12. The Power of One

I'm not into numerology, nor crystals nor proclamations of the end of the Mayan calendar, but over the weeks of my closing all the chapters of my past life, some interesting numbers have come up.  I closed the business on 20.01.2011. I locked the doors and returned the keys at 11.01am.  What's left of my world (tax files, etc) are stored in Locker 11. I flew out of Sydney at 10.10am on 11.02.2011.   My number one handsome son, who is interested, and does know about this, tells me that 11 is a transforming number; a new beginning.

Google, the source of infinite wisdom states of Number 11:       "You have the potential to be a source of inspiration and illumination for people. You possess an inordinate amount of energy and intuition. There is so much going on in your psyche that you are often misunderstood early in life, making you shy and withdrawn. You have far more potential than you know. You galvanize every situation you enter. You inspire people, but without your conscious effort. Energy seems to flow through you without your controlling it. This gives you both power and sometimes emotional turmoil. 

You can be extremely diplomatic and tactful. You are also patient and cooperative. You work well with groups and somehow find a way of creating harmony among diverse opinions. You enjoy music and poetry and require a harmonious environment. You have an eye for beauty and a fine sense of balance and rhythm. You have healing capabilities, especially in such fields as massage, acupuncture, physical therapy, and counseling. You are a sensitive and passionate lover; your perceptiveness makes you aware of your partner's needs and desires, which you are able to fulfill with almost magical delicacy. However, when you feel you have been mistreated or jilted, you can react with devastating power.

You are a fine companion and possess a good sense of humor. When you have found your niche in life and begun to realize your true potential, your rewards will more than compensate for your trials earlier in life.

WELL, HOORAY!  THAT'S PRETTY GOOD NEWS!  

2010 has been without exception the most troubling and rough year of my life.  I'm a survivor, but there were times I didn't think I'd pull through. Just as I managed one steeplechase, I'd fall into another hole;  as I dug myself out of that one, I'd sink in the quicksand.  Out of one tunnel of horrors, into another. Every brick in the wall named Trust was torn down pebble by pebble until the only one I could turn to was myself.

Part of my frustration was that almost NONE of the problems I had were of my bad management, nor of my irresponsibility, but I had to handle the fallout.  What doesn't kill you, we all know, makes you stronger.  So from now on, there is one path only:  onwards.  Upwards.  And on my Own.

Anyway, it's done. 

The night before I left Sydney, I  dreamed I was in a car with an auntie in a green hat.  We were driving uphill. My brakes failed. My accelerator cable failed. The car started sliding downhill, crashing into bushes, and bollards and fences.  I looked over my shoulder and watched the car careening from side to side and into the flotsam and jetsam of my life in slow motion.  "We'll just have to wait for this to stop on its own" I said to the auntie in the green hat.  The road levelled out, the car slowed down, and slid quietly up against the trunk of a very large shady tree.  We got out, unharmed.

I love dreams.

I'm on the first part of my Great Big Amazing Incredible Journey. A hairdryer-free ninja, weighed down with 7kg of photographic and computer gear on my back;  10 kg of clothes and 2 kg of anti everything medications dragged in an excited wheelie bag behind me, one stamp in my new passport, and a set of twitching novice wings.

I sold my car on the way to the airport, and asked the new owner to drive me there. I bade it a sad farewell, and also thanked it for transporting me over 100,000 kms around New South Wales in safety, warmth and shade.  For giving me time and space to listen to great music and to escape from lunatics when I needed to. I apologised to it for the missing hubcaps and the fist sized dent in the bonnet that appeared when I wasn't there.  I asked it to keep my secrets.

I took the ferry to a fundraiser for the Queensland floods at the Opera House, and I cried with emotion.  I visited the art gallery on the hottest day for 150 years where heat exhausted throngs flopped around on the limestone steps like penguins.  I bid farewell to the traffic, to the road rage, to the glittering waterways and the screaming cicadas and the toots of the ferries and a city I loved to the edges of my heart.  I said goodbye temporarily to my dearest friends. 

I sat in the departure lounge, counting each flip on the destination board as a blessing. 

Strapped in my seat on my way to everywhere, I watched the movie 147 hours, about a young man who fell down a crevasse in the Grand Canyon, and had to cut off his own arm to free himself when it had become trapped under a falling boulder.   Ironically, this was a metaphor for this past year;  for I have lost a great deal, but I have gained my freedom, however painful.  

I had a wad of cash from the sale of my car, 2kg of tablets to ensure I don't succumb to anything nasty while I'm away, and a box of 10 condoms, Super Glide Glow In the Dark, a farewell gift from my best friend.  Apparently, these three things are a dead giveaway to customs that I was a drug dealer, but they let me slip through their net without having to chop up my anti malarials to check they weren't something sinister.

Having been in a long relationship, for a long time, I'd find it easier to use my new Iphone4 than a condom.  Never mind that the thought of even getting down and dirty with ANY man right know absolutely freaks me out and makes me break into a rash of the non transmittable kind because I'm pitted with emotional holes.   A girlfriend once called me on our Dire Emergency Only Line because she was up close and personal with a foreskin and didn't know how to handle it.  With equal terror, I replied that I didn't know either, being a Jewish Princess and all that.  But that if I ever found out, we could compare our experiences.

So I'll know who to call if The Condom Situation eventuates.   The 21 year old daughter of my hostess and gift giver told me to practice with a banana.  I'm still mystified as to how a banana can prevent stds.  Anyway with the dreadful damage by Cyclone Yasi  to banana crops which are now going for almost ten dollars a kilo,  I'll keep the condoms in their box until I have the opportunity to seize the day - or hot, fulsome nights, with someone more practiced than I.

Another friend advised warned it would be passion killer to have to rush through the Grand Bazaar or Djma el Fnaa looking for condoms at 2am when I have a heavy breathing carpet seller in my boudoir.  He would certainly have something to sulk about, even if I were to keep him busy plucking petals for the Turkish bath while I went out trying to explain what I wanted, or my having to explain how I returned with a plastic raincoat!  You can bet a gosleme that he wouldn't be there when I returned!  But wouldn't it be more depressing to return home from a trip to the exotic locations of Marrakech, Istanbul and Kathmandu with Condoms Intacto, my having failed the "Ma, he's making eyes at me" test?

So I made sure I packed my kohl, in the same packet as the condoms.  You never know how my luck might change, now that I'm a super 11.