How long have I been back? Five minutes? Someone or something or someplace is calling me, calling me insistently. Like the small voice that you hear in the dark when everything is peaceful, it won’t go away.
But where is it? Where am I going?
How did I know this would happen on the day it happened? How did I feel it? And there you were, making me feel like I was back at school…almost punched your arm and ran away….bathing me in the bright white spotlight of your smile. You made me forget myself, thought I was someone else, someone good…
Me and the Taoist. The Taoist and me. We come up with the coolest jibber jabber. This is my last day working in Spain and it has been on the whole a pretty lovely experience. Now, as dear Taoist says, I am no longer slave to the man, I am now slave to nothing but the rhythm of my own spirit. Grass skirt, rumbling volcano, war drums and canoes a-sail on the South Pacific notwithstanding.
People are always very keen to get the measure of me and I am always keen not to let them know when they are right, cos I am contrary like that, but some people, well, they just know me like the back of their hand and there is no point even trying to pull the wool.
The Taoist is one of those people - the fact he can remember everything I ever said verbatim did I say ver.bat.im? has nothing to do with it - of course. This is not news to me but in a sense it is due to the fact that up until recently we haven’t spoken or communicated for nigh on six years. And that in itself is another story and one that will forever remain locked away in the wee box in my soul with the label on the front that reads “secret”.
So when I am on my South Pacific idyll, shaking my hula for my hunky Polynesian war lord, there will forever be a corner of my love shack that is reserved for a Taoist. Should he ever wander by.