Interior screening: Lemon tree thorns

It crept up on me slowly, barefoot on the cool tile floor
Tiptoeing in the near-dark to where I stood
Lighting the gas stove with a match
To boil filtered water for coffee.

It whispered warm across my face
A breeze that bent the rice stalks
And blew fingers of fog through the vines
Hanging looped in the forest,
Waiting for Tarzan to swing through.



And then it hit
With a flip-flop smack that killed the bathroom spider,
Cold water splashes of dipper baths under the stars,
Splatters of mud from under a motorcycle tire.

I was comfortable.

Comfortable in an environment most would find a hardship
Rejoicing in a lifestyle mistakenly called primitive.

I can transport live chickens and run barefoot through the mud
Tie my backpack to the top of a land rover
and pee in the prickers without getting hurt.
I can chew the rocks out of street rice
Or perform a blood test in the middle of a busy market street.

I cherish my nights without electricity as a gift
A chance to see so many more stars
To meditate without the distractions of modern convenience.

The eclectic collections of skills I have so carefully collected
Filed away like scrapbooks on a living room shelf
Start to fit together
In a complex puzzle of belonging.

The idea niggles in the back of my mind
A lemon tree thorn caught and driven deep
Until I turn on the headlamp to dig and find
An epiphany hiding underneath.