Standing at the Shore

It was like the beginning and the end of a tale were laid out in vivid colour and the middle was being fleshed out. Like, I was beginning to see the light in the spaces between the stars.

Soon, we reach the coast of Western Australia. The sea air feels like a homecoming for my skin. I know we are going home.

Then I see it. There is a feeling of resonance. It’s a place a few kilometers away.

We drive past and then pull over. After about half an hour of disgruntled conversation, sitting in the car with my partner, I edge towards saying something like: it’s one of those moments (subtext: trust me). She does.

We take off. We turn and drive in.

I walk past the tourist boards speaking reams of scientific information. It’s all connecting up inside me, like highways forming in my brain matching the experiences I have had across this life.

“Stromatolites”, that’s what the sign is saying. They are plants. But, it is speaking of connections within me, connections with people and connections with place.

Stromatolites. They live on the shore, at the edge of the water and land. With the changing tide they are inside the water, then outside the water. Underwater they gather nutrients, a kind of breathing in with their whole bodies. And then, when the tide falls, they breathe out air.

They are the Old People. They stand at the shore. They are inside the water, outside the water. Breathing in, breathing out. Standing at a boundary across space and time. Both inside and outside the water, breathing in and breathing out with their whole bodies: feeling everything.

They are the Old People. The origin of air. The first plants on earth; 2 billion years old. Today, Indigenous people still call them the Old People.

The journey feels complete. I’m coming home.