I enter through a green door which is at the bottom of 5 steps. Seated at a desk is an attractive young woman with eyes averted. Shyly I stand to the side of the desk while noticing red carpet covering an empty floor and stretching away to darkness. “Your interview is at 12.30 and the panel members are unheard, unknowable and incomprehensible”. “Thank you” I mumble. I feel scared because this is an alien place, not an office but a desk at the edge of a mostly dark room. Below ground level. An angry female voice floats in from the darkness.

Love is at the centre of the Universe. It flows through me and is in me. Why do I find it so easy to appear to fail while this power is in me? It is in the sun which warms my skin. It is in the peaceful and purposeful feeding of happy ducks on this river. Love dances on the shimmering blue water. Why is it sometimes so far from my inner self? Perhaps I should just let it flow. In the swim with the experience I most love and enjoy. And working through the painful times. Anyway life is never boring!

A sandcastle with a 5 year old standing in the moat presents itself to my view this lunch time. The child is engrossed in the engineering feat of deepening the channel while keeping the walls and towers intact. These high points rise above the flat wet sand of the beach and proclaim to all who pass that this is a work of splendour, like the castle of the Alhambra in Spain. And the water running from the creek into the surrounding moat will keep out invading crabs and periwinkles who are expected to stage an attack at any moment.

Tom was a man who liked adventure. “Its especially good to be on the road” he said to his daughter. She was many kilometres away at that time and was having an adventure of her own. “I will start here in Sydney and go on a voyage of personal and geographical discovery”. His first priority was to find his suitcase. “Its in this room somewhere” he said to himself. Then his adventure got a lot harder. He had to pack! “Oh no! I hate this!” And somehow, by about 12.30 am on the morning before his flight, he closed his port.

Tom arrived at the airline baggage queue with bags in his hands and under his eyes. After talking with the attractive woman who checked his luggage he felt ten times better. A little later as he walked along the pastel turquoise interior of the aeroplane his mind started to groove to the Tahitian music which was playing. His eyes welled with tears as he thought “my dream of the island of romance is true: this silver bird will soon glide gently out of a warm tropical night, studded with bright stars, and deposit us all in paradise with a French accent".

Time teetered on the brink of reality for Tom. The Sydney sunshine seemed to change far too quickly into a black night. His eyes were transfixed on a small screen which was coloured mostly blue. There was a small yellow plane crossing this blue with a curved line behind it. This map showed that the northern tip of New Zealand was just to the south of the small plane symbol. “We are flying towards the sun and our day will be shorter” he thought. He remained in concentration on the map and hardly noticed the shapely legs of the female flight attendant.

Next day Tom stood on the dock at Papeete and looked at Moorea poking up out of the dark blue sea. Shortly afterwards he was borne over the rolling cool waves towards the mystery of that island. It rose before the swaying ship which finally came to rest in a bay surrounded by mountains thrusting into the soft blue sky. Near the top of one peak was a round hole through which a God with a muscular arm had thrown his spear. Tom looked for his ghost as he walked through a canopy of dark green trees weighed down by thick trunked vines

Tom slid along a narrow track between encroaching green bushes. While the humidity sucked energy from his legs and his throat was dry, he pushed ahead into a little clearing. Sun fell in patches onto the damp grassy earth and a small breath of wind from the far away beach brushed the fronds of the palm trees like a mother smoothing her child’s hair. His glance suddenly fell on a figure carved in black basalt atop a flat rock platform. The Tiki had an expression of equanimity and peace, with a hint of authority. The jungle seemed to hold it in green arms.

Quiet shrouded the small jungle clearing. The Tiki seemed to meditate. Silence filled Tom’s soul with its warm radiation. It was like the touch of the hot sun on his skin only it penetrated to his heart. Though alone he did not notice any fear. His state of mind had changed from its half panic when he missed the local bus as he walked off the ferry. The world with its clocks and crazy rushing was gone, for now. His dream of idyllic isolation in a remote place was here with him . His reverie was broken by fast footsteps on the path behind him.

“Monsieur, do you know you are in a sacred place? I saw you start along this track from the hill above my village. I was worried because the last white person here knocked a rock chip out of the Tiki. He will die in pain early in his life because of that!” Tom looked the dark Polynesian man directly in the eyes. “I come in reverence of your gods and am here to find out how you live and what you believe”. The Polynesian sighed “ Pardonnez moi if I offend your Christianity but our gods now do not fill our children’s hearts with strength as they turn into men and women. Your Jesus was a brave man like our great warrior chiefs of the past but your culture makes them want things and not happiness.”

“Where is your happiness, now?” asked Tom. “My name is Emile. Follow me, please.” The two men left the clearing, climbed over a low hill and then descended quickly along a muddy track to a sunbaked bitumen road. Pickup trucks and small cars moved restlessly in both directions. Having crossed the circle-island road they plunged underneath the heavy green boughs of a huge tree and arrived at a small sunlit beach. Towards one end a rather large man and woman were laying out a simple picnic, while their naked children ran in and out of the transparent water. There was laughter and shouting. When the mother caught sight of the two men she called a greeting, walked up and offered two ripe mangos.

Tom was very thirsty after his walk in the interior of the island and the mango offered to him was like a gift from the abundance of greenery all around him, by the hands of a smiling woman. “Thank You!” After eating, the sparkling water drew him into its cool depths where there were a myriad of colourful fish. But the sun was lowering in the sky and a consultation with his watch saw him hurriedly get dressed, thank his Tahitian companions and rush back along the road to the ferry wharf. Within 40 minutes the island was no more than a grey-blue prominence set against the red western sky.

Meanwhile, back on Tahiti Tom walked “home” to his pension in the down-market suburb of Pirae. Outside a small fibro dwelling he noticed two sick looking taro plants in a dusty garden. The Polynesians here had a much deprived manner of life compared with their brothers and sisters living on Moorea. It seems they had lost the joy of being close to nature and instead lived close to a car/truck clogged main road. He came opposite the darkened door of a small bar just as the sound of men arguing blew like a gust of tropical wind out the door. Two brown bodies fell onto the footpath and writhed in drunken violence in the dirt.

Soon the sound of a police siren echoed through the narrow streets and with a series of French oaths the bruised and bloodied men ran in different directions away from the fight scene. Tom recalled how a fellow guest at the pension had warned him to not drink at all in a Papeete bar. Later that night he ventured back along the same street, with a wary eye for groups of men with seemingly little to do except watch him walk along. His destination was an outside food market where he patiently queued for fried rice and ate alone while enjoying the sight of young people enjoying a night out with cheap food.

Tom sits briefly on his bed in the pension. It is 11pm and the dark humid night surrounds the building with velvet black. “Where is my taxi?” Soon he hears a knock on the door. Therese, the manager, fills the doorway with her large Tahitian body frame. “Charles, the driver cannot come and we must take you to your flight. My husband is getting into our car in the street. Come!” Robert accepts the car keys from his wife’s large hand. “Warm up the car properly” she commands. Robert seemed to Tom to be a quiet man. He did not talk.

The car starts and Robert slips it carefully into first gear. He pulls out into the shabby street with its seemingly permanent large rainwater puddle across two thirds of its width at one point. Tom is not perturbed by the street, which smells of damp earth and rotting vegetation. But he worries that the car is now only one tenth of the way to the airport and has not moved out of first gear or passed the 20 km per hour speed level. He wants to be in the airport queue in time: security officers may take a long time to clear all the passengers for their USA bound flight.

Tom thinks of speaking to Robert about his time problem then wonders if he will understand any English words. Suddenly rain sweeps across the car windscreen and as if jolted into a higher energy state the driver changes into 2nd and then top gear. The small car engine can now be heard to roar and the green Freeway signs saying “Tahiti Fa a Aeroport” swing rapidly overhead like huge spear thrown sideways over his head by an energetic Polynesian warrior. “This car must be warm and Robert is making a break for the airport. Or is he far enough away from Therese to speed?

And this was a Tahitian hurrying! Tom thought back to the lazy day he had at Pointe Venus. He was in the small waves rising up to then fall lovingly onto the dark sand. Suddenly a two grey shiny concave backs, complete with breathing holes, rose and fell rhythmically out of the water at one hundred metres distance. Dolphins! Tom floated with wet warmth all around his body and started to feel at one with the playful mammals as they came closer to the beach. He was alert enough though to hear a splash beside him as a dark swimmer penetrated deep into the next wave.

When she came to the surface and started to swim strongly towards the dolphins Tom admired her glistening dark brown skin and shapely body. The naked woman had long jet black hair. Within a short time she was frolicking with the dolphins, laughing from time to time as she trod water to catch her breath. Their game lasted until the slippery grey mammals decided to go back out to sea. So the Tahitian mammal surfed back in on a wave, walked dripping up the beach and disappeared into a small hut. Her fun had been spontaneous and unhurried. Tahiti culture!

Tom’s dream of beauty and slow times came to an abrupt halt just as the car hurtled up the airport departures ramp and Robert braked sharply. Tom jumped out, helped move his luggage and noted that the passenger queue was not very long. So the rush along the freeway was unnecessary as well as being “not Tahiti”. He shook Robert heartily by the hand and paid him double the taxi fare. Receiving a broad grin from a normally shy face, he joined his fellow passengers waiting glumly to go to Los Angeles, Santiago or Sydney. Places where people hurry all the time. Why?

The Airbus 380 flew swiftly towards the runway over hectares of concrete freeways which occasionally spanned concrete river beds leading from the San Gabriel mountains to the ocean. With a gentle bump we were in Los Angeles and then were crammed like jet lagged sardines in a bus on our way to being checked with suspicion by Homeland Security. While smiles had been frequent on the tropical island they seemed to be in short supply among the burly uniformed men with American accents. But there was the enjoyment of having your fingerprints scanned into the system.

Tom knew he had too much luggage as he manoeuvred his trolley between buses and human animal clogged footpaths on the way to the domestic terminal. He saw primates in uniforms behind a long counter and a strange exhortation from a computer terminal to “self check in”. The line was shorter and in his scrambled egg brain he thought “go for it”. So while there was a friendly enough looking male behind the counter it looked like he would have to enter some text or press the right code to temporarily get rid of his heavy inert travelling companions in suitcase shapes.

But the man at the counter saw his confusion and kindness welled from his heart like warm water out of a volcanic fumarole. “Sir I’ll show you!” He did. Some 6 hours later Tom was being driven in a brand new burgundy Honda along a dark valley with light studded hills arising on either side. It gave him a comfortable “coming home” feeling which was aided and abetted by the fact that his daughter was driving the car and the light studded hills looked like somewhere in Sydney. “I’ve got a kitten” she said.

Its dark outside the small bar which is chock a block full of blues music. All chairs at the bar rail are taken except one beside a woman with quite a full figure. Tom takes that chair. The band is good! Blues like you would expect it to be played in San Francisco. Then the unexpected happens! The guitarist clambers onto the bar while playing and saunters along its length while continuing to create his desired notes. Its different for Tom but kinda fun. This musician is not afraid of heights!

The woman seated beside Tom becomes agitated by the guitarist walking along the top of the bar. “Hey man! Is this how you get to look down my front? Tacky!” The thought goes through Tom’s mind that there is no need to be at a great height to check out her boobs: a large percentage of said objects of interest are visible from where he sits. “Get off the bar!” she says. “OK Ma’am, just let me kick this Budweiser beer out of my way and I’ll be back with the band”. Beer flows along the shiny wooden surface. ”Hey man! You just made me lose my beer!” “Next tune is your favourite” replied the guitarist. Ah, San Francisco!

The cable car pauses briefly at the top of the steep hill. As it starts its descent with dignity, the cable suddenly snaps. Like a restrained horse now set free it starts to accelerate and buck. All the passengers scream and people on the sidewalk stop, look and their mouths gape open like a multitude of small dark caves. It’s a car free day in San Francisco because its Chinese New Year. However a red and yellow dragon approaches the cable car route along a cross street. Actually it straddles the cable car rails just as the car gains high speed on the lower part of the hill!

When the speeding cable car is 50 yards from the Chinese dragon (held up by Chinese people) a sudden localised upward movement on the San Andreas Fault, beneath the city, delivers a tiny earthquake and an upward force on the cable car. It joyfully jumps the dragon, flies through the air for a few seconds and then lands on its four wheels back on the track. Since its now on a flat part of the street, the staff are able to stop it. “That was some ride!” says the African American brakeman. “Anyone want to try it again?” The passengers’ faces are a sea of white and no answer is forthcoming.

Could Tom hire a hot air balloon and float across the Golden Gate? Yes he can. It is blue, yellow and orange with a tastefully decorated basket of white edged with dark brown. He chooses a long sleeved white tee shirt with a check pattern woollen Oregon shirt to cover his upper body. His pants are chocolate brown and his shoes are a matching lighter shade of brown. All in all he is quite a well dressed hot air balloon man. As he gracefully floats above the bridge he collides with an enormous white seagull. It falls into the basket and squawks like an injured soul. “Sorry!” says Tom.

Tom had many experiences in Tahiti and the USA. Have they shown him what his dream is? His happiest visualisation is life with variety, intrigue and laughter. And it ideally will have a spiritual dimension because that is what led him into the jungle in Tahiti and to find out what makes San Francisco and its Bay Area different to Australia. But the spiritual and intellectual knowing of himself matters most. With that precious knowledge he can be true to others. He knows himself as a tolerant and prosperous person who can love. He is lucky to find pleasure everywhere.

Derek had a diabolical way of ringing Dorothy late to ask for a date. She became depressed and down at heart and also was quite unhappy. When they first met she thought he was fine and dandy but now he seemed to have mostly deserted her. She decided to do something. On Saturday at 1 pm, after no friendly contact from him, she turned off her mobile to disconnect Derek. Then Dorothy danced into her kitchen and promptly made a vegemite sandwich. She accompanied it with a deliriously delicious Dresden dressing on a salad. “Damn you Derek, you dolt!” declared Dorothy.

Sally loved to do the samba. As the sultry tones of that sexy music rang out across the dance floor her bottom would sway enticingly to the beat. Sam was just the best at the salsa. His feet would be a blur as he swung his partner under his arm and all the others would cry out ”Super steps Sam!” Suddenly it was the night of the summer social. Sally wore a scintillating shiny frock with many sequins. Sam wore a silk shirt with embroidered Cuban pineapples and sugar cane. But what a shame! The band only played rock and roll! Sally and Sam both sat on chairs all night and engaged in salacious chat with each other.