Leaving Byron

I awoke feelin a bit dusty. As soon as the morning sun met my eyes thoughts of leaving fluttered my mind. On my way again, I twist the words over themselves and mush them together. Going, going gone. I’ve been in Byron for five months. It’s a short long time to be in one place. Some days it makes no difference as to where I am, I could be anywhere then others it wells up all sorts of itchiness and frustration.

It always passes just like everything else.

I shuck off the sheets, cold morning air whooshes across my body. Should I really get up? The question which permeates my morning world every morning.. yet I get up. Slide my slippers on and sleepily shuffle my body to the toilet.

The morning holds space for me to clean the last little bit n pieces of the life I created. This room has been a haven. I think it strange how a box can have so much meaning. That i can create such an attachment to this little box, I’ve almost backed myself out of my nomadic spirit… simply because of four walls. Reflections of previous rooms fly through memory. They’re all farther and farther away. I’ve had a few good rooms in my life rooms that have kept me safe been my cave my sanctuary.

This room, with its two sliding glass doors one of which doesn’t care to move anymore, deteriorating screens that still allow for creepers to sneak in and all the spiders you’d ever expect to meet in a converted garage. I’ve grown the attachment to it. A piece of my story lies in that room attached to a house that holds a family I never knew I would find. It’s terribly hard to say goodbye. Now-a-days there really isn’t a goodbye, with the injection of social media you can pretty much stay in the loop with everyone you know.

Still, the personal connections is everything. I was speaking to a friend the other night he randomly brought up a chick he may or may not be in love with. He said, “how can you fall in love with someone who you can’t even touch.” And maybe that’s the exception. Touch is so important, presence is essential.. to any relationship. It got me thinking of yet another family I leave behind. How I mold into peoples lives only to unstick myself so I may do it again somewhere else with new shiny personalities.

I strip the sheets off the bed, vacuum the room for the last time, mop up the scabs of mud left from my tropical rain dipped boots, then wipe the gathered dust. A fresh start for the room and myself. My bags are at the front sliding door. I sit on the bed. Eyes begin to water as butterflies whirl around my stomach. Another chapter I can close. It was a pleasure and a privilege to be apart in their story. Five people I may never see again who have been apart of my world, seen parts of my depth that no other than a housemate can truly witness. I have a tea and some breaky with my housemate. We speak of journeys and fresh beginnings. There is nothing else I love more than going. Throwing this body into complete unknown.

The shuttle pulls up simultaneously with my other housemate, we hug and say ‘see you soon,’ I load my bags in and have a pleasant chat with the shuttle driver, an Aussie bloke that shuttles people up and down the Sunshine Coast every Friday and Sunday. The drive is filled with yarns of where I come from and where he’s been. We speak of politics, the horrors of the world, we’ve got the same disposition on the world. But maybe his is a bit more positive yet. Which I soak up. I love golden people.

We make a pit stop at the Gold Coast airport. Pick up another traveler fresh on the ground from Poland. She’s a kite surfer and all her luggage was lost as she took four different flights to get here.

I fade away from conversation and immerse myself in the final chapters of Lord of the Rings. Slowly lowering my lids into a light nap. Jostling of the bus cradles me. Dreams flutter but nothing sticks and I awake to my exit off the highway. Down dirt roads slipping away from cell service and capitalism we see Roos by the side of the road and hope they don’t kamikaze. It’s nearly sunset.

I don’t actually know where I’m going or who I’m meeting but I trust it’ll all work out. All I know is I’m looking for Benny. We met on Facebook and had been chatting here and there for a few months.

We reach the gate, there’s a boy standing guard. He asks if I have a ticket. I say I didnt know I needed one. I’m here to meet a friend, I’ve just come from Byron and don’t even know where I am. He says tickets are ten bucks but I guess you can go check if your friends here and pay his dad. We roll through. It’s a gorgeous 45 acre property with a 30,000 year old aboriginal birthing pool. The energy is calm, even nurturing. But it has a sense of emptiness that only a sacred place could behold. The shuttle parks and a kind looking man named Charlie lingers towards us. I tell him my story and he says welcome make yourself at home then asks if I need help with my bags. I say if you wouldn’t mind that would be lovely. He thinks my bag is hefty. I skimmed it down twice before I left. Internal chuckles entertain me.

I try calling but no consistent reception. Ten minutes later Benny pulls up in a light forest green van. His friends in the wrangler behind him.

The night is filled with music, spliffs and a medley of drinks. It’s a super new moon, yet the sky is bright with stars. I dance in the darkness and thank the goddess I have safely landed in a place sacred.

We build a camp fire and eat s’mores and talk shit until there’s no other choice but to roll into our beds and meet again when the sun is up.

I lay in my swag bag and smile to myself skimming through my experiences of the past five months.

Nothing lasts forever is a comforting statement. I snuggle into my sleeping bag and send off to dreamland.

Be easy. Be kind. Be silly

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