29 Sept
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| Cable Car from city to Botanic Gardens |
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| Trail building with Wellington Trails Alliance |
Botanic Gardens:
I'm walking to meet Jojo at work. He's the head chef of the events center. A Samoan brick of a man, I can run at him full speed and bounce back across the full length of a room and he won't have moved a millimeter. He's invited me to a party. No other details have been offered, and as I walk I wonder what people will think of me coming in and leaving with him.
Then I realize, I don't care what they think. At all. I'm just doing what I please and it's no concern of mine what others make of it. And It's great because the night takes us to a party in Porirua where I encounter the intoxicating feeling no fleeting tourist could ever find. Something an overly-cautious Kiwi would even pass on. It's nothing special. Just a small gathering of Maori & Samoan friends and family. Kia ora, bro. Yeah, I'm an outsider, but it doesn't change that I am there and feel welcomed. I scarf some NZ chop suey, dance with a 'cuz, chat with some aunties & uncles and quietly people watch. Beer bottles decorate the honda civic in the driveway and I take it all in.
30 Sept
There's something about being in a city, in a buzzy civilization, that makes me feel as if I'm not doing enough. As if every second of my day needs to be filled with activity. Social, work, exercise, any action considered productive. How can I be improving myself? Reading, learning, practicing. What friends can I see? What hikes, tramps, camping adventures can we go on? How many shifts a week can I work and still have time for sight-seeing, exploration, etc.? Why do I feel guilty sitting around in my pajamas reading on a rainy spring day?
Woah, deep breath. Life is not this serious melodrama I often make it out to be. Doingwhatican.com. "Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away." Cheesy as line. But some truth to it. Moment to moment, everything is always changing. Whether those moments feel mundane or extraordinary, it's up to you. There have been a handful of moments in NZ where I feel intoxicated merely from the situation I am in. A transfer of ecstatic energy from the circumstance to my nervous system. Zap. There it is when I experience to the full extent the realization that it's no business of mine what other people think of me. As long as I'm acting in an altruistic fashion, not hurting anyone, why do I care what my reflection may invoke in someone else's mirror? If I'm proud of my own, what else is there?
4 Oct
This city is alive. A writhing, breathing mass of consciousness. Living, running, eating, fucking. Appreciating art and stepping in dog crap. The only thing you can be certain of is its impermanence, bringing you to your loftiest optimistic self one minute, dropping you like a tumultuous, rattly roller coaster the next, then sending you for a double loop-de-loop. And the best way to approach it all is with an air of detached amusement. Like I'm the keeper of the last great secret. That sardonic confidence that exists somewhere between not giving a shit and being overly concerned. Taking your happiness seriously enough to not take yourself so seriously.
5 Oct
Dawn chorus. All at once, as if by some inner birdy alarm, they sound. As the houses and foliage emerge from the shrouded veil of night, as the thin layer of dryer lint evenly blankets the would-be blue sky, and the early-morning glow persistently pushes out the still darkness, they pipe up, chime in, chirp, cheep, tweet and twitter their way into the dawn. The window cracked, curtain up, I listen and watch the day materialize before me.
6 Oct
Innermost Gardens Spring Community Picnic with Erin, Jamie & Sina.
"We are a Multicultural group of people growing community through hands in the soil. Working together towards a sustainable future. Innermost Gardens is a productive urban community garden. We bring people together through a love of gardening and provide a vehicle for people to share their knowledge and learn from one another. Gardening with us will be an enriching experience. It’s a great way to spend time outdoors, meet likeminded people in our community, and learn about growing and maintaining permaculture gardens. You can come to one of our many special events, or regular gardening days. Most of our events end with a shared meal. If you take time to help with tasks in the garden, you can expect to leave with a handful of fresh vegetables. The community provides for our gardens, and our gardens provide for the community."
You can bet I'll be getting my hands dirty in that community soil:
7 Oct
Day hike Eastern Walkway / Oruaiti Reserve
It is magic, of course. That's clearly what it is, but after a certain age we forget to look, to stop and notice. To see that a fairy looks an awful lot like a butterfly. Or that forest spirits come in the form of skinks and tuis and cabbage trees. To find there isn't always a molecular scientific behavioral explanation for life's occurrences. Sometimes it's just pure magic. Doesn't that make life all the more exciting? I, all too often, brush the mystery away like a beetle clinging to my sweater. There's always a logical explanation, even if it just boils down to dumb coincidence. But that's an awful boring way to go through life. 
The magic I'm thinking of isn't witchcraft or voodoo or pagan religions, it's not the occult or sorcery or even pick-a-card-any-card. It's the natural world. It's a piwakawaka following you along the path, a monarch landing on your shoulder, a mysterious rustling of a flax bush. It's the hidden path through a soft green meadow to a secret stunning view, the sun on your face and the wind at your back. The shapes and patterns a gust forms on the sea's glassy surface. It's the 8 year old boy and his dog Jack, the map-and-compass geocaching duo. Boy scoops up Jack and off they tromp into the thick gorse and tangled vines, searching for the next coordinates, on an adventure only a boy and his dog could embark. It's the 80 year old lady and her dog Suzie, the 10k-a-day bush tramping squad. Up and down the tracks they go. Two long walks a day to keep Old Lady and Suzie in acasual symbiosis. Certainly these are not just chance encounters, but fairy-godmothers and boy-elves out to show those who still day dream that life is a dynamic crystalline enigma. That, YES, it's alright to find magical significance in the otherwise ordinary.It's sunny and windy, cloudy and warm. I'm alone and blissful.
“Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business.”
― Tom Robbins
8 Oct
Helped Sam, Ellery, Eva & Marcel move into their new flat. Mattress balancing act on Tin-Tin's roof, 4 people in the front with an arm out each to hold onto mattress. Hilarious success.
Taco Tuesday Margaritas with Sina, Erin, Deakin, Sam, Dave & David at Flying Burrito Brothers. Moved from table for 3 to table for 7 due to margarita enthusiasm.
Saw Dolly Mixture At BATS Theatre with Erin, Sina & Sam. A hilarious dark comedy that made me cringe and bust out laughing at the same time.
"After two sell out seasons in Auckland, including one as part of the Auckland Fringe 2013, the darkly-comedic duo of Yvette Parsons and Thomas Sainsbury bring their acclaimed horror comedy, Dolly Mixture, to BATS Theatre this October!
When demented doll collector Beverley Beavington advertises for a home stay; Crispin Merriweather fits the bill. He's a virgin, friendless and easily manipulated. Under the glassy stare of a hundred dollies, Beverley elicits Crispin’s assistance to embark on a little satanic ritual."
Remember how happy you are in this moment. Sitting in your room, the blue room, with a view out the back that'll start any day with a smile, in a house with friends you love, having just returned from a magic day, preceded by three days of exemplarily fantastic city and sea living, awakened by the love and appreciation of music, art and people in their incessant evolutionary dance of connection. Well done, you.
“Our lives are not as limited as we think they are; the world is a wonderfully weird place; consensual reality is significantly flawed; no institution can be trusted, but love does work; all things are possible; and we all could be happy and fulfilled if we only had the guts to be truly free and the wisdom to shrink our egos and quit taking ourselves so damn seriously.”
― Tom Robbins
12 Oct
Working Oktoberfest. The Bavarian Showdown. 4 polka bands, 1 winner. Who will play Katy Perry's biggest hit with the best polka twist? Haha, not really. But a really fun, fast, people-watching, entertaining night!
14 Oct
It's the kind of wind that would blow the crust off your bread, send a plastic bag hurtling into space, and even wipe a grin complete with mustache right off your pretty little face. A series of inconsistent but incessant bursts sends a smattering of horizontal rain across my bedroom window. They comfort me, these four walls. I appreciate the solace they provide from the chaos, though the strongest gales send them shaking like a hernial poodle at the vet's office. I'm happy to spend the day snuggled up with myself and a book. Happy to gaze out my window fully entertained by the interpretative dance of the spastic trees and the spitting, driving rain all operating under the mighty breath of the white goddess.
People:
Three weeks later and we're cruising around the bays in Tin-Tin, looking for the perfect beach to gather sand and nature bits for his new op-shop zen garden. A wondrous tour of Welly's remarkably craggy, lunar beaches. They're a pastiche of pure geologic porn. I'm ooooohhhhh-ing and aaaaahhhhh-ing, gasping and awestruck by the deep azure sea blue and complex volcanic pilings. We mission it to the Dump Shop, have a big-grin gander, jam a ratty oversized couch in Tin-Tin's belly, and enjoy a coffee on said couch back at Sam's new flat. My affinity for Sam is organic and smooth, like expensive peanut butter. No pressure to fill the silence, no need to impress. We're just mates.I met Susan Gill in a park. Sitting on a bench, eating last night's soup from a glass jar, watching the dogs romp and a little boy and his dad fly a kite. Unrelated note, Windy Welly is a kite enthusiast's wet dream. A young, energetic golden retriever gallops over and greets me, followed by her equally friendly human. Susan and I begin to chat. The wind casually ushered the clouds along, the day scooted into evening and our impromptu meeting flowed into a dinner invitation. Under most circumstances I wouldn't have been obliged; an evening rendezvous with a perfect stranger isn't necessarily my cup'a tea. But my connection to Susan, be it brief and subtle, felt as safe and reliable as a bungee jump chord ought to be.
So here I am on a Saturday evening, knocking on the door of a gorgeous Brooklyn home, new flatmate Erin and jug of juice in tow. And am I ever glad.
Jamie says that we may go through a life never having learned a certain lesson we were meant to, and so the opportunity to experience that teaching rises up, transcending time and form, in this life, through people, angels, we are destined to meet. Having no language to voice it, not a word or utterance to describe it, we can only feel the presence of something this special. An unexplained connection, whether or not the message or purpose is clear or as muddled as homemade beef stew, it is significant. I sit nibbling my ginger-apple pie, listening to the stories of this remarkably patient and compassionate woman.
She's a social worker at a local hospital. Got married, had a family, went back to school and found a career finding hope for the hopeless, guiding groping hands onto the next crack in the cliff. One of her clients was an old woman (we'll call her Edie) with dementia and a troubled past. Edie was born on Christmas and 93 birthdays had come and gone without so much as a party hat or helium balloon in her honor. On her last Christmas Eve, with the hospital anything but a silent night, Susan and a coworker came bearing three gifts; time, friendship and birthday cake. Moved by their gesture, this spunky old bird broke out her aged brandy and sipping glasses, and the trio spent the evening laughing, sharing and reminiscing. That was the last time she saw Edie. On her death bed, Susan attempted to say goodbye, but years of disappointment, deceit and uncertainty bubbled painfully to the surface and Edie refused admittance into her room. An ache of regret registers on Sue's face for a moment. After her passing, Edie had a bench dedicated to her in the Botanic Gardens. Susan and her friend find this bench each Christmas Eve since, sipping sentimental brandy from their snifters.
I'm on the brink of tears, moved by the spontaneous, authentic gifts Sue has given by sharing her narratives. I don't know why this woman and I met, but we were meant to. We're going to teach each other something. Maybe we already have.
Welly Wanders:
Eastern Walkway / Oruaiti Reserve:
