Birdcage Lane, Angel Place

9^th of April, 2013.

Sydney.

It is raining. An icy, warm kind of rain that doesn't pour, doesn't fall, just mists and sweats. The crowded CBD is flooded with damp fringes plastered to the foreheads of those who own them, Louis Vuitton handbags dripping with strange perspiration, steamy business shirts underneath oppressive, smartly cut suit jackets, puffed, red faces of those in excessive hurry, dampened Chanel skirts, sodden Prada shoes, clammy fingers in the pockets of moistened Burberry coats.

Same street. A wet face looks at the ground holding a sign that says she needs help. Needs money. Needs a meal.

She has been there for an hour already, and doesn't even have a dollar.

The haughty crowd of self-absorbed humanity continues to hurry by, a meaningless blur of carelessness for the things that really matter. How can they not see what matters? I take the disinterest as a challenge. I will give money at least, I think to myself. I look in my purse. Five cents. Five ridiculous, mocking cents. I close it again. I don't want to look at my inability to help. Five cents cannot help, can it?

It could have. It would have, I'm certain. Yet, I became like the rest of the self-absorbed crowd. I didn't give it.

Ten minutes later we enter a lane. Birdcage Lane, it is called. Angel Place. Suspended from wires crossing over me are hung many, many bird cages of all shapes and appearances. All are different. All are different, just like we humans are all different from each other. A cage for each of us. Do you know what this place is?

A metaphor.

I understand. The woman on the street is caged in her poverty. And I?

I am caged in my comfort.

Now I have a mission.

To find the key.

 

Noise. Peace.

Discovered a song yesterday. 'Twas more than exquisite. 'Twas more than a thought, or feeling. 'Twas more than a clump of luckily arranged notes. 'Twas even more...than a song.

It was an enigma. 

"February the 10th, Sunday.

Noise. Peace."

The tapping of the old typewriter, the scratch and folding of noise and music. Plug in headphones. Turn it up. Not a little. A lot. 

 

Now listen. Close your eyes and breathe. Imagine you are standing outside a house, watching... the sky is imploding. Imagine, someone else is inside the house playing the piano, beautifully, almost intrusively. But not quite. If the piano is being played, who cares if the sky is imploding? Who cares if the dark clouds are bubbling and stirring, threatening to break and smother? If the piano is being played, then one person doesn't mind that the world is ending. Listen. Do you hear the industrial sounds of trucks and workmen in the background? They don't care either. The pianist is playing, the workmen are working and you? ...You-

 Are staring up at the sky, whispering with awe, "Why don't I care that it is about to break?"

Do you know why?

Because the piano is being played. The workmen are working. 

Everyone is calm. So you are too.

They are keeping calm and carrying on.

So while they keep calm for you, you stop. And shiver. And wonder.

Paper, Pen, and Stories

I journal. 


Perhaps once every two or three days I will sit in my haunt and spill out my heart for half an hour or so. I started this habit on December 21^st of 2011, and have never stopped, for many reasons, but above all, because writing with my fingers clears the mess in my head. Also, because I love stories, and mine are the ones I often forget. I can't forget them now that they are written down. And I get to watch myself grow, and even though that is often a humiliating thing to watch, it is still rewarding. You learn from every mistake if you take note of it.

The best part of journalling is being able to read it over and over and over again. Here are some of the things that arrest my attention when I flip through the pages of old notebooks. 

December 21^st, 2011

"Today was beautiful. I went to the Ks to help N out with her mum's surprise birthday afternoon tea. We ended up going to the park by their house and taking photos. That girl has such a gift. Some of the photos look so incredible. The lighting, the angle, everything...spectacular."

January 4^th, 2012

"Today, lying on the trampoline, looking up at the sky, it hit me that I am alive."

January 26^th, 2012

"I refuse to believe that my lungs and the air they breath, my hands and feet, and the blood that shows itself when we're cut is just part of some accident that mistakenly reminds us every day that WE ARE ALIVE."

February 10^th, 2012

"In a breath, we are worth nothing. Then Jesus died for us. All of a sudden, Jesus' infinite worth became ours, and we are now the most worthy beings in the universe."

April 8^th, 2012

" ...I should say what I'm going to say as if I were speaking to the mirror. Without malice, but with complete assertion and respect. It's hard. It cut like a knife; I feel awful. But God is faithful. I didn't strike out this time. God tugged at my heart, and I replied with a simple "okay"."

May 20^th, 2012

"The poor thing. Daddy pulled up the car, and he and I got out and ran back to it. The creature was lying on the side of the road where it had rolled itself. Some other guy had seen it and ran over. Another guy pulled up. No one knew whose it was, but it was still in complete agony. The poor cat twitched and shook, and I stroked him 'til he died."

September 9^th, 2012

"The spring air is beautiful. I am sitting on the front step with my coffee and journal, and just feeling that beautiful breeze on my face. The bubblegum flowers have bloomed, and their scent is washing over the place. Oh how divine. I am sure that Heaven will have a heightened form of that smell somewhere in its infinite reaches."

September 20^th, 2012

"I thought I was kind of over him, I'd moved on, stopped hurting myself, I guess, and then I saw him again[...] You see? The heart wants and the mind justifies."

October 8^th, 2012

"Last night was pretty incredible. I sat down at the piano, and was praying for inspiration to come when an idea came into my head. I took it out on the piano and it sounded good. I put my voice to it and it sounded better. I got out my music recorder and started playing. It was beautiful. I really really really liked it. I finished, and just as I did, Dad said the most brilliant thing, 'Is that yours?' and when I answered yes, his mouth dropped, and he couldn't say a word for a couple of moments. I couldn't stop laughing. It is the best feeling to be mistaken for a pro."

November 18^th, 2012

"Marvellous. I was so stupidly flooded with weakness that I couldn't hold the coffee cups, almost put a tablespoon of coffee grounds into a mug, and spilt the eventually-made coffee all down my leg."

December 13^th, 2012

"Christmas. Mmmm. It is in the air so romantically, so Miracle-On-34th-Streetly that I am calm and excited at the same time. I have all the christmas presents for my family bought, wrapped, and under the tree."

January 14^th, 2013

"Mum suggested that I halt myself whenever I start speaking less than beautifully of others. That was the day before yesterday she said that. I should have remembered it tonight. What kind of a friend tells another about the failures of another?"

January 19^th, 2013

"The 'A's are over for last night and tonight. The general reason for this is so that we can all watch the last two Harry Potter movies together. It's a great idea, and I am enjoying myself, immensely."

January 24^th, 2013

"I had a stand-up argument with those two women, and eventually, they won the spot. But I feel bad for what I said. I didn't speak with love. I didn't show Jesus. I just said damn well what I wanted to, and it wasn't what God would have called, 'being an ambassador for Christ'."

January 30^th, 2013

"On hopping out, E suggested we walk the long way home, following her eight-point-four kilometre jogging route, which, subtracting from it approximately one-and-a-half kilometres gave us an estimated distance of six. It was a beautiful, foggy, green-grass-and-rock-and-dirt-road kind of a walk. I won't forget the vision of us running across the bright green, waterlogged grass in our barefeet and swimmers along the picturesque road amidst the misty fog."

February 13^th, 2013

"This morning, at McDonald's, coming out the door with a latte and green tea, the latte fell over and spilt all over the ground, all over me, and all over my pride."

March 7^th, 2013

"The current was thick, whirlpooling in the crevices of the bridge, sloshing twigs and leaves and grass off the banks and pushing itself, with so much force, down the course it had chosen to take long ago. Daddy and I stood there for a minute in our gumboots and wonder. I laughed for the sheer joy of it."

March 28^th, 2013

"-a bug has just landed at my feet. He is a little red specimen, and so slow-! He is very deliberately marching across the wooden floorboards of the verandah. How funnily triumphant he looks. He has found a leaf- gone."

April 7^th, 2013

"Ooohhh. The wind, the rush, the absolute ecstasy that hit me in the back of that ute as we were doing 70 down the driveway. An uncontrollable grin held my face. My hands were red and white from holding onto the cold, steel bar that was the only thing keeping me upright."

Tsk Tsk: The Renaming of 'Desk Space'

To describe my desk space as 'desk space' is a bad idea. This is only because the two words plunge me into a sort of grumpiness: they are dry and unappealing, utterly unsuitable as a name for any place of daydreaming and creative writing (among other things). The 'sk' on the end of 'desk' sounds like 'tsk, tsk', an unintentional reprimand that makes me feel as if I shouldn't be there despite knowing that I have to be there, ending in a horrible, internal confusion that should never have existed in the first place. To avoid this chaotic train of thought and complete derailment of sanity, I simply change the name. Instead of 'my desk space', I say 'my haunt', or 'my corner' or 'my element'. That way, if I refer to my desk space as any of these things, I don't just feel like I should be there; I feel as if I am part of it.

And I make it beautiful; then I am in a beautiful place with a beautiful name, and this is near-perfection.