Clouds In The Head

19 August, 2008, 7:49 am
Filed under: Nobody Loves A Thinker

This is the cloudy hill in action. See how its colours are gloomy and musty; there’s mystery but there’s also something sugary about it, something sweet. When we first moved here we’d rush outside to photograph such moments with whatever camera we had on hand. The mist was beautiful and we’ve never completely taken its swirls and miasmas for granted. What shifts and changes though is our emotional energy to respond to the beauty.

You move somewhere with the intention of being happy. A new home gives you the freshness, nature provides invention and new experiences, people are all challenge and welcome and indecipherability. The grass that was greener – well you’re in amongst it. It’s easy. It seems easy. Even struggle seems easy. Old friends visit and sigh and palpitate. You feel good just to be there in the clover. Here in the clover.

That’s home, that’s the happy dream. Why can’t we hold onto that forever? Why can’t I be that “I” forever? I guess it’s because happiness itself is like that very Australian, misty view. We catch sight of it whenever, we know it’s beautiful, we appreciate its soft edges and the way it sometimes feels like us. The kids get lost in it. Our parents grow wrinklier, and so do we, and the jobs just breed and multiply. It’s like poetry – it wouldn’t work if it was always joyous or always the same. It’s like meditation – it requires an effort to lose the effort. And it’s like young love – which is all hope and fog: you have to get over the beauty of it if you want to find your way through to something solid and lasting, something you can build a house on.


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