A Brumby with Bangles

Tersiiska Bangles


I found the first bangles in a dream.  We’d been climbing a steep volcanic mountain, and as we got back down below the snow layer the white melted out into a field of slippery silver bangles.  They had a kind of strange magnetism and as I got down to collect them they would fling away at high speed and land with a tinkle at some distance.  After a while I realized that the more I tried to collect them the more the ground cleared away to the black lava field underneath and in the end… frustration.  It’s not the first dream of frustration felt.  But I did not wake up in frustration but walking, some of the bangles caught on my foot and I managed to collect a few.  After waking I struggled to remember what happened next. I’d no idea what to do with the bangles  I had in my hand, so I’d thrown them  in a drawer in my desk, where all other travel collectibles are. I had no idea who I’d been climbing with either.  She’d been there climbing too but seemingly not interested in the bangles but wanted to get into the white zone at the top of the mountain. Did she come down ? No idea ? but I know when I woke I was in my room in my hotel nowhere near snow and out in the outback, far from any mountain.  But I opened the drawer and there they were, the bangles.

She’d been dreaming of riding a wild brumby in the snow country down through the rafts of snowgums, down to the creek.  The snow gums white trunks flashed by. The trees parted as the horse charged through them, shifting aside and springing back in time with the gallop. But then she felt as though falling and the ground rising up to become snow and white and cool.

As I got dressed I saw that the hotel had some prints of the snow country on the wall.  Memories of Clancy of the Overflow perhaps.  Hotel decor was low cost and somewhat stereotyped.   I imagined that all other rooms in the hotel had similar prints.  I opened the door and the light from my room streamed into the darkened corridor.

“What are you doing here ?” I asked on leaving my room.  There in the darkened cool corridor was a woman wearing the bangles I’d put in my drawer.

“What are you doing here ?” She asked with some affront. She looked past me into my room and her expression changed.  I turned around and saw she’d been looking at the print on the wall.  The one with the horses and snowgums.

“I’ve opened the door on my dream reality of bangles” I said.

“That’s funny – there is my brumby dream on your wall” She said.


















Photo Courtesy Tersiiska / Flickr / Bangles

related but interesting history gemaffair


A dark Terrestrial Vibe – Subconscious Data Cloud


Cool, but not cold to the touch it was. The damp darkness of it. The rough readiness of it being hard on the skin and bones of his skull which suddenly felt even heavier on it. Sleeping on the carpet of sharp rocks and dust of years all trudged and worn away by small animals scampering by in a past time of shelter.

It takes time to make that kind of black. The black of a cave out of sight of the world.  So black that your eyes can only see nothing real, only see what they imagine to see. There is no light further back, but there is sound.

There is a vibe in a cave, if only you could hear it.

be quiet enough, and still your breathing…

solid until the vibe sound came through it.

Came through your chest instead of oxygen to hear it.

the solid sounds of the earth below it.

and the struggling sound of water trickling kindly in it.

through the cracks of stone above it.

He woke up thinking..

” Yes it’s quiet, but I keep all my data down here, my memories my private ‘cloud’ my stuff that I did in the past. No disk drives, no wires, no access, no one can actually get at the data except me.  On the off chance that in a million year, way past my lifetime, I need it.  It might be found. Found down here in the dark recesses of my terrestrial mind, down in the dark where the terrestrial vibe sounds.”

“Yes it is quiet, but why do I need to keep it ? Why keep it when I sleep to forget it, why keep it longer, than my own mind would need it.  Emails, Data gone by, links once useful, now dissappeared and irretrievable. Why keep it, if no one can get it or use it or understand it or need it.”

Gravito Lug

Ferodo felt the hammer in his trousers drag as he walked toward it. Bright shafts of light bent around the sky and came bouncing of the anvil like kind streams not leaving not a trace of dust behind.  More of a wave of light than the scattering of pain in his head right now. The hammer strong in his pocket was leaning toward a menace of the past being.

Compelled toward the bronze lug landed there protecting it’s history ball, with the ark of the ball sitting in the sky of the dry inner clearing bright.  Rain would not come, it stayed shy in the clouds at night, and in the day, it barely peeked out with droplets on the bronze arms of the ark luggy thing there in the clearing bright.  The pull on the hammer of the gun was strong.  The trigger of the gravitational angle like a compass direction finder, finding the clearing like a gravity lens.  The kind of lens with a focal line, not focal length.  The kind of lens which turned a single point of light above the lug into a set of bright suns scattered around the clearing.  A set of points about the ark geometry of mad men in the world of clearing light.  This lug was a tether point, where sky hooks could bend their cables around the level of the ground on the dreaming point in the clearing.  Where attached at the sky, with satellites whizzing past, were lives in tremblance and shake given up in ecstatic growth of mind. Grown too big for the earth and it’s lives, but passed on the ancient heavens and out, with a mind tether to the lug on the ground.  The lug of conscience and lives past, with a memory permanent in it’s gravitational hold.

Before when the dinosaurs ruled and wandered around in brief despair at the going out of their sun, and hoping that the lug and the tether ball would remain in the clearing once the clearing of their darkening world came.

Water Dragon Red Fig Dreaming

So how would YOU like to wake in fright, with coloured dreams and waiting schemes of small water dragons red ? So how would YOU like to shake in the arm and not be alarmed when holding a spear to slay the red fear ?

I always feel such a mess of a mind at times and this year’s dragon dream was just not to comprehend.  I in a garden green of delightful flowers and you, my dear love were there with a thing in your eye.  I looked into it, you complained ‘why should you look in my eye’.  I said ‘cos there is a dragon in it’.  You said ‘actually there is something there, it’s bugging me a bit’.  I looked close, I could see a green little insect the size of a pin walking around in there.  I steadied my arm and picked up the little thing by it’s wing and plucked it from your eye.  Then I threw it gently into the breeze, whereupon it turned into a flying thing.

Then there was a rustling in the grass under the green leafy border.  There appeared to be a large sinewy root lying on the ground.  Suddenly it moved like a python and I checked carefully blinking against the sunshine.  “Look out” I think I said, ( if only I could be that heroic in real life) ‘there is a snake !’ but as I looked closer, it had scales like a fish, and lizard feet and a head like a crocodile. Coming in from the lake and hiding out under the shade of a pumpkin patch. “It is a snake, no crocodile eating a snake perhaps !” . ‘Never mind’ you said, ‘you must be dreaming’.

The waterfall was there, streaming down from the rocks in kind.  It sounded like a dragon was there just babbling to itself in a constant stream of conversation with the pool.  ‘The dragon must have come from over there’ I said, ‘just from that pool.. there under the waterfall’.

Waking, I turned and looked up, the fig tree had turned red, the color of the dragon, with those same sinewy stupid vestigial legs it carries around with the crocodile head and now there it was camped in a tree.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag in the early morning light and looked up at the fig tree, where moments before a ‘dragon’ was to enliven me.