Day 30

... I am going away... to an unknown country where I shall have no past and no name, and where I shall be born again with a new face and an untried heart.

Colette

There is something I haven’t told you. Something dark and deep within me, like a great monster waiting to come out. But you’ve guessed already, haven’t you? Why should I lie to you? Hide things from you? It’s crazy, but I have made “you” so real in my mind that I have been scared to write the words. Scared because I was afraid I wouldn’t go through with it. Right up until this moment there has been the possibility that I would back out, change my mind, think “better” of it. The future is a comforting place sometimes. We like to imagine that it isn’t, that we’re chafing at delay and desperately anticipating what is to come. But as long as it is in “the future” it is very easy to be brave. We can do anything – in the future. It is only once the future becomes the here and now that we must find the courage to see ourselves for who we truly are. And so I hid. I pretended. I evaded. Anything but admit to the hope within me.

Even when I began to take action, nothing was irrevocable. I might waste money, might make life inconvenient for myself, but I could change my mind. Do something different. It is only right now, as I write these final words, that I know where this month has led me. And I wanted to finish the month. This month has become my special time in the wilderness, a retreat and sacred preparation for whatever comes next. I could have acted on my decision ages ago but I couldn’t let go of the idea that this month was somehow important. I needed to live it in full and experience all that it had to offer me before I could move on. Like Frodo, dangerously delaying his departure, awaiting the auspicious date before embarking on the greatest and most dramatic quest ever seen in Middle Earth. Now I have passed through my own rite of passage and I am ready to emerge from the Underworld. Or descend into it? At this time of year, my actions should reflect descent, not rising. An ominous thought, but then, descent is just as important as rising, isn’t it? And maybe it is wrong to see one as negative and the other as positive. Descent is more suggestive of travelling into the unknown and undertaking a daring adventure into the arcane mysteries. Descent is the more powerful of the two. Or at least that is how I choose it to be right now. And so, I descend.

Funnily enough, it was the TV screens that decided me. All those brightly flickering screens continuing to pour out information to empty, glass-lined buildings, right throughout the night. I realised that this strange land in which I live contains every possible benefit for one prepared to see. There are hospitals and other buildings that never close, places where it is possible to be safe if that is what one wants. Places to see and learn and watch. But always the possibility to move out beyond, into the darkness, to become witness to the unwitnessed. Like an owl. Or a bat. We live in a world of commercial expedience in which the capability of a person is ignored in favour of efficiency. Fewer and fewer people are employed to areas of specialisation, all in the name of reducing “dead money”. Those remaining are expected to become jack of all trades, to multitask and be all things to all people. In other words, to become grey and plastic and not unique or individual at all. Individuality and capacity have little place in a “one size fits all” economy. We are asked to be machines, and in the process, society attempts to kill off exactly what is most precious and astonishing of all: the incomparable and remarkable creative vision of the human being.

But the night remains open and alive. And such is the insanity of commercial expedience that information, energy and possibility are perpetually squandered. Squandered, or offered up as a gift to those who find no place in a plastic world? Gandalf reminds us that all that is within our gift is to choose how we will respond to the world we find. Well, I have found a world that rejects me and highlights to me my very uselessness, whilst at the same time opening doors into the vast question of darkness. There are free gifts aplenty available to anyone who seeks them. Light and temporary shelter, mystery and opportunity. Toilets and showers designed for tourists but available to all comers. Soft sand and myriad empty streets on which to walk. And in the daytime, green parks and shady trees under which to sleep.

Even so, could I choose this lightly? No. Not lightly at all. I am terrified. Truly and utterly terrified. And that is why I was so convinced that I would change my mind and find an excuse to return to who I have been. But, when all is said and done, the options open to me are simply a choice between fears. There is no smooth and happy path. There is danger, or there is emptiness. Everything in me tells me that I do not have the right to choose danger. All my upbringing, everything I have learned – tells me that it is my responsibility to choose safety and predictability, to be a drone in a world of drones. But all that has not made me quite afraid enough it seems. “They” would tell me that the emptiness is my friend but I do not believe them. For all that I fear the darkness, a yet greater fear remains. The fear of that emptiness, that true death, compared with which, the death of the body seems a small and irrelevant thing. If these are the options presented to me, then I have made my choice.

I felt like a fraud, visiting the camping shops, comparing what they had to offer and getting as many ideas as possible for living as large as possible with the fewest possible possessions. It was like walking around with a great sign above my head, “Crazy woman here! Don’t serve her!” But apparently no one was able to see or read the sign. How often is that true? How often do we walk around with those great, glaring, neon signs above us, terrified of all we are revealing, only to discover that no one has seen anything at all? We see only our own journeys and even that which walks in front of us, in plain sight, is invisible to us.

The more I investigated options, the more I realised I didn’t know and the crazier I felt. But I knew that it would not help me to spend hours in research, trying to become proficient. My brain simply doesn’t work that way. I did do a little googling. And I caught buses and trams, walking around different stores to compare prices and ideas. I spoke to people about camping expeditions. I tried on back packs, looking for the most comfortable, spacious, flexible, light and water proof I could find. I tried on clothes. And began to feel like a child planning a daring “let’s pretend” adventure. That made it easier in the end. I turned the whole thing into a game in my head, and after all, isn’t that what life is? The best and most daring of games? I chose and changed my mind, endlessly juggling all the possible pieces, trying to come up with the “best”. I tried on trousers that unzip to become shorts; I loved the idea of them. But in practice I was afraid that the extra friction would risk discomfort. So I chose the trousers that seemed best for both strength and softness, that would provide sufficient warmth in winter but be wide-legged enough to allow air flow in summer. Trousers that could be rolled up to allow me to splash through puddles. And waves.

For underwear I had a sudden brain wave. I bought tankinis. In those I can shower in public without raising a single eyebrow. And I can splash through water to my heart’s content. I was quite proud of my thinking with them. They are comfortable and feel like the full sensual experience of life resting against my skin. And I now also own, as well as two breathable, roll-up long-sleeved shirts, two super-soft fleeces that hug me like the softest pillow. And to finish, comfortable shoes and socks, and a pair of thongs I can kick on and off at will. And, of course, a waterproof to help protect against rainstorms and a chamois towel that will be compact and hopefully cope with being damp as I move around.

There are always more and more things I could buy. Intriguing things, that start to feel like toys as I investigate everything I might have. I imagine that trying to buy for a first baby must be a bit like that. Suddenly you are confronted with a whole range of consumer items you never had any thought or need for before. And, having no experience, it is bewildering to see so many new “necessities” and “optional extras” paraded in front of you. How many do you really need? Which are the best options? Which, in the long run, will you find you have no need for, and which will you regret not purchasing? Despite my apparent disdain for possessions, I found myself wanting to buy more and more.

But I want to walk. I love to walk, to feel the rhythm of my feet becoming part of the earth’s heart beat. It is as I walk that I feel my sense of belonging. It is like my communication with the land. I talk to it through my footsteps, ask its permission to pass, seek knowledge of it and offer it my own story in return. Therefore it is important that I travel as lightly as possible and not have my thoughts and senses distracted by unnecessary ongoing discomfort. I have seen the people who have appropriated shopping trolleys as their “mobile homes” and push all their belongings around that way. That wouldn’t work for me. I want greater range and flexibility. Thus, with regret and also an exhilarating sense of freedom, I have kept my new life as small and portable as possible.

Giving notice on my apartment was fairly easy because it didn’t really feel final and irrevocable. It might be problematic to find somewhere else where I could afford to live alone, but not absolutely impossible. Undertaking a final cleaning whilst still living in the place has been a pain, but getting rid of stuff turned out to be ridiculously easy. Lifeline trucks came yesterday for nearly everything. I told them I was moving overseas and starting fresh. What has been more challenging has been writing my resignation email: “effective immediately” (isn’t that a wonderful phrase? I’ve always wanted to use it!). That provoked more of a reaction within me. It was short and easy to write, with no explanation required. After all, what are they really going to be able to do about it? But writing it made the whole thing that much more real and imminent. Just to challenge myself that little bit more, I put it on delayed send, so that it would go automatically at the right time. I wouldn’t have to make that final decision. It would make itself. It will have gone this morning, while I’ve been writing. Fortunately my boss does not tend to read emails over the weekend, so he will have that little pleasure on Tuesday, when he returns from the long weekend, no doubt confidently expecting my return from sick leave!

Money has turned out to be the easiest thing of all, at least for the moment – until I run out. Lyn, my friend in Canberra, has offered me the use of her address. I am now officially her lodger. She hasn’t even asked me what I’m really doing. She’s like that, and I marvel at her cheerful willingness to offer help without ever asking why. I am blessed. So the bank will hopefully not be immediately alerted to anything suspicious and I will eat my savings as slowly as I possibly can. After that, who knows? Perhaps I will have learned other means to survive. Or I will decide on a new life by then. Or I will be dead. That thought makes me shiver with horror, but I have to accept that possibility.

The only last thing I need to do is re-set my iPad and give it away. I have already picked a neighbour who could really use it and who will hopefully get a real surprise to discover what she now unexpectedly owns. I’d kind of like to see the look on her face when she finds it on her doorstep, parcelled up to look uninteresting, so as not to attract potential thieves. But I won’t. I will be gone. Everything seems so empty and forlorn now, even less like it belongs to me than ever. I really am itching now to move, to feel the earth beneath my feet, but it is important to me to write these last words. I have so faithfully kept up my pact to myself to have this month of reflection. I will not abandon it on this very last day. I will write the end of my old life and send it into the ether with all the rest. Who knows, I may be able to enter a library one day and re-read it.

Shouldn’t I feel more regret at all that I am abandoning? It seems strange that I don’t. But then, perhaps that was always the point. I discovered that I will not allow myself to be defined by the things and truths society says should define me. There are some things I feel a little sorry about, such as my Tarot decks and my brand new Sacred rebels. For a little while I thought of taking them – they are quite small and light after all. But they feel somehow superfluous to my new life, which will involve so much presence to the immediacy of experience. I also wish I could have kept my phone and especially its camera component. After all, imagine all that I will soon be in a position to photograph and record! I even fantasised about keeping it, in the hope that I would occasionally find a place, like a library, in which to charge it. But no. Again, I do not want to continue to grasp at experience and try to hold on to it. I want to live and see and do – now. And so I let it go, dropping it in to the Officeworks collection point.

There are a couple of exceptions to my “here and now” rule. I have kept Horatio. Small and light as he is, I saw no reason to leave him behind. I even bought him his own special waterproof protection, to keep him safe as long as possible. Oddly, I have bought a tin whistle to explore on my journeys – I figure it won’t be too horribly easy to damage such a basic and hardy instrument. The one heavy item I will carry with me is my book; I truly cannot imagine being without something to read. I have chosen Dorothy Hearst’s Promise of the wolves from an op shop – it looks suitably lengthy and satisfying to last me a little while. Then I can hopefully exchange it for another. And I have kept my new mother-of-pearl bats pendant.

I just looked up the symbology of bats and am now even more delighted with my intuitive purchase. As well, of course, as night-sight, they are thought to symbolise dreams, intuition and visions. Also sensitivity and the ability to cut through ambiguity to the heart of things. Illusion, initiation and journeying. Rebirth. How amazingly and wonderfully perfect! No wonder I have been so strongly drawn to them, most especially at this time. I have found at last my totem: I am Bat. And my little pendant travels with me as a special talisman. “I am Bat!” I want to proclaim to the world. I feel like laughing. I am Bat.

What I will miss most are not possessions. They are easily discarded. Even Horatio, though it gives me a pang to think it, will one day be gone, and it will be okay. I will be okay. Not possessions but words will be the hardest to leave behind. They are my identity, my memory. In the end, I did weaken and I have with me a blank spiral-bound notebook and a pen. So that the words can continue. But I will miss “you” – the companion and compassionate, non-judgmental listener I have created you to be. That is why I have blogged this diary. Not, I hope, through any desire for self-aggrandisement, but because now I can imagine that one day, someone will accidentally come across my blog, be intrigued and read. I know they won’t, not really. But in my fantasy, it will always be possible, because I have not made it impossible. These words will be there, and you will continue to exist, my silent witness.

What I am doing seems so very against everything I am, doesn’t it? Perhaps it is. Soon I will not look carefully groomed and neat; my new clothes will quickly cease to be new and clean. No matter how much I try to wash my “spares”, I will never be properly clean again. Soon I will be one of those grey, anonymous individuals you see around and try to avoid. Will they even let me into libraries? I hope to spend a lot of time in them. Will I be glared at, hissed at, asked to leave? Perhaps. That will fill me with shame. Or perhaps, in my new life, I will simply laugh. You may be right that this new me isn’t who I really am. But sometimes you need to be who you aren’t in order to discover who you are. And maybe, after all, this is exactly who I am. Who I was always meant to be.

I’ve never told you my name, have I? And that seems fitting now. For now I have none. I am truly nameless and anonymous, one of the grey drifters, passing unseen through time. I am the emptiness that allows the space to be. That is very different from choosing emptiness. It is its very opposite. It is when we fill ourselves with external meanings and values that we lose our own capacity for selfhood. That is when we become truly empty. By becoming the emptiness, the silent observer and dweller in the now, I invite into my life all that is. I choose now to become the emptiness that allows the space to be.

It’s funny about the date. I hadn’t really thought about it, but it is just as significant as Frodo departing Hobbiton on Bilbo’s birthday. And most especially it is fitting for a bat. I walk out now into the season of Samhain, that celebration of disintegration, release and surrender. I walk with the past. And the past shall show me myself.

I think I claimed before that I have learned nothing in my life. I was wrong. I have learned how to follow the rules. I have spent 23 years learning how to follow them. Now it is time to learn how to break them.

remember you were born

a child of stars

sail this vast ocean cloud

wake to the dark dazzle

of your heart

and dance as flowers blaze

with a secret vision

like the ghost of fire

let trust linger softly

and be as smoke

on a slow warm breeze