Chapter 3: The Prophecy and the Pilgrimage!

February, 2018

Wind streamed through the open window of the Emerald Wagon. It was gushing through, and something in my gear was flapping wildly in the back. I stole a quick glance through the mirror. My whole material life was sitting there, in the back - suitcases, keyboards, knickknacks and bags, all bunched up together. I darted my eyes back to the road before me. It veered down to the left, and beyond it was a wide, golden expanse of Central Otago reaching to the horizon, chewed by scraggly rock formations. I was leaving my life in the Mountains, and heading Bonnet-first into a whole new adventure - I was on my way to Dunedin to live. I imagined Dunedin city sprawling by the seaside, seagulls surfing the wind above the beaches, and heading into the city streets to scab a few nibbles. 

A whole new chapter begins… I thought, pressing hard on the accelerator, and zooming into the plains of Central Otago.

Dunedin was just as I had remembered it. It came up to greet me on the other side of the hills, the sea to one side, nibbling on the land, and the city ponderously reaching to the sky on the other. I pulled up on Moray Place, outside a cafe called Dog With Two Tails - it was around where my new flat was. I stepped out onto the road, sniffing the air. The sky was grey and moody, the afternoon sun suppressed. I looked down, and saw a giant seagull, pecking at a pile of rubbish bags that rested against the parking meter. A smile grew on my face. “It feels good to be back here” I said under my breath, glancing to make sure that nobody heard. I reached into the glovebox and grabbed a few dollars for parking - I still had a mound of coins in there, leftover from my busking in Queenstown. When I shut the door, I noticed that the seagull had ruptured the bag; rubbish spilled out like guts, pillaged by the big guy and his cronies.

The building where the flat was meant to be rose above me, aged white and beige. To one side was a private looking garden, protected by a big stone wall and hiding a grand house behind it. To the other side was an alleyway, squeezed between the two buildings and cluttered with barrels, a small arched gate at the mouth. The flat must be that way, I thought, slinging my leather satchel across my shoulder as I headed into the alley and up the steep metal staircase. At the top, I found myself in a carpark amongst the building tops. I could almost see above the whole city. Cool place for a flat! I’m glad we ended up here. 

At the back of the white building was a porch spread across from the wall which had two doors on it. I looked at the numbers - neither were our flat. Hmmm, where is this place? I noticed wooden steps leading down into a shadowed lower porch, so I took them down warily, and into what seemed like a dungeon.

It was dingy and a bit rotten, and hosted a big pit with a small square fence around it. Right next to the pit was the door to our flat. Nice.. I gave it a knock… a few knocks. Neither Tommy or Miran (my new flatmates) were home, it seemed. Damn… 

I messaged Tommy, and he told me that he was at the Rothmans flat, on Rattray street. It wasn’t far, so I started walking there. Upon reaching the address, I entered, and climbed the stairs eagerly. A pang of excitement hit my stomach. I wasn’t just visiting Tommy this time around - I was really here in Dunedin for good now. The lounge was cluttered with videos, t-shirts and stuff, just like at the last Rothmans Headquaters was at Chambers Street in North Dunedin. It was a fond feeling to be back here. I heard Tommy before I saw him, bullshitting with Johnny in the kitchen.

“Ayyeeee” I announced as I walked in. “Oh wow! You made it,” Tommy said as he stood up, his orange/pink hair swinging across his face as he came to give me a hug. “Yep! I’m really here now. Hey Johnny. How are you?” Johnny stood by the stove, his long curly hair dropping past his shoulders. “Hey Josh, good to see you. So you are really here for good?” He asked me. “Yeah man. Dunedin is my home now” I chuckled. It felt good to say that. “Kind of…” I went on. “I plan on living between Queenstown and Dunedin. Queenstown for half of the time so I can busk to earn money, and Dunedin for the other half.” Johnny looked at me, half vacantly. “Ahh I’ll tell you about it some other time,” I said, waving a hand away. “So, Tommy. What’s the news on the tour?” He sat back at the table and pulled his chair in. “I’m actually doing some admin right now,” he said.

He proceeded to tell me all about the SHEEP band tour we had been planning for the past few months. He was organising most of it, with the help of our friend Ethan ‘Jesus’ Roberts who was coming with us. In 10 days time, we were heading up the country, picking up Ethan on our way up through Wellington, and meeting up with Toby in Auckland before our first few shows. We had 2 gigs in Auckland: one 18+ and one all ages. A couple of days after that we had a show in Tauranga, then one show in Wellington, then one show in Queenstown which I was to organise, and then the final show in Dunedin. It sounded like a romping three weeks. I had been looking forward to it ever since Tommy told me about it a few months prior. It was only 10 days away until we headed up country. 

“Have you seen the rooftop?” Tommy asked me. I shook my head. “Aww bro you have to see the rooftop. Keep climbing the stairs up, it’s hard to miss.” I turned and went for the stairs, intrigued. The stairs got thinner, and spiralled upward. At the top was a door leading out - I took it, and stepped out onto the roof of the flat. “Oh wow,” I said, walking out onto the black rooftop scattered with a table, some broken chairs, a clothes line, and some gardening blocks. I felt amidst the throw of Dunedin city - it rose all around me, a massive mural to one side, the Speights Brewery on the other. I looked out, tasting the breeze on my tongue, thinking about the journey ahead. It was terribly exciting. Ten days until we go… Just ten days!

Five days later…

My eyes flickered open, and I rolled onto my side. The ground was hard beneath me, and dusty. My phone flashed in my eyes: 11.43am. My eyelids were weighing heavy; I still felt tired. Groaning, I rose from my floor-bed and fumbled through my pile of clothes to find something to wear for the day. I almost tripped over one of my keyboards - the only things I had bothered to set up since I arrived in my new abode. I didn’t even trouble myself unloading the clothing from my bags.

My room was stale - it was the smallest room in the flat, and likely the dustiest too. It had two big windows, but they weren’t much use, looking out to our dungeon-like entrance - that mouldy, dingy porch with a fenced pit dropping down to the depths of the building. Clutching my clothes in one hand, I looked around the room with pity, reminded of the fact that I definitely wasn’t at home here yet. I wasn’t comfortable, or relaxed. I didn’t even have a bed. I was sleeping on the floor… Ah, bugger it. I better get on with my day. I pushed the door aside and headed for the shower.

I was in there steaming up the bathroom for at least 15 minutes, lost in thought; water plummeting past my face, spraying against the shower wall. I've been in Dunedin 5 days already, and nothing has happened… It was an odd little chapter, waiting for the SHEEP band tour. Just waiting… What could I do in 10 days? I had planned out my new life with precise detail - the routine I wanted to have, the amount of hours I wanted to practice my music, the projects I wanted to start… But I felt hesitant to launch into my ‘new life’, as if I couldn't start until I had returned from the tour. Something felt missing, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. A feeling of homeness, perhaps..? It didn't feel like I was properly moved into Dunedin yet; as if I was in limbo. The tour… Perhaps it is more than just a band tour. Maybe it is a journey home… The thought lingered as I turned off the shower tap and carried on getting ready for my day.

I stumbled out into Moray Place at 12:30… The sky showed hints of blue being swallowed by clouds above the city buildings. A breeze scuttled along the sidewalk. I suppose I can explore a bit of more of Dunedin today, I thought, that’s at least somewhat productive… I started walking casually down Moray Place, occupying my thoughts with this journey ahead. Sheep band tour… Playing music all the way down New Zealand. I was really contemplating it in my mind, as if trying to decipher code. The thought of physically travelling down the country from Auckland, my old home - in the Emerald Wagon, no less - struck a strong chord in my imagination. It seemed almost… spiritual. A journey like this doesn’t just happen any old time. What is this tour really about?

I walked past the First Church of Otago, it’s spire reaching high into the sky, pale gold without the sun shining. A grand old building, standing in its own kind of dominance, it was encircled by clean-cut grass fields that looked pleasant just to be on. The sight struck me as if it wanted to be admired, so I stood for a couple of minutes, appreciating the imposing structure. Spiritual, huh? I wonder. I carried on.

After a couple of minutes, I came across the Dunedin Train Station - a wondrous building that looks almost as if it could be made from Gingerbread. Bunches of tourists milled about out front between the rows of flowers, being entertained by a character on stilts. The tall character looked like he was straight out of Alice in Wonderland. 

It was a fantastical sight, and it reminded me of what I believed Dunedin was - somewhat of a mysterious place; magical in ways I wanted to understand. In my 5 visits from Queenstown, Dunedin continued to show me through serendipity and various magic tricks that there was something far deeper than what lay at the surface. The man on stilts wobbled around, carrying my eyes with him. Dunedin in surely my home… I told myself. I had already thoroughly explored Queenstown. But Dunedin was still a great mystery to me… A mystery I wanted to get to the bottom of. 

From the train station, I headed up to the Octagon. The sight of it still made me wonder. The Octagon was unlike anything I had seen anywhere else in New Zealand. Who ever thought to build a city around an Octagon? It’s genius… I thought, a testament to the mystery of Dunedin. The trees sprawled in the center, hanging above the plaza where a bunch of tents were set up. It was some kind of market - there was a photography stall, a jewellery stall, a cotton stall, all occupied with friendly folks tending to things. It was all very enticing, but one colourful word, spelled vertically, caught my eye. TAROT.

I was immediately intrigued. I will definitely get a tarot reading! Especially here in the Octagon. I walked up to the stall, and the lady knew my business within the instant. “Take a seat,” she said in a weathered voice, gesturing to the seat on the other end of the round table she sat leaning her forearms against. She was an elderly lady, maybe in her 70’s, with a nest of grey hair sitting on her head. Her eyes were probing. She told me her name, and I told her mine. “Would you like a reading on some specific matter, or a general reading?” She asked me in a friendly yet somewhat serious tone, shuffling her deck of cards. I didn't even think about the question. "Uhh, general reading," I replied, lost in wondering what I would find out.

She first grabbed both of my hands and closed her eyes, concentration spreading across her face. When she opened them, she started talking to me about some things she was ‘feeling’. As she started placing cards on the velvet purple table-mat, she told me about some “guardian angel” figure in Dunedin who was protecting me, but spoke about it very casually, as if it was something everybody had. She also told me about a “spiritual mentor” I was going to meet, and then starting pointing to cards on the table and telling me that this was absolutely going to happen. “A spiritual mentor.. yes definitely a mentor. You will meet this person; somebody you are going to evolve with spiritually.” She looked over the cards thoughtfully. “You will advance spiritually together. Yes,” she told me with absolute certainty. 

Afterwards, I gave her a 20 dollar note for the reading, and thanked her for her time. She nodded and smiled at me, a look in her eye that said she knew things I didn’t. “Good luck,” she said, opening a book in her hands and getting lost within it. I stood right in the middle of the market as stall-runners started to pack away their goods. A spiritual mentor..? But who? I looked all around at the buildings surrounding the Octagon, the beautiful old buildings. It only made me wonder more deeply; wonder about the SHEEP tour that was 5 days away, and what awaited me in Dunedin upon returning. That was a prophecy, of sorts… I thought, heading back through the streets to the flat. The alleyway swallowed me, and I started stamping my way up the steep staircase.

My thoughts were inspired. Maybe the tour really is a spiritual journey…. A journey from my old home to my new home. If I’m going to meet a spiritual mentor here.. Maybe that’s the insight at the end of the journey. I scaled the final step, rising above the rooftops. Tree-covered hills sat in the distance, behind the buildings. The Tour… A Pilgrimage home! 

A pilgrimage. The thought reverberated in my head. I guess the SHEEP band tour was whatever I wanted it to be. A spiritual journey? An adventure down New Zealand, playing music along the way, to discover spiritual insight upon returning to Dunedin..? A Pilgrimage home? Sure it is! I told myself, hopping down the wooden steps, and into the pit that was the entrance to our flat. 

Only 5 more days..