Neroli…

Some say it was the name of an Italian princess, but for me it’s spring in Andalucía.

Neroli is the essential oil distilled from the flowers of Seville oranges, and it was the scent of Granada, Córdoba, Mérida, and most of the pueblos between them when I walked the Camino Mozárabe. The streets and squares of my stops were lined with citrus trees in blossom. The air smelled fresh and pure, tangy, a little sharp, and full of the promise of summer.

Like a princess, perhaps?

Probably not like a pilgrim!

This morning I stepped out the back door and stopped in my tracks. I was in Spain. Late afternoon. Road’s end. Treading on cobbles strewn with white petals, inhaling the name of a princess.

Spain? How?

The lemon tree is in flower! It’s not quite neroli, but it’s close.

But then, Melbourne isn’t quite Granada…or Córdoba…

It’s late spring here at the bottom of the world, but if I close my eyes, that scent and its associated memories can almost make my toes throb as though I’ve walked 30kms. Almost!

My memory of those days is becoming like mobile phone photos.

Hazy and soft focus.

Selective.

I’m glad I had a journal and my sister’s camera with me when I walked. Now, when I look back, those photos and scrawls balance my tendency to romanticise. They are there to remind me of the hard yards, the bigger pictures and the non-pastel days; the harsh light and the cold winds; the fear of failure; the sombra that is the contrast to all my remembered sol.

I’m in conversation with Monsignor Tony Doherty next week – do read his guest post here if you haven’t already,  and check the Events and Media tab above if you’d like to come. My prep for that event has made me reflect on my amigo, and our time walking together. Always, when people enquire after him, what they want to know about is my wrestle with desire. Rarely am I asked about the secret he carried, and the pain it gave him. Rarely does anyone want to discuss the shame that he felt, for himself and his brother. That may be politeness and good manners, but I wonder sometimes if it is more about a collective unwillingness to dwell in those places because we feel helpless. I certainly did, in the face of his story. Nonetheless, while I know that conversations about suicide and abuse are difficult, I do believe they are vital for understanding, and hopefully, for change.

So I’m glad that Tony’s dialogue with me comes now, in spring, when thoughts turn to horse racing and pretty hats; to lazy afternoons and cricket whites; to roses and wisteria. I want to remind myself to check the shadows sometimes, when all this sunshine can dazzle and distract me. I feel safe to do that in Tony’s company, because his generosity, humour and compassion make it possible to walk into any shadow and know that there will be a yellow arrow waiting when we walk out the other side – which we surely will, with him guiding!

It was lovely to surrender to that moment of citrus recall this morning. Seductive, enticing, sensual – and completely sin-free. But I owe it to my amigo, and to all of those who carry loads that cost them dear, to remember that the camino was not always painless – and that it would be foolish to expect that of any road.

A bush camino in springtime...

A postscript…

I’ve just been told that bookings are now full for the event with Tony. Sorry if you missed out. If you were really really keen to come, I’m told that you can call the number on the booking form and explain that you are a subscriber here and they may put you on a waiting list – but for now, registrations have closed.

And while I’m talking about subscribers, a hearty thankyou for the valuable feedback after the previous post. All of it has been noted, and I’m feeling less like a serial stalker, and more like a contributor to a village conversation. I’m very grateful.

 

The coming of the Duchess

This post has nothing to do with walking, but a lot to do with SINS!

Today I went to see a rehearsal of The Duchess of Malfi. Lust, murder and poetry!

Hugh Colman and I adapted John Webster’s astonishing and lurid script, and this production is being directed by John Bell. It will open at the Opera House on July 11th. If you click on this link, you can see the trailer!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=bgy-GkSQ7Mk

And if you click on the next link, you can meet the cast.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OC3n8NDSH2U

I think I will just say that I am bursting with excitement and can’t wait for opening night. This is a master class in sinning – and theatre.

And for something completely different!

The Fairfax papers in Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane published a little Q and A with me in their Traveller section. You can read it here. Another link!

http://www.theage.com.au/travel/frequent-flyer-ailsa-piper-20120621-20q67.html

Thanks to Robert Upe for the fun questions.

 

Why is lust so seductive?

First things first – I survived the monologue! After twelve years off the theatre’s stages, I got through it intact.

In fact that smiling face on the left is me after the event, still in “costume,” signing books and enjoying myself.

Who’d have thought it?

Thank you to my dear friend Nina for taking the photo and proving to me that I really did have fun.

The response has been overwhelming, and has made me very grateful that I pushed myself to do it. I’ve honoured my original intention, as well as the promise I made to my sin-donors – to write a monologue for performance. The question now is whether it has another life. I’ve had lots of encouraging – even determined – calls and emails suggesting it should have a life of its own.

I’ll see how the dust settles. I can now see a way to write it, and am tempted by the possibility of expanding it to about 75 minutes. But I’m really not sure about performing it. That was a strange experience. I remember standing in the wings about to go onstage, and then I remember tucking happily into my sleeping bag and feeling such pleasure that it was done – and I recall nothing in between! A bit like the days when I walk and am able to see myself from outside myself.

Anyway, I think a script could be given over to one of my many wonderful actress friends, but some people have suggested it needs me in it. That makes  a kind of sense,  coming from those who were part of that invited audience and who knew the “Ailsa” they were watching was the Ailsa who had walked and written it, but I think that other audiences would simply watch the story unfold and, hopefully, enjoy it as a full-blooded performance by a wonderful actor – if it can be made theatrical, as I hope.

SO…that’s the news.

And what of what I learned?

For me, the most intriguing conversations I’ve had as a result of the performance have been about the issue of lust. For the monologue, I chose to focus on particular sins and characters that could fit together to tell one coherent strand of the book, because I knew it was impossible to cover everything. That’s why there is a book!

Part of the strand I dramatised was my battle with desire for the amigo character, because his story spoke to so many of the sins I carried.

Several people have commented that they found my expressed desire confronting, both onstage and in the book – particularly on my husband’s behalf. That they would not want their partner or wife putting those admissions into the public sphere. That my husband is brave for being able to hear it. That it is too much.

That intrigues me. It ignores the fact that I state very clearly that I didn’t act on the temptation. It also ignores the fact that my husband was potentially just as likely to have such desires in my absence – after all, marriage does not stop us from feeling our natural human urges. Or did I miss something? And it ignores the fact that I attempted full and frank disclosure, since confession was at the root of the story. That one of my core beliefs is in the power of confession and its potential to free us, to offer us space to be authentic and to live large.

Was I to let myself off the hook? Surely that would have defeated the point? Surely it would have been a lie not to confess? And that would have been the sin!

What perplexes me most, though, is that the mere possibility of sexual betrayal is more compelling than the actuality of my lived incidences of pride and anger – my real “sins”. Pride in particular (my great “sin”) is a nasty, mean-spirited thing. It shuts others out, refusing to allow them to offer assistance or knowledge. As I learned at the very beginning of the project, it is a sin that sets itself up as the strong/smart/more experienced/more capable one. It is the sin that says “No, thanks, I know way better than you and I’m just fine without you.” It’s hurtful, and doesn’t allow others to share their wisdom or strength. It is arrogant and cold.

I could go on, but I suspect you get the drift of my ponderings.

What is this fascination with sexual desire? With lust? It seems such an ordinary thing to me. A normal thing. If we didn’t feel it in some small way – whether simply admiring another’s physical beauty, or recognising a powerful urge – would we still be fully alive? See, I don’t think that the thinking or experiencing of desire is – of itself – a bad thing. It’s a mark that we are awake, isn’t it? Like anger, it’s not the response or emotion, it’s what we do with the response. Well, I reckon…

Anyway, I’m mulling over it, but thought I’d float the idea and see if others find it curious. What say you?

Meanwhile, to elevate this post above my ruminations, I was sent a magnificent Neruda poem by Andrew, who is, I believe, a subscriber to the blog (as you know I can’t tell who subscribes and who pops in), and who has sent me many wonderful offerings for which I am most grateful. This one arrived yesterday and I’m mad for it. It’s Pablo Neruda. No need to say more…

From so much loving and journeying, books emerge.
And if they don’t contain kisses or landscapes,
if they don’t contain a man with his hands full,
if they don’t contain a woman in every drop,
hunger, desire, anger, roads,
they are no use as a shield or as a bell:
they have no eyes, and won’t be able to open them,
they have the dead sound of precepts.

Thanks Andrew. It is beautiful.

Thanks also to Arts Centre Melbourne for creating the scenario in which I ultimately had to write the monologue. I’d never have done it without you and your supporters, and I’m glad I did.

Gracias to the astonishing Rachel Burke for miraculous light, and to Peter – my true north – for patience and advice in the fearful moments. And to these old friends, who were pulled out for the occasion, to give me courage and authenticity. The mighty Merrells…

Finally, a little housekeeping…

Some book events coming up. Please check the tab above – EVENTS AND MEDIA – to see if there is something that appeals. As you know, this pilgrim loves company.

Thanks for reading…for journeying…