The Present

For most people the unknown is terrifiying. After the past week, I have discovered that sometimes the 'known' is even more so.


When nobody knows you, it is like you are a blank canvas. You don't feel that you have to act a certain way, talk a certain way, be a certain person because nobody knows you. And the most beautiful thing you discover, is that you don't know yourself.

So you can be who you want to be.

When returning, you don't have that pleasure. You have already been typecast. You revert back to the old self. Everything that went between seems like nothing more than a dream, an illusion.

And it is an illusion. But so is this. When we go to the cinema we are aware that we are watching a movie, but for the movie to be effective, we need to get lost in it. We need to believe that it is real. We identify with the protagonist, we have to for the illusion to work, for the movie to become real. But at times we realise we are not in the movie. We are in a darkened theatre, watching.

The protagonist of the movie is the person that we see as 'ourself', our Ego. The person we think we are, the person that we create in our daily lives. But what exists behind that person? If we sit still, shut down the endless chattering in our head, what are we? We are awareness, watching a set of experiences, that we call 'reality'. Awareness is everlasting. Our bodies change, our friends change, our thoughts change, we change. But awareness doesn't. Awareness lasts forever.

When we are asleep, and we dream, we think that the person in the dream is us. We feel fear, we feel happiness, but in the end, we wake up. We are therefore both the person dreaming and the person being dreamed. 'Real' life is exactly the same. We are the person dreaming (our awareness) and the person being dreamed (the 'self)

When we realise that all is illusion, we do not give up on life. Quite the opposite. We make this dream, the best dream it can possibly be. Because it is all there is.

Years ago I dreamt of going to Australia. I dreamt that dream into a reality. Now that it is over, I'm not going to stop. I always dreamt of living in Brighton. Now I am dreaming that dream also into a reality. In a few days I will be living there. Not that happiness exists in travelling, or in living somewhere else. Happiness exists in only place it can. The present. Wherever that may be taking place.

This world is nothing but an illusion. So why don't we make it the best illusion it can possibly be? We exist in the eternal, never-ending present. So why do so few of us rip off the wrapping paper and see what is underneath?

Go on, rip off the paper. I dare you.

Frozen in a Moment

The heat is oppressive. You go outside and within minutes you can feel it dripping down your face, dripping down your hair, making your t-shirt stick to your skin. But you adjust, you get used to it. It is the natural state after all. Embrace the sweat. It's all that you can do.

I'm not complaining. I could sit out on the verandah for hours looking at the lush vegetation, listening to the birds and frogs, watching the lizards

I just miss being able to do things. When I think of a few weeks ago, cycling along East Point at sunset, people-watching, looking at the tropical sunset through the moisture, and thinking, "This is it. I'm here."

The last East Point sunset I remember vividly. I was smoking a cigarette on a bench looking out at the swollen orange sun hanging above the Timor sea. And I felt content. Not happy, not sad, just content.

A woman came near, with her daughter. The daughter had down syndrome. She didn't look like she spoke much, and she retreated to the corner, and looked away, to a place where she felt safe.

The woman had spent too many years in the blazing heat and her skin was shrivelled up like a used condom. But there was a kindness in her gait. Kindness and sadness. Sadness at how life can be so uninspiring, even in front of this ecclesiastical sunset.

For a few moments we sat in silence, watching the sun go down.

There were three figures which in the distance had looked like whales, or dolphins. But as they came closer it was clear they were people. People in rowing boats. I was thinking how stupid they were, as there were signs all around the beach saying it was dangerous to go into the water. Unless, of course you wanted eaten by a croc, or stung by a box jellyfish.

"Look at those silly people, out in the sea. Don't they know how dangerous it is"

It was the woman beside me. I agreed with her and went back to my sun gazing. But it was no use. A dam had been unlocked, and she didn't want to close it again.

So she talked and talked. Told me about her history, her life, her family, all that had brought her to this moment, watching another lonely sunset with her silent daughter.

I could imagine her, living alone with her daughter. Looking ater her, wondering who would when she was gone. Watching sunset after sunset. Alone. Silence. Endless silence all day. Endless silence to think about the past, to think of the people you met, and lost, to think of the people you never met, the things you didn't do.

Too much time alone is a dangerous thing.

My initial desire to experience this spiritual sunset with my constant companion of the past year, Solitude, was quickly surpassed by my desire to be nice to this woman. To listen to her, to talk to her.

Her daughter stayed at a safe distance, looking over occasionally, too frightened to come close.

As the sun went down over the horizon the old woman said,
"That was a disappointing one. I've seen better."
I laughed and said,
"There'll be another".
She then said she must go on, and that it was nice to meet me, and that she hoped I enjoyed the rest of my travels.

I remember cycling off and thinking to myself how sorry I was for that woman, how afraid I was of getting old, and how happy I was to be young, fit and healthy and on my bike in this beautiful part of the world.

That was the last sunset I saw overlooking the ocean in Darwin.

The next day was the day I fell off my shiny new bike.

The old woman and her daughter are probably sitting there right now, where they will always be sitting. Looking over the ocean, watching the sun go down.

Frozen in a moment.