I have just celebrated my 27th birthday



after fourteen years of lengthy operations

chemotherapy, remissions and relapses

i found the empty body of my mother in her bed this morning



we have spent her last three months together

at her home in Seaton

a small coastal village

in the south west of England



her death was expected

but its permanence is stunning


 i smoke a small pipe of hashish
each morning when i wake

to cushion the impact of reentering reality

the woman who delivered me has departed

leaving a large empty space

in a house that feels small and suffocating

i move from room to room

looking for somewhere to get away from my feelings

only to find reminders of her in each one


 days pass

i get a job as a taxi driver in the evenings
to occupy time
i raise a baby magpie i find on a country lane

and lose myself in the television

as the English summer arrives

imperceptibly.



———



I imagine i might escape the weight of my feelings

by going on a journey


i decide to visit a friend, Angela

who some years ago
took her new born child
to spend his formative years with her

in the Irish countryside



i have little money

so i take a bus from Exeter to the nearest port

a ferry across the Celtic sea to Cork

and another longer bus journey from there to Galway



i sit on the bus for hours

travelling north

looking out of the window

into the rain

sobbing quietly


an old man sleeps in the aisle seat beside me

holding space for my misery.



———



Angela picks me up from the bus stop

and takes me back to a simple cottage
without electricity

in the middle of nowhere

surrounded by a bleak and stony landscape



her young son is so chuffed at having some male company

that his eyes follow me adoringly
but that only illuminates how empty my heart is
and how little i have to give

i feel so uncomfortable

that early the next morning

Angela returns me to Galway town

and i check in to a hostel



i spend my time between there and the nearest pub

somewhere between lost and trapped

wondering why i came.



———



The week comes to a close

As i wait at the bus stop

to take the journey home

a stout woman

with thick spectacles and a velvet cap

decorated with mother of pearl buttons

asks me to help her load her many bags onto the bus

and i oblige



she is friendly

she’s looking in my direction

from the edge of my isolation

and she invites me to sit with her

at the front of the bus



 Lucia is an educated and intellectual Argentinian

she’s an artist and film maker

she is kind and curious

she has obviously been psychoanalysed

and calmly asks me searching questions


she’s not wasting our time
and i welcome her interest and empathy



we travel south through the Irish landscape

and back through my history

she comes to understand who i am

where i come from

and the path i have traveled



at some point i ask her where she’s going

she tells me she’s on her way to the airport in Dublin

to fly to London and spend three days there

before heading back across the Atlantic to New York

where she lives in the Bronx with her husband and family



i ask her if she knows the countryside in the south west of England

which she doesn’t

so i invite her to change her plans

and stay with me at my mothers home

she takes a moment to reflect

and then excitedly accepts the adventure



we pass the stop for the airport

Lucia entertains me with stories from the bible

which she adapts to modern circumstances

and gives the characters contemporary names

it’s a game of hers



we arrive in Cork

the last ferry has left

we check into a bed & breakfast

and sit in the bar, drinking Gin & Tonic

she buys herself a celebratory pack of cigarettes from the machine

and smokes a few, uncomfortably, without inhaling



it is the end of a full day

we are running low on energy and conversation

i ask Lucia what her astrological sign is

she tells me that she is a Capricorn

and born on the 8th January



on hearing this date
my mind slows to a stop

i must have misheard or miscalculated

and to clear my confusion

I tell her

that my mother was born

on the 8th January 1948



Lucia begins to cry

and confirms

that that is also the year, month and of her birth.



———



The next morning we take the ferry to England

travel by bus to Exeter

and from there take a taxi to Seaton



we stand together in front of my mothers home

a cottage in an alley called Woodbine place

the sun is high and warming the front of the house

its white sash windows are lifted slightly open

for the breeze to enter

seagulls are chuckling above us in the salty air

a pink clematis rambles through a wrought iron fence

lush green hostas are potted in terracotta

either side of a cobalt blue door

with the number 2

the name Rothbury

some faded plastic flowers

and a black lions head knocker at its centre



my friend opens the door

she has been looking after my mothers dog

who bounds out in front of her



i introduce Nicola and Charlie Brown to Lucia

she comes down low to greet Charlie

looks up to us with tears in her eyes

and tells us that she has dog

who is waiting for her to come home
on the other side of the Atlantic

and his name

is also

Charlie Brown.

I call my heart
i call my heart home
i call my heart, Home

love is a radiant force
that emanates from my chest

love is not longing
longing is reaching out
a pulling force from emptiness

displacing my heart centre in an other
leaves me progressively more depleted
i leave my own centre empty
un full filled and longing for it's return
not loving, but wanting
in need of love

to be heart centred
i centre my heart here
i stop traveling out through my imagination
and placing my heart elsewhere
i stop giving my heart away

i call my heart back from the bodies of others
i call my heart back from what i imagine i lack
i call my heart back out of situations and ideas
i call my heart back from those i have loved and lost
and from those i long for

i call my heart back to its rightful place
the sensations in my chest
without attaching it to a story of an other
i keep my heart here
i breathe into its rhythm
i breathe into the ache
i let it relax and open
i let it spill through me
i let it charge and nourish my own body
i concentrate
i expand my field

i love from a heart centred here.

As i lay back
my body becomes
a vibrant, streaming, hum

i am opening too quickly
against the tight contraction of my fear
i cannot contain my self

i hear her say, very softly
"i’ve got you, you can let go now"
i'm so scared but i trust in her
and i begin radiating into space

i don’t know if i am laughing or crying
there's a repeating pulse
emanating from my axis
vibrating out into space
in waves before me
carrying my expansion

i am opening out and out
in a scintillating orgasm
of fluid geometric pattern and sensation
flowing around golden lines
on rainbows through white

i expand through, and beyond, every thing
and come to rest
somewhere beyond the stars

vast in completeness
at the edge of infinity

radiating into the void
eternally.

My feet take me from the metro Jourdain
to the door of my aunts apartment on rue Carducci
a few blocks from the park Buttes Chaumont

i have been coming here since i was thirteen
everything has changed
but the pathway remains the same

Avril and i sit on two classic French cafe chairs
at a small round marble table
in a twelve square meter studio apartment
on the eighth floor

we are surrounded by many clothes on hangers
hung everywhere
a single bed
an overbearing wardrobe
six nervous cats
and the smell of ammonia

the sun shines in through the window
it warms my back
i turn to open it
and draw a deep breath of fresh air into my lungs

Avril has a tiny fridge
it’s clearly French
it has a freezer compartment
the size of a champagne bottle
that takes up the majority of the interior

we are drinking Kir Royals from her only two mugs
Avril's hands are wrapped around hers like it's hot chocolate
with each sip she moans with pleasure
imprinted across her mug
in rainbow colours
it says, "today will be AMAZING"

Avril has been disconnecting from words and memories for some years now
her mind turns in ever decreasing circles
perhaps towards a quiet centre

left in silence
she searches for her place
for her keys
and her age

i remind her often
that this is her apartment
that her keys are around her neck
that she is 79
and that i am her nephew from her brothers family
which is a joyful revelation for her
each, and every time

I want to hold my centre
to be with her
beyond the complication of language
and look in to her eyes
with all the love i have
but after several rounds of “how old am i, dear?”
i feel the rising panic of being trapped in those little circles with her

so i take her out on journeys
into stories from her own life that she has forgotten
stories from the lives of our relatives
and on travels through mine

today i tell her about my first visit to the Taj Mahal
and how my journey to get there began when i was five
sitting on a small wooden chair at Awliscombe primary school
my fiery bearded teacher, Mr Halliwell
leaning down and opening a little hard backed Penguin book
with the image of a white temple inside
and how, some 36 years later
I am walking in the geometry of its red walled garden

i describe to Avril the delicacy of the building
and the atmosphere of the grounds in the early morning light
how its white marble walls and spires are reflecting the gold and pink of sunrise
how the mist is rising off the river
and how i am sobbing
completely overwhelmed by its beauty
and everything I had been through to arrive there

tears are now streaming down Avrils face
she shows me the goose bumps on her arms
she says she wants to go
and wants to know when we can leave
Avril gets nervous walking to the end of her own street these days
so i explain how it may be less complicated for us to go together in our next life

i play her some electronic music from my phone
at first she can’t make sense of it
she tilts her head in confusion
and then her eyes widen
and she wriggles on her chair in time with the music

she’s as frustrated at the lack of volume as i am
and keeps asking if it’s possible to turn it up
this repetition is understandable and amuses me each time
i will bring a better speaker tomorrow

the next morning i arrive with pain au chocolat, quiche Lorraine and eclairs from a bakery in Montmartre
i also have a better speaker with me and play some lazy jazz music
i dance with her a little
as we turn in more rounds of “how old am i, dear?”

i show her pictures i took of the Taj Mahal
she savours the images as she does her food
very slowly and with audible pleasure
that afternoon
i take some time out to meet a friend
for tea and tart tatin with creme fraîche
on the terrace of my favourite cafe, in the Marais

we talk about the unknown
and the uncertainty of what is to come
we talk about the need to trust
and to remember that we are only dreaming

i pick up some fresh falafel and warm pastel de nata for Avrils dinner
i arrive and make some tea
we sit and eat

she asks me how old she is
and i tell her that she’s 85
she looks at me from the corner of her eye
and tells me to fuck off, with a smile

she asks me what i want to do with the rest of my life
i tell her some of my dreams
she tells me that i am brave

i ask her what she wants to do with the rest of her life
she looks at me puzzled
like it’s obvious

“i want to be here with my cats, darling”.

It’s just past midnight in the mountains
i have Geranium, Coriander, and Frankincense oil in my hair

i’m alone at the edge of a party
lying on my back
sweaty from dancing
all dressed in black
on a simple white couch
my hands behind my head
supporting my skull
and massaging my neck

i marvel up
into the leaves and branches of a huge Plane tree
in the courtyard of a moorish castle
surrounded by irrigated gardens
in the hills above Palma
the lights of the city below us
are shimmering at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea

i’m happy to be here
to be me
in this moment

a large dark man
a stranger
with a full, black, shining beard
comes to sit with me
he sits right beside me

right inside my space

relaxing

he tells me that i smell really good
and i agree with him

i learn that his mother is from Congo
and his father from Mauritius

at some point he asks what i do
i tell him that i release peoples bodies
and align them in their free streaming axis

I describe how i do that
and he wants me to teach him something
so I oblige

I’m looking up at this big full black man
who is smiling down on me
massaging my neck
he is surrounded by the arms of an ancient tree
the patterns of the leaves
and the night sky
squared by the roof of the courtyard

I ask him his name
and he comes right down close
looks me in the eyes
and says
my name is Romeo.

We stand
at the foot
of a great wave

the sand
is sucking
at our feet

the ocean
pulls back
as it turns over

the water
has risen
with such weight

the crest
is full
of sunlight

there is
nothing
to hold on to

there is
nowhere
to run

i breathe
in the stillness
before everything falls.

Caterpillars don't change into butterflies over night
through choice, or with ease
they are born into constant hunger
gorging and absorption (of my cabbages)
before building a tight hard container
a place of isolation
of darkness and disconnection
of decomposition and reformation

and at the point when they are just arriving
at their reinvented state
when their soup has turned to solid
their world cracks open
they crawl out
wingless, crumpled, and shaking
suspended above a vast drop
they don't know they can fly
it's not like they've done this before
they just hang in there
throbbing and expanding in the sunlight
until the wind lifts them into a flutter.

It is mid summers day

i walk up and out of town
away from the sea and the red cliffs
over the brow of a large hill
on a pathway down through fields
and along hedgerows
following weathered wooden signs
towards Holy ford

i climb over a sty
enter a cool, light-dappled, woodland valley
and join a trickling stream
down to a small reservoir
in a lush clearing

in the warm dry reeds
at the edge of the dark green pond
i unroll a soft, oriental rug
that belonged to my mother
it is the colour of blood

i undress
fold my clothes into a pillow
and lie down naked

i drop my legs into the water
and feel the cool grey silt
push up between my toes

a large black fish
with a golden belly
comes to bask in the sunlight
at my feet
unafraid

high, high above us
beyond the frame of the surrounding trees
a bird, spirals, upwards, effortlessly,
in a cloudless sky

the mid day sun is penetrating
nature is vibrating
i relax and expand
into the potent hum.