I want to write about my sense of newness and on my judgmental nature as I encounter all things Australian on this first visit.
I am immediately caught by the private nature of the people and yet by their helpful generosity.
Graeme and Dina came to the Sydney airport to help me on my way. They made sure that I was on the right bus to the domestic terminal. Their’s was a great kindness.
The huge man on the billboard outside the Brisbane airport, the nude man with the tiny phone book behind which hid his penis evoked delight and a view of the Australian sense of humor.
Graham’s assures me that the folks of Oz are more open than the folks of America. My need is to hold onto my sense that Americans are more open after all. I admit to a nationalistic tendency.
Driving to Binna Burra I am suddenly convinced that strip malls exist everywhere in western culture.
I don’t understand why it is so very hard for me to accept driving in Australia. I’ll never get the hang of turning the wrong way (the other way).
And the house – I react immediately?
I am afraid to encounter my feelings at this point. It is not what I anticipated and yet I understand and love the house and all it stands for, but it is not what I thought it would be. I expected grandiosity, a dwelling in which I would feel most uncomfortable.
Instead, I love having my own space to spread out, so to speak, where I can feel that I am not making a mess in someone else’s nest.
I love being given a task, filling in the gaps between the ancient wall boards with putty. It makes me feel worthwhile, not just a visitor, but a contributor to the world in which I am living.
I wandered around Rosalie where I didn’t need to go. I should go for a long walk instead and just enjoy the streets of the neighborhood.
I have never entirely comforted in and one day I am unhappy, my ego resembles a sore thumb. I pretend I do not exist. I feel I am interfering. These are difficult moments, moments I would rather not admit.
I fear alienating him, but these are honest sensations. I truly do not wish to change him. If I thought I could manipulate Graham, it would be awful. I like the fact that there are nos and yesses, and yet I am wary of whether his emotional self can open to me. Making him angry is a great sadness and also a triumph. These are the worlds the astrology has told me not to write, not to share.
Still those words are an honest part of my journey, not only the journey to Oz, but the journey to myself. The parts of me, which are not open, are not ready to live in a new culture. And so, it is bedtime. I’ll save the celebration for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.