Manic in the night

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 élite 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!