Up at Woodford Festival, Queensland, Australia, in the last days of the millennium, the energy rose as people breathed deeply, preparing to hold our collective breaths as the pendulum swung to the summit, to hang there motionless momentarily before gravity overtook it and it fell slowly down the other side into the future.
I was manic in the night, under a sarong of stars flung wide and caught up by billowing air. The stars seemd brighter in Woodford than anywhere before, and we gazed at galaxies, planets and shooting stars.
Everywhere, there were drums, and zurnas, hurdygurdy and cello. We sing and celebrate life and commemorate the histories of this thousand years past. The sky was (in the end) blue and the sun was shining. Tibetan monks blew sand into mandalas that would persist only for moments, a bridge from now until then.
Then, crazily, I flew to Sydney to be with David, and spend the night of the 30th in an apartment in the centre of the city, Bladerunner-energy, grey skyscrapers outside and the neon lights of China town blinking in the distance. There aren’t enough spinners.
The next night, new years’ eve, we head down to the harbour, where we have an oblique view of the bridge and the word Eternity…
Helicopters hover above us, their blade’s hum almost drowned by the horns, shouts and general hubbub of people poised at the end of days. Ferries honk their horns as they leave the quay with their elite cargo. Children are already waving sparklers. The noise is amazing. The sun slowly sets for the last time this millennium…
Fireworks go off at 9pm…we all go crazy…
And then back to Copeland St for the party, cosy, Strange Days projected onto the screen, and then the midnight countdown, the fireworks, the kissing, the hugging…
As they cross to other places around the world and we watch Bjork in an Icelandic church surrounded by angel singers in white, I feel intensely that this is a global moment, a sweeping 24 hours that encompasses almost every country…and yes, it’s an arbitrary moment, and yes, the global nature of it signifies a triumph for one particular culture’s counting scheme over anothers, but that doesn’t matter right now, in this moment…if it can bring us together somehow, if we can see an end to wars, and form a global alliance, then what does it matter if it’s through an artificial, arbitrary moment? And then, one hour later, it’s midnight in Queensland, and to my amazement, they cross to Woodford, and I’m crying and joyful again.
The next morning, I fly back to Queensland — the planes are working, everything is smooth — and the atmosphere is mellow. Here, the people seem dazed.
We don’t yet know if there are rules in this new world. I watch the monks mix the mandala sands into each other again and gifted them to the watchers. I keep thinking “Memories are meant to fade, Lenny. They’re made that way for a reason…”. That night I sing in the fire event choir. We are filmed by the ABC and projected to 68 countries. The fireworks go off and the huge wooden beacon is lit. It is consumed by flames and its heat drives off some of the drizzle. We hold hands and sing “Take my hand and together we’ll be strong”. It is exhilarating and awe-inspiring. And then it’s over. I still haven’t slept and I’m tired and cranky after the event…I want it all to keep going…I hear from Jackie (one of the singers of Bluehouse) that two thirds of the third world’s debt has been forgiven…I hear that Yeltsin has resigned…Branko Yelen has been released… I finally stumble to bed. The next morning, I walk up to the amphitheatre and find the fire is still burning from the night before. I sit and stare into it. I am filled with an unlikely sense of hope.
Happy new year!