from sensory assault to sensory isolation.

upon my return from working in rural villages in india, i fell into a deep reverse culture shook. my senses had been consistently assaulted in the most wonderful ways in india. it is a country, or culture, that never sleeps. suddenly, the island that was my home, my place, no longer made me feel welcome. there was a nasty silence that began to swallow me.

something in india calmed me. it left me an observer, removed from participating. i could see and listen. i was almost unwilling to speak. now home, there was little translation of my role as the observer; i would only leave myself raw.

i felt displaced from the world. struggled to find comfort in the very things i left and then returned to. i write about the world from my own eyes, through which i observe: images reconfigured into words. words pressed in ink against pages. my thoughts, my interpretations, my ideological positions; all kneaded with my insanity and lucidity. my words. words that had flowed so easily in india became hidden deep within my soul, refusing to spill forth.

i recall the first night and day back on my island. i had travelled straight to my father's, on the tasman peninsula. i told myself that the silence would not harm me as i faded into sleep that first evening. my bed clothes were white, my pillows plump, and my eyes were ready for a sound sleep. yet sleep eluded me. the rain played exotic music on the tin roof. accompanying instrumentals plopped and tumbled through the down pipes. the following day, the wind was up and the rain still fell. i went for a walk along my favourite beach with my family. i didn't talk. i couldn't reveal stories just yet: they were too real to have formed retrievable memories. instead, i drank the landscape as i pulled myself through it.

The weather is too inclement to climb Tatnell’s Hill.
Instead, a brisk walk along Pirates Bay, to blow away the cobwebs.

A childhood delight revisited.
Rugged up; warm jackets; gumboots:
Brisk soon fades to saunter.
Chilled Antarctic air beats at my exposed face,
And batters in my ears and through my light, cotton pants.
Wet eucalyptus smells slip from the hills and hug my nostrils.

Heavy raindrops punch holes in velvet sand.
Shell shards scattered on the seashore:
Pink, mauve, purple, apricot, yellow, orange, sienna.
Seaweed-drifts litter the ocean fringe.
I pull my feet idlely across blue clanking pebbles,
Peppered with fresh rain.

Ire-fuelled waves lunge upon the rocks and sand.
The ocean is thick and rich with
Translucent, dancing aqua blue and green,
That stands against the dull, lifeless sky.
The southwesterly whips across wave crests, ripping up
Arches of salt-soaked spray.

Ocean currents slip silently through rock channels,
Under the clash of opposing waves,
That collide and spray me in a shower of salty drops.
I allow the liquid to fall across my cheek, down my neck and
Collarbone and onto my polar fleece-warmed breast. Into my
Coat-cocoon. A salty crust coats my skin.

I stall from sheltering my face against the incessant
Curtains of drizzle, as they drift across the sky.
I let it rest on my skin, so I can lick the drops from my salty lips.
I don’t wipe away the waves that crash at the rock edge.
I let them slide down my skin.
I let them cleanse my skin.

Waves scour the sand, I draw an icy gasp.
I am transfixed by the image left in the polished grains:
Slithers of blue-soaked sky
Hide between inky, steely collections of clouds.
A plump, content rainbow rests, exposed, across the horizon,
Heavy and drunk with rain.

Tasmanian-induced sensations are beginning to filter back through my flesh.
I’m home again: back on my island.

[2004]

however, it took another three weeks and an anti-logging |save recherche bay rally in hobart to realise where i belonged: on a polarised, environmentally unique, culturally-rich island at the bottom of the world.

i have india to thank for so many things. tasmania for creating me. india for making me. for making me realise that often the most difficult perceived challenges can sometimes be the easiest. advice i am again learning to heed.