yesterday seems like it was last year and the day before even further away from me, but these days were very special days and whatever time makes them distant the quality of them remains fresh and new.
i recall waking up early friday morning, meeting my animal responsibilities with the kind of joy reserved for the saints of the world, catching a train to bondi lost in the last few chapters of 'the sacred history', time devolved into the beauty of truth and the radiance of a perfect sydney day, catching a bus down to the beach, meeting my friend dominique for a coffee and both of us feeling the attraction of the force from the surf, we acknowledged without words we are linked by invisible thread and the mark of the tao on our skins in exactly the same place, man the conditions were supreme in sydney's most famous landmark. i was at total peace, no time existed, opened right up like a ripe peach to the universe. i could have played all day like a dolphin reborn but dominique had an appointment so i spent an hour hanging out in the bookshop in the city where again time dissipated, oh how i love bookshops, abbeys in particular where ascending the short flight of steps lay a 'galaxy' aka the science fiction bookshop of this city. 
i wander through the isles, my eyes scan and assess the volumes of interesting stuff, these days im very selective about what i read, it has to be excellent and i finally find a volume of gene wolfe's duloagy, 'latro in the mist' about a roman mercenary who while fighting in greece suffers a head injury which allows him to see and interact with the gods until each night he sleeps and forgets his past, yes a little like myself perhaps. 
i spend some time downstairs, i come away with a book by churban on freemasonry. churban wrote some very well researched books on the gnostics and the systems they use, he also wrote the best crowley biography so he comes with good credentials. 
reconnecting with dominique we have an amazing vegan malay lunch in a strange new asian area we discovered  in the labyrinth of side streets near the george street cinema and a lovely evening stroll down to the rocks for the kooky markets where i met a long lost friend minty, fated to be, as we have been orbiting one another for years. 
i alsways bump into someone when i am out, it's bizarre, no matter where i travel someone will find me.
then dominique and i ended up in a club, with 'good' soft music playing at a level people can still hold a conversation without struggling, sitting in a fur lined white room with a smoke machine and soft purple and pastel lights changing slowly, with a group of people talking about their travel experiences. dominique plays host, she's very good at it, engaging everyone, drawing out their stories and extracting some embarrassing tales of woe and near misses. 
dominique is canadian, malay and hawaiian but lives in germany, she's tattooed and pierced, intelligent and sophisticated, deeply spiritual, she's got the face of an old friend. 
we head back wandering through the streets of the city, i watch people dressed up as gangsters molls, in xmas party outfits, acting crazy before the night has even begun, alcoholic spirits swirl everywhere looking for weak hosts to devour, lives to destroy. sydney is a heathen, a hedonistic whore, built for pleasure, it has no esoteric history or depth, it's statues are pointless tributes to pointless things, some of the buildings like the new 'toaster' have no imagination, they are the function of some weird scheme to generate money, no beauty, no connection to soul or spirit but it's glamourous and sexy and has a certain shallow appeal i can't help but flirt with.
i train it home, arriving at 3am where i fall into a deep sleep, waking up around 12 noon i leave for work.
i have to drive into the city and take my clients for a walk around glebe and later a meal but a number of people come over and start talking to me, it's my aboriginal tee shirt, they shake my hand and looks surprised when i tell them i'm not aboriginal, a hungarian man refuses to let me go, he wants to show me his book on languages but i have to cut him short, i have hungry clients whom are impatiently looking as though they could become aggressive at any moment.
after work i return to the city and stay the night at kate's, she's such a lovely host, she has even made spinach pie and around midnight i have a radox bath and the tension leaves my body. i fall into a bed and sleep claims me faster than i can turn out the bed light.
in the morning wilde child arrives and we all head off to canberra to see our man sk and his partner sam. 
wilde one shows me how to use the gps called 'tom'
but tom apparently takes things into its own hands and directs us further south than necessary, through lovely coastal towns until we stop in a town called bury and reassess our coordinates, drink coffee and buy some fantastic cakes. bury is beautiful, pristine sleepy town where everyone seems happy and peaceful but time pushes us forwards while they are pushed back, it's a strange tension. 
we drive through kangaroo valley, listening to vivaldi and handel, looking at trees and the sun's rays that pass through the leaves, we look at the clouds, we look at the land curve and bend and twist, homes from emily bronte country, large estates with acres of land sprawling out, majestic cows, sheep and goats, crows follow us, ravens and jackdaws wait upon posts as we gaze at the mountains and rocks, we glimpse the heavens, it's all so beautiful. 
on the freeway wilde child and i realise we need to buy tickets for tonight as it may have sold out, the clock is ticking and we may be somewhat later than first anticipated unable to buy them at the door, but fortunately we can buy tix over the internet which we do.
when we get to canberra sk awaits, he tells me he waited for us to arrive before going onstage. i wonder if that's true or is he just being polite, i don't think sk's ever one to 'just' be polite, i feel somewhat touched he would wait but he and sam have always been good to me, always made us feel special. the lady at the door offers to refund our money as sk has put us on the guest list but we feel indebted enough and we would always choose to support our friend whenever we can. it's why i never burn church cds for anyone. go buy them, these people need to be paid, they are not rich like the stones or bowie, they don't have any other way to generate money and they make beautiful music and art for the world to appreciate. it's important to acknowledge and reward it.
inside the alternative bookshop we manage to stand at the back where we have good views and the sound is excellent. steve launches into his set, and tells us it's the 'skccs' the steve kilbey christmas canberra special and proceeds to play some of his best songs, yeah i have head them hundreds of times, live, solo and with various bands he preforms with, and of course with the church but when you see sk play solo it's something very unique.
it's from a time that came and went long ago, a time where people channelled their spirits and muses and had no real idea of how they would preform, a time before slick stage managed precision met showbiz, this is not showbiz, yeah it's entertaining but there is something else at work, spontaneity, celebration of the sprit of art, an interaction with an audience that exchanges on various levels, engagement and challenges, it's very funny to watch steve chat and talk his way through, between his songs. he speaks like no other musician, he talks about the heydays of the church as though he was detached from it all, he makes you laugh but at the same time you feel sad by the fact the church seemed to blaze a trail but always be under acknowledged and under paid or ripped off for their experiences, he is respected by most good musicians, writers, creative people, every one seems to have been influenced by something he has done, he thwarted fame whilst almost at odds with it, never sold out way before it was fashionable to never sell out, in fact even that is a marketing strategy these days. the one thing sk had that no one else matched was his authenticity, that's the jewel in the crown for artists as well as everyone else. you can never be happy until you are true to yourself.
plus we must not forget his songs, these were spells he once said, and they were spells for me, i don't know how that works, it's magick, i heard it, i felt the spell at work, it only ever happened with the church, and the waterboys to an extent, i must have tuned in to that frequency and something in me activated.
the result is more than 30 years later i'm still watching sk play these songs and they sound as vibrant and refreshing as the first time i heard them, tonight sk palys guitar with ease snd confidence, his style refined and more comfortable than ever but his vocals have reached a new level as well, and it's impossible to not be impressed as he soars through and reads the hilarious 'zigger jacket' which sounds better than ever as steve races through the drama to the tragic conclusion. 
so at the beginning of the second set when sk mentions he has a friend 'captain mission' in the audience who really likes this next song and dedicates 'keeper' to me, i'd be lying if i said my eyes didn't tear up. 
i was deeply touched, moved would not be an understatement. i don't feel like this often, it really felt like christmas had come.

yeah old captain mission driving home at 5am in the morning after one of the best nights, happy as a clam, drives straight to terrigal beach and throws himself into the ocean, sunlight blazing on the horizon, it feels like a baptism of sorts, maybe just another regular day but most defiantly my soul was nourished and my spirit set ablaze and i needed the surf to remind me the best is yet to come. god blessed me, i know this now, how i ended up in australia, how i ended up making my  own music, writing and seeing the church play time after time and catching steve playing all those solo shows, how i am healthy, happy and at peace with the universe how i have such lovely friends. these are blessings, and though time may ravage my flesh and bone, my memories will always be very rich.