long way.
Her voice is grounded in firm foundations innately connected to a higher source. There are rumblings of a new sound coming and with it a new voice. This voice has been buried for some time in lost worlds of corporate buildings and money making machines. It is an archaeological relic which if navigated successfully will for her be considered an evolutionary achievement of a lifetime.
This is the voice of the Artist that has played in the background like a ghost struggling to be heard. She has created her own fortress around her creator self as it steps tentatively out into the spotlight. The Artist’s Tribe she identifies with has now become her family. They understand the madness contained within her and embrace it. Being normal had always exhausted her. This tribe give her a sense of belonging that she has never known before. Her emerging artist’s voice is treated with kindness in artist’s camps with master printmakers helping coax it from the darkness. It is an awkward and ungainly voice and has a sense of wildness about it at every turn. But, she recognises she can make friends with the simple grace of this her ‘third’ voice.
Peter Devastation and I go way back, to ancient times and civilisations. He knew the minute the mad, bad tap dancer started playing The Pixies ‘Debaser’ would be the Melbourne tram I would emerge from. The impact of such confirmations pulls at our heartlings and makes such wet faces. We had forgotten the wild portals that our mutual energies would encourage. We rubbed each other up the right way, a whirlwind of madness with us as its epicentre. Looking up we marvel at the pea-green sky, and turn to find seduction in art. She beckons us with her distinct visages of vintage, horror, and fantasy. Outside the storm has found us and unleashes it fury with great vengeance. We find ourselves the principal actors of this disaster movie. Hail has decided to smash down this town and the zombies just sit and stare. As the ceiling collapses in the gallery and the water pours in, the world turns into slow motion and time slows down. This is no way to die, ankle deep in water dodging electrical cables, in just a pair of thongs.
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