I’m so sad at how little joy I realized within my time with my ex-guy – borrowed this from Elena Tonra – she walks around with the same sadness – same regret for having not lived – too busy making everything so disappointing – until the doors are flung open – and the world takes on that mystical sheen – I have always been hanging out on the other side of the door, or looking for new doors, not content to stay in the comfort of what I know and how I see – which has meant that I’ve lived an uncomfortable life in this body – what’s coming for me now is the grounding inwards to arrive at the place where I’m seeking nothing on the outside – but from here to there feels like such an arduous odyssey – I fell asleep pondering my birth, how I took so long to make sure that I was really ready – I was comfortable see, so I took my time –there’s nothing premature about the way that I move – not sure if I’m seeking certainty; maybe I’m just on my own damn time –  and let them wait, because I am worth waiting for – but I wonder if I struggled, if I could hear the voices in the strange world, calling for me – wonder if worth was a question that coloured my soul – wonder what had happened to me the last time I was here that made me so reluctant to leave my mother’s womb – and yet, soon as I breathed my first air, something awoke and I was wild and free – creative, destructive, ready for the world, far from clinging to my mothers’ legs – charmed by my own magic hands – I wonder if our births can show us how to operate our machinery – or perhaps offer clues as to where we might short-circuit – Philip again came to me in the dream, to call me to the island – my car morphed into a bike, the road alongside a canal, which I rode into, white t-shirt sopping wet, bare feet trudging my wheels through the river mud, and yet I prevailed, dragged myself to dry land, to drip embarrassed at the cut of me but feeling determined to reach the sea, where I could see in my mind’s eye my friends bathing in the sparkling blue waters, irreverent, radiant, and I knew that I’d get there eventually, and I was in no hurry – and at that point the spirit of the mushrooms swooped playfully into the scene, and you were there, my beloved, though far from me in some way, busy dancing, cooking, hosting our friends – our parallel play – do you know that the psilosybes brought me here? – they told me to come to New Zealand; I applied to come to Highden in the wee hours of their afterglow – I remember they were slow to come on – carried me on the wind on my scooter ride home in the pre-dawn twilight – to where I made the first gesture towards my destiny, before falling asleep in my wooden bed before the day’s heat could creep through the window – I never questioned that impulse – not sure if they’re mischievous at all – to me they have the fleshy hands of little gods, come to give a nudge in a direction – guides to those apt to hang out too long – will they have me stay, or go? – I’m listening – the city outside has woken – garbage trucks swinging in their grinding hum – a sun trying to break through thick cover of clouds – and you my lover, separated from me by the stone sentinels of the sea, keeping the city out of the village – wondering how our pieces will fit back together now our parts have shifted again, subtly – sound, though my heart and body are mush – at last, I trust – there’s something solid in our mystery.