… who rode his tricycle around and around the school playground. It’s one those old ones, all metal with a tray on the back. Two small wheels at the back and a big one in front. round and round, having fun out in the sun – cold sun in the middle of the empty playground, in the middle of the day, in the middle of a valley, surrounded by hills scarred with rock. Angry hills.

 

There I was, on my bike, until I fell off. And somehow managed to scrape my thigh. On what? I don’t know. I’ll never know now.

 

And he sits and wonders what this has to do with Gabby.

 

The pain, that’s the connection. The distraction. The denial. Gabby saw that, she saw that I was turning away, searching for the skin I had left behind. She saw me looking for that lost piece of me, when I should have been paying attention. To what was happening right here, right now.

 

In this room.

 

‘This room? This room?’ he asks mockingly, as if the mere idea is outrageous. As if there is nothing happening here.

 

‘Yes, this interrogation room. For that is what it is, and I am on trial. You are judge, jury and executioner and I am simply the passenger. And you think that I should be afraid, that this should concern me? It does not, not anymore. Now I am paying attention. Now I see you, the shadow that you are – a piece of a puzzle, a piece of me.

 

You are my hero. The one that I grew up worshipping. A man with a thousand faces. And all were brave, strong, always on the side of right, yet … there was always something about you that made you … fallible. That is what I saw in you, although I guess you tried to hide it from me. And you did a good job of that. For many years I was fooled into thinking …

 

‘Thinking that all was wonderful? That all was light, white and bright?’ He has interrupted me, derailed my train of thought, and yet there is no crash, no squeal of brakes and flying sparks of light. The train has disappeared, left the tracks and is now flying onward somewhere, perhaps for someone else to board. Perhaps they already have?

 

‘Perhaps it is all wonderful?’ he asks with a smile on his lips, a smile that tells me he doesn’t think so, and yet I am not going to squabble, there is too much of that going on already and I have no need to change his mind. ‘Perhaps there is a place without suffering. Perhaps there is … but that place my friend, that place, is not here’. Now the smile is much broader. He is goading me. Goading me to get off my tricycle, goading me to speak to him, to tell him what I know.

 

Goading me to take the controls. I will not. I am only the passenger.

 

 

 

to continue …

 

take me to the beginning

 

 

 

 

 

And her hands never left me. Ever.

  

I remember being exhausted, my eyes closed, just calmly bathing in the bright white light. It was as if I as waiting, and I wasn’t. I was just floating, like I used to do before the light came. Like I used to do in the darkness. The darkness. It made no sense anymore.

  

When he spoke, his voice was more gentle than I remembered, more tender that I had anticipated.

 

 

‘Do you still love her?

 

‘Of course, always’.

 

‘Why then did you leave her?’

 

I opened my eyes. The light remained. He was invisible now, lost somewhere in the light. In the light coming from me. There was only the light, only me, yet … I could feel others. They seemed to come into focus somehow. Not distinct, not separate, just part of the light. I was surprised at how quickly I became familiar with the light. How quickly this brightness became simply the way it was.

 

Now all was still. I was no waiting no more, it was the others who were waiting. For me. It was as if I was in control. Of everything.

 

I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly what my purpose was, for being here in this moment, in this place. And I knew that the same would apply for every moment to come. I knew what I was doing, now and forever after, that was how I was in control. And of course that was how I had no control at all.

 

“So, tell me, tell us, what is the purpose?”, it was little more that a hush, not even a whisper. I could not figure who had spoken. It just came out of the light in front of me. And it sounded like no voice, it sounded like the most gentle breeze.

 

I was floating now. What is my purpose?

 

To simply be.

 

“But why here? Why now? Why this?”

 

“There is no answer to that. There are many answers to that. They are all true. I am here, now, with you, in this place because that is what I have chosen. That is what I want”.

 

“Why?”

 

A shadow, a shade, an indecipherable something passes through the light. The light that surrounds me.

 

“The light that comes from you”. The voice is different now, stronger. It is becoming his voice once again. The light that comes from me. From me. The shadow is my own. At that moment, as the light fades. like the departure of day I know I can not halt it, night is returning. Yet I have no fear because I know night follows day. Night comes with the moon.

My light begins to shine blue, pale, gentle, pleasant, calming …

 

And in that blue light I see he is holding a mirror. I can see it now. I see myself reflected back at myself. I am still indistinct in the half light, the half life.

 

I am back in the room, the moment has passed. I am back here and he wants to know ‘why’. He wants to know why Gabby.

In the half light, I see myself. I am riding a tricycle. I am a little boy.

 

 

 

to continue …

 

take me to the beginning…

 

 

And I know. In that moment, standing there, in a doorway, I know what she is going to give me. All that time I spent in the darkness, all that time alone, in my exile I have worked it out. She will love and care for me completely. She will love me more than herself. Always.

 

 

And I will love her, always. When I was with her and when I wasn’t. Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, whomever we were with, we loved each other. Totally and completely. Our love belonged to our breathe. Always there. Always present.

 

 

That was in her eyes when she looked up at me. She was totally expecting me. Completely and utterly. And she smiled. Just like that. She smiled because she knew me. She knew who I was. She loved me from the first time she saw me, because … she loved me before she saw me.

 

 

She just went ahead and created the conditions, the best conditions for me to grow. She was my gardener, she tended me, cared for me, watched out for me, protected me, nourished me. She did all that without ever wanting my love in return, in any way. She just wanted me to grow, to be as big and as beautiful, and as bold as I could be. She knew my potential. She knew it well before I did.

 

 

I stood there in the doorway. And all of a sudden I didn’t want to go any further. In that moment, I was split in two. Torn apart from within. I wanted to be with her, over there, touching her neck, feeling her hair, looking into her eyes, and yet, I also knew that if I did I would be beginning something from which I could never return.

 

 

And in knowing that, the decision had already been made. The division was in place. I was both.

 

 

Should I stay or should I go? Now. Could I stay and go? I tried to forget which was which. In a doorway to stay is not to go, neither forward or back. Behind me was the dark cavenous blackness. The vast emptiness that I had left behind. And I knew I could not stay. One can’t in a doorway.

 

 

And while I sometimes like to think i didn’t, I did, I made a choice. I stepped forward. I wasn’t pushed or pulled. Nothing outside of me forced me to do it. I choose to step forward. I was so scared. She was smiling at me. I remember. Just that. Her smile. So bright, so blinding, it was like white light. I could hardly see. I couldn’t smile. I can’t even remember moving forward. All I remember was her hands on me.

 

 

to continue

 

take me to the beginning

 

 

And just like that I am back.

 

There is a slightness. A whisper perhaps, or is it a waft of air. A vagueness remains, disipating. I smell it, feel it, hear it.

 

“To know what we have we must lose it first. We can only know innocence once we have stepped outside it.  We can only be happy once we have let it go. We can only be free once we release ourselves”.

 

I was back. The sun was shining. On me. On a footpath in Wimbledon. Walking, not running. Walking with determination, without haste. I am here now. I am no longer in exile. I am free because I know what I gave Gabby. I know what I gave up. Finally I know. My progress down the street becomes slower and slower. I am in no hurry. I see people coming towards me. I see into their faces. I see their pain. Their joy.  Some smile at me.

 

In this river of life I know where I am going. Of course I do not know what I will find when I get there. I now know I never did. Now I am unafraid. I want to go there. I am moving so slow now. I know that Time is no longer here with me. I am at the shop door.

 

The shop face is light green with words ’AMAZING GRACE’ written elegantly yet boldly on her forehead. Underneath, less obvious, in a faded dark green, like a wrinkle is the line ’grace provides opportunity’. I stand poised at the door, between the two display windows. They are perfectly balanced. They reflect the world outside: a beautiful red beret, a Constable print; a black sequined cushion, a row of books.

 

I stand on the threshold, opening the door as woman exits. She looks at me and I smile.

 

‘Thank you’ she says as I hold the door.

 

An opportunity. To give. She is grateful. My smile widens. She walks on. She is not the one then.

 

I enter, looking up, looking around as I do. I see her and I know. I am no longer looking for anything. I am just looking. I watch her, standing at the end of a rack of clothes. Looking down intently, her hand shuffling hangers, as if she knows I am here, as if she pretends I am not.

 

Nothing else matters anymore. The shop has simply become the venue. The place where we first met. The place that I remember.  I am in the doorway of my desire.

 

 

 

to continue…

 

take me to the beginning …

 

 

 

 

He’s gone. She’s gone. There is nobody here anymore.

 

Empty. The place is empty. Like his eyes.  Reflecting nothing of what surrounds him.

 

He is no longer. Not here.

 

Daisy. Poor Daisy. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. I can just make it all up, I can make up a story.

 

Daisy is a beautiful mohair goat. Pure white. With attitude. She can be mean, fiery, protective of what belongs to her. I love Daisy. She is my closest friend. I live in a make-believe world on a farm, yet no-one farms anything.  No one makes any hay. There is no one here, just Daisy and I, and my friend Margaret.

 

And for some reason, I don’t know why. I didn’t understand. Now I think maybe because we were moving, or maybe because Daisy became too big for her boots. Maybe she was frightening.  I don’t know why we did it. We set Daisy free.

 

We set her free on the side of the road. At a bend in the road, where there were some trees and bush.

 

And I found out years later, so many years later, after I had myself set others free, that Daisy was not free for long. She was found by a big mean farmer. This farmer did not farm anything either.  He did not make hay. The sun did not shine where he lived. This farmer was a vampire. Every day he would suck some of Daisy’s blood, suck some more of Daisy’s life from her. Gorge on it.

 

And this big fat farmer just got bigger. Big like a tick. He swelled up. Daisy got smaller and smaller, less and less.

 

That’s how Daisy died. She bled to death. She was bled.

 

And one day she just seemed to disappear. She just wasn’t there any more.

 

And everybody just watched it happen. Except me. I …

 

‘When did this happen?’

 

‘I don’t know’. I wasn’t there.

 

I wasn’t there.

 

I wasn’t there.

 

I look at him, trying to sense if I should know something. I wasn’t there? Is that what this is all about?

 

‘Why do you want to know?’ I ask, my mouth dry.

 

It now makes little sense to me. Now there is only sensation, only feeling. You make sense of it if you can. If you want. I can’t. I don’t feel …

 

‘Why did it happen?’

 

Another question. It seems to take such a long time to get here, and such a long time … to answer. The truth is I don’t know. I am starting to lose faith in my own thoughts, in my words, in the sounds I make. I have still not spoken.

 

It’s like talking to a stranger.

 

He looks up, eyes quickly gleaming and then blank again. He can’t however hide the eagerness in his voice so easily.

 

‘Yes … so there is nothing to fear. Think of me as a stranger’.

 

Not hard I think to myself. You are. You are a fucking stranger! You are a fucking stranger. And yet does that matter to me? Do I care any longer who I tell?

 

Am I still afraid?

 

‘Of course you are. To be alive is to be afraid’.

 

I was afraid of dying. I was afraid of failing.  I was afraid of growing old. I was afraid that in doing all that, I would lose something, and yet, I could never quite put my finger on what it was I was losing.

 

Gabby. She showed me what there was to lose.  The only way she could by taking me by the hand and leading me away. So far away that I could not find my way back for a long time. I spent a long time in exile. It was a long long time, a full moon, a blue moon, before I found I was back.

 

 

 

 

 

to continue…

 

take me to the beginning ..