magic lamp

In six hours I am leaving for Heathrow.

This morning in Lily's flat the texture of that first month in London returned to my mind. You know how every little era you live through has its own kind of spirit? As tangible as a smell when you are conscious of it, but very hard to bring to mind just when you want to. If you start something new very suddenly, you are conscious of the change of atmosphere for a few days before you get completely used to breathing it. I felt the is-ness, the now-ness, of that time with all my senses. And today, for a half-hour or so, I got it back, and time collapsed.

There was this Tennyson poem I used to love when I was thirteen or fourteen though I haven't much thought about it since. This girl is writhing around in an agony of anticipation, crushing flowers to her burning breast and whatnot, waiting for a lover to whom she is completely mentally enslaved. She says,

...once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul through
My lips; as sunlight drinketh dew.

I don't feel like my soul is in my body today. I feel like it is in the custody of the genie that is presiding over my return to Australia. I created this monster myself when I decided to go back, and now it has temporarily taken me over. Don't squirm, it says, a deal's a deal. And now I don't have to perform any more acts of will, I just have to walk through the inevitable steps until it's all effected and done. And when it's done, I will have my self back. At 9:55am on Wednesday 4th October at Charles Kingsford-Smith airport.

And then I'll get to find out if I made a good decision or not.

All my northern hemisphere buddies, goodbye, I love you, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Rug up warm, winter's coming. Goodbye.