Hidden Treasure

By Karima Moss

Here is a spell-binding and profound memoir for our times, sparked by the sudden death of a beloved partner. An intensely intimate yet fresh and light approach draws us into the delights of love, the consuming nature of grief, and a potent journey which unveils the mysterious treasures inherent in heartfelt engagement with the significant ups and downs of life.

Not only are we privy to the depth of the author’s thoughts and feelings but her partner comes across as a person with a real and secret unknown life all his own beyond the page, giving an appreciation for the profundity of a person we will never directly know. And a spectacular forest in New South Wales comes alive as an integral vital companion in this journey of discovery.

Hidden Treasure is not so hidden, it is a light of mature love that two attuned adults brought to life which emerges as a spiritual journey of deep relationship with the mystery of life.

This book acknowledges the vagaries of life with all its pitfalls and yet – ultimately – it is uplifting, ending on a hopeful joyous note. It holds the potential of nourishment for those who are grieving in a world currently dominated by loss and contains inspiration of the most dignified kind, beautifully portrayed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398493421

Karima Moss

Karima’s childhood was spent between parts of England and parts of West and East Africa. Her life continued to be an itinerant adventure—inner as well as outer—and she has now settled in Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia. Gifted with the ability to see patterns in, for example, mathematics, dance moves, and people’s words and behaviour, she has worked in diverse areas such as computer programming, supporting hospice volunteers and teaching at a tertiary level. Her first book, Song of the Unsung, about hospice volunteers reflects her deep interest in people feeling right about themselves.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Life 1991

Life is an opportunity, not only of accomplishing one’s desires, but of fulfilling even the deepest yearning of the soul.

– Hazrat Inayat Khan

On 4 August 1991, David strolled into my classroom at the University of Canberra in the Australian Capital Territory. The subject was part of a graduate diploma in Community Counselling: Group Counselling. It was my first tertiary teaching assignment with mature adults. When I started with an introductory exercise in pairs, David didn’t have a partner. My first words to him were: You’ve got me. From the very beginning, I thought, ’Who is this man?’

The class was small, three men and ten women: teachers, psychologists, counsellors and others who were working with people in the community. Intended to be interactive, it became an intimate and professional container for learning, each person contributing to a uniquely blended expression of ‘head’ and ‘heart’. There were two people to whom I internally referred as the group’s prima donnas; between them they seemed easily galvanised into challenging me and the group. And this is where much of our learning came from.

David’s inner child quickly captivated me; the combination of his sense of humour and his evident-to-me vulnerability created a dangerously strong appeal for me. I also found myself tagging him as one of my prima donnas, unpredictable yet intelligently thoughtful, outspoken, funny, playful, stimulating in different ways, providing potential for endless diversion as well as grist-for-the-mill learning concerning the themes I was intent on as a teacher.

After the end-of-term frenzy, my thoughts turned to the time leading up to the last few weeks of the year before Christmas. I had an annual subscription of two tickets for a series of plays at the local repertory theatre, and the last one for 1991 was on 30 November. I found myself wanting to ask David to come with me to the play. BUT—and it was a huge BUT—my mother’s voice was in my head saying, ‘Nice girls don’t make advances like that.’ However, my impulse was very strong and also I wanted affirmation that it was OK to make this radical (for me) move. So I consulted the Runes. They told me to do it. With great trepidation, I phoned. There was no reply.

I went through this process three times over three days, that magical number in mythical tales. Each time feeling the urge, each time hearing my mother’s voice, each time consulting the Runes which said ’Do it,’ each time dialling with my heart in my mouth. I knew the third go was my final chance as I didn’t have his home phone number and it was the last time he could possibly be at work (he was a teacher at the Canberra College of Technical and Further Education) before the weekend of the play. He picked up the phone and he said, I am never at work on a Friday afternoon! Thus started a beautiful and challenging adventure of exploration and mystery and love which was to last a precious 18 years and one month precisely.

For me, there is only the travelling on paths that have heart, on any path that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly.

– Carlos Castaneda

This was one of David’s favourite quotes. He used it in the group counselling assignment I gave the class in 1991, when asked to convey what underpinned his philosophy about life. And my child-like poem below fell out of me spontaneously after that first date.

Sunday 1.12.91

He looks into my eyes

My insides melt and lurch

I have to look away

So I won’t fall off my perch!

I ask him for a hug

I ask him if he’ll laugh

He says he’ll only grin

In the night on the path.

We shyly move a little closer

He puts his arms around me

They gently keep me near him

And I listen to his body.

There are no eyes to see us

Invisible in the dark;

I hide my naked soul

Against his beating heart.

How pleased I am to meet him thus,

To have that closeness nigh –

But I fear to share it fully –

He clasps my hand goodbye.

Oh, the delirium of feeling like a teenager at the age of 46, somehow with more freedom (knowing more of myself) combined with less freedom (knowing more of life). On one hand, I was like a lovesick girl, my heart fully engaged and feeling the irresistible pull of a deep compelling attraction; on the other, my head wanted to interfere. Along with the poem, I wrote in my diary:

In spite of my bold move to ask David out, I feel tentative, uncertain, nervous – reaction, probably, to yesterday’s delight. Most of the men I know don’t have the self-awareness or sensitivity that interests me. I believe David does. And there is much more. He is a private person, articulate and intelligent with a here-and-now focus; he’s uninhibited, gives public feedback without reserve. I like his directness, his caring thoughtfulness, the way he looks at me, his intensity, his unselfconscIousness and ‘here-ness’. Does his intensity match mine? I see the god in him. I also see his very human ordinariness.

I had attacks of low confidence in myself about starting a new relationship, the hard work of starting from square one. It was exciting and scary. I liked him a lot in myriad significant ways. I’d been privileged to see and experience so many different sides of him already in the classroom but I didn’t know how to play the game. I could only renew my belief that I was more aware than ever before of the potential for a relationship to be deeply fulfilling.

Monday 9.12.91

I want to write but I don’t know what. My heart feels as if it’s bursting and I’m very happy. Understatement of the decade! I’ve been singing and I look terrific despite very short nights. I rang David late yesterday afternoon to find out how he was and whether he was going back to work. He told me to ring anytime as he liked talking to me! We spent six hours together on Friday. He was in pain because he had broken his ribs falling off his bicycle.

Monday 16.12.91

Since Sunday evening, I’ve had a perpetual half-smile on my face and I feel tingly and deliciously nurtured, excited and contented…all at once. David and I had another six hours of exploration…the usual talking…a superb and emotionally exhausting play…dinner at my home…fish at the table… loganberries on the floor…

The floor seemed to be our natural domain; both his house and mine were sparsely furnished, one of our many points of affinity. Our first kiss was on the blessed floor on our fourth date. He was clearly just as cautious as me about venturing into this new territory; I called it ‘gentlemanly’ on his part. We were both vulnerable from fairly recent endings of long-term marriages, maybe extra-vulnerable because those endings were initiated by our partners. It was potential dynamite. With anyone else, I would say they were crazy. I was crazy.

Neither of us believed in the ‘in-love’ state, both of us somewhat sceptical of this Western invention. If this state did not exist, what was it that I was feeling?

There was a fever burning in me which I didn’t want to overtake me. This felt like neither lust, nor power. Yet it consumed me. I wanted to love a man in a way which didn’t debilitate me, which allowed me to be my own person, which didn’t ask me to addictively please him. I didn’t want to be hurt. He didn’t want to be hurt. We both needed to be tentative, to preserve ourselves, so that a relationship could be healthy and fun in the long-term.

Monday 16.12.91

The first time he kissed me, he asked if he could (after all, one does ask someone to dance, as he said). We didn’t know how to start…how to get past the noses…how to come that close…how to be that intimate. Was this relinquishing the pure innocence of what had gone before? Here goes! he eventually said with a whimsical smile…and gently…ever so gently…softly brushed his lips against mine. Thus began a journey into the sacred domain of each other’s lips…a harmonious giving and taking…an intricate weaving of a colourful layered fabric. We lost track of time as we became absorbed in these simple delights. I was so happy, so very happy in this nurturing enfoldment.

Time for a cup of tea now, I think. He sat up suddenly.

I looked at him. Perhaps he was afraid of becoming too involved too soon. Whatever it was, I respected it and went to make our ritual cups of tea. On my return, he was lying on the floor, head on hand, and looking at me with a relaxed, engaging, affectionate half-smile. How are you feeling? he asked in a concerned way.

Fine,—a slight hesitation—How far do I reveal myself? I asked internally. I’d already revealed my absorption in our hauntingly tender kisses; it was just a matter of finding the courage to put it into words. I’m very happy…

He spontaneously touched me on the knee with a look of affection and said, I’m glad.

What more was there to say? Words are so inadequate at times. Maybe this is why we’ve been given such expressive eyes, such responsive skin, such versatile fingers, such depth of feeling. We drank our tea and gradually, naturally, started talking again. We had so much to talk about, it was hard to imagine how our sharing of thoughts, experiences, and knowledge could ever come to an end. This was how our initial meetings were characterised: mental engagement, followed by a combination of ‘head’ and ‘heart’ involvement, then a more personally intense exploration of who each of us was. And on this occasion of the first kiss, after establishing mental and emotional affinity, we seemed to have discovered a mutual physical frequency to warm and delight us. I could hardly believe it was happening. Was I imagining it?

The next day, the phone rang at 8:45 am. I was uncharacteristically still in bed, hugging my delicious feelings to myself in a half-dream state. It was David, about to hop on his bike to go to work. He sounded different. I believe he was moved by the previous night’s depth of meeting, as was I. We employed ordinary words to make ordinary pleasantries: that we’d slept well, that he would be marking, that I would be gardening. And underneath this, I had the most extraordinary sense of a warmly deep unspoken communication.

Wednesday 18.12.91

Yesterday consisted of some most extraordinary events. I still am incredulously goggle-eyed about them. I feel tremblingly alive and vibrant and am unsure as to how to express myself. Well…Here goes…as David would say!

I visited a friend for morning coffee and then, unplanned, drove to the nearest large shopping centre. As I walked into the mall, I said to myself, ‘David will be in Collins bookstore.’ So of course I went and searched the shop. He wasn’t there. After my Christmas shopping, I decided to give Mr Collins another chance. David was there! I couldn’t believe my eyes! I saw him from behind, thought it was maybe him, yet my doubting Thomas couldn’t quite comprehend it. The shop was very crowded and it was difficult to make my way up to him. He was thoroughly absorbed in looking at a book and didn’t see me coming. When I touched him on the arm, he jumped quite dramatically. As he looked at me in disbelief, I beamed at him and said:

My radar is pretty good, isn’t it? Have you time for a cup of tea?

Of course…of course…I was just browsing…

And off we happily trotted like two truant children escaping into the Garden of Eden. Once ensconced in a cosy corner with our cups of tea, he wordlessly gazed and smiled at me with such open pleasure that I didn’t know what to do or say. I looked at him, then away, looked again, laughed, looked away…I was most thrillingly disconcerted. What happens next in situations like these? I had no experience, no ideas, no sophisticated know-how. I cannot recall who spoke first but we did start to talk. I felt as if I had stars in my eyes and that I should hide them. I’m sure I said some very silly things in my delighted confusion. And so we passed the time once more in sharing, teasing, talking, laughing.

My whole life with David consists of happy memories, of course, interlaced with many other varieties of recollection. ‘Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be’ was a favourite quote of David’s, often said with glee.

Before this adventure with David started, my life was full; I had been working as a coordinator of hospice volunteers until my recent change to teaching and I had many good friends, including Veronica, the editor of my first book about hospice volunteers which I was in the process of preparing to publish. My daughter, Tania, lived nearby with her husband, Aled. I was still friends with my former husband, JB, and a friend of JB’s, Geoff, was my live-in lodger. There was the customary flow of work, family, commitments, pastimes. David brought new rhythms and perspectives into my life.

Tuesday 29.9.92

I told Veronica yesterday that David intrigues me. She could understand that, said he was full of bullshit—quality bullshit—and she liked that. She recognises it because of using it herself. When David and Veronica met yesterday, it was almost as if I was reassessing myself, David, Veronica in the light of this meeting; not to change anything, but as if it gave me a different perspective. I find myself doing this when my friends meet David, and I don’t remember having done this sort of double-take assessment before. I try to see him through their eyes. I try to see them through his eyes. Not in an addictive way or, as I have said, to alter anything. Just curiosity. He is such a definite character, so unutterably himself. And also needing to have a relationship which nurtures him, he simply nurtures it, almost unquestioningly, and often without attention to his own needs.

David’s sense of humour was always close to the surface. Often I didn’t know if he was joking or not. It seems that other people didn’t either. His daughter Kirran told me—rolling her eyes at a corny joke of his—that I’d stop laughing at his jokes after two years. I never did. His turn of phrase, whatever the topic, was always worth listening to with full attention. An early catch phrase in our relationship which stays with me is: ‘expect the unexpected’. An excellent motto for the adventure of life, and of death, as it turned out.

David also had a full life, mostly revolving around teaching subjects related to the support of people with disability, and his two younger daughters, Kirran, 16, and Jessica, 14, who shared their time between him and their mother. He also ran daily, which was a high priority for him. His two older daughters from a previous marriage were Sarah—also living in Canberra—who had an adorable 18-month-old daughter, Matilda; and Rachel, recently returned from Japan, footloose and fancy-free, now living in Sydney. David’s active mind took him into many realms of interest, with photography becoming a primary focus shortly after we met. He also went away to conferences from time to time. On one occasion when he was away, I wrote the following which I never sent.

Friday 20.11.92

Dear David, How I miss you. What is it that I miss? The sharing on so many levels, the caring, the warmth, the fun, the intuitive sparks between us, thoughtfulness, zaniness. I remember you saying, Don’t we all, to my saying, tomato plants need more nurturing.

The nurturing came in many forms. Neither of us really ‘into’ cooking, we took delight in preparing meals together; a constant and ongoing genuine appreciation of each other came easily to both of us; we shared thoughts, dreams, walks, films, fun, and then I started a massage course as a hobby. David loved being practised on. When I told him my hands did my talking for me, he responded, They say such nice things and I am a very attentive listener! He encouraged me, my teachers encouraged me, and, unexpectedly (‘expect the unexpected’), I completed the massage course and eventually, started a small part-time clinic at home.

Wednesday 16.12.92

I have been talking to him on and off over the last couple of days about seeing him as separate, different, totally individualistic, utterly himself; about not imagining possessing him or being able to confuse my identity with his. A lot of it has been very rambly and almost incoherent, roaming around the houses and the paddocks, stumbling over words, having difficulty finding the words to express my ponderings…

He seemed so much larger than life than most people I knew, without being dominant, domineering, ambitious or controlling, yet he came over as forceful when his active roving mind detected inconsistencies. His radar detected the genuine and the bullshit with ease. He didn’t allow himself to be intimidated or victimised by anyone. And he knew how to love wholeheartedly, thrilling my soul.

After waking one morning in December during that period of trying to articulate what seemed to me to be his unique personality, I fell asleep and dreamed while David meditated, then later he fell asleep while I meditated. In my dream, he and I had been trying to identify some dance steps and he had found a reference to them in an encyclopaedia under a reference of ‘REST’; the encyclopaedia was in the kitchen.

In his dream, he was in a tropical place on a flat very-close-cropped lawn. It was pouring with rain all around him but not on him. He was eating the fronds of a banana palm and found a chewy texture that was tasty. Then I opened a window of a bungalow nearby and called out to him, What a fantastic idea you had about the dress rehearsal, that’s now going to happen tonight. He replied, How wonderful!

My book, ‘Song of the Unsung’, came out in December 1992. The first copies arrived late