When I am home two things happen without fail. I sleep….long and very deep. And I cry. I noticed that on my last two stints back the energy I carried was so heavy I ended up in bed for days. It all made sense after Gilda shared a dream she had of me. I was throwing not stones, but a hail of rocks, huge ones, at everyone. ‘Auriol, you were so angry no one could come near you…’
Why did it make sense you ask? I pick up on people’s energy. On good days it’s great as I can tune in so completely I read them like an open book. Being home is a different matter altogether. It’s fears about my career, the state of my heart and a great amount of my Father’s energy that crashes down on me. I always feel as though I am losing my mind slightly when I am here…It is harder to reach for music, for friends in the only place I ever felt safe. A place that is as beautiful as home is.
Seldom do we give thought to how the energy of others affect us, or how we are being drained. I do not get sick like many do. I just become very sad. I asked my Mother to take those fears and place them in the hands of her prayer group at church. I am a firm believer in the power of collective thought. I already feel better, but it was my girlfriend’s response that made me laugh and pause. ‘You cannot hide your frustration and fears behind the light all the time.’ This was said in very rude Afrikaans.
I mentioned getting tired of my own rhetoric somewhere. God I am so tired of being nice, putting up with people’s bullshit that literally the only space I get to howl and swear and tell people to fuck off is when I sing. I do not like losing control of my emotions. Yet there is so much I am not in control of. I can’t help where my heart wants to meander towards.So I write music while we debate it over. I don’t know where to turn to so my career progresses. This was the first time the thought of leaving music crossed my mind. So I do what I can. I listen to Ben Harper’s music as it keeps me on the straight and narrow. I sit in the sun, I talk. I do everything but tell people to Fuck off and go to hell. There are people I need to call and say….fuck you really hurt me.
It took being home to really see. My friend gifted me with a painting where Ravens are circling me as I sing. It is beautiful the way the light is reflected on my skin while those dark birds hover. It fits in with a song I tried writing yesterday where I sang, ‘With your eyes, keep my thoughts warm. With your smile my shadows bloom radiant like the first dawn…’ I am always reaching out…maybe because I place my truest thoughts in music no one hears it. Also, because I sing those vulnerable thoughts become armoured to my skin, a wall I place between myself and everyone. Even those I love and care for.
So let me be honest with myself first. I don’t know how I will get through half the shit I have to deal with. And yeah, other people deal with worse. Yeah, I have good friends around me. I am not good at reaching out, asking for help, inviting people into my life. Or asking them to stay.
I should learn the lesson my father is struggling with, as I do not want to leave this life in pain and with regrets. I don’t know how I will do it or if it will work out. But I am gonna try my best regardless