Having just returned from ten days on the Coffs coast and in the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales, I’m now reflecting on the fruits of the journey.
Initially, it was a desire to escape the city, with its ever-present threat of COVID, to immerse myself in the beauty of the Arrawarra seascape and the mysterious volcanic landscape of Murwillumbah; to feed the Muse and refresh the creative process. For volume three of The Children of Myth has been proving obstinate.
My time in the regions was as refreshing as I had hoped. My week with a fellow artist friend in Murwillumbah became a retreat in which we shared insights into our spiritual and creative journeys, long into the night, over endless cups of tea.
In Arrawarra, I paced the beach, lured by the rhythmic pounding of the surf which lulled me to sleep at night and called me to watch the dawn break over the horizon, while kangaroos grazed on the lawn outside my room, and myriad birds sang their song of joy to the rising sun.
As I write from my cosy home in Sydney, I long for the sighing of the waves and the mild sea breeze. I feel displaced, confined by the walls which compress my many ventures into a cramped space; green screen, tripod and synthesiser battling for supremacy in a corner; microphone and mixer concealed in a cardboard box beneath a side table; computers and printers lurking beside the sofa, occluding the doors of the bookcase where art materials, long neglected, gaze reproachfully from their glass prison.
The world is changing, and I with it. As I gather my thoughts and forge ahead with my manuscript, I make plans and await their fruition.
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