Danny James

Tag: Australia

488: Sally in the Sun

The realisation had barely settled upon the consciousness when my face had been brought home into Sally’s hands. As she whispered my name and drew close, I caught in the instant, the glimmer of long obstructed joyousness in her eyes. Suddenly, with space enough to run, and a great gasp of the soul free in the world at last.

We stood there awhile, utterly delighted and engrossed with each other, amid the crowd before the coal-face of Friday night service dissolving. They’ve occurred before in glimpses, perfect these gaps of Nature, and you’ve figured since you couldn’t be granted many more miracles similar.

We talked at the centre of a hurricane with the sun smiling perfectly overhead at the mouth. Actualized and fully engaged with the moment, we felt the surge of a vast and thrilling current, brimming to the surface yet remained all the while at ease in the deep and holy intoxication that overlapped our traumas.
”I didn’t want to interrupt,” She said genuine, unblinking and ablaze. I wished as soon as it left her lips that she had, and I would have immediately let my responsibilities crumble for the encounter.
I couldn’t help but consider, as Sally spoke how that if she were not already spoken for, her hands were a perfect fit for mine; her waist, impossibly alluring and I could see us laughing at many good times gone by as we lay next to each other on a sunlit hillside overlooking the Steel City, some years ahead of tonight. Just as I had finished imagining these things Sally had motioned with a sideways glance and rather quickly, that she was in fact here with her fianc√© and his family celebrating, something that I couldn’t quite translate through appreciating the rapture of her returning smile. Sally was always so infectiously easygoing and buoyant about the future and yet I was detecting somewhere here with her, moments of stuttered thought and a gazing solemnity with but a whit of an unresolved irritation.

We parted with proprieties and cautious glances and that, I estimated was unfortunately to be the necessary end. Stricken is the heart under spell of the imagination.

449

A little light came in today.

Remarkable, it has been day time all along.

Bondi, 2016

Bondi, 2016

442

All shall be well, friend.

Bondi, 2015

Bondi, 2015

400: Without complaint

Strange, where can one year place you. Or rather, what winds you no longer permit access to your sails. You recover eventually, when softly serve the seas to your harbour home, past what tempest inflicts its bitter tutelage that they do not cease so much as change in form and verve. The survivors and the tellers of their accounts have these insights passed down many since the very first interruption, – how strong men disappear and all kingdoms become dust. That he who is not prepared for disaster has not yet approached the defining torment of his tenure. Not yet had his greatest efforts curtailed by the instant, his hopes dashed upon the rocks like glass, nor been thrust helpless and broken upon a distant shore to contemplate long and lone, the final fairness of fortune. These are the years a man needs to carve his character and rebuild his principles from which might he rise again to reach for the horizons that hold his home.

I would sit by my window each morning writing letters to my friend, enjoying the pleasing song of the Auroral birds and moments of first sunlight. Soft Spring afternoons walking beneath halls of bristling trees that celebrated along the back streets. Autumns quickening across the Eastern Coastline trails groaning against the cliffs. These were quiet days in Bondi, where my heart did not shudder to where I took it and a calm had prevailed there at long last. Finally had I forgotten myself and saw grow in the warm fading afternoon light, a healthy recognition and respect for my surroundings once more. I felt in and through me, careening every pore and corridor the dynamic current of a deep and satisfying attunement with existence. I saw but only better days ahead, and breathed in long and happy the atmosphere of the life I was living presently and nothing could have thrown my down.

Yet, I had allowed a clumsiness with blessings to defeat me. By not daring to think myself deserving, I found myself quite unprepared for fortunes favour much less the ramifications of abiding my own impossible moral code. I looked for complexity and escape, a trapdoor in the rainbow, a reason to leave, to strive, to discard what peace and guiltlessness had I gathered because I knew not how to no longer struggle. It can be fatiguing being amazed all the time and preferring instead the comfort of falling and familiarity in moments of forgetfulness, you lay down in submission and allow the tensions overlap. I stopped marvelling at the Nature of things and sought instead to turn my back on Nature Herself and leave Her wide-eyed, agape and utterly alone; cut Her off of Her sweet intent, and succour all that would aim to render Her ridden. So I did thus, closed the shades, put down my pen and thought myself right out of the Nirvana in my lap. I strayed, plain and simple. Wandered from all that was possible of life because I was afraid of just what potency of rational spontaneity I did possess, and I do none or myself justice attempting to calculate it now, by fertilizing those plains where none from which but utter desolation grows. Because in the end, nothing is quite as important as you might first think at the time of thinking it. I strayed. The mind its own mountains can make, and one who for none but hindrances seeks so shall create them. What does not endeavour to cast a light across the plains embraces the cold and restriction of the valley floor. I took an interval from the life that I had constructed up to then. I’d packed my books and walked away, stole into woodlands remote and bustling cities not my own. I sought to be silent and welcoming to the ulterior perspectives of poets, philosophers, the vagrants and the drifters all getting along in the ways they new best. To let the thoughts come that Naturally may, that all the rest no grave import might prove and lo, like most things one decides to warp no further with imagination, shall begin to suddenly into its appropriate proportions fade. It needed to become clear again what it was that I did value, and who; What would I withstand for whom I love, what hardship could I absorb to uphold those precepts that I treasure most, and, within the kernel of those reflections I found reasons instead of rules for which to save my place in life and not go sauntering off into the woods resigned. Reasons that would implore me thus to emerge from my hovel with a greater surge of energy and an outlook far grander than ever before, to immerse myself engaged and ready so completely into all the possible experiences that this world as we now know it has to offer, and to make the very most of it all.

Just as at this time last year, there are some fine times ahead that will for many more afterward linger like a last lance of sunlight across the fading meadows of memory. My dear sister and husband have extended an invitation to visit them over Christmas and finally to meet my nieces I have heard so much about. Their cheerful slice of paradise they’ve crafted for themselves resides in the Tropical North Of Queensland among the surrounds of the Atherton Tablelands. I expect hikes in the hills and through the rainforests in search of hidden freshwater streams. Un-hurried walks in the cool shade of dawn, then eggs, coffee and reading on the back patio. Warm evenings in the hammock watching the stars awaken one by one, as the barbecue hisses followed by a gathering of smiling faces, great company, conversation and merriment the much long into the night. There’ll be S, of course. Strong, sassy and quietly brilliant, laying by the fire of our campsite next to the creek that drapes its way among the dunes and wilds, on and on and evermore. S runs along sunsets like a portrait and her bronzed sinews glisten fantastically in the blood orange sun. A few strands of sand-coloured hair escape their bonds and hug her cheek and I’ll want nothing more than to kiss her supple lips and leave my rushing life in Sydney to stay with her on the blanket by the fire. Instead I’ll slowly walk home from visiting with her and it’s the fact that I cannot simply pack up and start over again that makes our time together among the most heart stirring and perfect. Because though everything is now in focus and determined does not presume that it will be entirely likeable and never mind. The evening sky will convulse a haze of violet and glowing tangerine swirls behind the high hills and a gentle breeze will complement the warmth. The Universe and whatever particles make up my soul will seem to be mingled, same and jovial. I’ll finally give way to a smile sincere and knowing that with all the bitter and the balm, the noise and the calm the Universe is just, and all will be well in the end as ever. I’ll be happy and content in this moment with everything to be grateful for and everything to look forward to and I’ll ride this state without complaint unto my home somewhere in the gold and purple sunset.

Cairns, Christmas 2014

Cairns, Christmas 2014

380

And at last over the hill peered forth the smiling sun, to warm the bedrock of blank expression with its yellow touch. Under a glaze of Winter pearls the sleeping Spring buds stir, and the Earth prepares to welcome new life, fresh hope and young joy, to play, free and unhindered among the florets drenched in gold.

Hamilton Island, 2008?

Hamilton Island, 2008?

315: Distance

Stamina, heart? This is reasoning past reasonable gravity. In this realm my strength is none. My Sun, my saviour, my giving grace; turning away from thee, is but looking ahead for thee.

Coogee, 2011

Coogee, 2011

308: Seven years

Seven years ago, almost eight. How full, how sudden. Our lives made of many such chunks of time, scattered and forgotten.

Danny James blog Adelaide pic 2

307

The air and span of new lands, and having all the time in the world. No homeward connections to clutch at, returning you at once to safety and a familiar self.

Adelaide, 2007

Adelaide, 2007

115: Gone

Abaft a brooding climb, finally we mount the firmament, which suspends our dot with an affable keep and steadies our careen down the Tasman, settling ahead the finest conditions for flight have I ever encountered. The ocean and upper-wide parapet are an indivisible frontier of immaculate cobalt, that, were it not for one vivid and far-flung ivory thread, all ships and birds would negotiate the same strange territory (1).

By what I estimate to be journeys middle, and gladly redeemed of concern for accuracy in my projection of this days age, – the Sky and Earths bound is clear and imminent now. A rolling tumult of ashen brumal vapours pour in below, and delineates our vessels place in this wide realm between the vast under and above, and through effortlessly we soar.

Confirmed for 12:33pm – how I hadn’t asked.

Descending beneath the shroud in approach of our station, manifest appears the ample sea again, nearer than before that every ripple and indentation by Nature’s heavenly waft inscribed, – her living moving signature, from this vantage an exquisite precision of pixelation no man of this globe in all his possible ingenuity has mastered. The rough nooks and tiny tidemarks, the mere thousand-fold details in this bedlam are exactly shaped and even-spaced, such as imply a smoothness overall. Pulling this pattern from the particulars, becomes everything clear and thorough. The Suns showering grace is by mist-cover waned of its full majestic and small breakthroughs herald the clamour, like faded fog lights searching lone and in vain and though unable to break the sea bed, on what surface the couriers of light crash, spill carriage of gorgeous jewels (2). How a clear sky would bedazzle the eyes with visions of fantastic wealth. But this is not the domain of Earths golden orb, this is Aotearoa – ‘land of the long white cloud.’

I am four pages abused and not grounded yet. My thoughts are soaring, whirling heretic fireflies, and flailing I mean to jar every one of them, pale and ablaze just the same. Jotting down all apprehensions as they occur, however incomplete and nonsensical, faster than can reasons dust settle, clean of inauthenticity grown from some tainted soil in me fed by cheap incentives raining. Simplicity and immediacy is key, and tends portray the wisest outcome. For death is at hand, drawing every instant closer my heels, and long while I am writing is breath, no matter the kind or power. Some rather are astonished gasps, others a cough or wheezing any one aspect of the respiratory collective can induce by a moments perfunctory slip. O give me clean air, that I may expel my fumes and make parity with being.

The sun would have fallen on my musing, stepping down after the oceans brook from its lofty seat, had I not steered my look out again. Shoals and inlets increase, then I am unsure of the proper terms for these quiet natural developments, when I can name and navigate man-constructed bayous and disorderly boulevards without relation or concern. Methinks, for too long I have made my home in the city, and try soon enough to rectify this once and forever.
The border lands over where we enter are not the same as those from which we departed, nor as before that I remember them. Auckland’s edges are a rounded and boldly primordial to strength and apparently among the last by men breached, where the frayed and rampant outline of Sydney’s shredded shores resemble by comparison, an ever-polished town wincing free and kicked adrift of its despised histories evidence. It is little wonder to me, having exchanged considerable time in both whether similar aspects can be observed in a place as those of its inhabitants, or not.

Evening – close enough to schedule am shown to the hostel every bit the same as recollections depicted, I am not reported several minutes but to leave my belongings and wring what daylight remains, strolling this memorable hillside hamlet, for six years to my longing attached. I held to the outskirts, clear of the city centre which, however charming held no interest or value to me, preferring to have instead the smoke and pine layered slopes in the far prominence inside seeings ambit. I am struck with how startled I am by luxury of sky. Notwithstanding its permanence, Nelson’s corner thereof can occupy the greater share in ones field of vision unimpeded, and such grandeur displayed is always great source of immaterial tonicity to me. How little of all the first time I appreciated, that extends now a most genial invitation, to relish in qualities attractive to wise enjoyments pursuit. Gladdened withal, for where I have been, that so much the more is before me now.

When at last, a generations amount of study in one day exhausts the eyelids duties, I retire to the household that will be for five nights hereafter my home. – And it seems, that like the last time I was on the road, between some other drab and increasingly short interval of regular living, I am most awakened and secure now, falling once more into that place from which I shall never want to leave.

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