She was met at gate four
by a hornless Pan with the calm brow
of an apprentice warrior - the lovely stillness
of a contemplative spirit - a saturnian
moon-boy.
Saturday saw her at the pagan circle
lectures on the ancient Celts - cones of power
temple dancing - 'Enya' filled the room.
Face painting this night the occupation.
He drew on her left cheek a silver moon
a viridian pentacle on her third eye
and for her temple a black sun
dotted white at the centre.
On her right cheek shaman lines
swirls and slashes, she looked in the mirror
could barely believe the amazon spirit reflecting there.
She painted warrior cuts - blue and black
on the left cheek of young Pan
a golden pyramid for his unlined brow
and on his right cheek a pearl white crescent moon.
Aware of each other for several Saturdays
face painting magnetised, found them
sharing their earthly energy.
He drew her to him like a lusting Adonis
a passionate fixating binding spell
that pulled him back to her house
best was his warm body
lying close all night
waking together in the morning
to arrive on time for the Animal Liberation
'duck shoot protest' - auspicious surely - their first
outing televised nation wide.
You enter his house through a private shop-front
walk the length of an oblong room
past a wall of mirror, ceiling to floor, baskets of props
costumes on racks, ballet barre, castanets -
a dancer's rehearsal space.
A cadence seeps from the back of the house
'Wings of Desire' permeates the air
where paintings hang three deep a wall
and charcoal sketches roughly blocked
sit propped by solid reference books
scissors, needles, measuring tape
crimson rolls of shot-silk taffeta
lie scattered like abandoned statues
awaiting the catalyst of some cosmic order.
On the stove lentil soup bubbles
drying herbs on window sills
cast their fragrance like Wiccan spells
the hungry mewings of new-born kittens
splinter the air with an urgency.
In this safe haven everything unfurls
dances art into reality
like the images of an epic poem
the casual chaos of this artist's house
enfolds you in it's alchemy - shifts you to a reverie
invites you to be a player on their surreal movie set.
He shares with two women
a flamenco dancer leaving soon for Andalucia
a dress designer - gothic - looking
for the right shop on the right street.
They eat Turkish on their laps
watch themselves on TV - 'duck shoot protesters'
demonstrating on the steps of parliament house.
He gave no clue
if he knew of the blessings
falling on him in the form of four women.
Three - of indeterminate age -
the fourth - just walked in to sleep the night
his young girlfriend from Berlin
brittle blonde sophisticate
world-weary Europe
flowing in her veins
a countess
surely with her mood swings
her temper tantrums her need to be queen
an attention seeker prone to pyrotechnic identity crises
predictably in the wee hours of the morning
leaving him sleep deprived
but his virtue is patience
he never questions her vain displays.
Of the other women -
the three - of indeterminate age
one manages a gallery chic indigenous
bark paintings artifacts from Arnhem Land
travels there half yearly in her four wheel drive
confident of her place in the world
no strings independent.
And the university lecturer
cool collected life comfortable
house car a marriage or two
way in the past an enthusiast
devoted to all things Celt.
Lastly she, newcomer to the scene
the 'duck-shoot protester' cum TV star
sometime actor sometime singer diary keeper
beginning to wonder where her place is.
All four women
bees to his honey pot
available for a small share
of the androgynous apprentice warrior boy
still finding himself emotionally
dark corners of his psyche
quite closed off
difficult
for him to talk
of the man in his past
the violent episode that same man
she just happens to know an actor
she worked with some years ago.
And that boy's hair swept to one side Oscar Wilde
sensual hard-edged Carlton face
melds with Rumbarellas
and Brunswick Street
his steady eyes
holding the hardness
of the grasping eighties
yet warm most kissable mouth.
A young Pan
learning ways of love
from four very different women
a diffident lover wanting to be there wanting not
dreaming of deserts connecting with Koories
travelling free with his didgeridoo
his real passion an outback
dusty spirituality
gentle dreamer
unopened
lotus flower.
She drove home alone most nights
her face not completely dry.
Three years intervened.
She arrived one night at a Coburg house
with a friend to lay some tracks
he was there boarding
tense living
in the all male household.
He introduced her proudly to his dingo bitch
said "She has a beautiful nature"
then told her he has a daughter
nearly three
doesn't get on with the mother
he seemed lost a little lonely it was clear
his head and heart already in the west
of this great continent.
He asked her to stay the night
she said "I've got to go" didn't explain
her detached space too deep now
in her underworld to rise
and be where she was
when she was last
with him
too much water had flown
too much of everything had just gone past.
She said goodbye to the solitary boy
still unsure of growing up
his need to be held his need to be apart.
She'll not forget him so tender and still
a quiet unfolding watchful soul
waiting for something
even he doesn't know
*[excerpt Gate 4 [b] from Twelve Gates]
