The world oscillates with the thrill of vibrations; they make the world a living, thriving place, full of activity and connectedness. Everything, every animate and inanimate thing, vibrates to some degree. Each rock, leaf, person and animal emits a vibration at a personal pitch. When enough vibrations of similar pitch unite, they begin to form towns and cities. These places, conglomerates of vibrational magnetism, attract others who vibrate sympathetically. These others bring with them things – furniture, photos, ideas – that vibrate in harmony with their owners’ lives. Together these people and their possessions add to the overall mass of vibrations that makes a city ‘hum’.
I lived in Sydney for many years. I was born there, originally, although did not really live there until I was in my twenties. It is a city of light and colour and action. Most days you can be mesmerised by the sun glinting off the harbour like a million diamonds. The greens of the trees and shrubs are so deep you could dive into them. The shadows are enticing in the heat of the day. Sydney hums at a particularly high pitch. It is a collection of millions upon millions of small habits and movements; each person getting out of bed; going for a run; surfing; gardening, reading the newspaper in a café. It is each drunken bachelor party in Kings Cross and each football celebration at Panthers Penrith Leagues Club. It is each New Year’s Eve fireworks display from the harbour bridge, and the myriad of yachts in the hundreds of coves, bobbing in unison to the waves slapping a ditty on their sides.
Sydney’s hum is inviting, even intoxicating, to the right people. It is tantalisingly sweet for the young, drawing them in with its heady scent of wealth and sex and distinction. Most of the people who come to Sydney vibrate in harmony with it. If not all the time, then most of the time. This allows them to find their place in the metropolis.
It draws millions of tourists from around the world to marvel at its vacuous beauty. Many visitors find it exciting and exhilarating, but their vibrations don’t match those of the city and they are happy to leave at the end of their holidays, taking memories of the thrilling time they had with them.
I did not gel with Sydney. I recognised the beauty and thrills, but my vibration jarred against the city’s. Its pitch was too high strung for me. It got under my skin and into my mind and made it difficult for me to think. For years I struggled against the tide of Sydney’s vibration as it washed over me and swept me along against my will. I tried to alter my pitch, to match that of the city, or at least harmonise with it, but without success. I took drugs daily, trying to numb the pain the city’s vibration caused me, with some success. The dope did numb the pain, but it also numbed my other senses. I found it increasingly difficult to function amongst others and became withdrawn.
Some people, some very few and talented people, can live in a place even if their vibration jars with that of their town. They learn to adapt. They can ignore the discomfort that jarring causes. Some even channel the discomfort into their being, creating art from the discord. I was not one of these people. I could not adapt my own vibration to that of the city, and I could not exist while the city rubbed itself against my brain like fingernails on a blackboard.
So, I left Sydney and returned to Melbourne, where I was raised. Melbourne had a more pleasant vibration: lower pitched, slower, deeper. The type of vibration that reverberated along your bones and tingled your nerves. The type of vibration that feels like someone is tickling your balls. It’s exciting, but on a more ethereal level than Sydney.
Yet it still was not my vibration. The difference between Sydney and Melbourne was familiarity. Having been raised here, I was used to Melbourne’s vibration. I had become inured to its hoarse rasp in my ear over the years. We did not vibrate in sync. We did not match pitch. We did not harmonise or harmoniously clash. We merely existed together, like a couple who had been married for too long and didn’t know anything different.
It’s been decades since I started manipulating my vibration to match that of others. I’ve tried to meld my particular vibration with people, places, jobs and possessions. I’ve tried to mimic the vibration of others, hoping I could sustain the act and go unnoticed, or until it felt real. As they say, fake it until you make it. I could not fake it, and did not make it.
Every relationship failed because I could not contain my vibration. I would lie in bed and feel every molecule running away from the person beside me. It was like they were sandpaper, slowly wearing away my existence. I could feel myself disappearing beneath the force of their vibration. They were in sync with their world, which gave their personal vibration a force mine did not possess. In the end, I had to leave. I always had to leave.
My saving grace, through all these trials and years, has been water. For some reason, water nullifies the effects of the vibrations. They disappear, dissipating through the water. I could be in the water with hundreds of other people, and not feel like my mind was being dragged across a cheese grater. It doesn’t matter what form the water takes – ocean, lake, river, swimming pool, or bath – as long as I can immerse myself, it provides me with relief.
I don’t know why I have this affinity with water. I find it peculiar that as a fire sign I would find water so comforting. Maybe I vibrate so intensely I burn on a molecular level and need water to cool me down. I bought a house by the ocean, to better feel relief from the agony of living in a world that is constantly trying to eject me. I can swim. Even in winter I can be near the water, not quite relieved of the torture of living in a hostile world, but close enough to know the relief is only a few months away.
It’s quite odd, the way I vibrate. I am beginning to lose hope that one day I will find someone who vibrates in sync with me. Yet if I did, what rapture our vibrations would create together!