Sand Whispers

Sand whispers by on the pristine beach. Wind and waves weave a pattern at my feet as the tide retreats. A lone seagull stands, watching the waves, and, alternately, me. Clouds gather and move inland, like a flock of seagulls, silent, silent.

It's nearly a week now since I checked myself out of hospital. I thought a long walk on the beach would be good, fresh air, exercise. It's easy to walk forever on a beach, following the white ribbon of sand, exploring that next curve around a dune. But my head is still like the clouds above, drifting, thoughts forming and re-shaping.

Five days since my last dose, and I'm still feeling the effects of Morphine and Pethadine, and a dozen other drugs I don't want to think about. My mind wanders at random, following long disused pathways, exploring memories and imagination - it's hard to tell which at times. The drugs still circulate in my system, capturing my thoughts and my focus, releasing them again to some unknown schedule of their own.

Santa Claus sits on his golden throne, a little girl on his lap, unsure of this stranger in red and white. Teddy bears in uniform play their trumpets and beat the drum, while others adorned with ribbons form a choir for the passing shoppers. My teddy bears and lamb and dolphin and moose and fox and dragon and wolf await me at home, my family formed from travels across continents and time, each with their own story yet to tell.

I escaped just in time. How could I reason any other way? A succession of faces, clowns at a side show, each wanting to test their theories upon me, each wanting to feed me his or her potent cocktail. What point to resist, no chance they will listen, my beliefs are not in their reality, "What? Natural Healing, Bah!" too weak to fight, drugs have me in their grip, "No!"

I have it under control, but they don't listen. Instead they poke holes into me, carve me apart to insert tubes, tie me down with more pain, inflicted pain. Tests would show my condition was improved but they insisted on waiting, one day, two, a week. Body and mind rebel, "get this tube out of my back!" Oh God, the pain. Far worse than kidney stones or renal failure, the trauma as the tube is 'torn' from me, regardless of sutures inside. I am damaged, bleeding continues through the day, faces come and go, one stays, the nurse. Scared, concerned, she didn't know.

Movements fluid and graceful, black trousers and T-shirt a uniform worn well. The young lady smiles as she collects plates and offers to refresh my drink. After watching her short blonde hair bounce toward the kitchen I look up at the sign - "Sabine's Coffee Shop and Bake House". So many years now, since one of my pen friends, Sabine, visited from Germany, joining me on a trek through the Flinders Ranges. That was about this time of year, just after some heavy rains, but a lifetime ago it seems, when life was ordered and routine, each day the same.

Footprints in the sand, but they are not mine. They go on and on, beyond the dunes and mist into the distance I cannot walk, not today. My strength is spent, my body not responding to the simple demands of walking. I have jogged along this shoreline, most mornings I would visit the sea before dawn, greeting the first rays of the sun as I returned to my unit, ready to begin the day.

Teaching and sharing new ways, new dreams, a journey of healing and wonder. Gardening to do, a joy to have hands in the soil, paths to create out of rock, stairs to form, first in the mind and then amongst the trees and flowers. Lectures to attend, food for the mind, revising and re-learning skills long practiced, preparing for adventure along new pathways… but all that is on hold at present, my body and mind still a haze. Five days ago, free of needles, drips and tubes, I walked out of the hospital into the clear sunshine of a new day. Still I wait to feel that sunshine coarse through my veins. Still I wait to heal from the damage done.

A lifetime ago it seems, I left the farm and began a journey, teaching, learning, ever seeking new horizons of thought as well as landscape, new answers, new questions. After 3 years on the move, I have for the past 3 months made my home by the beach at Semaphore, a sleepy village through winter, a holiday Mecca come the summer. Smooth wide beaches, sand white and pure, families and fun. I've spent much of that time simply collecting myself and my things together, consolidating before even choosing the next step, preparing for the new year.

I have been a recluse of sorts, a crazy author wandering the dunes, communing with the gulls. Ideas chasing each other onto the pages, but hiding from sight to all but me. They grow and expand, but still they hide, until it is time, like the flower stays hidden until ready to bloom. Colours and fragrance, shape and texture, all determined, yet waiting, waiting.

This may be my first communiqué in some time, letters have been written many times, news shared ... in my thoughts at least. So much to assimilate from travels, especially those overseas, challenges to my beliefs and understandings, concepts and perspectives changing as I absorb the lessons learned. This will continue for some time, I have embarked on research I cannot let go.

Before my mind wanders again may I wish you happiness and joy, a Merry Xmas and now, and in the New Year may you experience much love and light, may we all.