Amity Ville

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I look at the stars above me. The milky way shines bright in the night sky. God, I feel so lost right now. There’s a studio behind, about half the size of a football field. Inside, the studio is crammed with painting - screaming, red and yellow, chaotic paintings of naked men and women. Between the blank and dyed sheets, paint brushes, two swing sets and worn out couches, people are enjoying a part. All musicians, architects, photographers, artists and so on. Some play the guitar, some have one or two drinks too many, and others again pass around ´doobies´(joints) to add to the spontaneous celebration. Normally, I would have loved this kind of event and all the people it attracts. But now, I’m suffering from a sensory overload, and the lights and sounds are just too much to bare. I have no idea how to cope with this all. ‘Suck it up!’ my rational brain says. ‘You have to make the best of this, you’re only in Australia once, so join the party!’ it commands. But every time I as much as even think about going back inside, I crack. Underneath that starry sky, I cry and cry and cry. Tears keep coming and they leave me gasping for air. I sit there, in the grass out front of the studio, my hands folded over my mouth as I lean forward to try and remain unnoticed. The deafening song of cicadas, hidden in the surrounding trees, fills the air and out voices my own sobs. I don’t know what’s come over me. I hardly recognize myself anymore, nor do I recognize the reactions I’m having. In my mind, one thought keeps going on and on, like a broken record: ‘I need to go home.’ The longing is so deep, it feels like a black abyss in my heart. I can’t stand all these strangers anymore. And I can’t fight whatever the hell is going on with me. So, I do something I have never done before. I go to the nearest person and ask her to please get me the hell out of there.

It’s morning in Sydney. Fully packed I make my way to the central train station. I’m happy to leave my hostel room, especially since I found out last night that my sink has an ecosystem of its own – including cockroaches, rats and bugs of all sorts and kinds. At the train station, I buy a one way ticket to Moss Vale, a settlement south of Sydney. After two and a half hours, I finally arrive and am greeted by Stephens smiling face. I met Stephen – a great guy with short, black hair, inherited by his Chinese mother - three years ago in Antarctica. He was there as a filmmaker, documenting all the trips to the polar region and we had loads of fun aboard the ship. Stephen still makes documentaries, and he has actually won an award for his work! ‘It’s been three years!’ he says after we exchange a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We start driving toward Robertson, a small village an hour’s drive from Moss Vale. Robertson strikes as a town from the movie ´The perfect housewives´. The houses are big and well maintained with perfect patches of grass surrounding them. This must be where amity lives. ‘So tonight, we’re having a barbecue and some people are coming to Carlos´ place to have a dinner. Are you cool with that?’ Stephen asks. ‘Oh sure!’I say, not knowing who Carlos is but already feeling excited about the prospect of meeting new people. We pass Robertson and drive through a forested, hilled land. The sun is shining, flower are blooming and there’s a lovely smell in the air. Ohw, life is GOOD! For a moment, I even convince myself that I have managed to crawl out of the sad and dark mental state that followed me in Sydney. Yeah, I’m doing great again. Stephen takes me swimming at Carrington Falls. There’s a basin of clear, cold water right in front of us. Crossing the basin, the water pours down through little cracks and crevasses, right into a 40 meter deep gorge. The scenery is framed by rain forest and rock. Tiny salamanders use the dry stones to warm their bodies in the sun. ‘I need to change’, I say to Stephen and he points me toward some small washroom a bit further down the road. ‘Now, you know what to do about spiders and snakes, right?’ For a moment, I stare at him in amazement. ‘Noooooo...’ What follows, are brief instructions about snake and spider encounters, although I don’t come across any during the day. After our dip near the waterfall, we drive on to the beach.

Felicity is the person I grab onto. ´Please, can I go somewhere quiet’, I almost beg her. She looks at me in surprise for a moment and the puts her arm around me. ‘I know a place where you can have some time alone.’ I grab my stuff from the studio, now crowded with people, and follow Felicity through the darkness of night back to Carlos’ house. I met Carlos and Felicity earlier that day. Carlos, free spirited with his heart on his tongue, or even more exposed then that, is kind enough to let me stay in his studio while I’m visiting Robertson. He’s got dark, wild curls, inherited from his Latin-American parents and expresses every word with wild and charismatic hand gestures. ‘You’re cute’, he says as soon as I meet him. Now, men being forward about this always throw me off at first, so I’m having difficulty finding the right words to reply. Instead, I just smile. I learn later though, that Carlos is this flirtatious with all woman, and it’s just his playful nature. Felicity comes to Robertson once a week, where she works for a local artist. The rest of the week, she works in Sydney. Her dark-blond hair just reaches her shoulders and she’s wearing a strapless, African looking dress. In the dark though, I can’t see any of that. Felicity guides me back to house, gets me settled on a couch and puts a kettle of water on. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ she asks me while she gets me a cup and tea bag. ‘That would be nice’, I reply in the tiniest of voices. Oh God, I feel so stupid right now.

Stephen takes a dip in the ocean while I lay on the beach enjoying the moment. When he comes back, we start talking about all sorts of stuff, the beauty of nature for instance. Eventually, the conversation leads to my father and – what I have come to find is the REAL reason why I am in Australia – my processing of his passing away. ‘It’s not so much that I miss my father, I mean, I do miss him, loads, don’t get me wrong. But it’s my own fear that makes things so hard.’ Stephen looks at me. ‘A fear of what?’ he asks. ‘I don’t know, of dying I guess, of my own mortality. I had this irrational belief I and the people around me were never gonna get hurt.’ He laughs and I now feel a bit embarrassed. Am I really being that silly here? ‘Have you ever read the Tibetan book of the dead?’ Stephen asks. ‘It prepares you to die well, and to think about death when you’re still, you know, not panicking over the fact that you’re dying any time soon.’ I immediately wonder how a book like that fits in with our current-day, fun-loving society. Even in regard to my own situation, people keep telling me that I shouldn’t think too much, that I should put the past behind me and have fun. I’m in Australia for crying out loud! But I don’t want to. I don’t want to bury all that has happened, stick my head in the sand and drown myself in a world of ‘entertainment’ just to forget and get over it. What would that make me? Also, I think it says a lot about our society that this seems to be the most common – and most advised - way to deal with pain and loss. Do we really want to be that superficial? I know I don’t. I mean, it’s not like I am welcome teething troubles like this, but neither will I shy away from a profound and difficult experience. It will make me grow (after sending me to hell and back for sure!) My stepmother wrote to me recently: ‘now we know what it means to MOURN, through our own experiences. Someone who has never been there, could never understand. The process goes so very deep, it’s like reaching a whole new level of awareness. This is what causes us to grow. You could block that process, or dive into it. But it’s latter alone that will bring us closer to your father.’ The wind picks up on the beach and minuscule grains of sand engage in whirling dances all around us. ‘No, I haven’t read that book’, I reply to Steve. I pick up some of the sand and release it into the wind. The grains are blown far away from us, toward the ocean water. ‘It’s a great book. I just started it. I mean, since we all know we’ll die one day, why not prepare ourselves? You know, make sure we live and die without regrets.’ We spent some more time sitting on the beach, chatting before it’s time to head to Carlos’ house and throw on a barbecue. As we walk to the car, Stephen stops and says: ‘You know, fear is our body’s way telling us we’re growing.’

The barbecue at Carlos’ house soon leads to a party as more and more people join the event. The studio, where Stephen and I are supposed to sleep tonight, is now teeming with life and laughter. It doesn’t take long for me to crack. Soon enough, I find myself outside crying, begging my father in heaven for some help (and he does help by letting me find a kind-hearted friend), before Felicity takes me back to Carlos’ house to calm my senses. As she makes me some tea, I sit there at the bar, snivelling away. ‘Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps I should have waited to come here, I should have waited until I was stable enough to undertake a journey like this one’, I say to Felicity, but she doesn’t look convinced at all. In fact, she seems to disagree. ‘You should realize, this is a BIG thing you’re doing.’ Felicity puts a cup of steaming tea in front of me. She talks about a friend of her who cycled through New Zealand after he father’s passing. She practically cried he way across. I wonder if she experienced the chaos I feel right now. I just don’t know what to do with myself. It’s like I’m learning how to walk all over again, taking a few steps, being all happy that I have finally managed the skill, before losing my balance and bruising my butt on the concrete street yet once more. A friend of mine in the Netherlands told me that chaos is needed in order to create something new. It puts aside all that is already established to allow your own inner beauty and quintessence to rise up to the surface. It allows you to listen to what essence has to tell you. Well, right now, essence isn’t telling me much. It is chaos’ voice alone that echoes in my head. I also feel guilty toward Felicity, this sweet woman who was just enjoying a party. I wonder if she wishes I had clung to someone else tonight. ‘Thanks’, I reply as she hand me my tea. ‘You know, I’m sorry for all this.’ Felicity waves her hand through the air, blocking my regrets, saying without words that they are redundant here. ‘I was so looking forward to all this, to meeting you guys and have fun. I really was. It just seems like there’s such a big difference between me in the morning, when I’m rested and ready for the world, and me at night, when my energy is draining and I just can’t stand anymore.’ Felicity nods in an understanding way. ‘Well then, that’s just the way it is right now’, she says. Through teary eyes, I look at her calm face. It soothes me. ‘And I feel so sorry for Stephen’, I continue. ‘I mean, I come out here to spend time with him, and I’m a complete mess!’ Felicity takes another sip from her tea. ‘So be his cheerful friend in the morning, is his I-need-some-quiet-time friend at night’, she says. ‘I didn’t mean to travel like this’, I go on. ‘I didn’t expect things to get this intense! Even in the hostels, I just can’t seem to get any peace, with all the people around me. I never had this problem before.’ Felicity nods again. ‘Then buy a tent. Be on your own if that’s what you need.’ Silence.... Wow, there’s really no way of getting around her, is there? I give up my yammering and complaining, and for the first time, chaos shuts up as well and lets me listen to what Felicity has to say. All her solutions seem so simple, all coming down to just one thing: acceptance. I realize now, that I need to take better care of myself. I need to start paying attention to my own needs instead of trying to mould myself into who I would rather be at any given moment. I don’t need to be energetic, social, friendly and a great person to be with ALL the time. It’s okay to be sad, to need space and to seek privacy. I always believed that travelling was all about fun and excitement. That the one good reason to go, to spend money on trips like this, is to have a good, memorable and ass-kicking time. I never imagined that travel could be about self-confrontation and gaining profound experiences. I never imagined, that it could be about getting your emotions out, going to hell and back and seeking out a state of glum just to process things. But this really is my party, and I’ll cry if I want to, darn it!

After tea, I crawl into my sleeping bag on the couch and Felicity leaves to join the cheering crowd again. Not too long after that, Stephen comes in to see if I’m okay. I apologize to him once more. ‘Naaah!’ he says. ‘I’ve been there, I know what it’s like. Just chill, whatever!’ I give him a tired smile, the best one I can manage right now. Stephen, while he sits on a chair next to the couch, my bed for the night, leans in a little closer and finally says: ‘you should always remember that right now, you are exactly where you need to be.’

When morning comes, we get packin’. Steve and I gather up some stuff in the art studio, now converted to a collection centre for empty bottles of wine and put out cigarettes. Carlos hurries to get everything cleaned up. Soon enough, his model will arrive to stand naked in front of art class. I love this place! At noon, Steve and I meet up with some of his friends, all lovely people. We head down towards the gorge near Robertson. Packed with wet suits, helmets and ropes, we descend through the rain forest until we reach a river. Leaches are crawling everywhere, sucking blood from every bit of exposed skin! Once located and ticked off, they leave a trace of fresh blood as they fall to the leafed forest floor. All kinds of birds compete for the title of best singer in this forest. Their tjirps reach for miles, a cacophony of ‘weeeeps’, ‘tuut-tuut’s’ and ‘Brrrrr-beep’s all around us. It is hot outside, the humid kind, and I’m sweating like a pink, little piglet long before we reach the river. We get into our wet suits, put our helmets on and start walking. We monkey crawl our way across the slippery rock that frame the river and wade through chin-deep water, until we reach a cliff. I can already hear the rumbling of water. It falls down into a rocky pit, perhaps a three meters wide and 15 meters high. ‘Okay San, go for it!’ one of Steve’s friends tells me and the group starts to laugh. They probably all see me turning a whiter shade of pale and looking around completely flabbergasted. ‘I’m not going down there...’ I almost whisper. But soon enough, I find myself on the edge of the cliff. Two people have already led the way, taking the plunge into the deep water below. ‘Won’t the waterfall sweep me under?’ I ask. ‘Nah’, says Stephen. ‘You’ll be fine. Just jump away from the rock.’ Underneath me, a piece of rock, perhaps a meter wide, sticks out. What on Earth did I get myself into now?! Stephen is still talking to me but I have tuned out already. I need to do this now, or I never will. Finally, I jump!

The plunge into the fresh water, after dropping for 15 meters, is like nothing I have ever done before. As soon as I have surfaced, I am reborn! WOOOHOOOO!!!! This is awesome! The whole group is cheering now, as people drop down one by one. We keep on following the river. It leads us through stone corridors, with walls triumphing high above us like mighty Gods. The water leaves a fog that gives the scenery a spiritual aura. Tree vines and plants decorate the occasional dry rock and spiders try to block our adventure with their thick webs. We climb across moss-covered, slippery stone, swim through hidden lakes, take plunges of deep waterfalls and take in the view of the lush forest that covers the top of the cliffs. After four hours, we have made our way back to the car and head to some friends for another barbecue, or risole on a barby as the Australians call it. I am struck by the social skills all these people have. They come across as so balanced and so in place. Everybody smiles and hugs and everyone’s just so accepting of one and other. I am a little overwhelmed by all this generosity and calmness. I don’t see myself fitting in here, not with my restlessness. Even though I envy Steve’s friends for how settled they seem and how right in place and natural everything looks, I don’t think that could ever be me. Or could it? I’m always on my way to something, believing that life is short (an idea my father’s death only strengthened) and that I should get everything possible out of life. This often leads to me working on several projects simultaneously, inspired and fired up by every one of them, yet exhausted and completely drained upon completion. An ex-boyfriend of mine once told me: ‘you desire to live life to the max, no matter the cost!’ And I fear, he could be right. But when it is in ones nature to chase after excitement, after beauty, after inspiration, passion and obsession, how does one calm his or her senses?

That night, Jenny, a friend of Steve, is kind enough to open her home for me. Jenny, a kind-hearted woman in her fifties I’m guessing, has a beautiful home in Robertson, with a front garden that is often filled with Galahs, or grey and pink kaketoes. I have a bedroom of my own and finally, can get to writing.

Love
Sandra

P.s. Below you'll find a little vid of our canyoning trip!

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