To be loved softly,
with stripped back, bare faced, eyes wide honesty.
To not throw fuel on your lust or theatrics into your kiss, just let it wash over us in a smouldering, easy exhale.
Recline barefoot together, vulnerable, simple and courageous.
Eyes open, hearts raw,
In the burning light of your freedom I glow, and each hour is an honoured gift impossible to hold or loose.
Just here, we are loved,
Works finished and I’ve stepped into this lovely relaxed hazy space - no more anxious rush. Leaving soon, for Chile the taste of this Melbourne era is fading and more like an aftertaste already. A scent even.
I’m anticipating some mild sentimental panic around the edges of my feelings but mostly there is a real sweet deep calm.
I’m not trapped or frustrated but stepping off into my right life.
Happiness, expansion, challenge, I’m not giving up my 20s just yet and am excited to meet the family who are waiting for me - we are moving towards each other, closer each day. New Love.
And all around is the unconscious grief of those I leave behind for now.
Once you’ve reset your body clock in tune with Argentina’s party capital, Vicky Baker directs you to the best places to enjoy a taste of its legendary nightlife
Actually, I can’t wait to leave Melbourne. I’m growing tired of my peers, bored by the demographic microcosm we inhabit. Everything feels like a cheap mirror and in it’s warped reflection I see nothing but my own self absorbed neurosis, going round and round. I see in myself what makes me so bored of others. All our tiny lives and routines seem full of meaning when viewed individually but after a while, every festival going, account managing, half married, half not, meditating, skyscraper building, twentythirty something yogini life moment becomes nothing more than a drumbeat in this repetitive song of predictable contradictions. Pop culture sameness is eating my life one soy latte at a time, while the rest of the world starves.
I’ve had endless grand visions boil over into tiny plans for tiny holidays sandwiched between endless emails, safe distance romances and health-kicks. I can hear the next sentence before it comes out of my mouth, or yours creating a sense of rehearsed detachment and diversion from presence. I feel trapped in a sleepless dream. In this state my interactions become one-way as I’m smiling, telling jokes, not really listening, just creating atmosphere with my preferred variety of small-talk because what I really want to say would take terrifying hours that you never signed up for and what you want to say I’m convinced I’ve already heard. You must be able to feel it.. the distance? Or does my linguistic enthusiasm mask it? Maybe you expect nothing more.
When these moments build up the space between hearts gets so vast it’s hard to hear a pulse. I begin to loathe myself for lacking empathy, for being dismissive and uninterested. I feel like a neurotic cunt and want only to be alone. I retreat and then fight compulsive urges to mindlessly explore other peoples image managed lives on facebook. That in itself is a bizarre irony, a feedback loop of disconnection that I can’t quite understand.
I’m scared of family, desperate for intimacy, growing apart from my friends. I feel as Anais Nin once said, “to be trapped in the chamber of the neurotic”… Quite clearly, it’s time to go.
Time to set out from my own self imposed bubble, step away from the mirror and into the world, into nature. I wish to be naked and silent in huge expanses of uninhabited, untouched, fertile interconnected life. Air, dust, water and sun rinsing every frustrated, exhausted, contradicted cell of my being. Stars and seasons putting me in my place, a new song humbling me and stripping off all this dramatic, obsessive anxiety. I want to go home to the earth and see beauty again.
It’s spring, so we’re opening windows and going places. This week we have stories of people who, for reasons that they can’t always explain, feel compelled to get out and go somewhere. Including the story of one man who decides to take a trip from Philadelphia to San Francisco — by foot.
So many ways to go
All this wanting,
and letting go, and asking
Loving, paining, despising and always looking in from the outside,
through a life sized lense.
The island of perception,
is a microscopic cage.
I wish you would crawl into my brain, sit there in my heart,
see out my eyes and feel what I feel, be inside me, as I be,
or I you.
We break apart into one, reveal ourselves in flesh, striving, with slow, measured ripples.
Building bridges of sweat and breath.
Slide wet against the peripheries of closeness, hanging from the castle gate, moaning.
I retreat, with grazed knuckles.
The island cage becomes a fortress,
a sanctuary, a holy lonely outpost,
the sacred cave of singularity.
And I’ll rest there, exhausted and empty
from all this wanting
and letting go and asking,
I’ve heard it a thousand times, but its still one of my all time favourite love songs.
Out on the edges, lost at home.
A familiar strangers arms.
Fear draws me closer and eyes open.
Has time looped back on us?
No, the scale tips to innocence, and so begins the dance.
Lift flesh and thoughts, raise a queen made of dust and scatter her back to the wind.
Sparkling, we disappear.
Apparitions between the worlds.
Im thinkin my summer is kinda gonna feel like this