The travelling circus town

I live in an invisible town. The big smoke is not so far away, 90 minutes as the crow flies, but my town doesn’t feature so well in the tourism stakes. It’s surprising to me since we draw quite the quirky oddball; artists and keepers of historical facts, tiny house movements and make your own rapper kids clothes workshops. Even my next door neighbour, who looks like a nice old lady, likes my tattoo and tells me it’s time for me to visit the big kangaroo in the alley behind our houses, who she talks with. There is never a dull moment.

This is in a valley in the middle of an old forest and it used to be a big place for finding gold back when the world travelled to find gold. We seem invisible to the created structure of society but we lay open to the mystery and beguiling energy of the Silk Road, a road that could possibly be still in existence today. These are the vortex towns, where it’s inhabitants are more sensitive to other ways of being, either through remembrance or hard knocks.

I have a theory that all the Chinese restaurants you see dotted around the most remote places in the world are actually connected by satellite to the central Chinese headquarters that will slowly take over the world. How else did the Chinese find out about these gold abundant places? Just the convict Aussies from the area……and the Chinese. No other nation. Just the Chinese.

So the Chinese and the law breaking rebels come into this town and leave us with olde houses and olde gravesites and probably a legacy of secrecy to keep “mum” about the place. Because there is gold here, gold that is buried in hard dirt and hard lessons and only those that are willing to do the work will be drawn.

And every now and then there‘s a guest appearance. A juggling artist of any variety show that will tantalise, fundraise, collect the gold coins and move on. The gypsies and vagabonds clothed sheepishly. You see it’s exciting for us to receive guests. We pull out the 19th century silverware and roll out the natural fibre carpet to welcome the tricks and turns. The gold they came for is now in our pockets and the news has spread to lands afar.

There is a railway bridge I cross into town. I usually look out at the railway lines that lead to worlds beyond and wonder. It’s not that I don’t feel at home here, it’s that no one does. But in that sense of homelessness, stirring the war within, a feeling starts to unfold that creates something beautiful and real. The gold can be found by digging, it might also be found by the hard edge of time blowing away the dust and the cobwebs to find the shiny bits beneath.

And we do have a Chinese restaurant but, come to think of it, I know no one that patronises the place. We might be on the verge of something.