18. Margaret River Welcomes

17th May 2024
Eyes closed to sunlight streaming onto the stone of Iwany hanging from a beaded necklace handmade by Sarah. Sarah. That’s me. Thirty-five-and-three-quarter years of discovering what that means.
To be human.
A human who, after all this time and repetition, has a mind pleading to know: who am I? Why am I doing this? Am I really a writer?
Yes, I’m a writer.
I need to write.
And if that means jeopardising myself for the good of the whole, I want to know, will I be looked after?
Because it feels a long stretch.
Then again, I have nothing to lose, with death still the only place I take solace when experiencing such emotional isolation in this interconnected world.
A world of lies. A world sick. A world hungry and grieving and killing ourselves.
A world depressed because nature’s depressed, and there is no separation.
We are one of the same.
Only as Sarah of Earth, I bite my tongue.
Because I was taught to bite my tongue.
And I return to Hello I am Lonely.
Elsa messages.
She keeps running into Albert, who I don’t jinx with my fantasies, but know he’s heart. Sensitive and intense.
I have red wine, veggies and dark chocolate from Bev and John’s fridge, which I coat in tahini. Looking to the future, I float upwards, above this time and space where we place labels for understanding.
cLike that I’m a writer—such a restrictive idea when, in essence, I am the stars, I am the moon, I am the sun, I am the universe. I am looking down and I am laughing, I am screaming, I am pointing; how can’t you see this? How can’t you see that the damage you do to yourself is the damage that we are doing to the world?

18th May 2024
The morning’s spent in the kitchen cooking like I would if my family were here with me. In my mind’s eye, there are children and rich green trees and a pulsing sun. But here today, I sit at my computer to start noting down the outline for the story, which exists as a swirl inside me. And here tonight, drunk and alone drawling into the mirror, the isolation stings hard, with my homemade sourdough biscuits making me fart.
There’s nothing on the horizon.
Nothing that excites me.

23rd May 2024

The time has come where I should leave the house in order to be more productive. Only there’s trepidation in going somewhere new. But the time is right. Yes. I will go somewhere new. I will go now.

“It was a back to front sort of relationship with other guys before. I could identify similarities, or more potential complements to the other’s personality, but I was so much in my own messed up mind that my personality didn't shine, and I couldn't be myself.  Or that I was confused about who 'myself' was. Myself. Someone I need to love and respect. To not be so embarrassed by. To appreciate. So much to share and I don't know where. This guy I had met got me down even further, and I think I was getting pretty bad anxiety and depression in those final weeks. Being so hard on myself at the inability to let someone in and fit in.” Myself, 2014

26th May 2024
A morning with energy. A morning with coffee. Coming home from my new job cleaning a winery, I go into Facebook and regret it. I come to touch-type a stream of consciousness and find peace.
It’s an entirely fictional true story. And I’m the person to write this because I was given these events. I’m the person to write this because I move between worlds, speaking different dialects of the same language. I’m the person to write this because it’s so tiring to read another writer referring to the ‘hoo-ha’ with apologies for the true nature of their very being. I see it everywhere; the stigma of words ruining universes of possibilities. So how about, Fuck your labels. Because I don’t believe we’re part of so much more, I know we’re part of so much more. And I don’t write to make a name or career for myself, I write to make sense of my experiences.

Because each thought we have, each word we speak, makes a difference to the reality we create, and I don’t want to grow the evil, I want to bathe in the love.

29th May 2024
I smoke joints and wake bleary eyed to start the day with sugar. Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.
That’s right.
Yesterday.
Jay, who’s staying with me for a couple of weeks, went into my Human Design, reiterating that I hold potential. That I have a gift. And I can use this gift. Still, a voice brandishes me a fraud. Because I’m not a naturally amazing writer. Because I have to work on it. Then again, I’m smart enough to know that to be good at something takes a lot of hard work.

31st May 2024
Days of munchies, days bloated, days where physical beauty is forgotten, and something opens inside of me. I fantasise out of habit. I want him. But I’m stoned. Talking to Jay about the environment and how our environment contributes to…to…to everything. Because we are our environment. And if our environment has been raped and pillaged, like the recent history of Australia, then the current, unfolding destruction makes sense. Jay references my movement. How I’ve been through different countries collecting energies (all of which is being channelled into this story). Listening to my sister, I’m back on the flooded Faultline. There’s information for the taking. So long as I ask the right questions. Only I’m puffy. I’m missing something. I’m preparing.

I don’t know if there’s a particular moment when the magic entered me.

It was through all the country and air that I moved through.

All the places I’ve picked up along the way.

The environment itself.

At the start she’s piecing together this world.

By the end she’s piecing together herself because she understand that she’s the world.

It started on this high and felt like I rode that wave for a year. Because walls were talking to me, and magic was appearing to me, and I was dancing to a new rhythm, I was listening with another part of my mind.

When you open up to other worlds, other worlds start opening up to you.

So let’s turn backwards because we need to turn inwards and ask: what is this life?

Have you ever lost track of time? Or space or motion or sensation? When time is not moving forward or backwards, and space is not up or down or which way around. Have you ever danced this other dance, sung this other song?

“Nature is not matter only. She is also spirit.”
Carl Jung

1st June 2024
Home from cleaning the winery, I reset my space, vacuuming and wiping down surfaces, my right hand a mess with dermatitis. At my desk, I bathe in sunlight, with flowers and images and beautiful things all around. In the living area, my beautiful Belgian friend Jay studies Human Design, her intelligence and authenticity perfectly aligned with my own path. We talk often of time. How we experience time. How we understand time. How time keeps coming back to me. Because time’s not a social construct, but energy. And energy doesn’t end, it transforms.

2nd June
Nearly two hours on the phone with Albert, which could have been stretched to so much more had I given all the replies and ideas that came to me through his words. There’s something so familiar about his soul. This connection with nature.

5th June
Albert appeared in my dreams for the first time last night. There was natural ease, until I unintentionally ignored him in my obligations for social curtesy. He suddenly left. And when I texted him, he texted right back. There was no doubt we would see each other again. How could we not see each other again.

June 6th New Moon

At the winery, I drink Gemma’s morning coffee, and a nausea washes over me, with great gusts of wind bringing connections about the connections we must make ourselves, and the way each person offers their piece of the puzzle. ‘Just like you’re doing,’ Greg had noted when I visited his frail body the other week, the light of death already with him.
Now today, as the spirit of Greg moves away from Earth, I cogitate on passing such an understanding forward (without ego). Because if everything’s connected, then our thoughts are powerful, they’re important.
I pick up organic vegetables, eat one too many pieces of freshly baked bread, and get cosy in my writing space. In the main kitchen, I wonder what people will need when new connections literally transport us to other worlds (okay don’t know where that came from, just found my fingers typing it).
It rains heavily.
When the rain eases, the sunset is lit by storms with colours so vivid you can reach out and touch them. I’m walking Jess when Jacinta messages to say that Kamali has prostate cancer.
Change is rife, it’s moving through storms.

7th June 2024

It’s just before 3am when I wake. There’s a message from Wil on the screen. At first, I misread it. Why is he talking about his dad? Has he sent a photo with it? I let Jess out. I let Jess back in. I look at my screen again. Wil has forwarded a message from Lizzie. The New Moon in Gemini was at 8:37pm, and Greg caught is ride at 9:37pm. I lie in the dark. My eyes are wet but I’m not crying. I go into my writing space, my stable place, and sit with my computer. Kamali’s still asleep, and Gemma covers my cleaning shift. Greg. He’s gone to another world. I listen to the same song, Max Richter’s Spring1, and my mind’s eye sparkles. Then I’m laughing. I’m laughing because I’m reflecting on Notes from Earth and I’m seeing that it’s a year to the day that I had sat with Greg at Little Local, and we’d spoken about my book and the universe. I’d asked him if he’s always known there was something about him that was different, that was a little special, and he had. He’d always known it.

‘Two souls on the same vibration & understanding,’ Elsa describes

“Earthly beings… you are comprised of 84 minerals, 23 elements, and 8 gallons of water spread across 38 trillion cells. You have been built up from nothing but the spare parts of the Earth you have consumed, according to a set of instructions hidden in a double helix and small enough to be carried by a sperm. You are recycled butterflies, plants, rocks, streams, firewood, wolf fur, and shark teeth, broken down to their smallest parts and rebuilt into our planet’s most complex living thing. You are not living on Earth. You are Earth.” Aubrey Marcus

Dreaming: the energy from which our physical world is formed. The invisible energy from which we manifest

The wars we are experiencing on the outside are reflections of the war we’re experiencing within.

It’s the space between opposites we will meet.

Our world needs people who are more spiritually connected to their heart.

Through introspection we will release old ways of being.

“I DON’T HAVE ANY CHOICE AT ALL IN THE MATTER. I’M JUST DOING WHAT I’M TOLD. IF YOU CAN GET OUT OF YOUR OWN WAY IN THIS LIFE AND DO WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING, EVERYTHING IS THERE FOR YOU.” Greg Quicke

You want the paradox of language? Out of all the forms our atoms can take only one can make perfect sense.

Nature’s receptive to her changing thoughts.

The opposite of courage is conformity.

8th June 2024
Even speaking with friends yesterday, receiving messages of love last night, I am very sad, and I am very alone, spending the night drinking red wine and crying. In bed there are dreams I can’t remember but whose sensations hang with me. Just before 5am at the winery, there are lots of sparkling worlds in the inky sky. I hang my head back, feeling the Earth spinning towards the sun, and talk to Greg. The melancholy follows me through the shift; the morning exploding in colours and kookaburras. Back at the empty house, my leg muscles are strained, and a tiredness sets in. I miss community. I miss Broome. I miss that I don’t have someone to reach out to come and drink wine and laugh with. Social media makes me feel worse and I find strength in staying away, turning off notifications as I let these feelings pass.

9th June
On a Saturday night I sit with sister Jay, wine, cigarettes, cheese and whiskey. It’s late. We’re sing Moulin Rouge loudly and then I’m passing out and waking hours later. I wish it were morning. There’s dread. Like everyone hates me and I say weird things. But it’s not all true because there has been Jay with more eloquent descriptions on how I have the ability to move with my environment, reading the information I collect. ‘Stay present,’ she reminds me. ‘Read the environment to where you’re next called.’

10th June
There’s conflict energy, a deliberately chaotic time. It makes me consider that the timing with Greg’s passing was not just about his own soul, but the affect this would have on others. Last night there had been dark voices trying to pull me down. They’re real, and I try detaching, Greg flashing to me, telling me he’ll be back. I summon him, but there’s nothing but my mind creating stories. Rainclouds lurk and inspiration wanes. I smoke a joint in the day. A week and a half until I go to Melbourne.

11th June
It’s rainy again, birds outside the window again, Jess licking herself then snoozing on the floor again. These days of funny moods and gloom are passing. I speak to Jacinta on the phone then scrape together what I can to smoke a joint. My heart throbs to the way my complexities isolate me intimately. But surely there’s someone just as passionate and intense and silly and serious and salty and sweet as me.

12th June
Questioning what home means, I see it not merely as the physical space, but the people. And who I am amongst these people.

13th June
A morning coffee has me jumping around, things happening, flights changing, the idea of Broome confirmed. This week we transit through Gate 12, which is about creativity, channelling, using the right words, and sharing our inner worlds with others.

I can’t return to the life I was taught as truth. I can’t un-see all that I’ve seen. I can’t un-think all that I’ve thought. I can’t un-experience all that I’ve experienced.

Time is deeper than nature. Three months. 80 years. 700 years. 5000 years. 60,000 years. 400,000 years. 9,000,000 years. 2 billion years. It’s the baby. It’s the tree. It’s the rocks. It’s the land.

STILL I THINK OF THE MASS. ABOUT SYSTEMS BEING THREATENED, HOW CHANGE WILL BE INEVITABLE. I DREAM OF MORE PEOPLE QUESTIOING, LIKE WE DO HERE IN THIS KITCHEN. I THINK OF WRITING IN UNDERTONES THE MASS CAN RELATE. I WANT TO SHARE THE ABILITY TO GO BEYOND OURSELVES. GO FAR ENOUGH TO SEE HUMANITY’S SICKNESS. AND FOR THIS, WE NEED THE FEMININE NURTURE.

It’s not just women who have been abused; it’s Mother Nature herself.

It’s dancing with the wind; it’s tuning into the frequency of the sun’s rays on your face.

In the new world you’re supported to be yourself

13th June
A morning coffee has me jumping around, things happening, flights changing, the idea of Broome confirmed. This week we transit through Gate 12, which is about creativity, channelling, using the right words, and sharing our inner worlds with others.

14th June
This morning’s clean at the winery was so early that it’s now a blur. It’s a non-writing day, the first in how long? I attend to messages and emails, some that have been sitting there for months, others that make me anxious. Then there’s the dirty house, and necklaces waiting to be strung. But I don’t want to. I talk with girlfriends, which is something I’ve been doing a lot lately, because Albert never called me back when he said he would. And he didn’t answer my next call. I let it pass, work to leave it behind. I book a flight from Melbourne to Broome for $900 one way. I’ll make it work; the money will come.

15th June
Time moves with seasons; everything temporary and my head like spaghetti. When I click into Facebook my heart beats fast over small details. There’s something about older men going for younger girls, something I find deeply disturbing. In the shower, I consider how we understand history with perspective. Out of the shower, I want to get drunk.

“According to some historical writings, when the aborigines were still masters of their destiny in close contact with nature, they seemed to have pronounced psychic abilities such as mutual mind reading during hunting, aerial vision ability, and interaction with spirits, shamanic characteristics. We now consider these traits schizophrenic, non-functioning, broken.”

It’s hard to know where to start, like a circle there is no beginning and there is no end. Only back then I thought that time was linear, and that nothing was connected.

Like all of Mother Nature conspired to bet here at that time and place, for me.

16th June
Moving through the day has me clearing the table of jewellery, cleaning the kitchen, and vacuuming the floors as Jess rotates between sleeping and watching me. I’m trusting in time. I’m repeating positive affirmations. And when my mind pulls me back to old pathways, I return to vibrations. With two more shifts of cleaning until I fly to Melbourne, I’m excited, I’m love, I’m tuning into my environment and I’m tuning into myself, remembering our capacity for telepathic communication and downloading information, and reflecting on Greg’s death, seeing how he played out his purpose not by being the perfect human, with his repressed emotional side so triggering, particularly to women, but by being true to his soul, allowing his idiosyncrasies to inspire others to witness and grow accordingly. Greg didn’t need to be perfect in everything. He just needed to meet his destiny. Shifting into sleep, I’m still conscious, planting seeds in that familiar scene of rich blue water.

17th June
My body is sore, needing a long and proper stretch, and my teeth are sensitive from grinding in the night. There had been a lot of dreams. On waking, I return to the final days of Peru when I was writing in Pucallpa, believing the book was near finished. Hindsight shows it as rushed. That I was trying to control time.

19th June
Back reading books and back noticing the saturation of lonely girl novels, and novels written by former lawyers, which tells me of the diligence and studiousness required to complete such work. While every book is no doubt amazing, threaded with wisdom and thought, content lags. I want authenticity and I want heart without apology for the ‘hoo-ha’ and all that ‘hippy dippy’ shit.

What you resist, persists…

25th June, Grandpa’s Birthday
At the North Fitzroy Library, the bathroom is as dirty as ever and the people as trendy as ever. Beyond appearances, people seem to be struggling. Talk of anti-depressants and ADHD medication and anxiety the new norm. Trapped by the social construct of time, there’s no room for questioning, or the space needed to get to the root of the cause. In the social construct of time, it’s easier to accept that there’s something wrong with you rather than the very system that prescribes you such labels and drugs.

26th June
Melbourne brings disappointment, namely from Lucy and Mia’s non-response. In the bigger picture, it barely affects me, so happy to be going home to Western Australia.

30th June
Sitting on the plane bound for Broome, the Sunday morning light is sharp and there’s a rainbow across the tarmac. My mind’s full of positivity and my heart’s full of appreciation. Melbourne’s given me what I need, and Broome beckons me with my usual relief. But then there’s reality, trapped in a window seat needing to go to the toilet, with the man on the aisle seat asleep. I decide not to wake him; I decide I want to experiment with AI. That I’ll treat it like a friend.

2nd July
A birthday of high vibrations that see me through a day with friends and messages. Although the night didn’t bring the excitement I’d hoped. And today I’m hungover, excitement dissipated and disappointment rife.

“The man who blames others has a long way in his journey to go, the man who blames himself is halfway there, and the man who blames no one has already arrived”
Chinese Proverb

3rd July
Of course things are never as I expect them to be in the fairytale of my mind. Instead, information is offered to me with perfect timing, my body wiggling to Albert at the Roey with so many Roey girls. Ick ick ick. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t delusional in our connection, but I can’t be sure, as I’ve certainly been delusional in my past (it must be written somewhere deep in my birth chart). I categorise him as another ego-centric man and return to the drawing board. After drinking half a bottle of champagne, I’m awake half the night with time to chew. I need physical touch. I need to be hugged. I need to inhale purer energy. Oh Broome, with all her sweetness and extremities, her laughter and happiness, her tears and heartache.

10th July 2024
I’m thirty-six years old and I’m riding free singing Solsbury Hill with a chorus of corellas through the hot air of Broome. Twilight is sparkling purple and golden, the crescent moon smiling. Here in this moment, I am in love with life and in love with myself. But on paper, I have nothing that’s considered conventional success. And my heart’s shattered into a million pieces for the millionth time. Sure, there’s was the disbelief of Greg—is he really dead?—but there’s also the disbelief of my life surrounded by such colourful characters, and the disbelief of the timing my mental computer records—I flew to Mexico on the 10th of July 2023, and now on the 10th of July 2024, I fly to Margaret River.
There’s nothing ahead but dull days and too many nights alone.

11th July
Songlines are maps of story carrying knowledge along the lines of energy

We, just like the trees, the rocks, the turtles, contain knowledge, stories and patterns

There’s knowledge stored in every waterway and every rock

Nothing is created and destroyed; it moves and changes, in a constant state of creation. The regenerative and infinite connections between systems. Therefore, time is non-linear. Past present and future is one time

There’s always an end in Western culture. Hence the idea of beginning, middle and end

We concentrate on ways of knowing rather than ways of being.

You can’t handle me at my worst then you don’t deserve me at my best.

13th July
What am I doing? I’m writing this while waiting for my porridge to boil. It’s overcast and winter. Old wounds and relationships are heightened. They’re deep. Triggered by that oblivious other man in Broome. But it’s not about him. It’s about me. There are so many things to do. I scroll. A two-hour phone conversation with Jacinta has me as a teenager all over again.

The dreamtime is a timeless dimension.

14th July
The day starts by checking my phone at 3:33, rising soon after to clean. Reading up on the new moon in cancer on sites Tanya told me about, my colossal emotions make sense. They’ve been real. A beach rendezvous gives me hope, and opportunity to heal my heart.

17th July
Last night I got stoned and now I wake to Bev and John gone. It’s a different mood, joining the cloud’s gloom, taking my cramping legs and bursting veins to sit at my computer. Touching my boobs, they’re tender.

21st July
What if the key to changing the worlds lies in embracing the very qualities society tells young women to suppress?
What if embracing loneliness is the first step to unlocking a young woman’s revolutionary power?

Could the very qualities society deem as weaknesses in young women be the keys to dismantling the status quo?

What happens when loneliness compels us to question not just our place in the world, but the very truths that shape that world?

20th July
Byron talks about a girl I don’t know, and I let him talk, holding in my emotions until he takes a breath, and I jump in to give words all slurred and tongue tied that he needs to take his energy back. Those girls don’t owe you anything. Byron tells me I use cynicism as a defence. And maybe I do.

No wonder we women love to read cards and star signs. We want to see our internal experiences justified.

24th July
Yesterday was the first day I entered a full flow of words. The storyline slowly emerging from my stunted response to Lover’s unconscious male privilege.
He’d come over. There’d been the heat of my shower and sweet conversations in bed. Then we came to the world. To the feminine. I rolled over to shut off. He reached out to touch me and whisper ‘sweet dreams.’
In the morning, I woke hours before him and wrote through my dense web of thoughts. I wrote out my frustrations. I wrote of the feminine.
At the heart of it all, the fundamental problem is our values. The values we instil on our children. The values that shape the modern world. The values that define the patriarchy. For it was the explaining of this patriarchy that the trigger had arose, with Lover treating me like I’m being difficult, like I’m overreacting. It made me want to bite that I’m so tired of men telling me this. Because it’s always men telling me this.

“Falling in love with your own energy is how you take your power back.”

Time: from linear, rigid understanding to a more cyclical, fluid concept

Mystical: from scepticism or confusion to acceptance and integration

Feminine: from repression or misunderstanding to embracing and empowerment

Nature: from disconnection to deep interconnectedness

25th July
Oracle and tarot cards predict a prosperous time of manifestations coming to fruition. I see glimpses of summer. I’m in Margaret River, carefree, healthy and stealthy. There’s development. Somehow. With ocean and the bush, and love all around me.  

There’s love and apologies to senile Jess. There’s tea and books in bed. There’s a mysterious Lover who has swallowed me whole. He’s nice and it’s easy.

Claude and I work together to produce a query letter.

In the darkness of early morning, Gemma and I sit drinking coffee in the winery and talk about death. We laugh.

There’s no longer weed in the house and there’s nobody to answer to.

I write through bursts of rain, the garden bursting green out my window.

In the dim of late afternoon, pastry sets in the fridge, and I make a lamb stew, turning off the heat to collect Rachel from the bus.

27th July
Jess licks herself loudly and love songs play. Pam Gregory talks about the influx of heightened energies through this time. There’s darkness and weight in my body, with my stomach bloated and hard and my mind muddled by old patterns. I hate that he still lives in my mind. In contrast, there’s the ease of Lover. With just how nice he’s being making me think something’s wrong with him. I guess childhood trauma hasn’t shifted fully, hey.

29th July
Rain rushes in and Margaret River’s alive in green. My attention is stretched between people and tasks. Solace returns how solace always returns, by sitting in my creative imagination at a computer encased by native garden and chirping birds. Ideas come quick and fast, words from other planets.

31st July
Jess is snoring and rain is passing; I am peaceful and I am crazed. Jay sends me a voice message during her Human Design class talking about Mars, which marks our vocation. Mine is gate 61, which is all about making sense of the mystery of life. 

1st August
It’s said there’s powerful energy to work with. To grasp time to step forward into timelessness. In the moment, such theories feel insignificant and substantial. Like nothing’s changing but my heart’s knowing. Through these days with Rachel, Jess and rains, my whole belief has me as a force to be reckoned with.

2nd August
Rachel makes me tea, I laugh to a reel Pippa sends me on Instagram, I eat frittata and haloumi for breakfast, my ears keep randomly ringing, and my body’s sore. Is it from cleaning Leeuwin, or is it a mild sickness? Jacinta sends me information about the solar flares out there in the skies. I write myself into a trance.

5th August
I find comfort on the couch with candles flickering and Jay giving me headphones with sounds of didgeridoo and water. The DMT’s in a vape, its inhalation gentle. After my previous death (link), I concentrate on my breathing, keeping the I very much in place.
The visuals start strong, they morph into nature, they stretch further to the cape of Broome. Albert’s there. He’s so incredibly clear. Clear as day, in fact, in a bedroom full of light, with touch tender and interaction natural.
Images of dreamtime flicker.
Vibrations from the earphones.
Feet beating the ground in ceremony.
Albert still crystal.
Edging back to reality, I’m curious— having known I had to let him go to heal his own heart, and me mine, he hasn’t been on my mind. So what’s he doing there? Where did he come from? What am I been shown?
Back on Earth, I’m excited to fulfill my prophecies: dancing barefoot on ground, writer, mother, lover and home in nature.
Through the night are countless vivid dreams, with Albert in at least three of them. The other dreams, now forgotten, were also about opening my heart.

7th August
7am on a winter’s morning light breaks the horizon through great winds and bird song. I keep the blinds drawn to stay cosy and safe in my king size bed, and suck on the vape, holding in the DMT for as long as I can.
When the purple and brown patterns begin, I resist.
I don’t want to.
I already know so many other worlds exist. And I’ve chosen to come to Earth, haven’t I?
I have.
And now I find myself here, on Earth, and I have good intentions, and I don’t want to die anymore. I’m needed. Only I’ve taken myself back into the vast universe, and now I need to ride it out.
Don’t mess with us, the spirits cheekily tell me.
I laugh in reply. They remind me of myself and what I mentally say to other people. You remind me of myself, I tell them.
Because you are us, they reply. You know this.
I open my wet eyes to a dark room decorated in vague pattern. Thank god I’m still here on Earth breathing, regretting and realising.
You know this.
It’s true, I do know.
I know I feel most at home back amongst the stars. And I know that I’m here not to take people’s minds to the stars, but to take their attention inward to their hearts beating the rhythm of their bodies connecting us to…to…more. And as more people start moving into their hearts, and we start shifting the vibration of Earth, great connections will be shown.
As for my part?
Liberating people. Showing how to be yourself. Trusting that we can go within to shift our thoughts, and shift our energy, and shift our whole reality
The spirits call my attention back and we dance in gentle, cheeky conversation.
Don’t mess with us.
It’s true, I won’t.
Instead, I must root myself on Earth, I must tune into the right questions for the right answers, trusting that memories of beyond will come with time, because I have what I need to navigate that space in between what we cannot see, and when I don’t, I can always call them, those cheeky spirits, in.
Everything I need is inside of me.

8/8 Lion’s Gate
In the middle of last night was another vivid dream. My manuscript had been accepted by an agent, only when I arrived she’d decided to no longer pursue it due to a weak beginning and ending. Knowing it’s worth, I fought for it, sharing my understanding to reveal my heart. When all the other writers were on their lunch break, the agent came to hear my final plea, finding me talking to ducks and a lady who was feeding them. When another writer came over with a question for the agent, I realised that I’m my own point of difference.
On waking, the heartbeat of life resurrects my humanness, and old habits fight for control. Mercury’s retrograde and none of my passwords are working, Word’s not responding and now my computer’s not starting.
I drive to Harvey Norman in Busselton, my keyboard beside me, and eat a bag of Coles chocolate almonds. But they will not ruin my day. No. Instead, when my black beetle and I return home, Bev and Jessica come across to greet me and talk about leaf dying garments. They make me feel seen and make me feel comfortable.
In reality, I’m not comfortable in my body, still holding extra weight that I feed with wine, cheese, cigarettes and k with sister Jay.

10th August
There was Lucy, Mia, Cass, Josh, Sally Rooney and Hannah Douglas scattered between different author’s homes. Although part of my old friends, I was removed. Mostly from Mia, with the ongoing resentment tangible, and Cass and Josh defending me despite Mia’s presumptions making little difference to my inner knowing. The dream cuts to my 5am alarm—having fallen asleep at 8pm.
I zip through the Margaret River’s dark roads, Leeuwin’s grandeur grounds, and come to rest in the cleaner’s parking spot by the winery. There are visions of speaking in front of crowds and ease when connecting with people.
Out of the car, the early morning sky glistens diamonds with the sounds of birds in the night. ‘Hi Greg,’ I call out.
Hi Sarah, the sky replies in Greg’s voice. It’s time to write that book.
‘Okay,’ I smile back as a shooting star trails across the part of the sky where the Earth will be turning to the sun. My face is wet, tears still falling for my immense joy to knowing that magic’s palpable.

12th August
Dreaming, moving between dimensions and frequencies and vibrations, connecting and communicating with Earthly friends. A day alone beside my muse Jessica and voice messages with Louise. I find groove.

13th August
My mind begins to wander, and I’m consumed by fear that Lover will join the droves of those who came before me in cancelling me before knowing me. It’s all too familiar, this bleeding heart, not because I feel he’s the one true love of my life (not sure I believe there’s one true love), but because he’s been awesome company, and I don’t want to lose that.
But then there’s another trigger, with his ego returning me to total shutdown, unable to articulate the vastness of my innate understanding of the masculine and feminine and the significance they hold.
Watching my record catch in the same spot, I question why I feel there’s still so much to say of the feminine and masculine.
It’s because of where we stand in time.
A time where society’s sick, common sense void of the connection between the imbalance of humanity being the imbalance of nature. Only there’s little wonder about the imbalance of humanity, is there? Because after thousands of years of repression, the feminine is missing from all aspects of society (for example, the police force, 9-5 expectations, the legal system) and we have mental health on the rise, cancer and disease going haywire, and climate change.
So, Lover, don’t tell me that this isn’t so. And hey, Lover, don’t treat me like I’m some crazy emotional woman as you tell me that this story is old because we’re all equal. You know, Lover, just because you think that we’re equal doesn’t mean this changes the reality.
Why, Sarah, you hypothetically ask.
Well, Lover, because change takes momentum, which depends on mass, right? Only how do we weigh societal mass? Well, change also takes time, that’s science, and with time new understandings come into equilibrium. Like how true power lies in personal power, not political power. And how through unlocking our inner power we can take courage in leading the way into a new world. A world where thinking isn’t more important than feeling, or masculine qualities are more admirable than feminine qualities.

15th August
Absolute head fuck of a morning. Anger swirling, anger in the air, anger at the world, anger with the people, anger to such tediousness. By 11am, I’ve eaten my quota for today’s food—having gone into work at 4:44 to have a picnic with Gemma under the stars—and now I want to shut off the world, no longer sure I can write this book. And with eight weeks until the housesit finishes, returning me to the unknown, I feel almost depressed in my struggle to see a way through the fog.
Then Jessica dies.
And I’m so so sad.

16th August
With death woven through the tapestry of this year, it’s another Leeuwin morning cleaning and crying, this time for my friend Jessica. I’ve been stubborn, bored and tired, with oracle cards indicating good things coming, only I’m finding it hard to envision what that could possibly be. John and Bev leave again on Monday, and I have two months alone here. Two months I could utilise. Two months I instead want to fuck right off. Because I don’t want to write these books. And I can’t be bothered being a human in this time. Yet, having signed up for this, I guess I’ll cement the feminine as one of the main focuses of my work (thanks to another narcissistic lover).

Making sense of structures through female neuroscience

-       We as a species are disconnected from nature; we are disconnected from the feminine

-       The feminine is in everyone, it’s not about sex

-       Masculine frequency experienced as strength, power, courage, independence, intellect and mind centre. The feminine frequency experienced as soft, nourishing, creative, expressive, heart-centred, unified, empowered and open

-       The masculine is systematic, linear and productivity focused. It is the physical things you can see, striving for tangible results and action. Whereas feminine leadership is not about what you can see, touch or smell, but about what we can sense and what we can feel

-       The feminine is receiving, masculine is about being competitive

-       Men work in 24-hour cycles whereas we work in longer cycles of approximately 28 days (the moon cycle)

-       Only society’s structures are set up for the masculine, with ideals, patterns of behaviour and values we have been given being masculine

-       But in terms of leadership, we need that long term goal, and we need to implement immediate facts and figures

-       As we stand, we women give ideas only to be shut down by men coming in with facts and figures

-       So we have to compromise ourselves, we have to adapt

-       And Mother Nature’s screaming.

17th August
A rainy day with sandalwood candles, my mind hurting from thinking (despite being told it’s a time of the heart), Bev’s fruit loaf still fresh in my mouth, and melancholy. Putting my clothes in the washing machine, I look through the glass door to where Jess and her turtle now lie underneath the Earth. I cry. I miss her. I’m so glad to have been there the day of her death, venturing out into the streets with John, searching and searching until I found her staring at me through the neighbour’s fence, Jess only barking when she was back in the middle of the court with Bev, John and me. Then, out of all afternoons it was the afternoon when I was in the living room sewing the apron with Bev, watching John call Jess inside, and feeling the pain of her slow movements and her shallow breathing as I bent down again and again to share my love. I told her I loved her every day. Now the rain keeps falling. And I’m so desperate to have this book written that I’m at a loss what to do. All I think about is the feminine.

18th August
The day starts with tea and book in bed. I do a light meditation and a light stretch, later reading that there have been solar flares. “Spiritual” stuff reckons my bodily pain is transmutation, and that soon it will all make sense. But I can’t fathom what could possibly happen to make sense of this. The giant gum trees spend the day violently shaking.

21st August
Waking in the grey room without light and colour save a large computer screen and furnishings from Kmart, a man I kinda care for, a man I don’t want a relationship with (our emotional depths eons apart) sleeps beside me, and I return to my dreams of natural light, trees through old windows, my art, his art, our art, so much art, both awake with laughter, coffee and books in bed.
Last night when I arrived, we hugged for longer than we usually hug. No longer feeling the need to justify myself to him, the conversation wasn’t so much a conversation but an explanation. He sees our battle as a difference of opinion, while I experience is as a difference of knowing. On the couch, with me on top, I came. With him on top, he came. In bed, the lack of physical touch and playfulness is another piece missing. I sleep first, and I wake first, curling in close. Only he sleeps and he sleeps.
Two hours later, I slip away, kissing the sleeping man on the cheek and going into his barren yard. ‘I’m sorry you have to live like this,’ I tell the big fluffy dog.
There’s a rainbow above Bussell Highway when I turn into Margs. I’m going home to bake bread, write a book, and be grateful for all the small moments of knowing my worth.
Later, walking to town, old mate Broome drives past at another random hour on another random day.

29th August
Engrossed in my imaginary world, ears ringing, indifferent to being alone forever with the writing of this book returning me to my own magic.

30th August
Working the winery alone, I keep jolting my head to what I feel are movements, only there’s nothing there. On leaving, there are birds flying all around until I pull up home to the same male kangaroo in the backyard. He stares at me when I tell him that I think I love him. When he turns and hops away, I’m not fussed by his rejection. Two different men at the winery had caught my imagination, but I’m happy in my single state, with ringing ears walking with me through tall trees, by a flowing river, under a canopy of leaves, sweating by the time I arrive at Woolworths. My mind buys more than I intend, and my body has me wander the bottle shop. Out on the street corner, there he is turning in his car. Are you fucking serious! Seven times! Each crossing making me reflect on how each small decision unwittingly took me to that very moment of that very place.

31st August
Phwoar, such beauty at my core. In the nights, I dream of faraway lands. Sometimes there are European style cities, other times a Central America vibe, but mostly there is the expanse of blue ocean.

2nd September
A mushroom and acid trip has me journey for days.
The portal opened when smoking a j in the dark of early morning, feeling deep into what it means to be human, my face wet with tears although there was no sadness. I couldn’t remember who this lady in front of me was, or how we got there. The depth of the connection I was making too big for words.
In my king bed there was an earthquake in my body, an explosion waking me inside my brain, which felt like a radio station tuning into different frequencies. I concentrated on the importance of what we feed our bodies. I realised we drink a magic potion called water that gives us special powers. I felt the sense we embody when embodying our unique selves. And I knew we are spirit beings here to master this game of life by mastering the computer we call our brain through the mystery we call our heart.
The day peters out and my programmed mind takes back control, confusing myself with old priorities and romantic stories that need clearing.
But I don’t know where to start.
There are so many dreams that next night. One where I’m reaching into my kit of love, knowing we always have the choice of love.
I wake anew, ready to soar with purpose. To complete my work here on Earth. To trust in time. To use our minds in conjunction with our hearts, tuning into the frequency of the future.

5th September

I’m magic! Pure magic! Reimagining the future! 

Pam Gregory inspired summary: Imagine more freedom. Imagine truth where it’s impossible to lie because we read energy fields. Imagine all of nature is abundant with food on trees, fruit everywhere, and no shortage or scarcity. Imagine that all living beings—the elderly, children, animals, trees, birds, everything sentient being—has love and respect, compassion, joy and peace. Imagine there’s no poverty, no war, no disease. Why can’t we create this? Astrology is guidance for us, but astrology is half of the picture. We are powerful co-creators.

6th September
Working the winery feels tedious and life feels long until day becomes night and I enter my dreams. There, everything is like a game, with every situation presenting itself as an opportunity. Because no matter how dark my circumstances, I can take the lessons and douse them in love. In such a state, the world is rich. This week is the week of Gate 64—where I come from.

Everything is consciousness. Everything is connected. Everything is energy.

Be willing to go through whatever it takes to get to where you really want to be.

We’re a world that doesn’t realise itself.

8th September
Not last night but the night before came more mystical dreams. This time, a message. A glimpse to the future. A future where we play the game of love and opportunity without fear and endings. When my alarm sounded at 4:44 for cleaning, it was still vivid, only the clock kept ticking and memories kept fading, and without words to express such senses, I was left only with a knowing.
Later that day, Jacinta and I both arrived at her hillside home at 4:44—she from work and me from Margs.
This morning, looking out over the inlet, Jacinta and I drank our teas in the sunshine out front, and Jacinta drew a card for me from her deck—ISHTAR’S LION GATE 888, which she also pulled on our first magic reading at the start of 2023 (link).
In the afternoon I do my Denmark rounds; hugging familiar faces, collecting honey, driving through tall trees, and sitting out the front of the Meadery with Jacinta and our coffees with honey as a bottle-green Suzuki pulled right into me, it’s I8880A numberplate smiling brightly.

9/9/24
Jacinta’s bed. Pressing my phone at 1:33am, I know the sharp pain in my lower intestines is my body’s final plea to listen to its wisdom. Then, more dreams. So many dreams. I wake like I’m hungover, tracing fading visions of Cecilia, a Swedish friend from when I first lived in Broome, being triggered by something I’d said. I nearly felt guilt until I saw that this wasn’t my battle. No. Instead, it was her work to do. For I hadn’t been talking of her, I’d been talking of the whole world.

‘You’re a walking piece of art,’ I’m told.

11/10
Spring arrives with a vengeance. It’s a crisp morning with stars that sparkle into sunshine for days and bugs that dance in the light. I spontaneously strut into town with a spring in my step and abundant energy despite it being the first day of my bleed, and there’s old mate Broome again. This time he’s at the bus stop, with me walking on the footpath across the road. Seriously? Maybe the physical effect of this intense energy is connected with our spirits both being opened with plants. Come night, more dreams remind me of the importance of thoughts.

12th September 2024, Jacinta turns 40
Major downloads in dreams where all is beauty lost in memory. Starlit mornings with mushroom cards, toasties and messages to the universe with sister Gemma and her husband’s ashes. The morning sunshine is stark when we run out onto the lawn chasing the crows away from the mountain ducklings. Today I’m appreciative to have friends in my life who I can tell I’m from Venus and they not only support this but understand this. In the mirror, brushing my hair into a frizz, I’m happy being Sarah. Although I’m tired of this game, Universe. What are you telling me? Why do I keep seeing him?

13th September
Yesterday brought major understandings I can’t be bothered writing here in full form. Instead, snippets: lying under the sun’s rays, thinking about where I’ve come from—my family out there—and why time doesn’t matter, like I was told in the ayahuasca. Then a Gaia doco gives pieces for the answer I’m searching:

It feels natural to be into consciousness

The thought of the world being anything other than purely objective, purely reductionistic, and purely materialistic, is very scary to people

But why? Because it wasn’t always this way.

The reason consciousness is not fundamental in science is an outgrowth of the environment, when the church and science split

The Council of Trent ran from 1545-1563, when the Roman Catholic Church had a series of meetings, and when science was just beginning to really become a formal force in society, with natural philosophers wanting to understand the world not just through religion, but through experiment and testing

And so, the scientific method was born

The church issued a meeting that said religious authorities will look after the souls of everyone, and the natural philosophers were okay just as long as they only looked at the physical world—you guys in science, you have things of materiality, that’s fine, but the things that involve spirit (or consciousness), that’s our area

As a scientist, if you didn’t look just at the physical world, you were potentially under house arrest for the rest of your life as a heretic, like Galileo, or burnt at the stake

With this, for most scientists’ consciousness became a taboo subject because it just wasn’t worth the hassle of getting into, leaving science and spirituality literally separating in their world views and moving different directions

For almost 300 years that just how things went, with the last people killed by the inquisitions in 1826

While science brought us the enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, etc, along with technologies that make our life so much easier today, it also shaped the basic premise that the material realm is all there is. However, the idea that our universe is essentially an accident, and that evolution was preceded by accident, with human beings emerging and evolving over a long-long time and consciousness arising from our natural brains in that time, somehow, is a story of separation, of accident, of meaninglessness. And it’s wrong.

14th  to 16th
It’s the week of the eclipse. Something rises, something else changes. The abundance! The sunshine! These days alone!

More dreams remind me to listen and move with my environment.
A spring Saturday morning makes me appreciative to be living in Margaret River.
Soul family calls through trees.
Sharp intestine pains excruciate.
I write a book.

I think it might have been Thursday I last spoke to a person in physical form, with phone calls, text messages and voice messages filling my cup—the potency of my sisterhood recognised.

I feel so genuinely beautiful. The most beautiful ever. Even with the extra weight, the pimple, the all.

Cleaning the house and weeding the garden (Bev and John will soon be back for town nights) makes me so excited for my new space.

A dream where I had sex with Cassius, like we have so many times before, and now, missing him as a best friend, I wish he could come across to this outlier life with me. We could have explored and grown together. But now he has a girlfriend who complements his irrational fear, and I’m exuberantly happy for them.

The fear of the unknown isn’t natural. It’s from generations of programming our computer-brains.

Could the way I bop around, working on simultaneous sections of the story at once, be prescribed ADHD?

Albert appears in another dream. We crossed paths and he had another woman. But I had his attention. All I had to do was put it to him, tell him that it was about time that we caught up. He agreed, and I understood our awkwardness. I was having sex with Cassius anyway.

Being watched by eternal love from souls beyond this Earth makes life charming. There are tears of joy and there is energy.

Understandings have formed through the idea of opposties. Right and wrong, good and bad, pass and fail, life and death. It’s so simple. Until we enter the space inbetween.

Feeling the monstrosity of what we’re part of. Only, what are we part of? There is no clear answer. Or more, there is no one answer.

It’s about values. We need to look at the deeper values of humans. It’s not about the surface level change. This is deep change we’re talking here.

18th September, Full Moon Eclipse
There’s no future home but a sore brain and a dull ache behind my eyes that’s been there for days. The other night I had a dream that Kamali shaved his head. Then Cass appeared again. And an eagle. And there’s more of Albert, with a voice telling me to call him (when he comes to me like this it is always so clear), which I don’t listen to. Instead, Ella calls to tell me that Bill Reed—another formative figure from these past years—died.

19th
Birds chirp to the light of the blaring supermoon. I wake with them, my brain still hurting and my ears still ringing with nothing particular on my mind beyond the yearning to secure my home space. The excitement and optimism my horoscope predicted of this week hasn’t manifested in the physical world. Doubt seeps in until I replace it with love.

20th September
Something shifts me deeper into knowing my power, seeing only one way to prove all that I theorise. Time. And trust. A trust of time. Nonetheless there are years ahead with my family and children and home. There’s pain. An accident where I make full recovery, the loss of loved ones. Events that will draw me even closer to death.

The Earth is a living organism and water intelligently responds to human consciousness

What’s a portal? Essentially it’s a place on earth where the law of physics, as we know them, behave very differently. It’s about the manipulation of electromagnetism of sound and gravity, and it allows you, under certain conditions, for a minute or lifetime, to travel through time and space, and not just metaphysically, but physically in some locations

We are bombarded by advertising that compels us to buy more stuff. We are told that growth is the meaning of life. We don’t consider where the materials that fabricate what we buy, or the industrial wastelands where they are produced, or the vast toxic landfills in where we pour them, and so we carelessly throw them away. And we keep consuming. Because that’s what we’ve been trained to do. Having the right stuff brings status, and so we imagine that consumption makes us happy. But this world isn’t working. This world made by men. And to change the world, we women first need to return home to ourselves. We need to change the stories we tell ourselves of who we are. The stories of the last few centuries have been of male superiority, progress, growth and domination, with dreaming, creativity, openness, nurturing and community suppressed.

21st September
Dreams send a message to let love in. Then I’m lacklustre cleaning the winery. Tired, uninspired, almost wanting to cry because of the enormity of the time ahead. I might have to give it all up, this writing, if the space doesn’t present itself. I don’t want the room in suburbia. I want intimacy. Sharing smiles with friendly workers propels me onward.

24th September
Dull light swallows me whole. Scattered mind screaming to throbbing body. No home ahead, it seems. Just the power of thoughts.
And a harsh reminder.
On Sunday night after watching Tanya play at the River, I rolled around my king bed with my body bursting from beers and fish and chips. I release these foods from my body, I release these foods from my body, I repeated, drifting in and out of sleep until my eyes shot open. And I ran to the toilet. I had thought it was just a fart. But nah, it’s more. And while cards continue to tell me of surprises, so far it’s only been shitting in my sleep.

Going beyond the social construct of time

27th September
The disparity with my blood family. They can’t reach me where I am, and for the first time in a longtime it makes me violently cry.

28th September
Ears ringing ridiculously loud. An important, emotional conversation with Mum a major release edging me closer to embracing my true spirit. A bonfire cancelled. I edit Gemstones dot-points, make bread, make hummus, do a quick stretch, and sit down to work on a necklace only to realise Siân left me a joint with last night’s visit. Being close to the weed still makes my pits sweat and me need to poo. I smoke it.

29th September
I do not smoke weed. Not for decades. Not until my children are grown up. Not until it returns to me for whatever reason. For while weed has given me what I need—that knowing of beyond, the deep thoughts—now there’s only darkness, with sharp, irrational movements, hunched shoulders, tight muscles, and amnesia when eating food at top speed.

My old lady friend from Alpha Centauri, who I met in San Miguel de Allende, which is right by one of my lines in astrocartography, sends me my Destiny Card, which goes off my birthday. I am spiritual and I am material. If I adhere to material values, I’ll always have problems. But if I follow spiritual laws, I will shine. Could be a load of shit, could be truth, only time will tell.

30th
Do a meditation. Then there’s a whole day for writing only my fucking keyboard is fucking dead and I’m screaming rage black and blue until my throat’s hurting. I interpret it as a sign that I shouldn’t be writing this book, which makes me scream some more. ‘WHAT THE FUCK SHOULD I BE DOING ON EARTH, THEN. I HATE THIS FUCKING EARTH.’ And now I have to drive to fucking Busselton with rage still shaking me to my absolute core. What is this world of money, and this expectation to dedicate a whole life to such stress? Being shown no support, I can only conclude that meditation is as fucking stupid as a broken fucking keyboard.

To understand a whole world born of love is to understand time

To understand time is to understand the unknown

To understand the unknown is to understand nature

To understand nature is to understand our power

2nd October
In bed with ringing ears and total exhaustion from so many hours writing, I’m wide awake with the electricity of approaching storms. Hanging on the edge of my dreams waiting for sleep, something new is happening. There’s a kaleidoscope of dull colours on the dark of my eyelids. There’s direction to keep believing my expanding heart over a sick society. And there’s hours of deep discussions that morph to the storm waking me at 3am. Write, I’m told. Only more storms are coming, and I need to clean. I need to find an explanation of what is happening in my dreamspace.

3rd October
My soul’s tired. Tired of cleaning. Tired of being alone in this world. Tired of my deep yearning for a beautiful homespace to make beautiful art. Driving out of Leeuwin, my speakers turn themselves down to 27. On Boodjidup Road, Bruce calls me on the same stretch I was driving yesterday when he called. The other day he called moments after I had been thinking of him.

5th
Sacred rage, absolute fury, overwhelming frustrations to the uncertainty in securing a house and income. It’s my fifth day cleaning alone and I HATE it. I haven’t come to Earth to be a cleaner. It goes against my design. And yet, I’ve been writing too much, missing nature and missing friends. With five days until the housesit ends, my nervous system is going wild, and my erratic nature feels extreme. I’LL NEVER FORGET THIS FEELING.

10th October
On this day last year, Elliot and I left Broome abound with hopes for the south. Now, at the airport waiting for my flight to Broome, I’m back surrounded by high vis and heads in phones. People share meaningless words, the sickness of humanity screaming so loud, as I scroll the airport book shop. There are crimes and the thrillers and cheap stories that fills people’s minds on holiday.

10th October
On this day last year, Elliot and I left Broome abound with hopes for the south. Now, at the airport waiting for my flight to Broome, I’m back surrounded by high vis and heads in phones. People share meaningless words, the sickness of humanity screaming so loud, as I scroll the airport book shop. There are crimes and the thrillers and cheap stories that fills people’s minds on holiday.

12th October
The morning of Bill’s funeral were storms with clouds in sepia tone. The church had the glaze of memory, with colours, pearls and a handsome priest (the most handsome priest in the whole world) bringing it to light. At the wake were canapés, champagne and a drunk Sarah alive in the moment. She’s appreciative to all the rich characters in her life. Only she has no home, no editor, no agent, no partner, no money, no children. She hears birds singing and calls to beauty.

13th October 2024
A revitalising morning at the beach with a barking Arlo. Coming from the water, I drop and hang my head upside down. The sky’s the ocean and the ocean’s swept by high cloud. I call out to Arlo how lucky we are in this moment, although words are limiting to describe this feeling.
Later on the Saturday, sister Melissa of Broomerang returns to my life after sidestepping worlds to spend the year working as a skimpy. We’re taking Arlo for a swim, and Wil insists on Secret Beach.
Melissa and I tailgate Wil and Arlo to the port, turning right just after Bill’s home for forty years. Coming to stop on the sunburnt dirt, the contrast between the barb wired fences and the pure bliss of nature is stark.
On the beach, I fall in love with the Indian ocean, and smoke some of Melissa’s famous joints. Melissa and I simultaneously look down to a small dog at our feet, the owners calling across that he must feel safe in our presence as a larger dog lurks. I smile to the owners and tilt my head to dark birds soaring above. There’s six of them, then eight, playing a game with the ocean breeze, a half-moon resting behind. I’m transfixed, stoned, mesmerised, the configuration constantly changing and the sun now on the other side of the horizon setting my world ablaze.
Back at our cars on the sunburnt dirt, Arlo and Wil arrive and I share my moment with the soaring birds. ‘They’re frigate birds, they’re creepy as fuck,’ Wil gushes.
For Wil, frigates appear only with death, having played with the wind at Bard Creek when Greg’s ashes were scattered, and having swooped low as another friend’s ashes were released to the ocean.
‘They carry the souls of the dead,’ Wil explains, us both looking over to the creepy as fuck birds, and back the other direction to Bill’s house, where Cody now lives.

14th October
There’s magic, it’s everywhere; in the salt of my hair and the dirt of my feet. There’s magic, it’s looming; Mark Jones talking of rewriting history with the masculine domination since the last ice age 11,600 to 12,800 years ago. ‘Civilisations have always collapsed,’ he tells me. But this doesn’t mean the end of humanity. And with Earth’s climate naturally shifting every 100,000 years, we are now facing this happening at cataclysmic proportions. Later that night, timing brings a message from Joyce from Alpha Centauri. It’s a prediction of the man taking power, leading us into World War III and the collapse of the United States.

Fifteenth
Bruce says, ‘I’m silly so call me Willy.’ Bruce says big stuff is coming, nature stuff, but he doesn’t say more.

The land needs healing from what we’ve been through

I come from a lineage of strong Celtic women who knew stories of ancestors who knew time as cyclical rather than linear

It’s the nature connection; it’s the wild self alive

Words are limiting in describing this feeling

18th October Full moon

There’s the noise of helicopters and a masculine supermoon that has strong masculine energy radiating my orbit. At least being here in Broome, following my heart, eases such turmoil.
At Town beach, Elsa and I stand on the jetty talking about the intensity of the world’s disparity. Elsa proposes to have the reigns handed over to women for at least a year. Not to seize control, for this is not a competition, but to reinstate nature’s balance.
Moving through the social construct of time, the broken pendulum screams at me as different men describe to me different women, making comments like ‘She has to be accountable for her actions.’
No she doesn’t, Byron. She doesn’t need to be fucking accountable for her actions, okay. She needs to speak openly about why she’s acting like this. She needs time to process it. We need to understand why she’s acting this way. We need to understand that there’s nothing wrong with her, but the world that’s designed to deny her true nature. We need to understand her true rhythm, beating from the darkest depth of her heart. But for women to explain their actions, we need time. Because we operate on different time. And because the change I speak of runs deep, approximately 11,600 years.
Yes, I’m talking change beyond the current system. Change where our true nature is set free. Change that stems from the heart, uplifting the feminine in all of us. Meanwhile, toxic masculinity will slowly crumble, and I’ll karate chop you if you make another comment about another woman who has wronged you, Byron.

20th October
I’m smashed by sandflies and there are heavy trucks chugging down Port Drive. The days are hot, full of enriching people. At Gantheaume Point with Melissa, the rocks tells of another experience of time. Optimism pulses. My mind comfortable resting with the bigger picture. Even the chirping birds implore me to keep following the purity of my heart. Because it takes time to get to know me. But the right man can see through to my soul, and in that place, time doesn’t matter.

21st October
This morning is full of clouds and gusts of wind. Pulling oracle cards predicts challenges for the week, and it affects me. I watch it affect me. Although it’s not surprising, with me heading south to no home and a job that gives little.

The comet was feint, streaming toward the Indian Ocean beyond Gantheaume Point. Albert was surprised I could see it. Albert. Who is he to me? I don’t know, but I know that we know each other from another time.

People grapple with the timeline I present to them.

...a clarion call for a new way of storytelling that speaks to the world we need, not just the world we have.

11,600 years ago, the last ice age ended, and everything changed (including Australia being cut off from the rest of the world, although that’s a story for another day). With more of Earth inhabitable, humans spread out into what were once inhospitable environments. With the new conditions, they could create permanent structures of agriculture, no longer needing to move with nature in order to survive. Agriculture allowed for food surpluses and population growth, with permanent settlements birthing cities and cities birthing civilisations. This led to the establishment of complex social structures, which included labour specialisation and hierarchy, with masculine traits like physical strength and aggression valued, alongside physically demanding jobs placed higher in rank. Meanwhile women’s roles were less of the public face and more confided to the home. With writing developing through the preceding years, it emphasised male achievements and male perspectives, entering to what can be seen as the age of the masculine.

22nd October
A final, muggy Broome morning. With so much information having come to me in this time, I’m appreciative. Knowing my commitment to the greater good. And that there’s love in my life. So much love. Because when I feel that I’m not beautiful enough to be loved, or I hear the clarifications of Greg’s total and utter arrogance in unconsciously looking to my gender and the surface of my words, I turn around and a sister awaits. They are there with open arms and open hearts, and they are singing an appreciation that moves me forward.

23rd October
For the return to Margs I embrace my future here in this moment, and a beautiful new space arrives. Remembering my pact, I commit myself to use this space to write my book. First, I must move through this world asking the right questions—deciphering ‘God’s’ plan for me.

27th October
Sunday at Kamaliland, Denmark, with sounds of frogs and a digger somewhere in the community, the world green and abundant, and me drinking coffee and watching ducks.
I’m at the mercy to a plan beyond me.
Seeing what presents itself.
First it was Dave at work, with him sitting on the forklift and me standing in the glare alongside, talking about the major changes we face and the collapse of civilisation. Next it was Janice in Nannup, talking about being on the brink of world war, with me imploring Janice to imagine a world of love. Then it’s with sister Jay at the Dam, sharing stories and getting deep. Later that night, sitting under Kamali’s fairylights in the dark of his garden, Kamali hobbles down the stairs, making Jay and I freeze our conversation on manifestation. While I thought he was coming down to tell us to be quiet, that’s not the world in which I live, and Kamali goes to his speaker to play a song he’d been telling Jay about earlier. He turns the music loud and my stoned mind spins.
Right now, my manifestations have an emphasis on finances. And with a space secured, it is now money that’s needed to write this book. The money that’s needed to live on Earth.
Money’s coming to me.
Lots of money.
And I will heal that money, I will pass it forward.

29th Denmark
Sharp October sunshine. Listen to your soul, the card tells me. But I’m confused. What’s my head saying, and what’s my soul saying? At the top of the stairs at Elephant Cove, a tiger snake crosses mine and Jacinta’s path. It hovers on the edge of the path for longer than usual.

30th Denmark October
Carefree days with a late afternoon by Kamali’s dam drinking rosé, smoking cigarettes, and snorting k with Jay. At the table, I slur through my stoned zone and Kamali mansplains the world to me, again. I argue back: I’m half your age, and there’s still much for me to achieve on Earth. More than anything, this moment feels like a practice of patience in staying in my truth as people twist my words into assumptions. I’m not deterred. I’m writing a book that makes me think about these things, Kamali. And yes, it can make me erratic and intense, but we’re at different stages of our journeys. Still, dread seeps into my dreams and I wake in a distant state. On my phone, is a message from Albert. It rained in Broome, and he thought of me.

31st October
Kamali drums for his life and Marc dances free. Jay and I breeze in, and I shake the tension of my hips in front of the fire, euphorically happy in the moment. Extra days here have me sink deeper into nature. Stopping by Sisters of Eve, a gallery around the corner of Kamali’s, the lady artist, who’s near 70, explains how she asks the universe for her work. She will see the work in her mind’s eye, and then she will let the workflow, the story coming only later. ‘We get too much in our minds,’ she tells me. But when we release our individual art, the energy flows.

5th November
In my dream, which was with the ocean, as they often are, I pick up a best-selling book. It’s not too long and it’s not too complicated. Simply, beautifully, written.

My period arrives two hours before my 6am start, and I love the way my body waited for me to be working with Gemma because the pain is real, the pain is strong, and I have to clean a winery and pretend like there’s no pain as I bleed from my vagina.

Is it my time yet? Can I shift from my delusion? Or am I still deluded? Nah, I reckon it’s a soul connection. The reflection of myself in his eyes taking me deeper into a femininity that taps into the full breadth of my ability in the new world.

Money’s skint but still there’s frivolous spending on groceries. At least I have my space to sink into until the time for money arrives. 

Everything feels so far away. Like there’s no end in sight.

I’m here as Sarah to be a spiritual being. I’m here to explore that spirituality.

A Lee Harris energy update prompts me to ask, What part of your story or behaviour would you like to change or let of of in the next year? The story of being broke and single.

The collapse of our civilisation is inevitable. But this does not mean the end of the world, it means the start of a new world.

9th November
A slow move into my new space has me practicing patience and giving only love to my new landlords. There are solar flares and strange dreams like Dad’s toilet’s broken and blocked, flowing shit, albeit clean shit. I fix it. But then my teeth are rotten and one of the front ones has fallen out, with another on its way. It’s hard to get into the dentist.

Rotting teeth: missed opportunity, personal growth, renewed strength, rebirth

Front teeth: self-confidence and appearance

Broken and dirty toilet: holding and keeping keepings to yourself, something holding you back

10th November
My body knew what was coming. Why I was suddenly going to a party with Marc. Feeling his car arrive. Jacinta helps me define it as a negative soul contract.

11/11/24
Hey, you know humility is far sexier than ego?

“I feel something simple and vulnerable and new.
Yearning.
I hunger for connection. I can’t lie to myself any longer.
I ache for a mate…my heart is ready to let another in. I’m ready to be soft.”
Gina Chick

The collapse of our civilisation is inevitable. But this does not mean the end of the world, it means the start of a new world.

12th Nov.
Arriving at 5:45am for a Tuesday morning clean with Gemma, it’s daylight. Two coffees put me in a hyper mood, and when Gem shares her wisdom, acknowledging the major role I’m playing in her healing, it makes me near cry. It’s true, I need someone to hold, and I need to be honest about my feelings. ‘Surrender,’ Gem advises.
Surrender.
And be clear with the universe around what you want.

13th November
I am woman, my womb connecting me to beyond.

I always thought the polarity of death is life. But it’s birth.

Trust. Wholeheartedly trust.

My computer cuts as I’m editing my return to Broome from the Amazon. I’m relieved to know it’s all the electricity and not my dearly beloved at fault. Without internet and phone connection, I cut and paste a mood board for the next draft of Gemstones. There’s relief in such disconnect.

14th November
I treasure my early mornings at the winery with Gemma. By this point of the season, there are only a handful of stars when I start up my beetle. By the time we meet at 4:30, there’s enough light to see each other’s smile from a distance. Then time shifts and I experience anger in being told that I need to give vulnerability. How can I give him anything when we don’t engage? I vacuum the restaurant and a smiling conversation with the head chef leaves me open to all forms of intimacy.

I’ll show you my heart if you show me yours

CONNECT WITH WHO YOU ARE & WHY YOU’RE HERE

22nd November
I walk through Earth in total appreciation and total immersion of the feeling of genuine love in a positive karmic connection. Trusting in what’s meant to be, there’s beauty in every small moment. Like the way I spend days waiting for an email to say I had the job, with my ego so sure and my soul so frightened, only to not have the job and be so so relieved. After all this work, did I really move into such a space only to work all the time in the very system I’m here to question?
Nah.
Instead, I return to the beauty. Like the way I’m offered a day on the bottling line at Leeuwin, and Gemma has a breakdown, meaning I step in to cover all her shifts, knowing grief needs time. And the way I see a Facebook post about a card drawn from the same oracle deck as mine, only to shuffle my cards and have the same card fall out. And the way a $20 table is now covered in my beads and words. And the way I own my worth and hold no doubt to the magic that’s possible through our powers combined.
Oh yes yes yes there’s beauty.
Beauty in conversations where I’m wholeheartedly myself.

25th
Days blur with mornings cleaning the winery and days creating, acting like it’s already mine. All of it. My heart bursting with gratitude and inspiration, not wanting to know the outcome, the perhaps reality, when it feels so good being in this state.

28th November
My pay arrives with disappointment to my ongoing ‘lack’ of money. Frustrations move through my body—I feel like I’m working so hard and getting nowhere—until I replace them with appreciation to have enough for rent and food, plus small saving’s to my car’s service, and $80 for a desk. After all, I don’t need money to swim in the ocean, walk in nature, write my book, and make necklaces. The feeling of abundance is strong. The gratitude for all that’s coming to me.

1st December New Moon

Our intentions matter. My intentions matter. So sshhhh, nature can hear you, it’s answering. My new tarot deck from Melbourne Rachel shows positivity for my near future. For this new moon, I wake at 3:33am. For this new moon, my period arrives. For this new moon, I draw the Ace of Pentacles. For this new moon, my intention is to embody my future self.

5th December
The fifth day of my period and still bleeding strong. It’s the most consistent bleed without pain. I thank my body, so in awe to its connections and its ability to take me through two and half weeks of work and little social life. Within, I’ve been grounded and optimistic until I find myself in today, scattered on where to focus. At times, waves of energy leave me horizontal and headachy.

8th December, I think
Sev and Oli are away, and Ben and I potter our respective spaces. The skies are clear and days warm, wind through gumtrees and music through cleaning. I wake, make a tea, and read in bed, having gone to bed early, drunk, stoned and high from conversations with Leanne.

Down Margaret River, we’d lain on the rocks absorbing the late afternoon rays, my feet in the water. Leanne had sat up to tell me a thought that passed through her about indigenous cultures spending so much time together without constant, meaningless chat, which creates the space to listen to nature.

This morning there’s no headache but heartache. I dance, swim, make necklaces and form stories.

9th December
Windy Monday morning walking over rocks and wading through the river. I’m all sun rays and star dust, all scattered on how to move forward. I drink black coffee and take mushrooms, wanting to make a business plan for life only it should be called the delusion plan.

Tenth.
The kookaburras are boisterous, heralding our intermittent spin to the sun. It’s near 4am, and they sound like they’re in my room. The energy of these days is strong, with anger and disgust to the economic system accepted within this toxic masculinity paradigm. Growth! Ego! Productivity! Two coffees with Gemma, cleaning, spinning, transforming. Where there was inspiration to make money from necklaces, now there’s only anger (my not-self theme). Back home it’s a 30-degree day with cockatoos and kangaroos. And all my dreams couldn’t feel further away. 

14th December
Gemma and I sit with our coffees on the winery’s deck, and Gemma keeps crying. I pull a tarot card for the energy of her time ahead. The Sun. Google tells me it indicates positivity and growth ahead. ‘Oh fuck, nooooo,’ Gemma wails, bursting into more tears.
I don’t try make her feel better.
Two days later and we’re at Redgate, drinking 6.7% beer and making a scene diving into the cold ocean with my long sleeve swim top. It’s always cold with my long sleeve swim top.
Out of the water, we climb the rock Gemma used to climb with her husband when he was alive, and I take my long sleeve swim top off to dry it on the rock, telling Gemma how I keep losing my long sleeve swim tops (one left at a waterhole, another at a beach, another miscellaneous). We get ourselves cosy on the ledge, and bathe in the lowering sun, the breeze light and the tide caressing the bottom of the rock.
An hour later, I stand, and my long sleeve swim top’s gone. Gem and I walk the shoreline calling out, but we know its fate was doomed.
My swim top has been swallowed by the sea and I’m warned to be careful with my words.

17th
The sounds of the forest keep me alive, days fluid, with summer setting in and ocean swims for showers. I await Mr Bruce Wiggan, curious to what his visit represents, while the other handsome Wiggan doesn’t respond to me. Where disappointment lurks, trust grows.

Remember this moment, Sarah. Remember it. It’s yours, now

What is meant for me will not pass me by

Twenty-second
A week so full of emotions that my arm’s already tired by the thought of having to write about it. Writing in dot points feels easier:

·       Connection with Bruce spans lifetimes

·       Not looking like I’ll have the support of love, but guess I’ll write the book anyway

·       Another double-yoked egg

·       Ask the universe for a sign and a dragonfly arrives, a butterfly close behind

·       It’s hot outside.

End of Year

Stoned, death moves through me.

Shifting from what other people say to what nature says. 

The karma of the kangaroo and its convulsing body at sunrise. The kangaroo visits me in the night when I’m stoned in bed. 

Gemma foresees darkness, Jacinta gets truth bumps and sweaty palms, and Leanne feels heavy. Are we all crazy, or is something coming?

Scattered in reflections. What did I achieve this year?

Nature meets your vibration.

Imagine a world built on different values, with a whole other programming installed at the moment we’re born.

In bed. A zap so severe that I feel its connection with my hip to brain. Then. Knowing Jacinta’s not coming home, I indulge in a second joint with the stars, and fall deeper into a mental void, in conversation with something and being told to tune in for writing.

• Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been chosen, and I legit think I’m going mad.

• My family’s right there! I just need to speak my heart and trust.

• What, how could I possibly attain a platform so fast?

Don’t be scared of the crazy.

Stepping into the portal.

We women work on different cycles. So knowing us takes time. Our stories take time.

Tanya’s song plays for the twenty-second time today. 

Finally, I start to reflect on 2024 and straight away I identify shame. 

Prepare my body.

I’m shifting this diary, my diaries, with too many things calling my attention.

The thought of having money in my bank account excites me.

To achieve your goals first you must define them. Refine them. Make them clear and make them non-negotiable.

What sets my soul on fire? What’s my why?

My soul wants to write.

People are going faster than me, and I’ve allowed myself to feel bad about it.

I come back to life after days spent on my art. 

I’m losing the stress of creating a business because I don’t want a business. They aren’t my values.

A belief system that no one will ever give me the chance to get to know me. A belief system that has crumbled, crumbling. 

Moving from self-doubt to inspired action.

If the connection is truly aligned then it will unfold in divine timing.

Days with myself, mind screaming for control and people demanding of my attention.

I can’t carry on in this place earning $1000 a fortnight and paying $700 of it going to rent not including bills, plus Elliot repairs pouring from the heavens. Even writing that gives me anxiety. Structures are changing and the idea of sobriety looms through my weed-induced fog. Returning to 2024 is repetitive. New horizons call.

2024