Dream: a sensory vacuum and a baby called Lily

This dream starts in my own bed. 

It's not clear what the time exactly is. The blinds are drawn but light streams behind them - perhaps late afternoon? There is enough light to see that I am with P. The room is completely silent, as if we are in a body of water. Soon I become aware that my brain has dissociated from my body. The brain continues to throw around meaningless mindless things, but I cannot perceive any sensation from any part of the body. I can see what is happening and my brain projects the associated sensations, but I cannot actually sense them. 

As if my sensory cortex has completely died. 

I tell him that I cannot feel. My words float like pebbles across the still water, but they drop heavily with a thud. And I realise that in the same way I cannot feel, he cannot hear.  I look at his face and his expression is blank, as if possessed by some other-world spirit. 

I feel suddenly afraid, and I close my eyes almost reflexively. Then I descend into complete darkness. The blackness surrounds me totally, devoid of all sounds, smells and feelings. It feels like I am at the core of the universe and I am utterly alone.

Then I open my eyes, and he has gotten out of bed. He stands to the right of the bedside table drinking from a 600mL bottle of Pepsi. I thought that was strange since we both don't drink Pepsi? 

The scene cuts to us being in his car. We pull up in a parking lot outside a massive shopping centre. I have no idea where we are but it distinctly feels like America. We get out of the car and it is quite cool in temperature. 

Suddenly a woman comes out of nowhere and accosts us. 

How could you leave your baby like this? You animal! She shouts at him, trying to scratch him as she lunges closer. 

He swerves and she keeps shouting profanities at him. Then she turns to me. And where did you find this stupid whore? 

She is very close to me and she pulls at my hair. He tries to get her away from me. The struggle feels comically grandiose, as if we were part of some bad TV drama. 

All of a sudden she stops. She thrusts a small bundle into my arms and I see it is a newborn baby. 

Her name is Lily. She whispers and turns around. In a moment she is gone and I wake up. 

Dream: a blue blistered door

This dream starts with me standing outside my old place in Kingsford. It's a brilliantly sunny day and the sky is blue without a trace of cloud.

The building is as weary as ever, and a slight mustiness hits me as I open the front door to go up the stairs. My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, and I wonder how it came to be so dark inside when it never used to be that way.

Slowly I fumble my way up the stairs, taking what seems like a very long time. I get to the top of the familiar landing, and turn to the left where my old flat was. There is a little more light here and I can see that the doors are blue. A cheery blue, in between light and dark blue, just the ordinary type of colour that would suit the door to a storage room.

As I get closer to the door I realise the bronze letters on the door say 15 instead of 11. I wonder how the apartment could have changed its numbering system. Then I see that the door is actually blistered. Large pockets of paint have lifted from the door, as if something had impatiently pushed the paint out of the way in an attempt to escape. A faint warmth radiates from the door, making me think about whether there might be a fire inside.

Without using a key, I push open the door and smell the remnant of a fire. It feels like it has come and past, but the lingering smoke is still acrid. The internal structure of the flat is changed as well - I am standing in a passageway with the bedroom off to the right, and the kitchen/living off to the left.

I become aware of the sensation that someone else is in the flat as well. I tiptoe towards the bedroom. There is a lot of bedding strewn on the floor, and P is sitting amidst it all on a brown striped sleeping bag. I contemplate briefly whether I have ever seen this unusual pattern in a sleeping bag (but after I woke up I realise it is the same pattern as my pillowcase).

Then I see that he is well set up, as if he is squatting in my flat. There is a camping gas stove and some cooking stuff (a pot, tongs, cutlery) nearby; books seem to be scattered everywhere. He sits, intently reading a book that seems very familiar, and he is so absorbed he doesn't even look up to see me enter the room. As I get closer I realise that one of the books around him on the ground is the diary I had patched with a postcard of a woman eating a bunch of grapes when the front cover had fallen off. Then I realise that all the books on the ground are my diaries from various times in my life.

My heart races and I scream silently. Then I wake up. 

ADO Brisbane performance

Dream: tragedy at Ashfield station

This dream starts on a platform at Ashfield station. I am standing there with C, her fiance and Marek. Though there are several sparse light poles, it is almost completely dark and I can barely make out their faces.

All around us, trains are passing by. We are discussing where to go to get the train to the city. I suggest that we should go to platform 1... but what platform are we on now? platform 5? we are puzzled as there are very few visual clues.

Steadily, the crowd grows around us. None of the trains seem to stop, but the number of people on the platform is increasing exponentially. Soon Marek and I become separated from the other two, who are swallowed up without a noise by the crowd.

For the number of people there are, it is eerily quiet. We are still walking up the length of the platform when we see some steps leading up to an overbridge. Let's go up there and see if we can see a noticeboard. I say to Marek.

We start up the stairs, but then a rush of people come down the steps and Marek is lost. I am now alone and the stairs seem to never end. They weave left and right, but there is nowhere even to stop and have a rest as there are no landings to separate the flights. I feel out of breath and my legs are burning, but the swell of people behind me push me forward.

I take out my phone and call Marek. The phone goes to voicemail which is fragmented, as if someone tore up the recorded message and scattered them in the sky: please... tone...  message.. not...  It goes on and I hang up. I try calling C but the phone is silent. Suddenly I feel very afraid, my hands and feet cool from perspiration.

Unceremoniously and without warning. the stairs end and I am at the top. I struggle to remember, is this really Ashfield station? It is so dark I cannot see anything on the noticeboards. I decide to go to where I think platform 1 is, and as I go down the steps, weeds grow into them and intrude upon my descent. I trip several times, not being able to see where they are.

I look up and the moon is shining bright. It casts its rays over an area just to my right, revealing a high ledge that looks like a brick wall. I try to climb up the side of the stairs to get to that ledge, convinced that there I will find some answers. It is a rather difficult climb, but eventually I get there and sit down on the cool bricks, utterly exhausted.

It's a great vantage point from which I can see all 5 platforms of Ashfield station. The trains come and go in all sorts of random directions with no pattern to them.

No wonder we couldn't find the train to the city. I think to myself.

Then I see them, dark shadows leaping from the tops of trains. All of a sudden, the truth is crystal clear - to get onto the right train, one must get on top of the train and jump from train to train - these trains cannot be boarded in a normal way. I feel overwhelmed with the idea of doing this though, and feel rather heavy in my heart.

Then I see Marek's shadow on top of a train. Tall and thin, it's definitely him. I stand up and begin to shout to him, but before the words leave my mouth, I see him leap into the air, trying to make it onto the top of the next train. In impossibly slow motion, I see his body falling, having missed the train altogether. Before he hits the ground, I see his body propelled forward in an extraordinary fashion. With a truly sickening feeling in my stomach, I realise that another train has hit him.

My heart feels like it will burst out of my chest. Then I wake up. 

Dream: Marrickville and the elephant sanctuary

In this dream it is dark. I am with Grace and we are off to meet some people for dinner in Marrickville.

We are at a bus stop which appears unfamiliar to me. The bus arrives and I cannot recognise the number or the route, but we get on anyway. It is terribly dark inside the bus, and we can barely see where we are going. We sit and silently watch the abandoned streets pass by.

After some time, we still have no idea where we are. No one else is on the bus, and I start to feel more and more restless. I check my phone for a GPS signal so that the map can show us where we are going, but there is just a flashing blue dot on the screen.

We must get off, I tell Grace, and I press the button. At the next stop, the bus pulls up outside a train station. A sign outside says Central, but it looks nothing like the real Central station (or any other train stations I've been to). We descend the steps as Grace protests that the trains are unsafe in this city.

I look at the clock and it is just after 7pm. We are not going to make it in time, I tell her, we must hurry and find the right train. We try to buy a ticket but all the ticket machines are switched off. There is a ticket booth but no-one inside. The whole station is abandoned.

We go down several escalators to a platform, and an old steam train pulls in. Just as we jump on the train, my phone starts ringing.

And then it cuts to the next scene. We are in an elephant sanctuary and have just reported for work. Grace is the vet and I am the elephant keeper. I feel greatly relieved as I don't think I would be any good at being a vet, especially of elephants!

There are about a dozen elephants in the sanctuary. A few of them are babies, the smallest one being the size of a horse and absolutely adorable. My job is to feed them, observe their activity patterns and do some record keeping. Occasionally the elephants will break into a playful fight, trumpeting loudly from the other side of the reserve. They seem to respond well to me though, and when I show up the fight is broken.

I love my job, and I love the elephants. Then one day I notice that two of the male elephants are both interested in one of the female elephants. I wonder if some of the previous fights have been over her, and I approach Grace to ask about the mating patterns of elephants. She ponders the question and pulls out the files on those elephants, looking at them carefully.

You must keep this elephant away from her. She says solemnly.

Why? I ask.

Because they will make really ugly little elephants. She says without a trace of expression.

Then I wake up. 

Dream: J and a military coup

Some years ago, I met a man who was quite into the remote areas of Yunnan - the history, the early explorers who lived in the area, and the mountains. We spent Christmas of 2008 looking for Catholic Tibetans in a remote valley. Here he appears in my dream.. for no apparent reason.

The dream starts in a holiday resort. It is so non-descript it could be anywhere in the world. The beach is wide and sandy with no distinguishing features. A row of umbrellas and deckchairs line the slightly grubby sand, complete with a gaggle of sunburnt tourists slathering themselves with suntan lotion.

I feel a minor sense of annoyance at being in such a place, not really my choice of holiday destinations. But I soon realise that I am with my friend J who has just married this man. I feel puzzled and struggle to fill in the gaps - how did they meet? how did they come to be married?

We are walking along the beach when we hear loud explosions.. not unlike firecrackers, or gunfire. All around us, people are getting up from under the umbrellas and shouting in a confused way. Many start running in the direction of a tall building at the end of the beach which looks like the hotel. Some start running in the opposite direction, where there is an empty highway.

Something bad is happening. I say to my companions. We must leave immediately.

They say that we must go back to the hotel to get our things, and J complains about being in a dress - how can I escape while wearing a dress? I will be found out for sure. My mind is blank as we walk as quickly as we can towards the hotel.

As we approach, I realise that the front of the lobby has been completely overtaken by heavily armed men. Gunshots are still ringing out from some distance away, and the crowd are murmuring about a military coup. We go into the carpark entrance, thinking that we can access the lift from the carpark. When we press the up button, we realise that all the lifts are stuck on level 16.

Still standing at the lift, we argue about what to do next. The sound of gunfire comes closer and closer, and we can see armed men entering the carpark. We start to run in the opposite direction, and as we emerge from a difference entrance of the carpark, I see a steam train. There are so many people hanging off the train that it is difficult to see where the doors are.

We must get on this train. I shout. This is our last chance!

J continues to grumble about her dress and the man is complaining about the money he left behind in the hotel room... I feel panicked as the train sounds the very last toot-toot!  Then I wake up. 

Weekend in Murrurundi

J and I both felt like we needed to have a break from our lives, so we set out for a long weekend in the sleepy depths of August. We wanted to go to Barrington tops, but some twist of fate led us to Murrurundi..

Setting out one sunny morning, we stopped in Newcastle for lunch at the excellent One Penny Black. This place was so hipster that there wasn't even a sign outside!

Top: Beetroot, roast pumpkin and quinoa salad.
Bottom: Roasted field mushrooms, leek & chive hash brown, a couple of perfectly poached eggs and goat cheese on sourdough.

After such a virtuous healthy lunch, I thought we could have chips for dinner! Before that we had to pop into Doughheads for a chocolate smores doughnut.

Driving up north, we planned to stop in Morpeth for some sourdough. Alas the store had just closed, and we ended up wandering into the teapot festival instead. What an incredible selection of teapots! We happened to be there on one of the three annual days set aside for tea drinking, and J acquired a beautiful Japanese sakura-patterned teapot.

When we got back into the car, we had a real fright when we put Murrurundi into the GPS and saw that it would be another 2 hours. The sun dipped low, burnt brilliant orange, and eventually went to sleep behind the horizon.

It was dark after Muswellbrook, and when finally managed to find our accommodation, we were completely floored by the incredible starry sky.

We went out to the White Hart Hotel, apparently the place to have dinner in town. A wedding was on, and plenty of guests were jolly drunk. A live music band came to play, and they weren't half bad. I asked if any of the handful of carnivorous menu could be made vegetarian, and the lady replied she could take the chicken out of the pasta.

Hence I was served pasta with bacon and mushrooms... Evidently bacon is not real meat!

The next day we woke to heavy clouds in the valley, which soon turned into rain. We visited the geriatric horse Rumba in her paddock before retreating inside to a rustic breakfast of homemade bread and a selection of preserves. I particularly adored the ginger jam, and the cute Turkish saucers.

Rumba

We drank tea and played the antique piano, which was a fascinating experience. The piano was in reasonable tune, but everything was shifted one tone down. Playing something in E major shifted it to D.. C became B flat etc. If I closed my eyes and relied on muscle memory, or if I looked at my hands very closely, I could play just as usual and experience the music in a completely different light. However, the auditory dissonance became unbearable if I tried to match my fingers to the music.. Tchaikovsky's October in C minor? June in F minor? Chopin's A minor waltz in G minor? It was like eating all my favourite dishes in a different flavour. Incredible.

So many horsies!

We got distracted by this baby cow which was on a paddock with a herd of horses. The thunder and lightning were causing the horses to behave somewhat erratically, but they stood around the calf and seemed to be protecting it. The dairy cows on the other side of the fence didn't seem to pay any attention to a baby of its own kind at all, so we wondered if that farm had bought just a cow.. or whether its mother had come to ill health.

By the time we got to town, it was pouring. In fact, the rain timing itself with any time we went walking became a recurrent theme. We poked around the pink house shop with all sorts of interesting knickknacks, including over 3000 salt & pepper shaker sets. The man who owns the shop travelled all over Oz with his wife before settling down in Murrurundi - they had a map of Australia covered in black squiggles detailing their route, a true sight of envy!

Then we sat down to have a lazy long lunch at Telegraph Cafe, and were surprised by how tasty the food was.

Top: Baked camembert with walnuts, figs and honey. Perfectly gooey, the sweetness balanced the richness of the cheese.
Left: Eggplant ragu on a bed of polenta. More goats cheese!
Right: Chocolate cherry pot, with a sprig of wildflowers from the garden.

Inside Cafe Telegraph 

These buildings were incredibly old - the telegraph office was over 100 years old, and the white hart has been there for 150 years. Everywhere we went in Murrurundi, we met interesting people - lots of seachangers, grey nomads, people with stories to tell.

Random images of town

Michael Reid gallery

The Michael Reid gallery had a lush garden full of flowers and vine leaves. Inside was an exhibition of pencil print animals with strangely disturbing black dots signifying their blood(?) and slaughter. Outside a cuddly brown lab wandered the puddles and we marvelled at how such a place can be.. well, in the middle of nowhere.

Sunday dinner at the White Hart was even more quiet. The barman explained that pasta & pizza night on Sundays comes from the busy trade of the weekend leaving the pub with relatively few ingredients before the next week's delivery. Now that's the stuff us city folk never even think of. On our way to dinner, we managed to get bogged down in the grass as it had rained so much. Never felt like such city girls before!

Rain is different in the country. One can hear it approaching even before you feel the raindrops, like the sound of a wave. Raindrops on the tin roof of the shed were almost musical. After the rain came a brilliant patch of sunshine, which saw us squelching outside in the mud to take some glorious photos of the shed.

We stopped in Scone on our way home for lunch at the super popular Kerv Cafe.

Though the corn fritters were too doughy, the frittata was perfectly light and wobbly. Then it was a long rainy drive home, and our weekend getaway seemed so quick all of a sudden.

Finally, a few more photos from Gilly's amazing shed.

She has lovingly restored Runnymeade as a residence, and completely renovated the shed into a B&B style accommodation. The shed is decorated with a quirky collection of eclectic finds, and it feels like one has walked straight into a treasure trove (or an antique shop!)

Of course my favourite piece was the 115yo Berlin piano, complete with candlestick holders.. just imagine how that piano started life..