Øy Festival

how is it i find myself without paper pen or exercise book and alone. why is it i continue to adhere to plans made with others, have prioritised them over a developing positive social situation. why do i feel i ‘must’ adhere to plans made yesterday only now to find the ‘other’ not here so find myself here, alone, waiting, yet ill equipped for waiting or aloneness.

my thoughts on islandicus have barely yet begun. an island of experience of uniqueness. music that is beyond itself yet drawn into and under and becoming a complex entity within itself. ballard of flannen isle. experimental art with geological, historical and scientific layers.

i have forgotten my neoprene socks amongst all the not knowingness and i must swim without today, it is sand here and all will be well but it shifts me off kilter. that is of course, if i swim, will i swim? i will not swim alone but will the ‘other’ arrive? for without another i will not swim, am not yet brave enough to face unknown ocean alone.

i ponder on the one question i have not dared ask on this island, what of the guy who disappeared, who surely gave himself up to the sea, how has his missing presence impacted on those here this weekend. those organising, those missing him. what is the figure?  95% i think, of survivors who jumped from the golden gate bridge regretted their jump in the very second that they committed to it. did he jump?

my toes are cold. i do not think this an adequate place to stay for the rest of the day, waiting for my afternoon flight. i need to collect my shoes from my case, need more warmth than these wellies give if i am to be here all day. i need my map too, i have no map, how is that? packing became rather hurried and rushed, everything has been left unfinished due to rapid packing caused by the unplanned solo journey here, on foot, when i realised that the arrangements to transport us were not going to happen on time. i ought to know by now that people do not mean what they say, that people cannot be relied on. swimmers, i am here, where are you?

 

i wait alone, toes numb, cold water beckons

i could have stayed in warmth and companionship. i could have brought my belongings.

could have, could have, ill thought plan.

i might wrap up warm and wait on shore

not closeted here in the dark kelp store

closeted kelp store

i wait but you do not come.

wrapped warm, now, i go

 

some hours later

I have learned to be alone because i am afraid of being left out, of being left behind even yet when i am with others. i do not recall a moment of being left behind as a child but there must undoubtably have been such moment for this is a pattern of fear and jealousy i carry.

i watch as my fellow swimmer,  guillemot egg, and her partner walk off up north hill and i want to go, whist after them, yet an afraid to say, may i join you and yet am also too afraid just to follow or go anywhere for plans here keep changing and i am left not knowing, yet relying on others. i am afraid that if i move from here i will be separated from those i am flying with, yet i have already been separated from my belongings and i have no faith that they will be brought here as was the plan…. which plan was that, the third or the fourth? everything changes.

i want my ipad, i want to write. my day has been stolen.

i had planned swimming, walking, writing but instead find myself picking paper from the bin such that i have something to write on because i am separated from my belongings and yet dare not move from where i am. i know i cannot just be here and lose my day, cannot waste my time.

what is the waste? why must i always be busy. what waste sitting in company making idle talk while the hours tick by?

i feel a frustration for not knowing the plans, not being in control, feeling a nuisance that i have left my belongings and am now relying on others and a confusion of not knowing what to do…

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