Cabo San Lucas

Without Prejudice

It looks like some huge prehistoric stone animal come down to the sea to drink, his or her face wet from drinking, I can see the shape and I recognise it. The ears of rock, defined neck. It's a friendly image and a comforting one, the sandy stone colour adds warmth. I want to go there, need to go there, have to go there. Its Cabo San Lucas on the Baja Peninsula. I want to walk under the arch and marvel at its beauty.

I can feel the warmth of the sun drenching in to my bones, wearing sunnies against the glare, wearing bathers and a sarong. I have already ran the pristine white hard packed sand as the sun was coming up. Then back for a shower and a stroll, a leisurely one, hand in hand with someone.

We care not for the celebrity studded landscape and the Papparazzi that go there and take sneaky shots of the rich and famous at play. I would love to be wealthy but I am not sure about being famous. It seems to be great but I am such a private person I would hate to be under scrutiny all the time. The public perception, anyway. 

They live a lovely life, celebrities, they know they do, we know they do, single life for me is like being rich anyway as I can do what I want when I want, how I want all the time now, and it is so freeing to be like that. I can vac at 11pm, or eat at 2am. No one to tell me not to read, or do this and I don't feel like it.

I have come up to QLD now and can decide to stay for the winter months, to write and see where it takes me. Writing is hard work, don't let any one tell you any different. It's a discipline and a joy, it can be great and it can be sad, and I have no idea where the flow comes from. The torrent of words, the waterfall of words that have to be sorted and make sense to the reader.

The discipline comes easy, I have written for ever. As soon as I could write I did, then after Lauren died I didn't want to write. I hated my writing, it was trite, meaningless, full of sorrow and pain. I just could not write, was not willing to even try until last year. I had an article published in the paper and won a weekend away and that gave me a big buzz. But I was not willing to try, any more.

Even when Lauren visited me in the night and whispered "Write" I didn't believe it. I asked her if she meant letters and she said, 

"No, just write"

I didn't believe in ghosts or spirits, I was very cynical. But last year my Brother Dave said to me,

"Go home and write"

I had just done a newsletter for him. Dave owns a Franchise Business called Superfinish and he has something like 40 people working for him. His "troops", and he likes to "gee" them up, so he had something to say but didn't know how to word it. I worded it for him and it took me about half an hour.

"You're fucking brilliant", he said, "Go home and write"

"Write what ?"

"Why not stories, stories about your ex hubby who was a real okker character"

And I went home and still put writing to one side. Then Dave rang and Camp Eden contacted me, where was I with my goals ????? I had written 3 goals while I was at Camp Eden for the following twelve months. I didn't believe them when I wrote them, I had written them down just to please the Life Coach, Barry...

So one day I decided (for once ) to do what my brother had told me and wrote a true, funny story about my ex being arrested at The Airport in Paris. And then I wrote another and another. Then I knew I had to revisit the past to get to my future and it was just as bad as I feared. The writing about the past was fearsome, loathesome, but I had to do it. I had to write about it so I could let it go.

To Be Continued