Yesterday, I took a walk through the woods near my house. 

It’s a beautiful place. Deep and secluded, the path weaves through trees and over rivers, from heights and expansive views to growth so dense you could mistake it for a Tibetan rainforest. I’ve spent hours exploring it, and there’s still more to see, so many hidden paths to discover and so much to do. 

I traverse the rocky terrain and stray from the path when I feel like some light exercise. I take my dogs with me when I feel like leading them on an adventure. I sit by a stream and meditate when I feel at peace, or need it. And when it rains, I find somewhere to stand, and gaze at the flowing river, watch the leaves and bark all around sparkle, see the colours come to life. No one else ventures through when it’s so much as overcast, so I’m never disturbed. Sometimes I just close my eyes and let the light touch of rain fall across my skin. It’s truly a sanctuary.

And I didn’t find it. I wouldn’t even know it existed now, but I have a friend who’s not inclined to walk the paths we see in front of us. A very close friend. I have him to thank for this discovery, and for many other things.

On this journal, he uses the name ‘Qualohatare.’ We’ve known each other for a little less than a year, but already, we’ve shared our deepest thoughts and changed each others’ lives. Together, we’ve explored abstract and innovative perspectives on everything that matters to us. We’ve journeyed through thought and emotion alike. I’m proud to be able to say it. 

Today, he turns seventeen, and that’s why I’m dedicating this entry to him.

While I walked the same direct, straightforward path through the woods that I’ve walked a thousand times before, he turned down an alternate route. I’d never noticed it before; if I had, I must’ve thought it led to a dead end. But I followed him, and we walked where the road took us, leaving the rest of the world in our footsteps. We crossed streams, rocks and trees that have since become familiar and welcoming to me, and searched the undergrowth for seclusion.

Even as I write this, it occurs to me that this account is as literal as it is metaphorical.

When I travel down that path, I seek solitude. I prefer to go alone, or as I mentioned earlier, with my dogs, but they can’t talk anyway. I’m introspective by nature; most of the time, I seek seclusion wherever I go. Perhaps it’s just me, or maybe it has to do with the artificial nature of typical human interaction. I’ll explore that in future entries.

Yet I’m happy to walk that path with him anytime. There’s a difference with us, as there is with so few others.

He puts it best. So I’ll finish this entry with his own words.

“Being alone is wonderful… what’s more wonderful is when you find someone with whom you feel alone, even when you’re together.” 

Happy birthday, Qualohatare.

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“Out of the blue, everything seems so new

The sun rising lights up my face
Fading from green, no more thoughts to deceive
For seasons of lost hope may change 

So many different colours
The colours keep changing 

Moments in time when the words didn’t rhyme
Unsure what the future would hold
As days turned to nightsI chased rainbows of light
Finding no gold, no magical fountain of gold

 So many different colours
The colours keep changing
So many different ways to look at things
I turn around, I’m upside down again
If nothing ever changes, it’s my point of view
That I can’t lose 

The skies fiery red, I will journey ahead
To show you how far I’ve flown
New day in my life, flashing hope by design
I’ve finally found my way home

 So many different colours
The colours keep changing
So many different ways to look at things
If you’ve fallen down, you have to get back up again
So many shades of everything
Now I see with open eyes a brighter world within
The skies, forever changing, that’s the point of view
I just can’t lose

 So many different ways to look at things
If we’ve fallen down, we have to get back up again
So many different ways the colours change
Every time I turn around, we’re hanging on the edge
Our skies, forever changing, that’s the point of view
I give to you 

I know that time will see us through

I hope the colours soon find you” – Shadow Gallery, ‘Colours’

It was when I took a fortnight’s break from music that I began to notice another kind of melody, playing around me, all the time. Not in the silence, for silence is a rare gift here, and I have already come to hear that sweet sound, to some extent. No, I mean it literally. There is music playing in a soundscape, all around us, everywhere.

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I noticed it on my way home from school one day, a few months ago. I felt heavy-headed, foggy from a persistent cold, and the sun was setting. Everything felt a little surreal. The brighter lights and faded colours immersed my attention at first. I could’ve written books about them. But as I was leaving the highway, that intrusive, polluted road that shattered all tranquillity once before started to strike me in a very different way.

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I noticed a rhythm in the terrible thunder of trucks passing by. Each streaking car reached its own crescendo as it approached, then died down as it faded from sight. And in the same way that each car contributed to the traffic, every engine formed a blend of noise. A melody in itself.

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But something of an ugly one… I was never one to favour the sight or sound of traffic. It’s extremely disruptive.

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It faded behind me as I walked into my quieter neighbourhood. The sounds of rushing trucks and cars lingered for a while, growing more distant, until they vanished into a different sound. The sound of my own feet hitting the ground, and the change and keys jingling in my pocket. A background noise… and it stayed with me for the rest of the journey home.

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Throughout that journey, I took in the other sounds in a way I never had before. And no, I’m not talking about the stereotypical imagery – birds chirping in the trees, or children laughing in a far-off playground. That would’ve been nice, but I heard none of that.

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I heard a car or two pass by at regular intervals, drowning out my footsteps just for a moment.

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I heard myself say “Hi” to a lady walking her dog down the sidewalk.

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I heard a door open and close somewhere nearby.

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I heard a young man rolling his bin down a driveway.

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All ordinary, everyday sounds. So many times over the past few years, I’ve heard this noise and thought of it as nothing more than that – noise. Only in this normal, secluded journey did I finally hear what’s escaped my ears for so long.

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A song. A soundscape.

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All these sounds I hear, all the ordinary, everyday noises, form a rhythm. They contribute to a pattern, with the backdrop and the foreground effects all coming together to form a very unique, all-encompassing melody. These sounds can tell you more about the world than days of studying the human environment, if you care to listen. And more than that… they can play the most beautiful song in the world. They can play the song of the world itself. And wherever you go, wherever you are, you can always hear it.

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You just need to learn to listen.

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“Listening to everything your ears can bring and mind decipher
Every glance and each advance, the vast expanse diminishing
Ponder your own relevance, intelligence, your very being
Contemplate validity in eternity with open eyes

I want to feel winds of red upon my face
And I want to see halos draped across the sky
And I want to know a thousand ways to bridge the gap
And I want to be all knowing

I’d self-relieve quite readily the sanctity of ignorance
And now and then refute the Zen that harness men so readily
Take today, I’ll find my way to yesterday or our tomorrow
Take the now, the knowing how, the won’t allow, take everything 

I want to feel warmth of suns upon my face
And I want to see cities stretched across the sky
And I want to know a thousand years beyond my ending
I want to be all knowing I want to feel, I want to see, I want to know, I want to be

Break the chain, swallow depiction, spectral allure preying upon your reverence
Relinquish your god, bury your cradle, anesthetize the ghosts and lies controlling, feeding, masking the you Bury the past, bury the future, stasis of mind fraying combined progression
But you’re not in control, not of your future, not your past, not your hate, not me
‘Cause I’ll find truth in me” – Portal, ‘Severance’

Hello.

So here I am, writing my first entry in this public journal; and here you are, reading it. If you don’t know me, you’re probably reading this introduction with a simple question in mind. You want to know who I am.

Strange how a question can have such vastly different meanings to different people. Because right now, I’m asking myself the same three words.

Who am I?

My name is Michael, but that name belongs to millions, and says little about any of them. It’s not that being common makes it a bad name, but names don’t define our identities. They are words that help us recognise each other. Even the title of this blog – Receuvium – is just a fictitious word I invented that means ‘dream.’ Reh-sue-vee-um. It sounds nice, rolls off the tongue, but is no more significant than any other title I might have used.

I am seventeen years old, currently nine months short of that invisible barrier that transforms me from a boy to a man, allows me to drink alcohol, vote and legally kill other humans  in war. One thing I’ve learnt is that age isn’t as important as society believes, nor does its definition and categorisation mean a great deal. Age measures how long you’ve lived this life, not what you’ve learnt from that time or how you’ve used it.

I am Australian, and once again, there are millions like me.

I don’t believe in God.

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I attend a selective high school.

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I live as part of a somewhat wealthy family in a somewhat rich house with somewhat expensive cars.

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I’m Caucasian.

Now, think about what this information means to you. Does my age make me naïve? My nationality patriotic? My religious stance ignorant, or intelligent? My education somehow superior? My upbringing arrogant? And what should my ethnicity say about me?

Having given it a lot of thought, I don’t consider any of those traits important. Nor indeed do they constitute anything but the most artificial aspects of my identity. Yet to so many people throughout so much of history, any one of those things – my ethnicity, nationality, class, education, religion, age, or even just my name – could be more important than anything else in the world. Important enough to die for. Or to kill for.

It all depends on perspective, perception. Just like two perspectives on one question. Because I’ve answered yours – or at least, the intent behind it, but I don’t have an answer myself. I don’t even understand the question.

Welcome to my blog.

I’ve created this open journal to store some of my least private thoughts, thoughts ranging from my very limited understanding of the universe, life and humanity, to everyday joys like music and rain. I won’t share everything with you. Most thoughts would take too long to write down, many I haven’t yet learnt to articulate, and some I share only with my closest friends.

But I’ll share quite a lot all the same, and we can learn from each other. As I write entries here, however irregular they may be, you should comment on them. I’d love some feedback. I don’t mind if you disagree, I don’t care if you hate me for what I write, just as long as we try understand each other.

Understanding is one of the hardest and most important things anyone can learn to do.

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“Think for yourself, you know what you need in this life
See for yourself, and feel your soul come alive tonight
Here in the moment we share, trembling between the worlds we stare
Out at starlight enshrined, veiled like diamonds in time

Time can be the answer, take a chance, lose it all
It’s a simple mistake to make, to create love and then fall
So rise and be your master; you don’t need to be a slave
Of memory ensnared in a web, in a cage

I have found my way to fly, free from the constraints of time
I have soared through the sky, seen life far below in mind
Breathed in truth, love, serene, sailed on oceans of belief
Searched and found life inside, we’re not just a moment in time
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Time can be the answer, take a chance, lose it all
It’s a simple mistake to make to create love and then fall
So rise and be your master, you don’t need to be a slave
Of memory ensnared in a web, in a cage

In a web, in a cage

In a web, in a cage

In a web, in a cage”  – Anathema, ‘A Simple Mistake’