The grass is brown, paving hot. Wilted, hang the leaves awaiting the monsoon, months from now. Tree roots stretch down to the water table, deep below. As bores suck from above, returning the nectar of life, filtered through septic tanks tucked out of sight in their bed of earth.
My mind wanders. My reality has evolved to appreciate the interconnectedness of chemicals, woven together to form the mass of tissue that I recognise as me. With personal change through trauma, arthritic wear and tear and the birth of my three, now teenage and adult children, I can visualise the flow and interchanging reactions of substances all around me. Obviously not with my own eyes, but thanks to science and nature documentaries on the ABC, I can pause to appreciate what is going on unseen under the surface.
These are the thoughts that I distract myself with as I hang the washing on the line, ignoring the constant pain of middle age and my social irrelevance to the world at large. While wishing for something to change.
As a mother for many and a victim of workplace trauma and abuse at the hands of corporate care. There comes a time when you bend, break, or use art therapy to warp reality and rebuilt yourself to be the catalyst for the change that you desire. Change that has a purpose, when the spiritual representative of the continental land mass of Australia, turns up in a borrowed body, to motivate this multi-tasking mother to leave the arms of her lover and orchestrate universal expansion with the aid of cookies and cold tea. This story may be strange or an obvious repeat, of what you know. To have been written in code upon your DNA. With a spoonful of therapy to aid conversation and community connectivity. You will find this tale weird, yet to feel it strangely to be true.
Weird they had called me as I sit amongst the fringe. Weird but good my co-workers said when I was the mouthpiece for their concerns. Weird but ours the family boasts as I worked myself to the bone to create for others a Sanctuary and for them a loving home.
Now facing menopause and with a midlife crisis long overdue.
I am embracing my weirdness to write stories to ignite change and conversation in people like you. I am the sober driver who will get you safely home. I am an Australian survivor and walked with the ME2 movement beating a drum.
Why are we still burning fossil fuel instead of harnessing the sun.
I am a frustrated woman who is raising her voice because my country has told me that climate change is no longer a choice.
I am Nerak Coven. (Artist, Activist, Author)
About the Author
Jodie, a hardworking, 24/7 carer in her 40’s, is looking for meaning to her life. Living in rural Darwin, experimenting with art therapy, she finds a way to create an evolving portal, giving her the gift of escapism from her domestic repetition. She leaves the hamster wheel of motherhood and reality behind, using a portal to become the best version of herself, a dream many of us desire, taking control of her future.
“Pausing to admire the artistry, I think deep thoughts about the moon and stars and my supposed intentions, as this portal possibly hums with potential.”
“Feeling foolish dressed for who knows what? Standing in the moonlight next to my most recent form of garden art, once more decorated by candlelight. With a knife I should have sharpened, I barely break the skin of my pinkie finger. As cutting yourself is a lot harder than adventure stories make it out to be.”