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June 10, Journal
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June 5, Journal
Drew the Drug Dealer was a kind, affable guy. The Mormon met him years ago on a jobsite, and this was the first time he’d been to Motueka to visit his old friend.
Last night, I returned to Drew’s house to pick up an ounce of good weed and the Mormon with whom I’d be splitting it. Somehow, the Mormon found enough cash for his half. He explained how difficult it was to get funds from his bank in England, and that he could only access $200 at a time. I, on the other hand, had an American credit card that was easily exercised daily, so it was hard for me to understand the intricacies of British finances.
Drew lived among the golden kiwi orchards just north of the town of Motueka. He’d really lucked out with his place – it was a two-bedroom flat with free water and electricity for only $220 per week. The interior explained it all.
Dirty dishes climbed the kitchen walls, which were grimy with grease and festooned with cobwebs. Every surface was a study in accumulation. Dust had graduated to dirt in the places that weren’t rubbed shiny by Drew’s passage. The toilet was an atrocity. Not just the commode, but the entire room. I thanked the yoga gods for the strength that allowed me to hover effortlessly over Drew’s bespattered throne in Chair Pose.1
I did enjoy Drew’s company, though. He understood the Mormon; at least enough to hold a respectable conversation with him, and to ignore his more bizarre comments. Drew had spent over a decade of his life living in the neighborhood of King’s Cross in Sydney, so he was no stranger to odd characters. We listened with delight to his sordid tales of gang violence and cross-dressing.
He presented us with a fat baggie of weed, and after the Mormon and I had sniffed it appreciatively, the Mormon carefully pulled out a thumb-sized bud and presented it to Drew.
“Thanks, mate,” the Mormon said. “A bit for you there.”
He turned to me to explain, “You gotta sort out your mates, you know, doll.”
I did know, even though I’d never shared anything with my weed guy back home. In fact, I usually enjoyed a few puffs from his own expertly rolled blunts after an hour of conversation.
I loved my local weed guy, Jake. He was a vegetarian body-builder who did social work in the poorest communities in our town. The nail on his right pinky finger was always left long and sharp to slit open the tobacco leaves around purchased blunts that needed a lavish boost of marijuana. He was outspoken about his socialist tendencies, and he always listened to my uneducated political ideas patiently; his intelligent, celery-green eyes open to the eastern philosophies that I endorsed.
Jake truly listened. His bookshelves were thick with Karl Marx, the Bhagavad Gita, and Anime classics. As a teenager in Philly, he’d been the lead singer in a death metal band, and Jake still made brilliant music alone in his apartment in the heavy, smoky hours after midnight. Kindness and friendship were of utmost importance to him, and if he wasn’t asexual2, I’d gladly have dated him.
Drew reminded me of Jake, and I wondered if it was common for hardcore and kindness to coexist in the same person.
It was obvious that Drew had once been incredibly good-looking, but round jowls hid what should have been a chiseled jaw, and his dark hairline was making an early escape from his pockmarked face. An old back injury kinked his spine, but his blue eyes still held some fire.
Drew slouched across the entirety of an ancient black leather loveseat, continually placing things into his mouth for consumption. First, he’d roll a cigarette, and smoke that with a can of beer. Then, he’d snack on a pile of greasy food from the local fish’n’chips shop. Next, it was time for a huge hit of weed, and, minutes later, the cycle would start again.
The Mormon and I both thought that Drew’s method of smoking weed was both ingenious and ridiculous. We were still using the plastic, skull-shaped bong that I’d acquired in Takaka in February, and the Mormon would always slide weed into his ‘rollies’. Drew, however, was a Kiwi. He was innovative, and he was a craftsman.
Dozens of empty beer cans decorated his filthy coffee table. One of them lay on its side, with a valley creasing its uppermost surface. Drew punched a small ring of holes into the deepest part of the valley, and carefully placed a little globe of marijuana onto that shiny silver landscape. He held the mouth of the beer can to his own mouth, and lit up, dragging smoke through the beery vessel in one, long, manly pull.
“Mate, you’ve got a killer system there,” the Mormon laughed.
“Yeah, mate,” Drew’s retained breath made his response sound throttled. A massive puff of spent smoke swirled above us as he exhaled. “It’s my religion.”
“The world is anxiously awaiting your Bible, man,” I said. My exhalation was nowhere near as impressive as Drew’s, so I tried again.
“He’s the only one of us that has a legit religion,” I added, swinging my gaze over to the Mormon and smiling at him broadly.
“Fuck, yeah, I’m legit,” the Mormon responded. “I’m a priest.”
“No shit.” Drew straightened his spine out of complacency for the first time.
“I’m not shitting you.” The Mormon’s wide open smile did make him hard to believe. “I’m an ordained priest, mate. I can perform marriages and everything.”
The Mormon had my complete attention. The wrinkles of his life were surprisingly deep.
“How long did that take? Why did you do it? What did you have to do to become a priest?”
“It’s not that hard, really. You get the priesthood conferred upon you if you just remain faithful for a little while. They just lay their hands on you, and God passes through them to you.”
“That’s amazing! So you know about the laying of hands.” I’d seen that in my childhood at the churches that I was obligated to attend. “How did it feel when God passed into you?”
“Awesome.” The Mormon’s eyes were large and serious, and he seemed well aware of his temporary celebrity status. “The power of God is electric. It’s like drugs, like a high that takes over you completely. I felt it on both sides: when I was being ordained, and when I laid my hands on others. The connection made me want to be part of the church. I’ve never felt such power before.”
“Mate.” Drew’s red eyes watered, but he backed up into a space of comfortable disbelief. “That’s brilliant. I wish I could experience that, but that’s not my scene.”
The Mormon shrugged.
“It’s pretty fucking cool, mate. I should go to church. It’s been years.”
“And now you’re consorting with a Jewish girl who believes that she’s God,” I said, ruefully.
Drew laughed, and the Mormon seemed confused.
“I’ve felt that power, too,” I continued. “A lot. When I meditate, when I’m in a spiritual place, or around spiritual people. I think it’s always there, but you just have to set yourself aside and become a vessel for it. It’s way easier to do that when the people around you can do the same thing: it becomes a conducive environment for God. I love that Mormonism recognizes how easy it is to hold God in you, and that you don’t need to have a special education to be close to the Divine.”
The men mumbled agreeably, and I left the room to visit Drew’s questionable restroom facilities. As I left, I couldn’t resist peeking back over my shoulder because I felt eyes velcroed to my swaying hourglass figure. Sure enough, there was Drew; sitting upright and mostly sober, naked lust darkening the hot blue of his eyes. The power that poured through me from that connection was Amazing Grace. Didn’t the Mormon notice?
Men. I love them, and I wish I could fuck them all. Drew’s performance would be abysmal, though, given the strength of his addictions.
Drew generously offered us the use of his second bedroom for the three nights that the Mormon and I would be staying in Motueka. I declined graciously, but the Mormon was grateful that he’d had a free bed for the night that I insisted upon being alone with Pup’s memory. For the next two nights, however, I arranged a room for both of us in the same local hostel that had accommodated me on my night alone.
It took the owner of the hostel several minutes to recognize me from the previous day.
“Oh. You’re back.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got a friend.”
“Yes. I found an Englishman.”
“That easy, huh?”
“Yeah, man. They’re everywhere. Just picked this one up off the street like a ripe fruit.”
The hostel owner grunted, and the Mormon followed me passively, without a word, to our cozy little room. I was still wet from Drew’s lust, and I didn’t waste any time riding that Latter-Day Saint home to the Celestial Kingdom.
1https://www.yogaoutlet.com/blogs/guides/how-to-do-chair-pose-in-yoga
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June 4, Journal
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June 3, Journal
Because I was banished from the Mormon’s campsite, we decided to remain together by travelling. I’ve grown used to paying for the Mormon’s gas, so it was natural for me to pay for our accommodation as well. Finding suitable places for us to stay that I could afford was incredibly time-consuming, and I began our journey with a sense of exhaustion.
It was the Mormon’s pattern to rise mid-morning, and I’d already been up for several hours before he was even awake. His mind had wound itself in tight circles the previous evening, and he’d set it on starting a whole new life with me in the northern part of the South Island. To that end, he packed not only clothes and toiletries, but his favorite carpentry tools as well. I didn’t know what to make of this bold start that he envisioned, so I just made room for his new life in the trunk of my rented SUV (Robert). His vehicle needed maintenance, so he removed some of the tools and dirty laundry from the back, we dropped it off at a local repair shop. I never saw it again.
There were many delays to the commencement of our journey. I’d committed to not smoking weed until we were at our destination, and as a result, my agitation with the Mormon’s slowness and indecisiveness was palpable. Our first stop was at the local convenience store for more of his favorite powdered milk. It was nearly noon. I decided to use a local public restroom before we got on the road, delaying us further. I drove to the restroom with my irritation in full evidence; slamming Robert’s gears into place vindictively, and pounding the brakes and accelerator with as much violence as I could muster (silently) over half a kilometer.
It was best that I allowed the Mormon to drive Robert. I took a long, shuddering hit from the bong that I’d given to the Mormon last week, after my first departure. We hit the road.
We’d decided to go north, towards a town called Motueka, for two reasons. I wanted to celebrate Pup’s Death-day in a sacred, watery spot, and the nearby Te Waikoropupu Springs seemed appropriate. The Mormon wanted to visit his friend, Carl, to get some good weed.
We took the western route up the South Island, retracing our old route up towards Franz Josef Glacier, and going a little beyond it to a cute town called Hokitika. Hokitika is the best place for Pounamu (jade) purchases on the South Island (maybe the world, who knows?). I’m a little obsessed with precious stones; so, before lockdown, I’d spent a few days there. There was a little workshop1 on a wide side street that allowed over-eager artists like myself to carve and polish their own pieces of Pounamu.
Back in early March (in those lonely, carefree, pre-Coronavirus days), I spent several hours wandering around the nearby River Styx. It was listed on the internet as an excellent place to find Pounamu, and I couldn’t resist the romance that the name promised. I did find four small pieces of low-quality Pounamu in the wide, pebbly banks of the River Styx as well as dozens of other random stones that had no value whatsoever.
Two sessions at the little workshop provided me with four simple pendants and far too much pride in myself. I’d been attracted to the huge Maori fellow that taught me how to use his tools. His wild, high-pitched laugh was surprising and joyous, and his Pounamu carvings were elegant and well-polished. He let me stroke the hardness of a specially-commissioned jade ax, but the moment never seemed right for me to make a move.
Upon my to Hokitika, I wanted to show the Mormon how delightful that little town was. We arrived at our private cabin in a sketchy holiday park near the ocean around 8pm. After eating a vegetarian casserole that I’d made the night before, we lay on the hard, thin mattress that had probably seen more than its share of activity over the past two decades. I burrowed my head into his shoulder, searching desperately for the love and peace that my aching body denied me.
The Mormon was kind and even-tempered, and more importantly, always horny. I don’t think he noticed my discomfort. Our tongues found their way around our bodies, and he fucked me carefully in Missionary. As his cum seeped into my cells, I began to feel alive again.
Night had fallen. We only had one night in Hokitika, and we were within walking distance of a colony of glowworms. I persuaded the Mormon to get dressed and accompany me on a little visit to the uncanny creatures.
They lived in a dell just outside of town; a circular spot of ferny western forest protected by tall cliffs on three sides. The glowworms inhabited the rocky sides of the cliff in hopes of capturing delicious insects in their sticky webs. The webs glued them in place, and the frontiers of their colony rose mightily upwards for 25 or 30 feet.
Each tiny worm glimmered like a star. As we stood below, our eyes adjusting to the cave-like darkness, more and more lights emerged from the cliffs. The night above us was thickly starred as well. I felt as though invisible words were written on the black forest canopy between earth and sky: “As above, so below.”
The blue-white pinpricks of light that the glowworms emitted was magical to me, and I settled my mind into the same meditative state as I’d experienced the first time I’d visited them. Holding the Mormon’s hand in the cold night, I listened for their wisdom. I heard their twinkling song of need, and remembered that the hungrier they were, the brighter they shone. Insects were attracted to the brighter worms, and in this way, they evenly distributed resources between them without moving an inch.
I also heard an overriding restlessness from the Mormon. He was bored, so we left the Glowworm Dell for our shabby private cabin and more love-making.
The next morning, I wandered to the nearby beach while the Mormon slept to watch the dawn paint the sky and sea in a wash of pink and gold. I was too hungry to wait for him to wake up, so I huddled over the narrow table in our room, and stacked peanut butter and sliced apples on Ryvita for a noisy breakfast. This roused him around 8:30am, and we miraculously made it out of the holiday park 5 minutes before the 10am checkout time.
I wanted to share the cool softness of the beach with the Mormon, and he agreed to walk down to the shore with me before we left for the second leg of our journey north.
The beaches of the West Coast are often covered with piles of driftwood in all shapes and colors, and this one was no exception. The Mormon’s first thought was firewood. I laughed at him and kissed him. My first impulse was equally silly: I wanted to make beach art.
The first time I was in Hokitika, I’d enjoyed the wealth of driftwood sculptures on the wide expanse of sand where the Hokitika River met the sea. Local artists and travelers had rearranged the driftwood into lions, landscapes, and wondrously abstract structures. I’d spent a happy afternoon on that beach, dragging the twisted remains of tree roots into place to create a colorful sculpture that resembled a sea creature surfacing and offering itself to the sun.
That morning, I commenced upon a similar project, pulling prize pieces from the wreckage of wood around me. My sculpture followed the lines of the driftwood that I’d chosen: grounded and curvy. The Mormon watched me from a wooden bench, smoking and sipping his second cup of tea to get his bearings for the day.
Eventually, he joined me, because he often copied what I did. His sculpture was leggy and tall, and he had trouble balancing the slim trunks that he chose so that they would find stability in each other. I’d used some large pebbles in my sculpture, and he thought to place some of those same round rocks in the junction of his trunks, 5 feet above the ground.
That gave him the stability that he needed, and he grew brave enough to balance a long stick at the top that reached precariously towards the tallest post in my sculpture. I was delighted to see how close the two sticks were: they were both perfectly stable on their own foundations, their tips only millimeters apart. I found a salty vine that formed a tight ring, and we carefully placed it in such a way that both of our sculptures pierced the ring. I made art with the Mormon!
1https://www.carveyourown.co.nz/
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May 31, Journal
A single candle illuminated the wooden bench upon which dinner was being prepared. A few handfuls of greens rested there, freshly pulled from Colin’s garden, just steps outside the front door. Colette was preparing a stir-fry at the wood-burning stove in the back corner of their caravan. They were both here short-term as woofers, but it was Farmer Colin’s turf.
He had a dangerous sort of handsomeness: tattooed, lean and dark; like a gypsy. Two Pounamu jade swirls hung from his earlobes, and two more jade pendants gleamed on his chest. Carving Pounamu was a hobby of his. Rough stones puddled outside the caravan, and beautifully finished pendants decorated the windows inside. Colin was an artist with a precise hand and discerning eye, and you could see that in the lovely nude drawing that he’d made of Colette, hanging just above the bench.
Colin settled a can of chickpeas for the stir-fry on the bench between a shriveled mushroom and a lush pile of garlic. He’d grown tobacco that summer, and a short curtain of their delicate amber leaves hung low around his dark head. His short, sharp shaman’s knife had an antler handle that gleamed in the candlelight. He sliced through the top of the can with a practiced ease, hands firm and pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth.
The Mormon and I were there to commiserate with them over the news that Colette and I were being kicked out for the winter. The farm owner told us that he didn’t have enough work for us to do, but we all thought it was because he was cheap and antisocial. And misogynistic for just kicking out the girls. Otis, the German kid, was planning on leaving next week anyway, so we didn’t count him.
I was happy for any excuse to visit Colin and Colette. Conversation with the Mormon was excruciating, and I never felt satisfied. Colin was lively behind his eyes, and Colette was wonderfully French with her dismissive passion. We three had spoken of philosophy, art, and gardening a few times, but we’d never managed to fulfill our fantasy of weekly potluck dinners together.
Whenever we tired of misunderstanding the farm owner’s motives, the Mormon would bring up Rex and his stinky farts. Finally, Rex did grace us with one, and he was summarily removed from the caravan. Farmer Colin’s little tabby cat, Mirabelle, was quite pleased to recover sovereignty over her domain.
I took a sideswipe at the conversation by saying that the farm owner was just jealous that we were getting laid on the regular.
“It’s like he sees that we’re enjoying life, and he just can’t be around that.”
“He is …what you call it? …a hater,” Colette replied.
“That’s what I’m saying, Colette; you’ve gotta live in love.”
“That’s a different level of living,” Colin said. “Most people don’t think about how they live, they just get on with it.”
“It’s too bad. You’re right.” I paused for a moment to look at the Mormon. He was licking a rolling paper to make a spliff, and he glanced up with wide eyes and a wrinkled brow. “But like attracts like, and love begets love. It’s a positive cycle. People are missing out.”
Colin made a dismissive sound that sounded like a growl.
“People are always missing out,” he said. “Do you know how often they get close to amazing things, and then they back down because of fear or incompetence? People don’t like to deviate from the plan. Especially when it comes to sex. There are so many obstacles to having sex, and we’ve created most of them as a society. Even if you have the chance, your mind is constantly coming up with reasons not to do it. It’s twisted. Love is the exception, not the rule.”
“I totally agree,” I nodded. “It’s actually remarkably difficult to have two people together in the same room that both want to have sex with each other. You really have to take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself, or you’re cheating yourself. Life is a buffet, man! How you gonna go home with an empty belly?”
We all toasted that idea with a smoke. Colette admonished Colin for adding the greens to the stir-fry prematurely, and soon after, the Mormon and I left them to their dinner. I held his hand as we walked back to his caravan in the dark. The night sky exploded above us; her stars thick and lustrous.
Rex bounced around us, and, when we finally reached the chilly caravan, I thought I could hear a sigh of contentment from him as he settled into his spot. Poor, sweet Rex needed comfort and security. The Mormon reckoned that his neediness came from being just outside of the restroom when his original owner died on the pot. It is traumatizing to watch your best friend die. Rex needs to be a dog; he needs to be owned, to have a pack to protect. He has dog dharma that is unfulfilled.
I didn’t want to be another disappointment to him, so I tried not to be too loving towards Rex. Sometimes, I couldn’t resist hugging him close, but I didn’t dare attach my heart to his. According to the farm owner’s new rules, I’d be allowed to visit one night per week. I wasn’t allowed to root and settle here. I wasn’t allowed peace.
“You’re tight,” the Mormon said, as he pressed his lovely, hard cock into me just before bedtime.
“I’m worried.”
“What ya worried for? That old man can’t take this away from us.”
“He’s trying his best. Does this mean that I don’t belong here? I was having so much fun playing house with you.”
I didn’t tell him that my period was late. When I’d been sick from overindulging in alcohol a few days ago, I fantasized that it was morning sickness, and that thought made me smile. If only such an accident could happen! Statistically, it should have happened a dozen times already.
Maybe my barren belly would grow round with the Mormon’s seed. I hoped it would, even though I knew how impossible that dream was. Neither the Mormon nor I have any kind of financial stability. I’d undoubtedly get angry at him for being irritating, ignorant, and unhelpful like my father; and the poor child would have my painful, hateful childhood. The Mormon would work too hard, I’d feel trapped, and we’d resent each other before long. But, how sweet it would be to hold my own child close while her father held us both in his strong arms! That moment must be a special joy.
Ten years ago, I’d consulted the I Ching1 about the possibility of having a child. It said that if I didn’t get pregnant at that time, then it would be ten years until I had another chance. My ex-husband didn’t want children, so I gave up on the whole idea at the time.
But here I am: divorced, stuck in a foreign country by a global pandemic with a cum-spouting, condom-hating Mormon. I finally have a chance.
1https://www.chinafile.com/library/nyrb-china-archive/what-i-ching
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May 30, Journal
“Spunky pussy,” the Mormon said tenderly, as he tapped the aforementioned region with two firm fingers. I was pleasantly full of our juices, and I basked in their heat like a parched lakebed soaking up a long summer rain.
My homecoming was celebrated with much sex. The Mormon has pumped away at me tirelessly many times over the past 36 hours, and joyously, he finally flipped me over. It’s hard to believe that we’d always had sex face-to-face up until now, but I derived so much pleasure from his full frontal contact that I never bothered to suggest doggy-style.
I love being entered from that angle because, like a virtuoso violinist, his dick drew he most extraordinary sensations out of me when it hit those depths. Another delightful side-effect was that my nose was significantly further away from his armpits. However, he was uncomfortable on his knees, and it was too cold to stand on the floor, so we ended up just flopping forward on the bed inelegantly, his belly to my butt. It was an animalistic pleasure: two wildcats fucking desperately in the face of extinction.
When I got back to his caravan 36 hours ago, it was a little messy. The bed was just a pile of soft things; clothes jostling for space with blankets and pillows. The steel countertop that was the kitchen was invisible under the remnants of meals: past, present, and future. I breezed in after our ‘welcome home’ kisses and immediately started tidying.
As I was clearing off the bed, I found a little bottle of lube tucked between the wall and the mattress – something I hadn’t seen in the previous 2 weeks of cohabitation. That naughty Mormon! I had to say something.
“So, looks like you had some fun while I was away,” I chuckled and winked at him.
He was abashed, and wouldn’t look me in the eyes as he organized his clothes under the bed.
“Yeah, I missed you, doll.”
“I missed you, too,” I replied with a loving hug. It was so nice to be with a young man, a simple man; a man who wasn’t afraid of animalistic passion, and whose pleasure didn’t rely on conquest.
Since my return, I’d decided to invest a little bit of my heart into my new home. I made plans to clean and organize the kitchen. This could work, and I had the tools to help make it so. The Mormon might not be a perfect fit for me intellectually, but we both had the same sex drive and the same level of hope for our future. If I had to quantify that level, I’d say that we both scored a 6 out of 10. Yes, life was an impossible game to win, but if we could fill our present moment with enough sex and weed and kindness, life could be downright tolerable.
Yesterday, the Mormon and I were talking about how we could improve the storage situation in his caravan, and he sketched out a plan for new shelves above the sink. I went to the grocery store, and by the time that I came back, he’d built the shelves!
What?! Who was this proactive, highly skilled carpenter? He’d used old scraps of wood, but they were sturdy, and he’s cut them precisely to fit the odd angle of the kitchen corner. Now, there was more space for us; for a life together.
I’m glad that I was alone in the caravan when I first saw the shelves, because my heart swelled and I smiled girlishly. This is why I love him.
Ok. So, I’m not completely unreasonable.
That afternoon, I was cleaning the dishes the best way I could: outside, next to the tap on the shed. A round glass table that belonged on the farm owner’s patio was the perfect spot for a drying rack, and I’d bought myself rubber gloves, which kept the bitterly cold water at a comfortable distance from my stiff fingers. I was almost done when the Mormon returned from a chat with the farm owner.
There was an unease about him that clouded his brow and set his shoulders inward.
“What’s up, sweetie?” I asked.
“Nothing.” The Mormon set to drying the dishes with more thoughtfulness than I’d ever seen from him.
“You seem a little… heavy. What did the owner say? Is everything ok?”
“Well, not really.” He finally looked at me. The cloud over him darkened his eyes, and his lower lip softened to reveal the truth. “You can’t stay here like before. You’re only allowed to be here one day a week.”
I’d always thought that his lower lip was an exact replica of Brad Pitt’s, and all I wanted was to kiss it into silence, but the story kept spilling out.
“It’s getting towards winter, and there’s no work, and he’s lost money because of Covid. He’s kicking everyone out except me and Colin,” the Mormon continued, mournfully. “You have a few days, but then, you’ve got to go somewhere else.”
The vague fantasy I’d had of marital bliss with the Mormon slid to the ground, washing into the pores of the rocky earth with the dishwater. A whisper of joy shamed me. It would be so much easier to maintain my Self if I wasn’t constantly being irritated by the Mormon’s inanity.
I let the Mormon’s sadness take over this interaction, and we held each other close. We promised ourselves that we’d make it work somehow. Neither of us wanted to let go of the sweet comfort of union.
I had a dream last night about my ex-husband. I don’t dream, and I never think about him. Those ties have been long broken. But there he was, and for no good reason, I wanted him. Badly.
He wasn’t obese in my dream, so he wasn’t the boy that I’d married. He appeared as the muscular man that he’d transformed into shortly before our marriage dissolved, but he was still an asshole. That aspect of him had never transformed: past or present, dream or reality; that’s how I recognized him.
In the dream, my ex-husband rejected me firmly and with some kindness. He told me that he was interested and awaiting my next blog post. Well, there you go: at least I have one fan, if only in my dreams. The dream took me to a dessert buffet, and I filled my plate with sugary treats. By the time I got to the table, they’d all melted down into a brown, syrupy mess.
I’d eaten nothing, and I still had no cakes. Had I taken too much? Would the cakes have melted down into nothing regardless of my actions? Or did the act of removing the cakes from the table ensure their immediate demise? Why am I not allowed to enjoy the sweetness before me?
There is a separation that happens when you write about something. It’s usually a beneficial widening of perspective. But, the moment you step back from your life and see it as a story, you are removed from ‘I’. Of course, that is the truth.1
‘I’ is an illusion. It is a dream that we all dream. And if we’re all dreaming, why shouldn’t we fill our imaginary plates to overflowing with imaginary cakes? That’s where some other part of the dream that we call ‘reality’ kicks in. We start to stagnate in the sweetness, but our spirits want motion.
Fulfillment calls to limitation, and challenges creep in; just as lions hunting a herd of wildebeest, narrowing their path and giving them impetus. The wildebeest can now use the entirety of his physical being to express his nature. He runs as far as his legs can stretch; he feels the strength of his muscles and the strength of his entire herd protecting him. His lungs expand fully, and he may now find reason to call out, where as before, he remained silent in his satiation.
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May 28, Correspondence
Texts between the Mormon and I
On May 26, at 9:18am, I wrote:
Hi! I’ll be back! It’s better here. If you don’t mind?
Tomorrow afternoon, probably around around sunset.
9:33am – hello, just wondering if the trip up the Christchurch was all ok? miss you already. x
9:35 – I think its a good idea for a month at least
9:36 – that’s great, see you tomorrow afternoon 😀
9:39am – Yeah, another month is about right, i think!
Miss you too! Hope you’re enjoying a lovely morning. <3
On May 27, at 1:45pm, I wrote:
Hi! I’m so sorry, I can’t make it home tonight.
The couple staying next to me at the lodge
invited me over for drinks last night,
and i had too much and i feel horrible today.
Ugh. I can’t drive like this. I can’t even sit up straight.
I’m sorry – i really wanted to see you tonight.
2:51pm – Dammit. I just threw up in front of a convenience store.
Ugh. Booze is no good.
4:17pm – hello, ive just been doing some gardening today.
shame you are ill, devils poison alright. look forward to you coming tomorrow. get better soon hey! 😀
On May 28, at 1:00pm, I wrote:
Hi! I should be back in 2.5 or 3 hours – can’t wait to see you!
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May 27, Journal
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May 26, Correspondence
On May 14, at 2:20am, Sister wrote:
Hi X! Thank you, I got the package from New Zealand today! what a surprise!! Manuka honey is so special and healthy! The chai looks delicious… I loved the note written on the receipt – a relic from New Zealand. I totally understand because we had the same paper crisis.
The stores are starting to open up.. yesterday I finally bought a pack of paper for school and drawing. We also had to be creative before. The kids were writing their schoolwork on the back of some coloring book paper (to take photos and send to the teacher). They might not go to school until next September.
I took the tram today. Masks are mandatory, plus they glued a sign on every other seat so people will not sit in them. I like the arrangement – who wants to sit close to smelly strangers anyway?
I am just guessing you were tired of Mam’s and my own foolishness. I got wind of that sensation the other day.. sometimes mam goes on in circles about armegeddon.. it was too much and I am not sure how to respond. Then I realized I did the same to you.
well, coronavirus restrictions are lifting here, but the crisis is still bad in the US. I am starting to feel hope and relief, but mama is probably feeling how I did 2 months ago. But they found coronavirus has been circulating in France since late december, before China declared its emergency.
How have you been? is everything ok? is the flight home fixed? I hope you are well. I have to calm the children down.. my deal was some chips if they will choose a movie they can agree on (and let their father get some sleep!!)
Love, sister
On May 23, at 10:16am, I wrote:
Yay!! The package made it!! I’m happy and only a little surprised! I sent it 2 days before lockdown because i wanted to make sure you guys got the honey. It really is healing inside and out.
I put some on a pimple; it disappeared, i put some on a frightening itchy red spot between my toes; it disappeared, and i even tried it on a monstrous cyst that was appearing on my chin way under the surface; it disappeared after one application of about an hour!
Sorry i haven’t been responsive. You never bother me! I always enjoy your emails! With Mama, it is always a matter of life and death, and i must agree with her, or else i’m stupid and evil. You abstain ever so kindly from that craziness – thanks!
Actually, i met an english bloke, and we’ve been hanging out for the past few weeks, so i’ve been too distracted to be a responsible human being. My ticket is still set for the end of May, but i don’t want to go. But the obligations at home are starting to pile up! Once again, i am lost in indecision.
The rational part of me knows it will be very difficult to make a living here. I see how people struggle to find jobs, and there’s not enough money in the economy to support an artist – especially a foreign one. I’d probably end up working at a restaurant or hotel, which is fine for a year, but i’m too old for stupid jobs. what about retirement?
But it’s the same thing almost in the US right now. No jobs, more fear. People are cool here. But my mailbox and my appointments at home! But what if i can never return to NZ? This is such an amazing place. See, i even said it “N-Zed” in my head!
I don’t know what the right answer is. I’ve been praying on occasion, and “July” was the most direct answer, but it’s getting cold here, and the Englishman lives in an uncomfortable caravan. Level 2 lockdown ended about 2 weeks ago, and i left the lodge almost immediately to stay with him.
I think you would like me to stay here! I would, too. But what am i supposed to do? I will be out of money soon, so i can’t be a tourist for much longer.
The Englishman is sweet, but he talks too much. His place is a little… rustic, shall we say. There is a toilet and shower building about 100m away from his caravan, and there is hot water there. For his place, we get water from the tap outside and boil it in the electric kettle for innumerable cups of tea. It is so so cold though, and it’ll only get colder.
I mean, it’s a wooden box he’s living in, not a house with insulation. I think it’s time for me to go home and try to fix my problems. I will probably be covert about it and not tell Mama exactly when i’m back. It’s been a relief not to have to visit the parents regularly. Maybe i can just do my chores and head west again without telling anyone.
My ex-husband’s mother keeps emailing me, wondering when i’ll be back. I’ve been polite, but i know she just wants me to look after her father so she can take a break. Maybe that would be a good gig? I’m sure they’d pay. Life is so unclear.
You are lucky to have a solid plan: take care of the kids. That gives you some sort of frame to put your life in. I’m lost and floppy. Well, i have to go. Sorry for the strange letter So much love to you! And the kiddos! X
Ps: i wonder which movie the kids agreed on? Do they like cartoons?
On May 24, at 12:55pm, Sister wrote:
Hi ! Yes- the manuka honey is very appropriate at this time. I think you should know I secretly hoarded it in the closet so no butthead would climb shelves and dig in while I am sleeping, or else dump spoonfuls in hot tea, thus destroying raw honey properties.
I always considered the manuka honey as medicine. I broke it out today since my partner was starting again with lungs hurting / coughing fit. He had recently met people that had “healed” from coronavirus ( they had it maybe a month or two ago). You never know with this disease. they say it returns. maybe this is proof? Anyway, the honey helps.
I am surprised, I thought you had cut off all ties with your ex-husband and his family after the divorce. Ok, I don’t know, i guess if they’d pay it is a good incentive? what a weird relationship. First they raised a crocodile who destroyed the best years of your life, and now they are hinting to you take care of their grand dad. Sorry, I’m just trying to put 2 and 2 together to make sense of it all. Pay is good, though.
if i was you i would pray for direction. this is a special time in your life you actually can find a foothold in this country, your excuse is ; “I don’t want to go to the US now, its infested with coronavirus, plus a stupid president” Maybe the NZ embassy would help.
It is ALWAYS difficult to start in a new country. But your language is the same, at least. If you file with the government and get all your social rights , you can pull through better than in the states. Their social system has got to be better, right? i am not a citizen, and I am not working. i am still getting retirement and health care, which is more than i can say for america. it is a bad country to be alive in, the states, especially now. I hope you got the US government check at least???? Why do they send checks anyway? so people like you can’t get them? in france checks are so old fashioned, the government simply wires money.
Papa said he wanted to send my photos on a CD to me. I had JUST TOLD HIM that I do not have a computer for the millionth time. I would rather he stop send me Super book and other nonsense, save his postage. It is frustrating to do schoolwork without Computer – the eldest kid is just not doing her computer technology lessons, because we can’t . I told him several times. It is about 7 years already i am cobbling things together without computer or printer. So I told him:
This reminds me of the time I told Mama I wanted to send a music CD to our ancient Russian auntie, Totya Lina. She gave me a funny look and said: “where will Totya Lina put your CD? in her butt?”. That is because Totya Lina apparently does not have something so new fangled as a CD player. It is the same in my situation. Where would I put a CD with all the photos? in my butt? I don’t have a device to read a CD at all.
Don’t worry about writing back right away, you have a lot to do, well i completely understand if you want to keep your homecoming a secret. I’ll cooperate!!! i will keep a secret as long as you want. i learned long ago some things are just not worth discussing with them. I better go now! Good night, Love, Sister
On May 25, at 3:16pm, I wrote:
Hi Papa! Thanks so much for sending the $500 – it is greatly appreciated!!
So, i finally decided (just last night) to stay here for another month. I wanted to be home to see the spring flowers, but everyone is telling me that there’s no good reason to go to the states right now. Thanks so much for your advice and kind words – it’s so wonderful to have your understanding with making these decisions.
Besides the chillier weather, i think it will be easier and safer to be here. NZ has only had 12 deaths! Well, they only have 5 million people, too, and isolating a couple of cute islands is a lot easier than isolating an entire continent. I hope you and Sue are still safe and happy at home! Are you able to go to services yet?
How are the spring flowers doing? I wish i could see and smell some big white peonies – i hope you can enjoy that for me! I’ve made a few friends in the Wanaka area, during lock-down and in the 2 weeks since we moved to level 2 lock-down. I think I’ll be able to stay with two or three of them, a week here and a week there… You know how it goes!
And now that we can travel again, i’m going back to some of my favorite spots, like the Nelson area up north. It’ll be warmer there! I’m so glad that the shops are open again! There’s no shortage of wool here, so I’ll get some more socks and the warmest pants i can find. I miss the lodge! It was such a great spot! But really, NZ is full of great spots and i can’t get enough of these epic mountain views.
Although i feel anxious and a little guilty, like i should get back to “real life”, i guess that doesn’t exist right now in the states, so I’m grateful to be in this lovely corner of the globe.
Love, X
On May 26, at 10:51am, Father wrote:
Hi X,
I’m relieved that you made the decision yourself, and that you didn’t feel compelled to return to the States too soon. I’m glad that you chose to stay in NZ.
The news is calling this “the new normal”. It’s not normal at all. Many are jobless and it may be difficult for you to get a job back. Some have received deposits to their bank account from the gov’t while out of work, but that won’t last long. There have been long lines for food distribution for those in hardship.
Another concern is that the news is reporting that, during the Memorial Day weekend, many went on leave from the social distancing, especially at the beach and picnic areas. The president ordered all states to comply, for the opening of churches adhering to social distancing. Our church in had outside services yesterday.
Both my partner and I are doing fine.
Love,
Papa
On May 26, at 12:32 PM, Mother wrote:
X Sheli! How do you do? How is life in NZ?! It is too cold for you there now, huh?! It is summer here [skipped somewhat the spring time]. If the swimming pool will be open – I will believe it, though!
Where are you now? do you have new friends? how is your diet? Are you still a vegetarian? Oh! How is your stomach? Are you controlling your constipation? I hope the food choices there are more healthy than it is here, huh?
Oh! X, did you managed to change the ticket? If you did – I am so, so, so glad for you!
I remember now, my Grandmother was unassuming deaf to both ears person, so she didn’t talk a lot in the public, in their own little society. But people hated her guts, some of them, of course.
My Grandfather was a very tall and very handsome man-oh-man! So, a lot of them thought it is so unfair that she is having him, so there one more reason, too. but all this aside. She has this ability to predict the things which will become. No one wanted to hear it.
The same is looks to be happening here, I have this inner feeling about the things to come and everyone is laughing [as my partner does] or starting to be angry at me as if I do it on purpose to spoil the fun or something. I have this urge to tell, to prevent if it possible of what is coming.
I think that what happened with me, the urgency, the inner push to prevent you to come here in March, April, … I remember, almost physically pushed you, preventing you from coming this way… and now – you can see what has have happened to this man in Minneapolis! Those people are evil and are no-goodnicks! I am crying each time I think about him [George Floyd].
You are was so angry with me, I willing to take it, it is a small price to pay for me – what is important – I prevented you to come here in all those months including May! I know, by now you missed home-sweet -home who wouldn’t?!
But it is good that you have to listen to me, to the reason, maybe, to other people and slowed down. maybe, these people’s and the monster’s unrest will calm down… Now, they say, that when it is hot weather, the virus is not so eagerly spreading itself. I hope your week ahead of you will be pleasant, blessed, safe, and in general, happy!
Love my precious baby! Mother