John Saward – July 30, 2017 at 11:29AM

On that new found spring morning.
(c) 2014, 2017 J.D.Saward

Development 3 – 14/5/14 – Wyuna, and Lygon Food Mall.

1. The moving on of an ancient traveller, who wore out his fascination with being a poet.

On that new-found spring morning he wondered how it would be to take only his small shoulder bag and walk to the interstate railway station and catch the first train to leave, and sit in that train until it came time to alight at the terminus of that service. Not for a holiday but as a walking out of one life-bubble into another. He fascinated himself with the thought that life is perhaps not so much a journey to be taken, but more like a set of immersive experience scenarios that form in the mind of the one who does nothing.

He reached for his shoulder bag as he lay on his bunk contemplating these things. He considered for a moment packing his writer’s notepads into the shoulder bag as they did indeed represent his current apparent lifetime of creative work. But in the end he got up from the bunk and put those precious notepads one by one into the pot-bellied stove and whistled ‘DixieDude, Come Along Home’ as they all went up in smoke.

He went to the kitchenette, his bag already draped over his shoulder, and began looking around as if he were a collector at the sale of a deceased estate. He took a can of tuna and some dry roasted almonds from the larder. He filled a small plastic bottle with water from the purified water machine. He decided that was sufficient for a meal or two on the way to wherever he was going. He strolled back into his living room and into the bag went a book on the mechanics of outdoor light-shows. For some unknown reason he had borrowed it recently from the municipal library and had not yet opened it. It was probably overdue and this concerned him for a brief moment. He considered taking it out of the bag and leaving it on the coffee table but then suddenly he let out an “Aha!”, and began flipping madly through the shelves of his bookcases. He plonked 3 small Japanese Manga comics in with the book and the other supplies.

Respectfully he took from his bedside cabinet the Mala the Eastern Master had given him many years before and in its little silk bag it went into the shoulder bag.

He filled the rest of the space in the shoulder bag with spare socks and underwear and the small hand-towel he had always carried with him when he used to hitch-hike across the Mystical Asian Lands.

He hung a sign on his front door, ‘Free House to Who Next Needs Some Shelter’. He walked contentedly to the train station and looked at the departures screen, and bought himself a ticket to the next scenario.

2.1 The children of the traveller arrive, expecting their normal ritual and instead got a strange sign.

The twins came to the familiar little house and struck the gong at the gate. They had caught the ferry over the bay and walked up the cliff-track to the house their father had built from recycled junk and driftwood. They bowed to the 3 holy statues – the golden dragon, the wandering monk, and the Catholic madonna – as their father had insisted they always do. They put a coin in the bowl of the wandering monk and walked slowly up the overgrown path.

The ritual had been repeated every … []

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