[a flow and movement one cannot control. a feeling of peace but not of contentment.]
i am travelling through a dingy tunnel with a high-arched ceiling. dusty bricks and echoes. a light grey mist hangs in wisps by its mouth. i am floating, pushing through water. i don't know how i am buoyant. / i am moving over an aqueduct filled with fast moving water. the water is clear and sweet but around me i see vignettes of destruction. war paintings of ragged tree trunks and bombed embankments. no colours. / i talk to people whom i can vaguely see but cannot confirm their identity. there are other travelling along water channels in other directions. / i am told i am in a place they call australia. i have the feeling this is not the first time i have been there. it seems a land of water for the tourists and parched desert for those who live there. / i am standing in a majestic room made of teak and adorned with brass fittings. smelling antique with polish and the burning of incense. / i talk to women dancing in tunics made of a white cheesecloth like material. they do not listen to me, just twirl around whilst speaking in a french i can't make out. their garments overlap and meld in swathes of material i had not at first perceived. layers of fabric building up below our feet then flying like amazonian butterfly wings in the air. / i am lounging on my side in a hotel room, dark with japanese lacquer. there is a low table. the rest of the room is divided with rice paper walls illuminated from behind. it is a small space that seems to fluctuate in size as time passes. / i am talking with people i know. they are staying with me. one is wearing a beautifully embroidered silk garment with long flowing arms. teal and gold. we are making food on a hot plate inside the room. boiling water in a silver pan, swirling it into a vortex. poached eggs. the whites froth like foam on an angry sea. / i can hear the sea from my room so go out to see it. i have not seen it yet whilst being here. it is a huge blue day. so hot the air quakes in fuzzy bands over the sand and sea. the water is cordoned off with metal fencing that rattles like aeolian harps in the sea breeze. no-one is about to hear it except me. / a male voice speaks on an old-style phone. black cables like tentacles. connections to connections. putting you through, caller. / there are many white steps upwards. there are many steps downwards (i am moving so fast i can't keep up with my feet). again there is the movement of water underfoot. travelling through and along water channels but never get wet.
(cobh, 27 august 2016)