14. Notes From Earth

29th Dec 2022

In 2022 I hit rock bottom and rose again.
In 2022 I self-published my first book and the moment I held it in my hands I knew my purpose.
In 2022 I realised the patriarchy will squash me but it can’t touch my spirit.
In 2022 I knew that love comes from within and it’s there I must focus.
In 2022 I accepted that I must write another book.
In 2022 I understood that I’ve always been a little bit different.
In 2022 I noticed that my teeth aren’t as straight as I thought.
In 2022 I felt that I’m most beautiful when gentle, authentic and vulnerable.
In 2022 I began a journey into the power of our mind and our power for healing.
In 2022 I shifted the voice inside my head.
In 2022 I made the link between my skin and internal world.
In 2022 I saw that everything is connected.
In 2022 I came to believe that everything in my life has led me to right now, exactly where I’m meant to be, in Roser’s bus in the forest of the southwest, the sound of birds and trees, ready to write a book that will define me, knowing that my family couldn’t come before this moment because I need to be in this moment, taking deep breaths, because breathing changes time, and the story comes in parts, with incomplete, imperfect sentences swimming through my mind, waiting for me to reach out and grab them, note them, leave them, and marry the pieces together to form a whole story that feeds into other stories.

30th Dec 2022

I recall a conversation Kamali and I had sitting off the back of his house-truck when the house-truck still ran, and a sharp sunset light hit the tall eucalypts. It was pre-covid. Kamali said that him and I weren’t artists because, basically, we don’t take easily to techniques like some others. But I’ve since realised that Kamali is an artist because Kamali is art himself. It’s in his thoughts and the space he creates. Like his new house. For if Kamali was a house, he would be his new house, where each corner and crevice is considered, and the garden is an abundant green, with tree branches scraping the ground and blackberries and raspberries hanging off bright bushes for everyone to pick. Looking to his land’s evolution, I see a fairytale unfolding—a setting I dreamt of as a little girl wanting to grow up and be a fairy—and I see the evolution of myself. It’s in the way I stand to hug those who appear. It is in the way I hold my place. It’s in the way I walk around confident and barefoot, absorbing the feeling of Earth under my feet. It’s in the way my ears no longer prick to someone engaging in any creativity—knowing my personal creativity and the dedication required for this creativity. It’s in the way I speak up in conversations, sharing random comments that if landed correctly are powerful insights. It’s in the way Soren refers to me as a photographer beautifully capturing the northwest. It’s in the way I know I need not be controlled by my mind to allow for presence and peace as I move between worlds of the free and worlds of the mainstream.

The Gemstones of Broomerang will be published in Australia and internationally.

31st Dec ‘22

It’s the second night in a row I’ve been very alone in my dreams, missing international flights due to my own negligence. While there were scatterings of people, I was independent, determined to right my wrong and find my way to the destination nonetheless.

Kamali’s house, in the midst of construction, rests against a cloud filled sky. One year old Samba sits on the table with blackberries smudged across her cheeks. Julia, Samba’s Brazilian Mama, answers Samba’s request to come to the ground, to drag her body around the grass and dirt to explore nature with her hands. There have been many babies in my life this past month. I note the difference of the natural beauty of Julia and Samba to the parents and children of Melbourne. In controlled parenting I witness children’s tantrums, or more so confusion, over possessions. Maybe children struggle with possessions because this notion is not natural or instinctive to us? It is taught. And it is the world we live in. Already I cherish the opportunity to walk alongside my children, not influencing or dictating their understandings of the world but supporting them to discover their personal strengths.

“…she gave the gift of a secret world to drive away melancholy.”

1st January 2023

At the Wolery it’s half past midnight in Roser’s bus and I drift to sleep humming a new tune: I will write a book, I will fall in love, I’ll be in nature, I wrote a book, I fell in love, I was in nature, I am love, I give love, I receive love. I know this mantra will soon be forgotten, leaving me with my overriding guide for the year ahead: create. 
New Year’s evening was beautiful. After feeling distant and lethargic in the afternoon—battling digestion problems—Kamali, Marc and the different girls started up their white vehicles and headed to the Dam as I sat on the compost toilet and released some of my emotional blockages. Clambering into the bus, Roser and I giggled to each other, both wearing our favourite outfits of jeans, boots, headscarves, jackets and earrings. The first necklace I made—sitting on the jarrah floors of Broomerang when the lightning struck—hung around my neck.
We arrived to the Dam at the same time as Soren, Bree and Chin. On the rocks by the stage, we joined the clan, where Marc tells me we just missed Ben’s music.
Out beyond the rocks, a dam and a valley of tall trees is electrifying in the sun’s low light. I twisted around and ate sushi and rice paper rolls made by Roser. Kamali and I drank wine. Samba played with the rice paper rolls. When Roser and Samba danced, Samba squealed in delight.
The dance floor is full and the sky is dark. I fluttered between conversations about the awakening pockets of the world with Bree, and Bill Reed and the jewellery business with Soren. Rain passed through and people gathered around the stage to hold a tarp over the equipment. Once the tarp was folded up and music reclaimed its power, on the illuminated rocks to the left of stage a man danced wildly. Seeing his smile and swinging arm movements is infectious.
It’s 10pm when Roser and I followed Chin’s Ford following Marc’s Mercedes. The Wolery is only a few minutes drive down the road. In the dark sea of cars three young boys came to Roser, Chin and I. ‘Wow is that the ghostbusters car,’ they asked of Chin’s ute.
‘It is,’ I told them. ‘And we’re the ghostbusters. So if you have a problem, who are you going to call?’
‘Ghostbusters,’ the tallest boy proudly answered.
We glided down long, curved steps, coming to a round house made of wooden sticks and cob-looking walls. Out on the lawn a towering tree with wizen branches watches over the fire.
On the verandah Ben, Ollie and a bass player started jamming and we started moving our bodies until I’m sitting with Marc by the fire and it’s five minutes to midnight. At midnight we hug and wish people a Happy New Year. Roser and I perched ourselves on a log by the fire and I felt the heat of flames on my face. Everyone gathered around and a man told us we are here together vibrating at a high frequency. ‘In Columbia,’ a woman next spoke up, ‘we have a tradition of burning away the worries of the past year.’ The children throw Pedro (the handmade man) into the fire, and as we watched him burn our fears, we projected hopes and wishes for the year ahead. I gave Pedro my fear of failure and rejection, in writing, in love, and in living. Pedro took my shame and doubt to release my true self.
After falling asleep to light rain in Roser’s bus, humming my new tune, I dreamt of crocodiles.

3rd January 2023

Considering the sort of magic that has been in the wind these past few days, there’s been little desire to write. Instead I’ve been present, drawing connections between the evolution of Kamali’s land and the concept of time.
On January 1st Jacinta appeared from the dirt path that connects Marc’s to Kamali’s. From across the fire I look to blue eyes stark to a mop of black curls, and laugh with her humour.
The next morning Jacinta tells me that she’d resonated with much of what I said, and I too acknowledge that there’s something common passing between us, like conversations carried on from a past life. We are both seven in numerology, manifestors in Human Design, and together we go on an adventure.
At the Hay River, we turn right and inch down a narrow dirt track edged by trees, the high grass of the middle of the track bristling the underside of the van. At the inlet, we watch a black swan on the water and a sea eagle plunge for fish. On the bed of the van, Jacinta produces the deck of oracle cards she bought in Broome and which she was drawn to share with me—yesterday morning I’d noted my want for a tarot reading for the year ahead, and then 24-hours later Jacinta offered me a card reading. 
There’s the soft, dull light of Denmark clouds, there are paperbark trees, and there are reflections on the inlet, whose sound laps the shore. With Jacinta and I being naturally open about matters of the heart and our mutual, unwavering yearning to solve this puzzle for ourselves (as manifestors we’re both, apparently, meant to initiate with men), I easily decide that my intention for the oracle deck is my relationships. But, it’s undeniable that this is not my current reason for existence. Instead, the cards, which all add up to seven and eight, lead me back to my writing, and my calling is clear. It’s never been clearer. I need to believe in myself. To dive into that place of balance. Be the voice of observation to the higher voice that comes through me. Yes, writing needs to be my focus. And while it won’t always be easy, it must be done. For the power I am being given will not stay with me forever.
Now with a story burning bright as a star, despite being able to easily stay on in Denmark, I return to Broome so utterly ready to enter my own golden world, into the higher realms of consciousness, and emerge only when I have the first draft. There is prosperity and abundance ahead.

(Sitting at Green Pantry waiting for Sammy to head to Margs, I write this in the notes section of my phone, and a little girl stares at me. I feel my calling to children. It’s coming. But there’s something I need to first do.)

4th January

Writing from a Margaret River rural property, the forest creaks, a dog lies nearby, and the early morning sun sparkles on my hard stomach, full since New Year’s Eve. Last night my hard stomach brought me a headache, this morning I’m heavy.
On yesterday’s drive through the tall trees I returned to the confronting scene of Sammy. The disturbance of his innocent arrogance in the way he refuses to comprehend fundamental differences between masculine and feminine, yet goes on to list a string of females that no longer want to be part of his life, not making a connection between this reality and his beliefs. And while I could blatantly point out that we are comprised of different organs and move in different cycles, I again struggle to articulate my broader notions. Instead, Sammy describes his belief that there is nothing more than this life and my body tightens in visceral reaction. ‘I don’t agree,’ I tell him.
At the Margaret River rural property I sleep on a camper trailer mattress next to the dog, Django, in his bed. As I come to exist somewhere between sleep and wake, the edge of sleep paralysis, the brain jolts are minor. I haven’t smoked any weed since last year.
In the morning the sky’s so blue and a black and orange butterfly lands on my arm, which is bent to rest atop my head. In the sunshine Sammy and I play with Django, who plays with our shadows. I hug Jess tightly, thank her for accommodating me, and find her on Facebook, grateful to her offer for somewhere to stay anytime I need. When Jess and Django leave for work, a tall and slender girl comes from her van. The tall and slender girl currently works at a brewery to earn some money. Soon, she’s going to India on a textile expedition. What the tall and slender girl says of taking a break from her art to just work and be human, resonates with me. Just working and being human can be important for art. The tall and slender girl leaves for her morning rituals.
The house is dark. In the kitchen I search amongst the jars and spice packets for coffee. Beyond the window is green, the sounds of forest. I daydream on what I could do with such a space. To share such a space. To have people come in and create in such a space. I decide I want space, and financial stability. Enough money to sustain a meaningful life.
On the couches on the front wooden verandah I sip my coffee and write these words. Sammy is out amongst the grasses and dragonflies playing guitar. I need to stretch, I need to release outdated fears and emotions, I need to return to Broome, I need to switch off my phone and momentarily disappear.

5th January 2023

Last night I retreated from the dinner party with another headache. Now I’m in a heavy mood, with Roser at a cacao ceremony and me lying on the couch under the air conditioner—calves sore from driving and not enough stretching—reading Bri Lee. Writing from an academic setting and with an academic mind, Bri dissects the institutionally created idea of intelligence. She writes about this manmade world, pointing out the extreme failings within the institution we take for granted, the institution that Tom tells me is too late to fix (unless I want to be a ‘martyr,’ my brother had said in his condescending tone like I should be listening to yet another mansplaining on the purpose of life). While I enjoy Bri’s writing, I want to consider why we should all try to be smart? What good are the institutions you are scrutinising, institutions that drive us, if they destroy the natural environment, Bri? So maybe, Bri, maybe not everyone needs to be ‘smart.’ At least not in the way your very education has shown you to believe it. And, Bri, what is ‘smart’ anyway? Because while you are courageously and admirably debunking destabilising and outdated understandings, the language you use is the very language that keeps us within this social construct.
With my higher intestine still in pain, I stand and my head spins. It’s like I have a fever. Earlier, Roser suggested a blood test. But I believe that’s it more centred around something unresolved within. And, from what I’m learning from human design through Bree, Soren’s daughter, who is also a manifestor, is that my digestion and congestion is linked with being out of alignment with my emotions. Plus I experience anger when I’m off my intended track. Plus it can take time to process my emotions and reach decisions, hence it’s important for me to express this process. Plus, with so many open paths in my unique design, connections are also important for me because connections complete me. Yet, despite my imperative need to form connections with people, I don’t feel like being with people today.
Feeling so ready to return to Broome, and with Roser still at the cacao ceremony, an emptiness burns bright. I retrace my day to the moment that gave me most spirit; another conversation with Bree, this time about the growing communities of the world and the alternative future this holds. Seeing my future, I know it’s one of exploration. Of countries, culture and adventures. Driven not with the end result in mind—because the end result isn’t yet in my mind—but driven by my piece of the process in broadening understandings of what constitutes life as we enter a new age. While the ‘answer’ won’t come in my lifetime, I am here to play my part.

6th January 2023

Today is a full moon in cancer. Today is the nine year anniversary of the day I found the dead body of Bo in Cambodia. At Perth airport, my flight to Broome is on time. I’m relieved to be here, with Roser’s driving putting my blood pressure through the roof.
Broome is damp. Initially, I had wanted to run away. But where would I run to? By the end of the day, my room is reset and I’m rediscovering my inspiration and drive. Watching another doco on healing, I’m reminded of the importance of diet, with sugar, wheat and dairy major culprits. Nuts and seeds can also be culprits. With healing, there is the emotional side and there is the spiritual side. 90% of disease is related to stress. Our thoughts shift us. My stomach beats like a heart and my legs are weak. When I stand my head spins again. I return to the intention I set at the new moon, which spans the six months ahead. Write and love my projections. To write a powerful first draft, and to engage in adventurous conversations that expose me.
I don’t know how long I’ll be in Broome for.

7th January 2023

I hold my heavy stomach, which Tara positions as purely emotions based. But it feels emotional and food based. I visit Kellie, Ella and Isma at Allure and end up with cheese and biscuits left over from a December function. I eat the cheese and biscuits knowing the importance of my diet. In preparation for my writing, today I gift myself the freedom to lounge, eat and read. Lying under my fan with the two windows of my room covered by curtains and sarongs, despite Wil reckoning it makes no difference to the heat, I watch another documentary on healing, which highlights emotions and diet, yet again. 

An old thought was in my dreams last night. There was a moment of receiving a text message from him with uncharacteristic emojis, and in another we were are a gathering, not engaging directly but always aware of the other’s general vicinity.

8th January

Since my return, I’ve been using only a fan. Since my return, I’ve been happiest when locked away writing. Still an irritable mood claims me, with intestinal pain from gluten and diary, and a dense air to the house. ‘Heavy metal poisoning,’ Wil reckons of his state.
Late yesterday afternoon, Arlo and I went for our walk down the beach, parking at our usual spot to walk the back of the sand dunes. Only the track was a river. Arlo ran down it like normal and I waded behind him until I saw no end, and turned around.
The beach was near empty. Not drawn to the water, we walked along the sand, Arlo up ahead and me singing Seabird by the Alessi Brothers. A jogger waved to me like he knew me and I waved back in politeness, simultaneously noting the jogger’s big stomach and my brutal judgment. The runner had given me a look of longing. Back in my room, my notifications silenced, I checked my messages and saw one from L asking if it was me or a stranger he waved to on the beach. I told him I didn’t recognise him. He told me he put on lots of weight over Christmas. And so, as it goes, our conversation ended with his bluntness and my retaliation to his bluntness. There’s something about him—perhaps an arrogance—that infuriates me without even knowing him intimately or emotionally. I need a partner who wants to see me in person.

9th January 2023

At Matso’s I’m the lighter one and L the serious one. When I look into his eyes I don’t see anything familiar staring back. After three wines I tell him I thought he was an arsehole when we were younger. I think it sticks with him. On parting, we share a brief hug and I don’t feel compelled to kiss him or be suggestive. I’m still not sure, still with memories of that time in Derby. Now it’s 6:30am and I’ve got that cheap wine feeling. Scattered, unable to hone in, transferring notes from my phone to my computer, thinking to move from the house when Wil returns (he leaves tomorrow).

11th January 2023

Tight body, slight headache, waiting on period and Wil to leave so I can take over the music room. For now, my computer still in my room, I stretch and draw oracle cards. For the first time, I ask specific questions, although I struggle to articulate my question. What do I want to know? I go between similar questions in search of the same answer. What would be the effects of pursuing a relationship with L? I’m confused by the answer of Autumn Leaves telling me to trust in the flow of the universe (like my horoscope also told me this week) and to let go of something that has served its purpose. Was I too vague? I shuffle again repeating the same question. The next is Turquoise Sea telling me to heal myself because the relationship I have with myself is what determines the relationship I have with another. Was I still not specific enough? Because I’m still confused, if I love myself more does that mean we can pursue a loving relationship? Or is it highlighting the lack of natural attraction?
With Wil at the airport attracting the spitefulness of airport staff, I reset the house. It becomes a super clean cave. The music room, which, when Wil went to Wales in September, gave me a repelling energy, transforms; covering up Wil’s mess, emptying the desk, wiping all surfaces down, sweeping up the sand, and spending a long while smoking it because the smudge stick keeps going out. Relighting the smudge stick and watching the smoke drift, I ruminate on the doco I’ve been watching on consciousness that shows me how much we’re connected, how everything is predetermined, and how we can feel our hearts radiating. Being shown this connection makes me realise how deeply in love with my soul I am. This old soul. This wise soul. This knowing, loving, loveable soul. I love my soul. But this soul is also tired. And it’s only 1pm. I make a smoothie and walk back into the music room, where I throw up a little in my mouth. There must be more darkness to shift. Or it could be last night’s chocolate and ice cream? Once I write this book it’ll be time for adventure.

12th January

Sweated through the night as Arlo joined the chorus of the street’s dogs barking to a party and the blare of sirens. Pressing the button of my iPad for light, I’m shown the fans have stopped moving. Through the red sarong Isma gifted me I see no streetlights. Back in my sweaty sleep, dreams are random. It’s 5:45am when I go to my phone and go to the power board. I check the Broome noticeboard on Facebook and see the whole town’s without power. My high (small?) intestines hurt and my throat feels like sandpaper. I’m sombre and I’m lonely. On the daybed I clap mosquitoes, determined to work hard so I can leave Broome for a while. I’m excited for the sugar to move from my body—I’ve been watching a doco on how our gut is our second brain. 

Friday 13th January 2023

It was a beautiful, impromptu night with Tara. We discussed the similarity of our alcohol-filled youth, and how we can push each other’s buttons, which Tara notes is because we both have open parts in our human design, meaning we take on other’s energies easily. We become confused by whose energy we’re taking on, she reckons.
Sleeping with the air con rumbling and Arlo asleep on my floor, I have peaceful dreams on clean linen sheets. This morning the light is so yellow it looks artificial. Fairy lights and scarves hang from the curtain rail. My room no longer holds a desk. In the music turned writing room, I am gripped by motivation. Could this come from the deadline of needing to be at work at 10am?
Getting ready for work in a rush I love the beauty of this space being all mine. It’s so clean and tidy. 
At work I’m glad to be back but still I’m vivacious and opinionated in conversations. On my lunch break I read a Stan Grant book on the modern world, which is heavily centred around China, until I realise I don’t want to keep reading. Stan Grant is a brilliant mind but the focus on political systems and (what I see as) the male-driven fucked-up nature of the world makes me want to use my mind elsewhere. Because where we put our thoughts matters, and I don’t need to know the ins and outs of such history. Just the overall picture.

14th January 2023

The mood of the last two days has been intense. Rough days in my black period undies, Hara boob tube, Copenhagen purchased hoops, a Sarah-made necklace, plaits on my head, my belly round.
At Rachel’s, we stand in the kitchen, Rachel speaking to me and me looking past her to the 1333 number on the microwave. I add up the numbers to see if they mean anything, thinking of the whole world in digits and how everything comes back to one.
Back at home, slightly stoned, I’m in a swirl, grappling to understand why I feel so compelled to write this story, while realising that this writing journey is another self-healing journey. I’m heading into a state of no return, taking power from grounding myself, allowing my unique self to come forth with confidence.
In bed, still slightly stoned, I feel presences in my room. They get up close, caressing me, bringing sensations of recent dreams. Although I won’t say more on what the dream was. It could be a random thought trying to make something out of nothing. Because I’m good for that, it turns out.

To my children: I am your friend. You tell me your thoughts and I tell you mine. We can discuss them, we can listen, because I’m not here to tell you what to do but to guide you into being yourself.

15th January 2023

With weed and electricity shocks in bed, I have this crazy crazy idea that I’m breaking through something. The connection of consciousness. The power in conversations. That with someone I want to talk about my writing. I want to be vulnerable. I want to speak from the heart no matter how weak I appear.

16th January 2023

This morning I was in a brilliant writing flow when I took out my earphones to fill up my water bottle and heard the horn of an 80s series. Bruce wants me to follow him to Auto Pro, where he’ll leave his car to have a new radio installed.
The quick trip with Bruce goes for hours, taking phone calls and directions from family in One Arm and sorting a new phone for Bruce. I start to get irritated.
Finally, Bruce has a new flip phone and I come home to the air conditioner, Arlo, and my brilliant writing flow until my phone rings again. A couple of times. I agree to drop Bruce back to his 80s series waiting at Auto Pro with a new radio. ‘Then I need to come straight home,’ I warn Bruce.
Driving to Auto Pro, Bruce is adamant that I need to come to Cygnet Bay with him to meet some documentary guy. I begrudgingly oblige.
In Cygnet Bay, the people know I work at Allure. Turning into the tour room, I see the guy with long blonde hair that Arlo had asked for a pat two nights before. We had walked up the dunes (because our normal walk is still flooded like a river) and Arlo jumped up on the seat and went to him. ‘He’s a happy guy,’ the guy with long blonde hair said of Arlo.
‘Maybe too happy, he’s being cheeky,’ I smiled, before quickly turning my head and descending the long stairs with Arlo, wondering if the guy with long blonde hair had seen me pee in the dunes. Down below, my surroundings felt like Africa and I twisted around to look back to the stranger on the bench at the top of the long stairs. I knew that he’s a visitor. I know he has strong energy.
Now, the guy with long blonde hair introduces himself, telling me that he’s creating a documentary on sacredness. I listen to Bruce skirting questions and giving vague answers in his interview.
Back at home, Arlo sits with me in the dark of the writing room. I start to get excited for my story. My teeth are sensitive. A storm rolls in. Adam, the guy with long blonde hair, calls. I’ll meet him for a ‘bite to eat’ at 6:30pm at Matso’s. 
The rain has stopped but puddles remain on the road and the clouds are bright yellow for the minute drive to Matso’s. I ignore some odd scene playing out in my head. ‘Surely L won’t be there,’ I say aloud.
Walking past Matso’s picket fence, L sits on the verandah and I wave to him. At the next table is Adam.
I hug L hello, meet his friend, and go give Adam an awkward hug. For a couple of hours, Adam and I are deep in great conversations on plants, medicine, energy and our art, while L sits behind us, watching my back. When Adam and I walk out, back past the white picket fence, L is still watching. What L doesn’t see is that Adam comes by the house to buy a book, which he gives me $50 for, before returning to his hotel, readying to leave Broome the next morning. Left alone, I’m full on food and yuck from cigarettes. My teeth are still sensitive. I want to talk to somebody.

17th January 2023

Strange things happen in my dreams. I toss and turn and at 2am I turn the jet plane of an air conditioner on. The jet plane exacerbates my tossing, turning and strange dreams. A light like a torch goes through my room, waking me. A minute later my phone lights up with a notification from The Pattern. By morning I’m curled up, cold, watching Arlo curled up near the door. ‘Arlo you’re going to Perth to see Wil today and I’m going to miss you very very much,’ I tell him, though it’s L I’m thinking about. While I can’t decipher the nature of these thoughts, the thoughts include fear. Of his sexual toughness and near cruelty in his want to punish me. And of the look I glimpsed when Adam and I walked past the white picket fence. I’m confused. Feeling physically sick. Nauseous almost. From that night in Derby, months ago, was an energetic tie created that had me take on some of his negative emotions?
I light an incense and pull it through the clean house, coming to sit on my yoga mat amongst the fossicked objects of the lounge room. I meditate. I will focus on my nervous system. I take deep breaths. There is no rush.
At Cable Beach Club, I’m in a daze. I shouldn’t be here. I’m with last night’s conversations with Adam, who saw that I had Bo’s spirit with me for years. That I worked to release him without realising. That Bo is now my angel. That I’m being shown alternative ways despite being caught here, in the system, limiting my creativity. I say it’s the money that brings me back to work but it’s also the people. The beautiful people who say it’s more lively when I’m there. But I’m burdened. I need to concentrate on healing myself.

18th January 2023

A sugar addiction has me eating a little and wanting more. Tara says I look fuller, a feminine fuller. It’s funny (or not so funny) how my mind tries to twist this comment into an insult. But it’s not an insult. I am fuller. I’ve been eating lots of sugar and I’ve been eating often.
There’s thunder in the sky and I ride my bike with dragonflies and lizards to get my ute’s air conditioning fixed. I have a repetitive thought that once I finish a firm first draft, I’ll go travelling for a while. 
At sunset I walk to calm my stomach, having eaten a packaged bar. On getting home, I take the mattress from my camper into the writing room. Tiredness descends earlier than expected. Seeing my diet and sadness in my face and thighs, I think of movement through South and Central America. The healing journey. 

19th January 2023

By the day I’m becoming more attuned with the nature of my existence here. This time and place. Listening to my surroundings. Continuing conversations with myself. Conversations on manifesting in the present. I wake in the night to what feels like a flash of lightning, but I can’t be sure. Whatever it was, I’m thankful that it took me from my dreams because I was about to make a terrible choice (which also happened the other night—I was about to make another terrible choice when a crash in my room took me to reality). Thunder cracks and my hair stands on end, electricity charging the air. I roll over and hug him close. Only there’s no one there. Instead the storm ignites more powerful realisations. There’s something beyond us all. Somewhere out there in the skies. And I’m part of it. Here to share this connection. To show that possibilities exist.

I am love from up above, I am soul from down below

20th January 2023

I enjoy his company, it’s gorgeous to have someone hold and caress me. But my heart knows he’s not the one.

Everything’s a coincidence and nothing’s a coincidence.

Remember, manifestation is experiencing that feeling in the moment. Experiencing my success and happiness in the present. 

I must leave work behind. Soon. The near future. Lose the guilt so I can fly. Trust that money will come. Although I don’t know when or how.

My mind is such a powerful thing. 

Is it the mastery of our minds that’ll give the “answer”?

To achieve self-love you don’t need to buy anything. 

21st January 2023

A powerful new moon. A naked Tara comes through the house calling my name. ‘Sarah did you know there’s a dead bird on the daybed?’ she asks. I don’t. I follow her out. It’s a peaceful dove. Tara buries the bird near the pool and invites me to women singing in the cave, heralding the Aquarius new moon. I decline, having planned a ritual with myself in my own cave, and having mentally prepared to forfeit social events for the sake of something more.
Lying on my van mattress in the music-come-writing room, I breath in my future. A successful writer of a widely circulated book that ignites conversations towards mass positive change. In a healthy relationship of give and take, with him, my best friend (perhaps I already know him), on my level in conversations and frequency, journeying alongside me through the world.
I pull a card for what to anticipate this Aquarius new moon. Lotus Flower. “This card heralds a time of positive change that is about to unfold in your life — deep and profound changes, which occur at heart level. As your heart opens, the universe sends new and loving experiences your way. You may have been hurt or disappointed recently, however, the weeks to come will bring renewal as new friendships and opportunities blossom. These new opportunities and friendships will be deeply inspiring and rewarding. They are the result of the love and faith you have shown the universe. In opening your heart, you have raised your vibration and therefore will begin to attract all that vibrates to love. This card is a blessing from the universe.”
Maybe a dead bird doesn’t signify death, but an ending giving birth to transformation. 

22nd January 2023

Last night in my dream things got very strange. Emma and I kissing, for example. Me having responsibility for something. A guy coming, maybe a delivery guy, passing through my scene and passing me his number. I was natural in taking it.
By night, thankful to be alone in this space releasing a book, my feet become super heavy and I’m tired by 8:30pm. I realise I’d been going all day, with an hour break only to finish the documentary on water (I’ve since been saying love & gratitude with each sip of water) and mindwandering down the beach. I’ve come to savour these mindwanders, walking without phone or shoes, just me, the sounds of nature, deep skies. It is on these mindwanders that thoughts fall into place.
In bed in the writing room I realise the feeling of my heavy feet is the feeling that would come when walking around Broomerang all day. Which I was. In my writing.

23rd January 2023

Out in the clean kitchen are morning conversations and elongated hugs with Raquel. ‘Somethings going on out there,’ she confirms, pointing upwards. There are solar flares and shifts. We are being gifted light.

With my newfound understanding of the form water takes to loving intentions (shapes like sacred geometry), which can be traced through multiple ancient civilisations, proof of our interconnectedness, my New Moon manifestations practice is positive speech and thoughts.

24th January 2023

Sleeping in the music-come-writing room, I wake in the middle of the night with pieces of writing coming to me. I turn the air con off and sleep with the rain until daybreak. Meditating on my yoga mat in the living area, I begin the process of switching from head to heart, clearing the pollution of my mind by embodying the sensations I desire. I see what thoughts come. Melbourne and its people appear. Watching my body fill with dread I realise that I can’t change them. But I can change myself. And so to the chorus of bugs, birds and easing rains—sounds of the riverbed in Central Australia—I fall in love with Sarah. 
At Cable Beach club people have changed my displays and I’m frustrated. Yet it’s all meaningless. The displays don’t matter. I swivel the desk around and sit with the computer. There’s a news article about migraines and amount of people who suffer from them. The article talks about hospital treatments and drugs but doesn’t mention possible causes. The news is so painful to read.
After lunch, I return to Club and nausea washes over me like it did last week. The music, the lights, hearing how people are trained to talk to other people. I race to the toilet like I’m actually going to be sick. It’s tempting to quit effective immediately. With the newfound time I could go into deep meditations to discover the answers my body holds.
On my mindwander so many thoughts come for Gemstones. The storyline and meaning stringing together. On the descent over the sand dunes, I run the last part to catch my thoughts, but the one that felt most important is lost.

25th January 2023

Yesterday afternoon, tiptoeing barefoot through Minyirr Park, there were dragonflies through the grasses and skinks sliding across my path. I stopped to look at the yellow light on a tree branch held by slate clouds. ‘You’re beautiful,’ I declared. ‘I wonder what you mean,’ I exclaimed. It was near dark by the time I walked the last part of the track. There, standing on the red dirt, the cicadas were most alive, their ringing sounding almost static, the sensory input altering me to another place until my mind starts ticking its daydream.
In the middle of the night the blue light of my computer screen flashes and the small kitchen light stays on. I wake on my back from a peaceful dream, deciphering an impactful and relieving conversation. Later, I wake again on my back, deciphering another rewarding conversation. Although I can’t remember what either dream was about.
After my morning meditation and stretch, I write and organise with dedication, topless. My nipples have been itchy. I experience clear thoughts on my need to leave work. Not because I’m irrational or dramatic, but because the environment does not support me long term. Instead, I need to dive deeper into my healing journey (through my writing) to work with my unique skills. Because it’s time to be who I came here to be. Not societies projections of who I should be.
Come night I watch another Gaia doco. This time on highly sensitive people, with about 20% of the population being highly sensitive. Ten years ago, when I returned to Mildura after being scammed in India, I picked up a magazine with a front cover about highly sensitive people. That’s me, I had thought, buying the magazine to read about the inner world I had been grappling with. And it is me. I’m sensitive to the lights at work. I’m sensitive to big gatherings and large quantities of people. I’m sensitive to materials on my skin. I’m sensitive to the aesthetics of my surroundings. I’m sensitive to criticism. My skin and stomach are sensitive, too. And while I write this in Broome, on the street in which it’s based, I know that soon this will be a memory, the house a chapter of my past. I don’t yet know what’s next, but I know I am owning my power, my authenticity, and the lessons I’ve been placed in this lifetime to learn.

26th January 2023

I sleep until 7am and wake with a slight headache. There had been a vivid dream with Beth. We were in Adelaide and she had a loving, special someone with her. Through the morning is the flow of writing. A storm creeping in. I cook up tuna and veg to the buzz of cicadas and flies coming to inspect the tuna. I love having my own clean space to create my own rhythm. Beth replies to my message. Yesterday, her and her honey (who I didn’t know existed) made it official, and when her contract’s up in July, she’s moving to Margaret River (not Adelaide).

27th January 2023

The universe delivers me ingredients for baked botanical goods. First I was asked if I wanted to hold onto a Magic Butter machine temporarily, then the day after the magic butter machine was delivered to me, Tara walked in saying she has stems. The stems are now baking in the oven.

Last night stoned on Tara’s stems, I entered a dreamland where dreams are starting to be odd. It’s in the way situations are put together. Yet there’s total indifference to the odd scenes I’m watching. When I was coming out of dreamland, I realised that I was going between dreams, and I had the power to change this.

28th January 2023

It’s before 6am and it’s raining. My feet point over the road to the house that’s given me the basis of a story. Last night brought Kris, Raquel and Maura. Kris spoke of people listening to their feelings more, sending me to the extreme of thinking about the world and how if everyone concentrated on the light (rather than the darkness and drama we’re supposedly mystified by) then we could shift existence. Because we are water. Kris spoke to me like she was reading my mind. ‘I’m feeling what’s going on,’ I tell her. I’m part of this awakening. I’m here in this time on this ancient land, reaching out to new light, creating new neurological pathways to experience this thing we call life. There’s something happening, something beyond ourselves. The magic butter machine makes sounds from the polished kitchen bench. ‘It’s so random,’ I laugh to the three women. ‘I had no desire to be making magic butter but here I am making magic butter.’ The women chomp away at their food while I pick at it. It’s important what I put into my body. And to prove this I must set my own example. There is no other way. They leave. My left arm goes dead. It’s been doing that a bit lately. I look ahead to February and the positivity I will bring into my life. We’re computers ourselves, really. To operate the computer we need collaboration.

30th January 2023

When I was full body stoned, I knew what I’m to do. That life makes most sense when I’m creating. That I have to write. That I have to treasure a body that is light and active, taking myself to the optimal level. That through loving movements I vibrate on an entirely different frequency. And it shifts my surroundings. Because everything is connected and once the mass realise this, once we band together, realising our power, so much beauty will come. Because we have the answer. All of us. And now it’s Monday morning and I’ve pretty much been asleep since Saturday afternoon. My body is drowsy and my stomach is round and tender from the sudden intake of flour. Yesterday was a day well wasted (I didn’t even have the concentration to finish movies). Then my dreams were based around communication. My thoughts charged by the portal of Broome. Something’s coming to me, something I must take forward to the world. In my meditations there is abundance. But in this moment, food shifting through my body, there is major pain. Going to the toilet there is major strain.

31st January 2023

It rains through the night and despite not needing an air conditioner, I remain sleeping in the safe space of my writing room. On these beautiful cosy mornings there are so many mosquitoes, and the ongoing saga of a blocked toilet, which is like a metaphor for my insides. My body excruciatingly sore; stiff, rounded belly, cramped muscles. Going to the toilet is still a strain. Waiting patiently and eagerly for these foods to pass from my body, I’ve been watching Hungry for Change, which addresses our ignorant understanding of the high importance in what we use to fuel our bodies. It’s a physiological process. Not, ‘I can’t have that…’ but ‘I can have that but I can also have…’
On the way to Cable Beach Club, with my face swollen and the pain moving around my stomach, listening to Numb/Encore strangely revitalises me to dedicate myself to my art.
Out of the car, walking across the road into work mode, I make a Gemstones note: the reflection to childhood shows how we are products of our surroundings but the yearning for love has always been there—when did we lose the language? Is it the family influence? Is this what Prince Harry has been talking about?
Still feeling philosophical, being subjected to dreadful music in the Cable Beach’s foyer takes me far far away from this reality. I decide that in February I will find my all. I will attune with my greater spirit, living each moment with the utmost presence and fertility, with my heart and soul poured into this new book. And through this inner stability, intuition and insight, I will choose where to put my energy and where to pick my battles. Although already I know that my energy will not be placed at work and my battles are not with people (the more I look at people, the more Ram Dass’s laugh is present: a soul dressed in a suit). Instead, with people, I will give deep love and empathy to where they stand on their own journey, remembering time and knowing that everything we feed ourselves, from foods to technology and information and thoughts, has great affects on us.

1st February 2023

Hurrah! I’m glad it’s the first of February! So much has led me to this moment. We slept with only my sage linen sheets, the fan swirling on high, our bodies touching, his shoulders twitching through dreams. We are ships passing in the night—him going down the river and me writing a book—only now my stomach keeps throbbing, ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom, and my head has the same constant, dull beating of my stomach. It’s the same from last September. Out my window, in the tropical green, frogs sing. By the time a sharp light engulfs the neighbourhood, the headache is worse. There’s something bothering me. Something holding me back. Something unfinished. Or is it the lingering scent of someone? Is this pain tied with my emotions, or is it tied with him?

2nd February 2023

It was a night of lots of dreams. The headache wasn’t as bad, but my jaw and body were sore. On waking, I did a small stretch and a meditation where I spent about 98% of the time thinking. There are moths and butterflies but my mind’s slow, understanding that my extensive repetition with new ideas is part of the process of etching it into my subconscious. Walking the beach with Ella she spoke about her engagement ring and I marvelled on the migratory birds taking flight. I see the importance of her character.

3rd February 2023

The sound of the universe, the auras attached to us, what exists in what we can’t see, the structure of water, meditation, a documentary called The Voice that speaks about consciousness. Because we are consciousness and everything is consciousness and if we all concentrate on love, we can shift the weather.
Sleeping on my back I dream of moving between dimensions. I’m in a big dark gathering with an assortment of people. I’m the host. Later, I’m in in a house mixed between Preston and Broomerang. Liv’s there, others too, although I can’t remember who. In the last part, I return to the house going wild, something big happening, Liv’s face a bright light, with light rain in the room. I keep tossing and turning, unable to get my aching body comfortable. 
This morning my body is still sore, the toilet is still blocked, and my stomach still holds the pain of last September. Through creating my Gemstones scrapbook, I see a deep admiration for the character of Amy. Outside, the shadows of the fig tree decorates a naked Raquel leaning against the pool rocks. Raquel and I have an impassioned conversation.
Returning to my pottering I throw out the glass jars of seeds, nuts and lentils that sit high amongst the cobwebs in the kitchen. When Maura walks in, I mention the funny feeling of my stomach and she tells me it’s connected with my sacral/sex chakra without me having mentioned the sex. Maura explains ideas similar to what I had been piecing together; that through sexual relations we can take on the emotions of other people. Maura speaks of the divine masculine and the divine feminine. She refers to the misuse of sexual energy. And I see it. I want tenderness, love and adoration.
At Coles I spend $103. $40 of it is on vegetables, and the remainder on packaged stuff; coconut milk, coconut yoghurt, olives, tahini, hemp seeds, frozen blueberries and tofu. I still want to see him again.

4th February 2023

Back sleeping up the other end of the van mattress in the writing room, my feet away from Broomerang, toward the big wooden doors to the living area and kitchen, I dream some more. In my dreams there’s still a touch of the otherworldly, this time with ocean and people. Francis Kelly, who had chased me around the playground in year three. And Cassius. On waking, I walk through cobwebs in the kitchen and I walk through cobwebs in my abandoned bedroom. The house is a giant spider web of daddy long legs. Amongst the old bottles in the living area, I do the meditation that Maura sent me about releasing the extra entities inside of me. It puts words in my head of vibrating on a higher frequency, and to embrace our power is to be mindful of those we share our energies with. Through the meditation, it felt like an angel entered me, swam deeply into me, and hung there while I closed myself off from the greater light. With the angel still inside, L hung before, making me understand religions’ notions of no sex before marriage. This isn’t prudish. The ancients have knowledge we lost. However, like is the case for all major paradigms and institutions, what ensued was a blanket approach that ignores the feminine intuition (because creation is inside of us), empathy and compassion. To embrace differences would be to complement each other. And if people are first able to love themselves, they’ll know themselves worthy of their unique power. 
Leaving the house there is a bright light and bright overgrown weeds. Looking over to Broomerang, the house feels different. Driving my route to work by the markets and up the hill, I have never seen so many butterflies, dragonflies and birds. Everything is heightened. Coming into work there are more cobwebs. When Ella arrives I practice going above myself.

5FEB23

During yesterday-day I ate a boiled egg, strong black coffee, barramundi with roast veg and tahini, coconut aminos and apple cider vinegar sauce. Eating plants instead of packaging is eating consciousness. Come night, Rachel and GG came by and GG, with her tail wrapped tightly between her legs, kept barking at Kris. ‘Do you see a bright light?’ I asked GG. Kris left, and when Rachel spoke a spider wove a web in the space between us. We ate Moroccan-style roast veg and some strawberries. After, alone, I lay on the daybed, under the wooden table under the wooden light made from the part of a wagon wheel that holds the stokes. Smoking joints, I watched insects and thoughts. We’re all consciousness. Our minds capable of so much power. And if we work the mind from our hearts, accepting all differences, and we create babies that experience this reality from birth, then imagine…
This afternoon I take the red mop bucket and go to the outdoor tap by my bedroom. Dancing across to see if my sheets are dry, a big butterfly with black, white and blue patterned wings comes from the frangipani tree whose branch swoops the clothesline. The butterfly rests before me. ‘Why hello there. Do you know what, you’re very beautiful,’ I begin, before whispering words of appreciation to the butterfly’s presence in my life. Concentrating on my breathing, I experience the butterfly and I as one.
At Minyirr Park, each dog runs up to me to say hello. Yeah, I tell the dogs, I’m an intelligence they don’t teach in schools. You will never find me in universities. Nah. But it’s an intelligence I will pass to my children. An intelligence integral to an awakened civilisation. But how to awake? Especially considering everyone needs to experience this through their own calling, their own terms. Well, for me, I learn from the past, I focus on where we want to go, I utilise the vast quantities of information from all those who came before us. The process is raw, the process is real. And I hope to see you there.
Between wake and dream, a different spasm shoots through my brain. The spasm was from another area; it didn’t hurt.

6FEB23

The light in the kitchen stays on through the night so I don’t get so scared. Early morning, five something, I emerge from my writing room excited to meditate. The oven clock reads 0:00. ‘Feels like we’re starting from the beginning of time again,’ I say to myself. I click into Google on my iPhone and am given a suggested article from The Guardian. Think Yourself Better. I wonder who else is simultaneously experiencing these realisations as me? Because the information is there for the taking.
Back in reality, there are soooooo many mosquitoes through the yard. They’re amongst the tropical shrubs and in the pockets of water. Getting slammed by the mosquitoes, I’m angry by the hose getting caught on things. Taking deep breaths, I visualise my healed and healthy body. I remember that my period is due tomorrow. I walk out to take more sheets off the line and a rustle sends me backwards. On the eucalyptus tree is a lizard with sharp claws and a sharp tongue, the pattern of its tail different to the pattern of its head and torso. ‘Wow you’re gorgeous,’ I tell the lizard. And as we stand together breathing, the lizard and I are one.
Back in the safety of my writing room, deep equations and contemplations come fast. ‘Shit I think I’ve found the meaning of life,’ I say to another substantial thought, staring into the mirror. It’s something around the simple notion of mastering our unique selves. But an hour later I’m  combatting my ego through hypothetical conversations giving people pieces of my mind. Catching myself in these hypothetical conversations, I readjust. The next readjustment is being accosted by Maura’s theories in the kitchen. With plaits atop my head, folded arms and a smirk, I nod along. She thinks everything will collapse by 2025. I align with Maura’s ideas on community and management, but maybe our difference is in the approach.
On my walk through Minyirr Park, Ella lists everything that annoys her and everything that she hates. She’s been getting these weird head things where she feels like she’s going to die. I watch nature. I don’t have the answer. We all do. Because we’re all different, that’s what makes us the same.

7th Feb 23

Last night, pre-menstrual, I drunk wine, I bought tobacco, I ate whatever sweetness I could muster—turmeric and almond milk, yoghurt, strawberries and maple syrup, celery and tahini. I feel okay in this. I feel like there’ll be a lot of change in my lifetime. There’ll be change soon. And it’ll be fast.
Then, asleep in the writing room, the air con makes me cosy, overriding exterior sounds, keeping me calm in dreams that shift around Mildura, from the aerodrome ovals, to the bridge over the river, and to the church of my childhood. At the church, light streams through windows, there are similarities from other dreams, and another breakthrough comes. Although I can’t remember what happened.
In the morning I walk under the fan through the museum-living area with a strong smell of food I enjoy. The house is clean, there is mould on the wood of the kitchen. I meditate. Awaiting my coffee, I wipe the mould. Going to the fridge, the strong smell of frangipani pulls me outside. Up close, I decide not to pick a frangipani because it’s unnecessary. ‘Wow my smell is stronger than ever this morning,’ I tell the frangipani.
Watering Wil’s rambling garden, I drag the hose around. There are plants everywhere and the hose still gets caught on things. I wonder why we do this. All this added stress. When I have a garden, it will be a vegetable garden and it will be easily accessible. The rest of the plants will be native.

8th February 2023

Ella turns 18. The air conditioner makes me cold and I sleep well. P was in my dream. I helped him with a woman. I “meditate” in bed. Out of the music-come-writing room, the sound of cicadas is replaced by mosquitoes. The smell of frangipani remains strong. I laugh to the other night of pre-menstrual wildness. By the middle of the day there’s a sharp pain in the middle of my stomach. Something is still amiss. Something is still not adding up.

9FEB23

This morning I woke early, standing at the door of the music room, watching big black flies floating in a crimson sky. I imagine they’re there for the blocked toilet, which is driving me mad. I have such a headache, a tight belly, no motivation, all opinionated, knowing that work does not complement me. Plus I detest being hungover from the wine and opinions and disagreement with Ian and his masculine approach blanketing individuals while dismissing new understandings. This is what irks me, that our systems, the matrix, doesn’t support a large majority of people. Only many don’t realise this. It’s taken my whole life for me to realise this.

10th February 2023

In the comfort of home, hypothetical conversations fill my mind on the unfairness in Ella being given a $4000 pair of earrings. It’s a gesture that marks the permanent ending of my time at Allure. For now, I’ll cut down another day and embody future Sarah, out there in the world utilising my capabilities. But then habitual thoughts take me to obsessions on how I’ll earn money, where I will work, what needs to be done. But this is not the answer. The answer will come once I work myself out.
After work I’m dead as a doornail without inspiration. The day had gone quickly but it’s so harsh with the lighting and my mind going into overdrive dreaming what pieces of jewellery I want. It’s funny, though, because I’ll never live a lifestyle where holding onto such items is practical, especially when I lose jewellery so easily—I’m still frustrated by my lost gold pearl and the misplacement of my gold hoops. Nonetheless, I maintain my positive repetitions, feeling into my future, sharing stories that help shape a new world, using my communication skills, my empathy and my sensitivity. I don’t need expensive jewellery. I need to save every dollar so I can escape.
On the red path of my Minyirr Park walk I breath affirmations: I am The Gemstones of Broomerang. On the beach, I decide that by my birthday I will quit work, I’ll leave the house, I’ll live my truth, leaving the matrix behind to focus on my true, creative self. 

11th February 2023

In the night I wake on my hard mattress on the ground. The air conditioning is cold. I stumble through the wooden interior of the house, past the small kitchen light, to the blocked toilet. Blood soaks my mustard undies. I’m so done with the blocked toilet. Back in the cold air conditioning, I think about work at the pearl shop until I turn the air conditioner off. I’m not as cold without the air conditioner but I still think about work and I despise that I’m thinking about work. I’m so done with work. After all I’ve put into it, I feel undercut, unsure I can wait until my birthday. Kellie, I love you, but I can’t support you the same anymore, not when I’m not paid accordingly (although this is out of your control) and not when I could be feeding a greater good rather than my boss’ pocket. In my dream an elevator goes 260 floors in 36 seconds. Now it’s a hot, damp morning and I sit at my desk to recover my wellbeing. Stav in Israel has done a Facebook post on self-love. It’s occurring across the globe; the strengthening of our inner worlds to create a more stable outer world.

12th February 2023

Using my magic butter with potatoes, I sleep until 8:30. I open the glass door that faces the front, across to Broomerang, and I’m engulfed by another time; a dry heat, a long summer’s day. The morning carries on with the scents and sensations of my childhood home. Today my visions are so clear on the sustainable life I crave. I continue to decorate the Gemstones scrapbook with ideas. There is no sequential order to the scrapbook, instead it captures random downloads.

Valentine’s Day

There are still so many butterflies around town. Still so many thoughts on good food, family and forest. Most years I don’t think about Valentine’s Day so I’m not sure why I’m thinking about it this year. Last Valentines I received the email about the colourful ending of Broomerang, this year I’m being accosted by crap music at Cable Beach Club. Pre-work I’d been in a such gentle rhythm in my writing world—becoming clearer about the message I want to send—that’d I’d forgotten about work. Now I’m back. Thinking about the earrings. And whether this conundrum is worth my thought. The Gemstones of Broomerang is my love note to a world in desperation.

15th FEB

The toilet is still very blocked and there are still lots of butterflies around. Days evaporate colouring my notebook. A couple of storms pass through. I think of him out on the river. My lower right side holds the painful sensation. With thanks to sand dunes and Cable Beach I experience another gorgeous evening mindwander. My back is straighter and my knees are steadier. Moments wash over me. I stop and look at the yellow light through tall grasses like Africa, becoming totally absorbed in the oneness of the moment and the connection of my thoughts. Knowing that I know something although I don’t know what it is that I know yet.

16th Feb 23

It’s a morning where I keep seeing movements but once I blink, nothing’s there. It’s a reluctant re-entry into the work world although I possess a positive attitude in the certainty of my destiny. One day, instead of putting energy into the pearl displays, I can create art in my own space. I’ve been thinking about my future home a lot lately. The space, my family, people, cooking, creation. I hold no attachment to the process in getting there. As long as it’s beyond here. In Bill’s office, I organise and drill pearls and flashes continue. I don’t know if they’re of the past, the future, or another time. My left arm keeps going numb. I’m getting headaches easily. Tonight I will play classical music as I try again to unblock the toilet.

17FEB23

In a rare outing I have a coffee with Vadem at Short Street Café (because Little Local’s closed). We sit on the boards under the big trees and talk with Vedam’s friends; an older mum and dad, and their daughter and granddaughter. While I enjoy these people, I’m subjected to fierce opinions. When I say I’m from Victoria the older man, the dad, makes a comment about Dan Andrews. (Roser’s older man friend down south also did this.) I don’t give the dad much of a reply. Instead I note the difference in opinions between Western Australians and Victorians. The dad asks me if I voted for him. But I still can’t reply. Why should I reply. This man has forgotten compassion. Yet the man goes on to boast that everything happens for a reason and at the right timing. This idea is in sharp contradiction to the opinions he just subjected me to. In response, I give the man my personal experience: early on, I saw lock downs as an unique opportunity, and despite the challenges, I was not only able to take a lot from this time, but felt inspired by new conversations arising. But I can’t go on. I don’t want to discuss politics. I don’t believe in the current political climate and in giving the current political climate my thoughts. Hence, this outing marks my need to remain in my inner-world until the story is fully released. Because this story is honest to my soul and my feelings, NOT another old man.

I spend the evening getting the hose caught on Wil’s ornaments around the yard and tending to the home plumbing. I think of L and the dull pain of my stomach returns. The toilet is still blocked. Wearing sunglasses, a scarf over my face, and gloves, I lift the lid of the stupid toilet and pour caustic acid into its stupid brown water, sending the brown water well wishes. Something whacks my back. I twist around to see Russell’s friend (Russell being the hornet of my outdoor kitchen at the mango caravan) zooming around and around the bathroom, into the walls, and shower curtains. I assume it’s from the caustic acid. ‘What have I done!’ I plead. ‘I didn’t mean to kill you, Russell’s friend. I’m so sorry.’ I close the doors of the bathroom to escape the madness. When I creep back in for a cold shower, Russell’s friend continues to shoot around. Around and around I go.

There’s been a shift at work. It’s me. I’ve shifted. Admitting my need to leave to Isma is a release. Isma tells me that Kellie and her intuition have asked if my time’s limited. 

With my scrapbook nearly full, I mentally prepare to begin the writing process with time on my mind. Because the time is now. Not to instil trauma, sadness or doubt of what is to come, but to write of love and hope.

Middle of the year. Off I will go. This time, I’m no longer searching for self. I know I’m an explorer. I know I’ve a marvellous mind. I know I’m a free spirit. I know there’s something more for me. I know I can allow my true self to shine and remain humble. A big element of my journey is the shedding of ego as I rise upward. 

18FEB23

It took a while to get to sleep last night. Once I did, I slept with the air con until 5:30am. I then meditate to Gemstones music, stretch my particularly tight body, put coffee on the heat, and open the toilet lid. It’s still full of brown water. While the earrings marked my end of work, the toilet marks the end of my (appreciative) time at Wil’s. Still I have to live each moment until then.
Life is a time warp. 
At work it’s like I’m in a dream, congested like the toilet, mind racing in calculations for escape: maybe it’s time to put my energy into being the change I believe, after all these years of thought? To take the risk of following my soul’s calling. Because I want to wake people up. I want to show that the purpose of life isn’t money. I want to shift the numbness, go beyond. 
Back home after work, up to pussy’s bow with the toilet situation, I call Wil and demand answers. Finally, we get to the root of the problem. Literally. The whole pipe is full of roots. My mental and physical strength can only slightly move them. The brown water remains in the toilet but I’m so happy to have identified the problem.
At my desk I wish it wasn’t Saturday. There are mental complexities around Saturdays.

20th February 2023

After a fifteen hour writing day, I fall asleep with visions and electricity shooting through my brain. One of the visions was of L. Something was happening. It was night time, raining, on water. The dream returns to me in the afternoon and I message L. He replies. They got in at 3am this morning. It’s a new moon. The new moon coincides with the finishing of my scrapbook, the cleaning of my writing room, the discovery of my treasured gold pearl (when I was pulling out my jewellery books that held Gemstones photographs), and the ability to flush the toilet (although roots remain in the pipe). My new moon intention is to release The Gemstones of Broomerang with the utmost honesty, love and humour. I’m feeling very connected to our being. To whatever I mean by that. Maybe, if I had been born in another time, I would be religious. Because right now all religious teachings are making sense to me. Although of course religious teachings have been lost in their masculine execution.  

21FEB23

Revisiting the story’s overarching themes I’m reminded to the power of Sarah, of a fire that’s always been alive inside of her. Which is why I must leave work. To live the truth I preach. To continue falling madly in love with Sarah. Embracing her. Utilising her.

22FEB23

We had sex straight away, him handsome with his facial hair and scars, then drank mezcal until near 5am, wme drunk and rambling, questioning the time on the Martuwarra and what he was doing on Sunday night as electricity shocked my brain. They were out in the pouring rain, being towed down the river. I can’t help but talk about thoughts that’ve been consuming me. He tells me something I’ve heard from others: ‘leave them alone if they’re happy.’ But it confuses me when I hear this. Now, in reflection, I understand my disturbance. Why do we let people be ‘happy’ when ‘mental health’ is rising and we are destroying the nature that supports us? You can tell me that people are happy all you want, but I listen to the space between words, I feel the energy between bodies, and I know somewhere from deep within me that we need deep deep soul-level change.
Today, my sex chakra vibrates through me. I sit at my desk with a cold black coffee and place my hand on my beating chest. My heart is racing. ‘That’s weird,’ I say. I put the coffee back in the fridge untouched. But my heart still beats. I soon realise my feet were resting on the quartz-like stone Bruce gifted me two years ago, when I first moved into Broomerang.

23/02/23

I pull a card in question of the highly charged quartz-like rock Bruce had given me from Sunday Island. Buddha Nature. Haven’t had that one before. I pull the same card in question of the other night. I call Bruce, who tells me that his old people said it’s okay for him to take the rock and for me to have the rock. The timing in understanding Bruce’s conversations with his old people aligns with last night’s documentary The Gift. It spoke about being in conversation, or tuned into, the radio station of our minds. There we come to higher frequency questions. I tune in with trust, continuing to feel the rewiring of my brain. But what are our minds connecting with? 

What is this is science, who am I is spiritual. They complement the two.

24th of February, the day work ends

We sat in silence, something hanging in the air between us. I threaded a strand and my mind drummed: just tell her, tell her you can’t do this, that you think your time is done, tell her. When Isma went to the toilet Kellie’s instinct came straight to me. ‘Sarah I know something’s going on, do you think your time might be done?’ The way she read my mind makes me cry. Yes, beautiful Kellie, my time is done. I think I need to leave. Now. Tomorrow. Because there’s something else calling me. And it feels emotional, it feels surreal, and while I have the option to return, I know I can’t go backward. This is the first step, my soul says. And now I wait to see what’s next.

The journey beyond Gemstones is a journey of intuition. A story of conscious children. Something I will write about more than I speak. For when I speak it’s difficult to succinctly articulate the greater picture I see and hence people see me as in-compassionate when what I understand is the opposite.

I’m hurt by a text message. I don’t think I’m right for you in this way, I tell him. He doesn’t reply. I’m not sure why he came into my life, but today makes everything clearer. And to embrace these changing moments, what I feed myself—from thoughts to food and people—is vital. He who is right for me is coming. I know he’s as wild as I am. I’m excited to see who it is.

25.02.23

At work I hand all my pearls over to Ella. Whenever clients enter the showroom, the physical reaction I experience marks my end. It is now my responsibility to stray from social media and to use the internet as a source of information. I am in the place I was always meant to be. It’s now or never.

26th Feb

Art has become about other people when art is about your own soul.

There’s a language beyond words.

The art of living to our means.

1st March

Through this writing, I have a document titled Stream of Subconscious where I write without hesitation, fingers moving over the keyboard, eyes closed, capturing downloads, decoding my deeper thoughts. As I build momentum, the bigger picture of the microcosm becomes clearer. Although the story is coming slower than anticipated. For the next three and a half days there’ll be no one but madness. There was a lot of brain zapping last night.

2nd March

Coles feels surreal. The people. The packaging. Back sitting on the daybed, I realise, everything is inside of me, woman. Days blur. Truth unfolds. I come to the middle of the story.

3rd March

There was shouting along the street early in the night. I smoked light joints and when I did, there was conversation; the ultimatum to give up weed for my family. The same conversation had happened the night before. Like capitalism, these actions cannot continue at this rate and survive. It’s not about quitting forever but realising that I can achieve a high state of thoughts naturally. I will let the story come from me without shame. Through the night sirens wail around town.

5th March ‘23

The Mardi Gras dance party is nothing memorable. I romanticise someone who I can talk to about everything, including my deep thoughts and observations. I will be sensitive, free spirited, complex, beauty.

6th March 2023

Today has felt full steam ahead with only Gemstones. I want to share it with the world, man.
Walking my usual path through the sand dunes of Minyirr Park, the full moon rises and everything’s falling into place when a snake crosses my sandy path. I stop to laugh and thank the snake.
I carry on writing and believing.
At 8pm I fall into bed because it’s windy and I’m exhausted and I wonder what I can learn tonight.

7/3/23

This morning I woke at 4:30am with my body sinking to Earth. After hopping into bed soon after 8pm, I must have lain for hours, hungry but without energy to cook the pesto and buckwheat pasta I’d suddenly gone to the supermarket to buy. Through the day there had been a smoothie, and a bowl of curry, avo and egg that I didn’t finish. Where did my appetite go? When finally falling asleep brain zaps were triggered by external noises.
Now I eat pasta for breakfast, which goes straight through me, with me sitting down on the outdoor loo, leaning to the right to not disturb a spider’s web. 
Today, on this marching full moon, I’m excessively tired and yet feeling optimistic as my thoughts continue to re-web themselves. I march through old habits of obsessions with romance and the future.
At high tide it’s windy and the ocean isn’t clear but still it’s beautiful and still I thank it, diving through the waves to stretch my body out. What do I want, Universe? What do I ask for, Universe?
I walk my usual walk experiencing the joy in manifesting my dreams.

International Women’s Day

While I’m so aware of the situation—because I’ve been so aware of the situation for twenty years—it is still upsetting when talking to Dad. Whenever I mention writing, there are rushed responses. He wants to avoid it. He can’t go to places of emotions. And that’s why he prefers men. Why he prefers my brother.

10/03/23

The second half of Gemstones is written with butterflies; within me, out the door, and through the garden. There are feelings of dry season, feelings of another time. People are beginning to silently call out to me. Reflecting on the strong voice that told me to quit work, I can only trust that the way to make money will be from the heart.

11th March

Broomerang and I are both alone these days. The timing is peculiar. Yesterday I was indifferent. Losing zest for the story, which feels disjointed, while wanting to shoot forward to a place with people. I can’t even picture food to eat that excites me. Today brought a resurgence, in so deep that nothing else exists. Cementing the backbone, I get emotional to the aftermath of colonialism. I will keep working until it’s perfect. Sometimes visions flash by me of this town abandoned. 

12MAR23              

It’s been a week, maybe more, that my physical reflection has changed. I see a glow that I haven’t seen before. A glow I connect with my new, eternal freedom linked to my new, eternal understanding to follow my soul and follow my heart. Sometimes still, habitual thoughts pull me to the future—money, the sequence of events, “work”—until I pull myself back to the moment. Writing feels right. I will be supported as long as I keep believing.

14/03

Madly in love with time. Bouncing through time with optimism. Knowing deep in my heart the magical possibilities of time. On another walk through the ancient air of the sand dunes, two birds race from different directions and connect right in front of me.

15th March

It’s now been a few days of a sensation like a piece of fishing wire being pulled across my throat. I’m coming from a period that was the lightest period of my life. I’ve now eased from sticking anything inside of me.

16/03/23

An overwhelming, all-consuming feeling of abundance. The knowing of my own beliefs. The certainty of the symbolism through the challenges of my life. It’s shifting, I’m shifting. Moving onward. Soon. I don’t know where I’m going. But when I see people happy together, it makes me so happy that I want to cry.

18/3/23

Another big day of editing. Possessed by a book. Unable to escape until there’s a finished draft. Raquel comes through my setting. We talk on timing and she gifts me her understanding that I’m sick because spirit is telling me to stop smoking. I understand what she’s saying. I wander the bush and beach. I’m nearly on the otherside. Nearly there. Ready for something more. But in the nights I struggle alone. I want people. I want to smoke. 

22/3/23

Seasons are shifting. I feel nauseous. Lying in my writing room, I listen to the birds and the bugs. In the night I wake inside my dreams, positively reprogramming my thoughts. The dreams had been about art. I hopped into a 4WD and there was a man beside me. He smiled at me, told me that he reads books.
Maura passes through my setting. ‘There’s big shifts happening until April so be open,’ she tells me. As we move forward in our consciousness, there are lots of physical effects. We are physically feeling our advancement. And with all cards and signs showing that I’m in the right place, I reset my intentions for the New Moon.
At my farewell-work dinner, I feel funny. My mouth is cut from food. Back at home, it’s like I keep trying to cry because that is what I usually do from feeling so different. But I can’t cry. I can’t go backwards.
What has surfaced for me this equinox + new moon is that the lover I seek is not centred on who they are, but who I am with them.

23/3/23

Again waking inside my dreams, I positively reprogram my unconscious some more. Now I’m awake early with a sore belly, reflecting on how I’m ashamed to show my sensitive, wonderful heart. It started as a teenager. A time that may have broken me, but also led me to where I am now, returning to my vulnerabilities.

24th March

Sitting at Little Local waiting for my ute at the mechanics, I allow myself to stare into space, to recover from the work dinner and the energy that saw me cry without tears. Today I’m physically depleted with a sore head, sore throat and a weak body. Again. Diving deep into editing the book, I begin to contact people, thoughts returning to hypothetical conversations. Identifying these thoughts, breaking these habits, is a lesson. Back in my writing room, I pull cards from the oracle deck Rach gave me in 2021. Belief. Keep believing and all that is needed will come. Still brain dead and crazily tired, I read the The Pearl Sister. The story shifts from Broome to Alice Springs and my phone lights up: Karolina Alice.

25th March 2023

My power returned with a penetrating storm that rolled through late yesterday afternoon. I sat on the daybed as rain plummeted from grumbling clouds, flashes of lightning making me blink to another time, another place. There’s still an urgency, still something greater calling me. Still I don’t know what this looks like.
This morning, alive in a land of butterflies, all cards point to my story and my strength. Looking into the mirror, I continue to witness the shift in myself. It’s in my glow, my beauty, my power, my love, my wisdom and my beautiful heart. I’ve been having many conversations with myself aloud. ‘Give me a sign,’ I sing to the cards, which indicate that the time ahead is one that will set the basis for the rest of my life. I emerge into the kitchen. Cracking an egg into the small pan there’s double yolk. I still have a sore head, I’m still exhausted.

26th March 2023

The birds who’ve been hanging around the house have built a nest in the mango tree by the daybed. It’s the fifth bird’s nest that’s been created next to my personal space. The days are waning, energy is landing, and clarity is appearing. I jump with Pippa and Nic from red rocks into the Indian Ocean. I talk with O on the phone. He describes, ‘You’re next level hey,’ telling me that I’m ‘above and beyond’ most people, which he’d never experienced before. I pick up my oracle deck and Conscious Connection falls out. Number 35. It’s the card that had appeared to me when I’d asked about love. If I were to listen to the cards, I have the confidence to expose my heart…

27/3

Melissa comes home. I collect her from the airport. We enter into a flurry of conversations with the same understanding from different viewpoints. When she goes to the beach, I stay home, still struggling around lots of people. Just as I had been expressing my yearning for conversations of another kind, just as O told me I’m ‘next level,’ I see an article about starseeds. I read that we’re in a time of ascension and us starseeds are important in keeping humanity moving toward the light. I will continue to embrace Sarah. She who has lived many lives. She who is working out what it means to be human. She who is important, using herself for the good of others and the good of something greater.

28/3

In the middle night I wake from a dream with a reoccurring person. Someone I know who it is when I read this. We were both there. A constant with each other but not always together. When I became shy, he became dominant, telling me to speak from my heart more. Maybe I’m deluded in thinking myself special.

30th March

The hornet, Russell’s friend, who’s been sharing the bathroom with me these past couple of months, comes to visit me at my desk in the writing room. A butterfly lands on the bush outside the open door and sucks on flowers. A Christmas beetle buzzes in, landing on the side of my computer. Today I’m refining my annoyance to my beloved Melissa, the Queen of attention. Melissa has no interest in my writing, and that’s fine, but being in my space I wish her to respect my process. Instead she tells me what to do, giving me advice on writing (saying that in a few years I would ‘thank Melissa’ rather than all the hard work I applied) and giving me advice on how to handle myself in situations (using herself as an example for how she handles herself in situations). These challenges have come into my life with good timing.

1st April

I put the MDMA down my top instead of down my mouth, my body not feeling comfortable with the people I’m with. Home after midnight smells like frangipani. It’s quiet. Melissa’s at Gantheaume with her international crew. I had been looking forward to this weekend, but now I’m back in a moment that once would have seen me cry. I’m desperate. I wish to spend weekends with my future family. To evolve from this situation of being alone in a house that smells of frangipani after midnight. This week I will begin the search for what is calling me onward.

2nd April

Yesterday on my walk there was lightning in the sky, a gorgeous swim, and two butterflies crossing my path. It looked like they came from the ocean. In the night I smoke a joint from Rachel, and Melissa and I go into another round of conversation tennis, where we create startling new thoughts; how different we all are and the shift in consciousness being experienced. In bed, my brain’s zapping and I’m thinking, it’s the place between opposites we must trust. In the night a powerful storm rolls through, the lightning and thunder reverberating the whole house, my brain still zapping, consciously reminding myself to love myself, to embrace my positive power, and to act from a genuine place no matter what.

5th April

It’s a pink full moon, with butterflies and birds in the garden and days slightly cooling. My period comes as I lie on my bed, back in my bedroom, the fairylights lighting my perfectly curated collection of photos, jewellery and trinkets. This pink full moon tests my need to draw on inner power and inner knowing that I am here for a bigger picture, creating funny and abstract stories of an alternative life of exploration.

As I move on from ideas and obsessions of my past, as I wait for Wil and his moods to return, as I wait for Melissa to sort out her home, as I accept my return to my bedroom with the loss of my creative space, I consider what to do with this urge to move onward. Tired of shopping at Coles and Woolworths, the south is calling me, but I will take the long road there. With enough money to travel, for now, my creative space and people will come later in the year. I wait for signs from the universe on where to go from here.

On Monday I had a call by. We yarned. I know he’s not my soul mate. But when he kissed me on the lips goodbye, it left me wanting more. Well, kind of.

Last night I drew a card for Melissa. Something about being of the world, not with the world. When I drew a card for myself, it was the same card. When I drew a card for the world, I was reminded of the power in our individuality. Melissa started repairing a necklace, inspiring me to take out my jewellery pieces for the first time in a long time. It feels good to be surrounded by ideas of creation. But I realise I don’t want to sell this jewellery at the Broome markets. Melissa tells me to sell the pieces elsewhere, and I think she’s right.

The vivid full moon rising is mystical. I talk to DJ Alex, I swim with the black dog, I think of San Miguel de Allende. 

Roser’s the first to read through my story and suggests the ending needs a conclusion. But there is no one conclusion to take.

7th April

Last night in my dream, which I can’t remember, there had been more themes on self-love. Then came another incredible sunset, with lightning and the earth’s spin showing a full moon rising. I feel myself bleeding. I must carry on my own path. I can’t get roped in to staying on at Wil’s, with its strange dynamics and dark energy. To allow myself to fully shine, I must break free of this shadow. In my heart, I need to take the chance, go toward my family. Going camping up the cape, I will switch off to see what I’m being told, trusting in where I’m shown to place my energy.

10th April 2023

Saturday had started at a funeral down on the foreshore, with the incoming tide of King Sound sweeping in and an old white man leading the religious ceremony. He spoke constantly about god and referred to himself just as much. I couldn’t stand still.
Hours later we were on the water, approaching the yacht, then we’re out off Ardyaloon, Bruce steering the boat through the giant, swirling tides of the flooded fault line. We drift, we spin around, I stop filming. With a zap Bruce shoots us out of the swirl and toward the islands. I look back to Pippa, sitting at the back of the boat, and everything’s distorted. I can’t work out which way we’re going and what happened with perception. Pippa gives me a startled smile. ‘Did you just feel that too?’ she asks.
‘Did we just go through time?’ I question.
‘I think we might of,’ the scientist agrees.
Pippa and I look back to the giant swirls and I shake my head because it still feels like we’re not physically moving away across the water but we’re moving sideways or upwards or all ways because the air is altered and we’re bigger than this world.
Through the islands Bruce shows us ancient rocks that glitter gold, while up above there’s a rainbow in the clouds. It’s not the traditional shape of a rainbow, but a smudged area of the sky.
We arrive back to Cygnet Bay at the same time as the guys from the yacht. Up at the restaurant there’s wine and dinner.
Out on the dark mudflats I cut my foot on coral. Jumping into the tender, we’re treated like royalty.
I’m drunk and I’m stoned and I’m full on Easter eggs, sleeping on the yacht’s nets above the ocean.
Here at home I look to a tidy, green yard with metal work strewn through a deadly white sky. Wil paces about with movements of a chook preparing for a possible-cyclone.
I fall asleep early and wake up early.
Outside is still overcast with the calm before a cyclone. I try lie on my bed with my computer, clicking through documents, but I’m frustrated to my position. I feel displaced. I will tell Wil I’m leaving, although I can’t envision the future. Since Pippa and I went through time, the world is heightened and I keep smiling to myself because I’m tripping.

11th April 2023

Sleeping stoned through the night I wake at 5:30 and outside my bedroom, where the frangipani tree has been cut back, there’s a burning orange sunrise. I go to the street. The air is eerily calm. Everything is about to change. My leg’s struggling circulation needs movement but my car is parked in. I work on my website and book flights, putting things into place, waiting. Spending money at the supermarket makes me anxious.

12th April

There were movie people, directors, for dinner. I think I ground my teeth through the night, waking early to light rain and the continued stillness of the cyclone off the coast. I’m splattered around the house—conversations with Wil, or Melissa, at my computer, reading an Isabel Allende book. In the night Melissa does a faerie oracle card reading for me. We keep smiling and looking at each other; everything ties into our conversations. Melissa tells me I hold stories of Earth, that I hold power, and that I’m to be comfortable in embracing another, being held and supported, giving and receiving. I talk of a memory of a girl at an eye-gazing workshop at Confest 2018. The girl had told me that I’m like a big oak tree, holding wisdom, and that I have to tap into my wisdom. Then there was the guy at the Theta Healing workshop 2014. The guy had told me that he saw visions of a crown around my head. Then there was the lady reading my tarot in Daylesford 2019. The lady had told me that I am a Queen who leads the way, but I need courage to create. In continued reflection, my life’s been full of clues. Timing is everything.

13th April

I’m still in bed. There’s an ache in my head that has been coming in bursts, and my hearing’s sensitive. Wil reckons it might be the pressure. Broome isn’t ideal for writing any longer. I’m easily distracted by Wil. I imagine a partner who can bring out my exquisiteness. Who doesn’t run after me once I’m gone.

14th April

The cyclone went south, to the epicentre of mining, which will be destroyed at one point or another. A moth lands at my feet, on the floor of my fairylight lit room. The moth’s wings are like leaves; I like its comforts. Leaving the moth, I go to my gurgling percolator in the kitchen. On my return the moth is dead. Yesterday I got out of the car with Arlo for our walk and there was a caterpillar with me. I trust in the timing of what is to come.

15/04/23

After drinking cheap wine I’m wake at 4:30am needing to pee and drink more water after peeing and drinking water all night. The light rain continues and I’m swimming in the comfort of my room, which I could stay in forever if I wasn’t so curious and emotive. On my Instagram are two messages: a meme from Melissa about healers, and a screenshot from Ely about the healing conversations she experiences with me. I’m so grateful for people in my life. The dead moth moves about my room. 

16th April

The night was windy, blowing through one bedroom window and out the other. At one point it felt like something was blowing over me. I twisted away from it, but it blew again. Awake at 2am, Matso’s conversations are on my mind. Today I go to Melbourne.

17/4/23

At the park all the mum’s are dressed in leggings, runners and jumpers the same as Emma’s. Emma and Connor take photos of Charlie on the walk and Emma stops Charlie to hold up one of the videos of him walking through nature moments before. It’s nice spending time with family, although no questions are asked to how I’ve been or what’s been happening in my life. The city life feels strange. It highlights my difference. And how far beyond I’ve journeyed.

18/4

Reading back through the book, I must accept what I was given. Because I am the messenger and it is up to the world to interpret their own meaning. With family and friends, who I love dearly, there’s pain in having to be agreeable, keeping silent about my understandings. It’s like I’m biding time. I know I need financial freedom to once again escape from this paradigm. To forever be free.

19/4

In Castlemaine I read the newspaper for the first time in a long time. It’s all so absurd. On Dad’s radio a monotone voice gives the morning news. There’s something between the words. Something about how we’re acting as humans. It gives me drive. Dad reads out a word he got in the word-thing in the newspaper. ‘Ever.’ My heart jolts like my brain. On Dad’s radio another voice is telling us the darkest part of Australia is near Renmark. In the spare room I read my old dream diary. I love that I kept a dream diary so young and that I would write movies with friends. It was always there within me.

Thoughts of the new moon and the eclipse grow stronger. It reiterates my distance from Broome, where my spirit remains. Maura transfers me $15,000 for the deposit of my car and Mum wants to buy my fridge the same day. While I could easily stay in the routine of Wil’s, loving his company and this life, I feel I’m being given direction, shown an out.

20/4

It’s the solar eclipse day and my new moon intentions remain the same, thinking to the next two to three years. Awake early I leave Reservoir early, sensitive to the dull lighting and the cold. At Officeworks, I print the book and people look at me. A lot of people have been looking at me these past few days. Meanwhile, I’ve had Central America on my mind. And money. I will create a passive income. Enough to keep me afloat while leading a meaningful life in nature, writing for the world.

21/4

Is it covid or is it my brain swollen from smoking weed? The smoking is deep psychological problems, a mind game. How long have I been saying I want to quit? Quit it all?

This Melbourne life is a foreign life. The way everyone is so serious about their perceptions. The way Mia and her colleagues talk about work. The way everything costs so much money without question to our drive.

Last night I had been telling Josh about birds when an owl came to perch on next door’s chimney. The owl watched us and we watched the owl. With the owl my spirit animal, according to an online quiz we did one bored day at work, it felt a good reminder.

23/4

The wedding day has been and gone with the unfortunate timing of gastro hitting the bride at the beginning of the reception. Lying in bed with brain shocks, the thought of love was so transcendental I wondered if it could really be possible. Now my hurting brain is making me slow. It makes it all the more clearer. Because what do you want, Sarah? How magic you can be, away from your family, where you’re allowed to be brilliant.

25/4/23

It’s ANZAC day and it’s going to be a cracking 25 degrees in Melbourne. Even in knowing this place isn’t for me, it doesn’t change the way my brain is beating and my legs are throbbing.

27th April

This morning I love cooking and playing with Charlie, who reiterates that I need to tie up current projects to then be present with my own children. But there is also the jungle of Central America calling, with another part of me in my future home amongst trees. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own space, especially when Melbourne friends reference visiting me in the west. I want my home. I will make this happen. Publishing the book, writing stories, filling walls with my photography, having a permanent jewellery station, sharing it all with family and friends. 

28/4

Going deeper into my edit, I’m itching to return to my own Broome space and time. Charlie cries to get what he wants and I’m tired of responding, losing patience as the day unwinds, out of sync with my own rhythm.
Overwhelmed, I walk the city streets.
This is all beyond me.
In the night they’re talking about football and it’s not just that I’m so fucking bored but I’m so fucking saddened by the way I continued to be boxed, disregarded and shut down by my brother. What is it you think I do out there in the world, Tom? What makes you think I need your masculine guidance, Tom? No, boy. I give the ideas, then you guide. But first, first you need to listen.
Emotional with wine, I end the night crying in the manner I used to end the nights crying when I lived here. I know with certainty that I won’t return to Melbourne soon. In Melbourne my genuine qualities are not allowed to shine. In Melbourne my shadows pulsate.

29.4.23

Last night irked me. Last night was telling me something. Last night I realised I yearn to be an authority figure instead of being constantly shut down, repressing my natural way of being. In all this, I see something. It’s in the mirror, where my skin is clear and my soul glows through my eyes, telling Sarah not to be deterred by how other people perceive her, to break free, and jump…

30/4

On a blowup mattress in the middle room of Comma and Charlie’s, I have a headache and sore jaw. My mind is clogged with triggers and stresses. I’m desperate to fly home to Broome today. While Melbourne was formative in shaping me, Melbourne is not my soul. And from this time in Melbourne, almost everything came crashing down.
The final blow came on one of those blue skied and cold Autumn mornings, sitting on the brick fence of Josh and Michael’s in Reservoir. As Rachel pulled up, Tom proposed, through message, that he has something to say to me. Go on, I agreed, knowing what was to come. The conversation wound in circles with Tom giving me ‘feedback’ on my tone, saying I sound lecture-y. But my drunken tone is something I’m already aware, something that has been with me for a long time, something that is triggered by Melbourne. Tom scoffed to my mention that what he is doing to me is very male, and the message thread ended with me telling Tom to fuck off, to leave me alone and not to bother me for a really long time. In this time I hope Tom to come to his own understandings of the unconscious privilege at play in the way he talks to me like he is above me. Because really, man, another guy guiding me on emotions and how I’m meant to be in this life?
Checking in my bag and going through customs there’s a sense like I’ve forgotten something. Maybe I have. Maybe I’ve forgotten who I try to be when I’m in Melbourne.
Walking through the airport, my mind’s creating freedom, conjuring up the liberation of travelling with little. I’m excited for my calling, me and my backpack, a 35-year old woman who understands herself as a writer, a watcher, a sharer, an inspirer, not giving answers but showing possibilities of alternative understandings. 
The flight from Melbourne to Broome passes right over Uluru. 

1/5

Butterflies welcome me at the airport, one with a pattern I haven’t seen before and another fluttering on the Sobrane 2021 mural next to where I stand, waiting for Wil. Straight away, back in Broome, time is different. Melissa welcomes me, saying she could feel my energy, and when I see Isma in Coles, she said that she’d told Kellie that she felt my return. It’s a long and weird day. Everyone keeps saying there’s something strange in the air. But I’m happy because I’m reading a book and I’ve missed reading books so much. Then I’m enraged, composing a rebuttal to Tom’s unconscious male arrogance, sharing my understanding of feminine qualities over fighting for equality, re-realising that my writing career is based off longer form writing opposed to Instagram captions.

“Although I am a typical loner in my daily life, my awareness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty & justice has prevented me from feelings of isolation.” Albert Einstein

2/5

The strange energy of the air continues. It feels I’ve something stuck in my chest. Bruce apologies after he gets angry at me for not turning back to talk to one of his friends. I continue to create mental responses to Tom in regards to the feminine. I spend two days transferring my website only to transfer it all again because Squarespace is out of order—this mercury retrograde probably not the best time for technology, anyway. The love heart riji and feather earring on my rearview mirror keeps circling around. My head is cloudy and my body is sore. I’m sick from thoughts. Returning to my bedroom from the toilet, a moth flutters with me, coming to join me on my bed. I indulge in an early morning stretch for the first time in about a month—since Melissa came to stay, just before Wil got back. There’s much tension in my calf muscles. Solitude is important as I complete the book and release all I inhaled in Melbourne. I want someone as weird as me.

3/5

Relieved to back in Broome during these moments, feeling the power in the air and the power in being surrounded by people who inspire me to touch the air. Rejuvenation comes with Maura and Raquel at Little Local. Maura is glowing after diving deep into her psyche with shadow work. The three of us know we are messengers and we know we hold a portal to the beyond. ‘The veils are thin,’ Maura describes. Just like the veil had been thin out on the water with the giant tides, Bruce and Pippa.
Butterflies flutter and a kite circles Arlo and I on the beach. The water is like glass, Arlo and I both laughing and swimming, thankful for the beauty of our reality. But then the judgment from Tom is back in my bead and I wonder, how do I know that I’m an authority, that I’m a visionary? I know. It’s from a clear voice in my heart. But how do I get to the point of being the authority and visionary? To stop writing this and start editing Gemstones. Then again, I’m letting this full moon eclipse week play out as I gather my thoughts to dive into writing. Especially when technology continues to jig out, with Squarespace freezing and queued songs on Spotify not playing until they play randomly later. 
There’s a chainsaw at the house and I’m sensitive to its noise. Looking at flights, it’s not easy to get from Broome to Mexico. I will get there, though. My thoughts are more powerful than my words. Thoughts shape our reality. Change your beliefs and you change your biology.

4/5

My period hits hard this super full moon eclipse week. Maybe it was the Panadol that had me sleep so soundly, but whatever it was it had me in the middle of my bed, deep in a dream in a really big house, someone with me, someone in me. At 6:30am I feel recharged and calm. I read The Pattern. It talks about the eclipse and I see that what happened with Tom was part of drawing my attention to old habits and ingrained patterns, prompting me to leave behind the idea that I’m not allowed to be brilliant. The truth is, when I release the sincerity of my heart is when I feel most aligned to my purpose of not telling people what to do, but showing how it could be done. Talking about people out of habit creates bad feelings in me. Kinda like spending money when I haven’t had an income in so long. I will go through the processes of changing these habits and their attached beliefs.

5th May

In the comfort of my small bedroom decorated in scarfs, frames, vases, necklaces and patterns, it was another night of entering into calm dreams. Stirring on my back, knowing I’m dreaming, I insert loving thoughts into my dream and the person I am within my dream. On waking near 7am, the strong memory of the dream hides in my unconscious and I feel optimistic about the week ahead.

Last night’s kangaroo spaghetti bolognese is heavy in my stomach, although I proudly only had one (large) glass of red wine when I met up with Richard. Plus I didn’t argue back with Richard when he told me why synchronicity was a load of shit (because of course something like this is bound to occur when millions of things occur). Instead I proposed that the wisest man knows, and thought to the power of time. The time to shed my ego. The time to accept my journey of intuition. The time to create my family.

Wil plays guitar and I decide not to go to a meditation-thing hosted by Maura and supported by Raquel for the full moon. Last night Maura handed me a brochure for the evening. While I understood what the brochure said, something didn’t sit right for me. It referred a lot to god and man. And I don’t like being told that I have to wear all white when I am on a heavy period and I don’t feel like wearing white. I don’t believe in telling people what to wear. I believe in arriving as ourselves. This full moon is dedicated to the love and belief of Sarah.

6th May

More dreams in the comfort of my creative space. Another new day brings conversation with Wil, and Joe Rogan podcasts as Wil chops down trees and I clean my camper and my room. One of the podcasts speaks about AI. The man being interviewed refers to the future like we’ll make it to the future in the state we’re currently existing. Yet the imbalance of nature being the reflection of the imbalance of humanity seems so obvious to me.

Returning to an email thread with Luna, Tom’s ex-girlfriend, she says that Tom would be triggered by me, telling her that if I truly believed in doing things so “controversial” then I wouldn’t be triggered myself. Remembering this, I see that Tom is missing the part where I’m a human who hails from a family that never supported her to be her unique self. That it’s not the “controversial” notions but my family that trigger me. Tom would also refer to me as “lost,” making comments that I’m wasting my “good degree.” Oh boy. Family, you offended me because you never loved me for who I was. Tom, it is not that I am smarter than you, but I must unchain myself from the perception you have of who I should me. I must vibrate at a higher frequency. Not from a place of ego but from a place of knowing. I am driven by a higher message than reputation. And I hope to see you there. 

7th May

A gorgeous Sunday morning; sleeping until 7am, reading Isabel Allende, patterned sunlight peering through the the trees onto my torso, remembering a dream based in India with Sophie Barker, the jasmine-smelling bush out my window cut back, the vine that decorated the gum through wetseason now dead. I hand wash clothes, strip my bedsheets, take the fly nets off the windows and place them outside to breathe away the dust. I’m nauseous from last night’s food combination of beer, fish laksa, sea salt chips, mint slides, dark choc carob. I had briefly gone to the Mangrove but the density of the crowd was too much. Back at home, I was comfortable with homebody Wil. 
On my sunset walk over the dunes and onto the beach, my mind wanders and nature talks with me. I feel the different thicknesses of the air. Today Wil had mentioned that near this section is where, in Dreamtime stories, creation began.
At Sun Pictures, watching a doco on Bob Brown, I’m once again deeply disturbed by mainstream society. I’m deeply inspired by other human beings who work for their beliefs. Such a play of emotions is here with ultimate timing as I strive to insert alternate conversations into the mainstream. At the end of the day, my belief that I’m driven by the good is everything.

8/5/23

I had been so keen to begin this edit but now I begin I struggle, tiring easily. Pump it out this week, Sarah. Get it out into the world, Sarah. Drink as much coffee as you need, eat whatever sugar shouts, because you’re so ready for this change and the next adventure. What will I do? Whatever it takes.

9/5/23

Woke up inside another dream. There were people around, multiple storeys, and I was trying to catch a plane home to Broome but I kept missing them because I didn’t allow enough time. The dreams could have played out as stressful, but I was active in turning the stress into something positive. During the day, I had gone into a greater flow with writing, and during the night I made a veg stew and had lively conversations with Wil until conversation turned to the youth of town. In that moment, I was ashamed to be human, struggling with words to explain how attitudes feel so wrong for me. Because in place of compassion, we insert competition. But the competitive system will collapse. We can’t sustain it, plus humanity. And I won’t be sad when it begins to fall apart; already seeing the fragile, new life growing through the cracks in the concrete. I have nothing to lose.

10th May

‘It’s the law of the jungle,’ Wil kept saying. ‘It’s the law of the jungle.’ But it’s not the law of the jungle anymore, I wanted to argue, because we don’t live attuned with the jungle anymore. Wil spoke like the kids who cause havoc and fear in town know exactly what’s going on. He spoke like they understood life in the same way that he does. Still trying to get my head around this conversation, I return to the feminine. I seek the feminine. Because in this jungle man cannot continue as ruler for much longer for if he does, the heartbreak of the world perpetuates.

11th May

Today has been a big day of substantive editing and Raquel painting the hacienda.
When Arlo and I return from our beautiful beach time, there’s another van here.
Down in the hacienda, Raquel squats by the fire, Maura is tidying up, and Joy sits around. Joy’s a psychotherapist and a healer. She tells me of my higher self being with me in the hacienda. She asks how I feel.
‘Powerful,’ I describe.
I’m told I’ve a powerful higher self. At first Joy thinks it’s a feminine entity, but it’s a balance between the masculine and feminine.
I mumble something about my head not quite accepting the truth of my soul.
Joy tells me to be guided by my higher self, to talk to it.
I don’t yet understand what she means by higher self, but I know the timing of me here is part of something more, and that my journey of intuition will be a journey of higher self. Wherever I go, whoever I become, I must consider all aspects. I tell the women I don’t think the masculine entity of this area wants to leave, but still I leave them trying to expel the masculine entity of the area.
Coming into the house I piece together what Joy was insinuating: I know my potential, so why do I say otherwise?
Down Robison Street at Melissa’s there’s weed and talk of human design. At one point Melissa reads something of my design, and I sit there breathing deeply, accepting the power that comes with my potential.
Home’s not far but I’m stoned and the minute drive feels like forever. Seeing people cross the road near the hospital brings unease and I’m relieved to pull into the dirt driveway of home. When I turn off my ute the ute groans, which I’ve never heard before, and I feel something else in the air. Out of the ute there’s shouting. I hurry inside.
Wil’s in the kitchen cooking dinner, drinking red wine and tapping away at his phone. The usual. I mumble something and walk through, coming to lie on my bed. ‘ARE YOU HERE?’ Wil calls out. I drag myself to the kitchen. ‘Oh, is someone with you?’ Wil asks.
Huh? Nah?
‘I swear I heard someone come in after you…’ Wil says.
I’d felt something with me, too.
I sit with Wil and wait for my second dinner. Wil tells me about the chaos through the night, with police sirens, chases, and shouting like someone was murdered.
In bed I experience shocks of power.

12th May

Sharp pains in intestines, which I know are from yesterday’s excessive quantity of rice crackers. The pain is telling me not to get too cocky with my food consumption. I read an article about Saturn and it being symbolic to the masculine and feminine. A time when awakened women giving birth breaks ancestral conditioning. It’s so wonderful, isn’t it, how the timing of my life has taken me to this time and place. This could never have happened earlier, because earlier I wouldn’t have been an awakened woman gifting her children the power in realising who they are. I would have passed on ancestral trauma and made myself believe it was inherited and there was nothing I could do about it.

14th May

Friday night at Rachel’s was the same story in conversation until we were sitting under the patio and Rachel was talking and I was thinking about something else but still I was looking at her and behind her a bat fell from the palm tree. Huh? ‘It looked like a bat just fell from the palm tree,’ I told Rachel. We stood up and watched the bat trying to climb the trunk of the palm tree until it flew into the night, leaving Rachel and I standing there laughing to the randomness. 

Today brings Sunday vibes, with Wil and I eating barramundi burgers for lunch. I make necklaces in my camper, indulging in time away from Gemstones, and read the Isabel Allende book on the daybed, in which I find more reiteration: ‘it is commendable to choose poverty, as you have done, but if you truly want to help others, you’re going to need money.’ I want to help others. I want to take money from greed and place it elsewhere. In a home, a sanctuary, where people grow, and I grow with them.

I’m glad the mercury retrograde is ending. 

15/5/23

A night of many dreams. In a city, with trains and winding alleyways; a scene that has appeared a few times. First, I was with Luce and Mia, with Josh lurking. When Luce and Mia didn’t invite me somewhere, I fully cut them from my life. Without them, I discovered the power in asking super precise questions. Then family came, but I lost them too, walking away when I saw a lady lying on the path. Jumping from a tram, I lost my bag and shoes. In my search for my bag and shoes, I met awesome people and I ran into pearl people from Paspaley. We spoke about the alignment of timing. This is cool, I need some cash, I thought. But first I had to find my shoes and bag.

“If there is an awareness of how thought begins, then there is no need to control thought.” J Krishnamurti

17th May

Growing tired of my own company, I consider that I’ve spent too much time at home with Wil and the book. The story is feeling stronger, and longer. I’m readying to book a flight to Mexico. I take evening mindwanders with Arlo. I’m reprogramming my mind not to be so anxious around money. I understand I would do good with money if I had money. That Mexico, with the heart chakra in Aguascalientes, the fourth dimension of consciousness, is a step in the right direction.

19/5/23

August 7th flight booked to Mexico City. Wil has made small comments like ‘don’t go’ to Mexico. But I can’t stay, I’ve told him. Because once I finish this draft, then what do I do? For now, I savour these beautiful days, mindful not to over edit, to leave the raw nature that moved through me in the wetseason intact.

Have realised I’m pushing people away again. Deep down, I don’t want to push people away. Deep down I want children and a partner and land for us to share with other people, and I want to earn money in meaningful ways.

Yesterday on my evening mindwander with Arlo, a lightbulb moment took me to my shadow of inadequacy in my Gene Keys. If I accept and embody my abilities, even if it sets me apart, then…my inadequacy transforms to resourcefulness.

I receive my first message from a total stranger who bought Hello I am Lonely at the Broome market last year. Her Instagram looks like she’s in her early twenties. The girl in her early twenties writes that my book sits in her collection of favourite books, and she hopes that I will write more books. Positively inspiring such girls to discover their own power is everything to me.

Still. The final push for this final edit, taking on alcohol, sugar, processed foods, whatever it takes to keep the energy moving. At the supermarket I spend $28 and anxiety shoots through me. I implore to always remember this feeling. I’ll never take food and money for granted.

20/5/23

Frustrations with Wil makes me want to leave earlier than August. In explanation to Melissa about my Gene Keys, I delve into the loss of ego in overcoming my shadow of inadequacy to tap into my resourcefulness. If resourcefulness (without ego) is in my DNA then I must use it, even if it means setting myself apart from others. Imagine showing people the potential we hold within ourselves.

26/5/23  

At the crack of dawn an orchestra of birds erupts in the tree outside my window and into my dreams. There’s a difference in my reflection when I eat processed foods. I’m swollen. Yesterday also brought money anxiety. The money-thing of this world is tiring. It’s also an inspiration for change, to create new trends. I continue to dream of The Gemstones of Broomerang reaching audiences far and wide. Last night three drags of a joint had me realise how long it’s been since I’ve experienced intimacy. I no longer know how it could happen for me.

29th May

Last night in my dream I went searching for those who completed my human design, working out how to connect our active parts. It highlights my belief in the power in unity, and that our charts complement one another.

‘As long as they’re happy that’s all that matters,’ Mum says of Comma. It’s an understandable statement, one that I should agree, yet there’s something bleating behind the words. Is it that this attitude that is part of our planet’s destruction? Because as long as people are happy despite (unintentional) selfish actions, that’s all that matters, right? I’m a complicated character.

30th

Experiencing irritability has me tear at thoughts, with my low-throbbing head like what I experienced in the early days of writing the book. The book. While I am now ready to move on from the book, I will do what is needed for completion. But not today. Today everything feels like bullshit because my stars tell me it’s a good time for prosperity and even potential romantic meetings, yet I feel the polar opposite. I haven’t been laughing much lately. Even searching for words is difficult. 

31st May

Another groundbreaking and poetic dream making so much sense. It was something about a veil and drifting between worlds. When I wake cosy in my bed I savour being cosy in my bed (I will miss these moments) and, all emotional, I think of someone completing my human design.

In my ideal world I wouldn’t have to do the Broome Markets to sell the remaining copies of Hello I am Lonely and selling whatever necklaces just for money. Instead I would prefer to spend the time writing, even if it means I continue to receive no income.

I dream of creating sub climates. 

1st June

Romantic love is a limiting belief. While my personal limiting love beliefs are that I’m not worthy, that I’m not tender or soft, that guys aren’t interested, and that no one could possibly exist to suit me. With this, I’ve created defence mechanisms to give the appearance of ambivalence, rarely giving someone a true chance to reach my true self. But I am worthy. I am loved. There is someone out there who complements me. I will breathe. And just be

Through the hour massage and facial at Bali Hai I enter a meditative state with my higher self, listening to a voice saying love is right there if I open my eyes to it. Once I believe love I’ll see love.

My skin is worse than all year. I bleed heavily. The headache continues. Even though I hate processed food I eat processed food; another whole packet of rice chips. I’m putrid.

2nd June

Last night my throbbing head had been extreme. Feeling so tired, I had gone to bed early, needing to constantly go to the toilet because of my period, cogitating on my limiting beliefs of unworthiness and inadequacy.
This morning I read about this weekend’s full moon. I understand it’s a time for release. To walk through life embodying my truth.
I want to create a micro-world amongst trees.
I crave even deeper connections with people.

4th June

The headache continued into the night, as did my passive aggressive nature to Wil. At Melissa’s, I sat on the armchair listening to her eloquently describe that I absolutely need to listen to my heart. Then I’m stoned. Feeling a certainty that something stronger is at play in my idea to leave for Mexico earlier. Lately, I’ve been riding waves, battling headaches, forgetting the rewiring of my brain. I know that Melissa is right in needing to listen to my heart but the thing is I don’t know what it is I feel I should be doing instead of Broome. Whatever it is, I’m in a position to leap.
This morning, having decided to give myself a day off, I’m sorting photos when Elsa messages. The Rainbow Warrior is back from the gas campaign at the Rowley Shoals and Scot’s Reef.
At Mattress Beach, Elsa and I lie on the sand after a swim. Bruce calls. Post call, I tell Elsa Rachel’s idea about applying for grants to help with recording Bruce’s oral history, and ideas start pouring from the sky. Elsa and I would make a good team.
The powerful and orange full moon is rising when Elsa and I return from a beach walk.

5th June

Returning to my small and beautiful corner bedroom to read my book, I remember it’s family that I want and it’s one person I’m searching. Because here I feel under-appreciated while in total appreciation for my place. I need my iPad and little else. I’ll fly away.

6th June

Sans Arlo, who’s off fossicking with Wil, I take a different route on my walk. Coming into a valley in the sand dunes, the colours and feelings of the ocean stop me. I close my eyes. July 10th screams at me. A green light shines down and a triangle-like figure appears. It is the jungle? Is my mind creating images from what I’ve been feeding it? Approaching the water, my thoughts turn to conscious creation and conscious procreation. In attracting the father of my children, it doesn’t have to be in the typical fashion; like a marriage-esque relationship, like we’re programmed to believe is necessary. Instead we can enjoy the relationship for as long as it lasts without placing pressure for forever because nothing lasts forever.

7th June

Another morning with Arlo on my bed, supervising my reading of the last three phases of the book, which again makes me tear at the end. The thought of going beyond this writing, to see who else is out there working it out, excites me. I’m excited until I return Bruce’s call and Bruce tells me I’m a failure because I don’t have a man and I’ve been ‘doing nothing just reading books.’ I tell Bruce I’m upset by his comment and he tells me that he doesn’t believe I’ll find a man. When I hang up on him there are more tears.
At Little Local I’m so happy talking with Greg because he understands what I’m experiencing. The book is being tied together and tonight I’ll draft an email for Liz. 
In my room shuffling cards one bends itself outward: Go Beyond the Normal. I’d been toying with dates between July 10th and July 17th. The 17th is a new moon and I’ve heard it’s good to move with the new moon, but still something calls me to the 10th. It costs $340 to change my flight to July 10th. 
Lying in the comfort of my bed, my sheets are soft, the toilet is close, a patterned moth flutters between the walls, and my week-long headache continues. Out my window, the barking owl is at it again.

8th June

Going to the toilet in the night the red numbers on the oven are blurry. Back in bed are more dreams in green, undulating landscapes. I’m always with someone. Arlo comes straight into my room when I wake, lying on my bed to supervise the emailing of Liz.
At Little Local there are more life changing chats, this time with Kris and Maura. Kris quotes an idea she had discovered the day before, ‘we’re all the same because we’re all opposites,’ which makes me cry out with joy. I’d experienced this idea months before. Through such conversations, I feel a certainty with my book. And as I wave my card around at the supermarket and bottle-o, I trust that following my purpose will bring necessary finances to support my purpose.

9th June

In a strange twist of events I smoke weed and can’t sleep to the Roey’s music reverberating through town. Eventually, I turn my attention to the incessant barking owl and start organising photos for my virtual journal. Back in bed, there’s a moment of realisation, something about trust, repetitions that we’re part of so much more. I hear a bird fly off from outside my window. It sounds like a bat and I imagine the bat going off to spread word of my awareness. Such thoughts sprung from nine drags of Rachel’s joints, and conversations about Bruce and money. Later, still awake, I download Instagram and get drawn into looking at profiles of the global consciousness community. Old thought patterns start to take hold but I pull myself back, knowing my purpose is not social media or to be a teacher. I am here to learn and share my thoughts through storytelling. Sure, social media can be important, but it’s not my personal place. And it’s important for me to stray from social media with what is to come.

I organise everything to paint the windowsills for reduced rent. Tara comes in with her period blood on her forehead and Wil asks if she hurt herself. Left in silence with the stroke of the paintbrush I see the vision of my family in the jungle come alive. A thought passes through me about Jacinta’s comments on butterflies being from the spirit world. It’s because they’re fleeting that they serve as messengers. Death isn’t to be feared. Death is exciting if we go with high vibrations.

10th

I sit at my desk; the folding table I used for the markets last year. Arlo’s on my bed facing me, there are notes for writing a book before me, and classical music booming through my body transporting me. After a night of alcohol, I’d slept until 7:30am. 
It started at a photography show for female stories, which was particularly incredible when the photographer, Hazel Blake, spoke about the becoming of women, and how those she captured are so strong and yet so modest. At Black stump gallery, enjoying the free food and wine, I was in awe to Altissimo’s jewellery. Back at home were roast veggies, sweet chilli chinaman wings, and animated conversations with Pippa and Wil.
Now I tap away to complete editing notes so I can arrive to Central America in presence. Not knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going with Central America, life feels like a game, and being a gypsy in this time feels most logical. With my backpack and freedom, money on its way, all that will come will come from a beautiful place if I believe it to come from a beautiful place. I just have to get the body of Sarah to the best possible place.

11th of June 2023

Rèmi was in my dream. I’d wanted to get rid of him so I could open myself up to someone familiar on the periphery (someone who keeps appearing on my dream’s periphery), but Rèmi collapsed and I tried to get him to the hospital. I wake to the sounds of birds out my window. The night had been spent at the spoken word event at Gimme Bar. For each speaker I had felt such genuine love. But back in the kitchen, Wil gave me his run down and I felt such a deep contrast between us. Now I’m revisiting old diaries, seeing how I form ideals in my head without feeling into the truth of the energetic exchange. Today I’m going up to Bruce country with the German fairy. 

12th June

I wake with birds shooting over the sand dunes right by the swag and car. A peaceful dove wanders over, scaring itself when it realises I’m lying on the other side of the flywire. I’d fallen to sleep in deep conversation with Bruce’s ancestors, repeating a notion of love, a fluttering coming to the door of the swag, my mind with the stars.
At lunchtime I’d picked up a very relaxed Melissa, who brought burger patties, lettuce and weed, gleefully taking a shit and rolling a joint before we left. On the road up the peninsula we saw a donkey, kites, black cockatoos and long shadows across the road, my energy lasting with coffee, kombucha and conversations on human design.
Bruce was waiting on the road into Cygnet Bay, wearing a plant dyed bandana that looked deadly. Driving the red dirt road into Ardningoon, a fire has swept through and the overhanging vines glitter like a fairyland. Bruce changes into 4WD and I tell him that I’m not comfortable driving over the sandy dunes to the shack. Instead, we drive into the bushes and Melissa and I jump into Bruce’s 80s series for sunset. High on the dunes, Bruce points out snake tracks. ‘She’s pregnant snake yeah,’ he says.
Back at our camp amongst the trees we discover lots of ants. We’ve just eaten curry when a deep bleating sound comes from behind, making us all turn to listen and give each other looks. It sounded like it was from my ute, or maybe it was from beyond my ute. Melissa said it sounded like a cow or donkey, but Bruce couldn’t tell us what it is. He tells us that we should move for the night. Stoned Melissa goes to argue that we manifest our reality, but I instantly agree with Bruce. 
As we follow Bruce closer to the shore, I tell Melissa that Bruce had been talking to country, which she hadn’t understood when he walked outward into the night in conversation. She thought he was on the phone.
By the water, where Roser and I had slept on the mattress under the stars two years before, Bruce leaves us with directions to have conversation with country, to tell it that we’re good people and we’re friends with Bruce. 
Melissa and I lie on dog beds, inhaling the evanescent Milky Way and Melissa’s joint. I go silent into the sky. ‘It’s like you can reach out and touch it,’ Melissa says, which gives me a thought to how we perceive ourselves to the stars. I forget the thought on how we perceive ourselves to the stars when I see patterns through the sky. I see great spirals of stars in the direction of the islands. From the corners of my eyes, small stars glide over the Milky Way and I feel the beginning of answers; opening up to the universe is an opening up of the mind because we are the universe.
Melissa’s brushing her teeth when she calls me to come watch a glowing red light hanging low in the sky over the bay. When we stare at it, it looks like it’s moving fast until you readjust your focus and it remains in the same spot. Melissa feels like it’s getting closer to us. We’re tripping. Melissa ducks. We can’t work out what we’re seeing. We decide it’s a planet. In the swag we keep staring at the sky and I see another shooting star. Excitedly entering into my dreams, I remain in mental conversations with the stars; I’ll accept my power if I can have my family.
When I wake in the night the moon is above my car, smiling straight at me. I have to gather courage to go out and pee and when I do, I’m in repetition of love until I wake at light. 
The tide is coming through the mangroves, boats are on the bay, fish swim around my toes, and when I wash my quartz-like rock I see rainbows. I see so much more. 

13th June

Relieved to be back in the comfort of my room, I wonder why I’m giving up the comfort of my room. Last night I’d burned a note to the universe detailing the qualities I admire in a partner. I can’t settle for anything less than my potential. Driving from camp this morning, we saw a big brown snake. I braked just in time.

“Loneliness does not come from having no people around, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.” Carl Jung

14/06/23

“Until people start having honest conversations about who they truly are, what demons they battle with, where they lack and what they truly want, Love will continue to be a temporary experience…honesty and communication are key, stop being afraid to speak on where you are.” 

Brave enough to look at my bank account, I stop myself short of the old habit of chastising myself. Not when I’m the redistribution of money. Not when I’m already working hard despite not having an income in so long. Not when capitalism is about growth and we need a system about balance. Not when capitalism works in opposites and we need a system for the space between.

Red wine with Wil and I’m wanting to disappear again. When he tells me that the idea I have around capitalism is too much, I tell him that’s why I’m leaving; to find people to talk to. But Wil reckons that I won’t find this in Mexico, that I’ll find it in London instead. When I start to respond to Wil in murmurs, he notes that I’m responding to him in murmurs. I justify myself by mumbling my regret in expressing my inner thoughts. Wil tells me I’m just waiting for him to stop talking so I can ridicule him. What’s wrong with me? Why do I have to be so strong? I can’t run to Mexico soon enough, leaving my ego behind and finding someone who will talk to me about capitalism.

15th June

Driving Bruce around town we listen to Wil’s song Leaves of Silver, which is also Bruce’s favourite, and Bruce points out all the purple, electric scooters. At Bruce’s direction, we pull onto the side of the road and watch planes take off and land. After a couple of hours of stopping to talk to people, I’m tired of stopping to talk to people. The headache returns.

I’m a complicated character because I place too much judgment on other people while feeling so much love inside myself. I dream of a shack in the jungle to complete The Gemstones of Broomerang; healing my inner world, the judgments of people forgotten. Right now, still in Broome dreaming of beyond, I’ve grown unhappy and sad, putting too much energy towards thoughts on what other people are doing. Because I need people. I need support. I want reassurance in a partner who keeps me engaged, encouraging me to embrace my full potential. Returning to last year’s diary, I’m reminded of Jim Carey telling me to be clear on my dreams.

Artists, writers, filmmakers, musicians, etc. are important in painting what these changing paradigms could be. 

“Predators that kill what is commonest have the best chance of survival. Those that develop a preference for one species only are more likely to go hungry and to succumb to disease.”

16th June

Awake in the night I’m sick from food combination: a gin, a beer, yuck biscuits, cheap cheese, delicious Wil-caught bluebone, vegetables, red wine, digestives, a nut spread. I press my phone, it’s 2:22. I roll around for another hour before I turn on my fairylights and read The Peregrine. Eventually, I fall into detailed dreams I can’t remember, stirring to a burning pink sky through the trees outside my window. At my desk I transcribe my diary. In my camper I work on necklaces for the first time in a long time. Walking into the kitchen, it’s 11:11 on the oven clock. I feel indestructible. I’ll do what is needed to be done. But I’m stuck in a kitchen that isn’t mine and it’s messy and I’m pulling myself back from annoyance by replacing the frustrations with visions for my own kitchen space, shared in open communication, neat, clean, surrounded by so much green.

17th June

Reading the Broome Advertiser, I’m disturbed by the way the front page creates fear and the way articles talk about mental health in terms of funding. I can see why ancient civilisations would have been wiped out by our own doing. I’ve got a headache again. Caught in the orbit of Wil’s darkness. But time is imminent and I want to embrace these final weeks instead of crying when Wil’s rude to me when we drink red wine. 

18th June

The gas’s ran out and I brave myself for a cold shower, looking down to the right side of my tummy inflamed. The sandfly bites I got camping with the German fairy are all scabbed. My sweat’s sour. Body screaming. Whatever it is that’s coming to me, I feel I must be healthy for it. Walking the beach with Tara, I describe my want of mental stimulation, with physical attraction of equal importance. I look out to the Indian Ocean. I’m tired of being trapped in this world. But Josh comes today, and it’s a new moon, and I decide my new moon resolution is getting my body to the strongest place possible. Seeing beyond these trivial moments. I sell four necklaces to Maura.

19th June

At the Mangrove Josh and I were standing in the food line when N came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a hug. He looks tired, having only had an hour’s sleep since Saturday morning. He has seventy pages to go. He shows me the awesome artwork he’s been working on for the Matso’s DJ booth. I return to the space of not knowing what I’m saying because there’s so much to say. 
At Matso’s there’s lots of beautiful people but I remain aware of N. He hugs me again but still I have nothing to say. Having inhaled his powerful aura, I walk home gripping my heart. 
In my dream I was sleeping in a dorm with one other guy because everyone else had decided to stay at a different hostel in a different country. The lighting was bright and the guy was cute. We didn’t exchange many words but there was an understanding. As we slept, sand started to blow through the windows, the wind soon becoming uncontrollable. With the wind through the window came something else. The something else, like a person, hovered around me, trying to touch me. I needed to scream to the cute guy in the other bed to help me. Only I couldn’t scream because I was asleep. ‘HELP ME,’ I finally managed to release, before making whatever sounds I could while trapped in sleep. My screaming woke me inside my corner room, the trees outside my window shadows.

20th June

A night under the stars with the same wish to a long shooting star, feeling my beating heart, ignoring possibilities from the mind. Returning to original visions for Mexico, I’m reminded that I can’t ignore my heart because my heart can teach me so much. I have to share my heart because at the heart of it all, my intentions are pure and it’s only love I have to share. Even if my heart breaks, there is so much more love from where it came from. Still, loving you back would warrant magic.

21st June, Solstice

It rains this morning. I watch it from bed. The solstice has brought me more matters of the heart and how my health is connected with my heart. Publishing my book are matters of the heart. Letting someone share my heart is matters of the heart. My heart beats. I’m clutching it, craving the intimacy in conversation. It’s such a magical thing, sharing my heart and listening to my heart. But then there’s the fear I experience in delving into my heart. A fear of the mind. My mind needs to create new pathways to act from my heart.

22nd June

Don’t need to dim my light in fear of offending or diminishing others.

23rd June

With my heart still on my mind, I return to the journey of intuition and the journey of ego being the catalyst for this upcoming travel.

Having fallen in love with Mistake by Moby, I’m returning from the beach when I realise the lyrics are talking to me about not making the same mistakes and going through the same regrets. I know what I want for my birthday this year. I want to be touched and felt and heard. 

At ‘their’ breakfast this morning, featuring Josh, Arlo, Wil, Eva, Mark, Meg & Vadem, a couple of us talk about a bush-type-block with houses dotted through the trees. It’s an increasing dream, coming with important timing. We need to return to community.

24th June

I’ve been having darker dreams lately, they’re centred around movement. While nothing bad happens they create unpleasant feelings. And I know this darkness isn’t just within myself, but my area. I need to move from this area.

Wil’s been offending me a lot lately, he’s been offending me too much, making me cower and feel so ashamed. This feeling of inadequacy is a reminder of my need for space. To get there, as I journey through ego and intuition, I must trust in the process. Trusting my heart as much as I trust the universe. Coming to a place away from here that will see me finish the book.

Pippa gifts me a handmade pouch for my new iPad. The gift and her thoughtful card is everything to me.

Packing up necklaces for Maura’s Irish family and Josh’s family, I adore how the recycled packaging is like it’s been done by a child. 

Watching a new doco on wisdom keepers, an elder man talks about the loss of the feminine for thousands of years. He refers to it as a pendulum restoring balance. That the womb of a woman is like the centre of the universe. That we used to value the elderly’s knowledge but now we’re obsessed by youth.

Heart heart heart.

1st July

This week it rained through the night my period came. It’s been a heavy period, a busy week. I’ve edited this document and Annie arrived. On my thirty-fifth birthday, Mexico looming, all I want is a cuddle, which Arlo gifts me in the morning like he knows it’s my birthday and that I wanted a cuddle on my birthday. Of all timing, Liz responds with her insight for Gemstones, which triggers my fear of failure and rejection. It’s not the response you’d dream but it’s invaluable and I will give it time for my thoughts to land, deciding what’s important to me as a writer. There’s a lot of work to get it publishable. I still need to face certain aspects within myself to see it come alive. But my certainty on its potential marks my growth. And yet, I still get caught in my melancholy and distaste to being such an intense person. I work through it. On the lawn at the markets, Wil plays music to the crowd and Arlo and Annie sit beside me. Hugging Raquel I see visions across her shoulder. It’s a simplified version of the book. The published version that will sell. Back on the daybed, Annie and I eat Good Cartel and I point out the biggest butterfly I’ve ever seen. The butterfly comes to us, dances around us, drifts off towards the mango tree. You’re meant to find intimacy, The Pattern tells me of, You love the physical closeness another person brings and enjoy being held and touched. And maybe, just maybe, in knowing that my call to Mexico is imperative to completing this book, the support of the universe will shine.