It was about 3 am on a Saturday, I have heard that hour called gravelly or the witching hour.

At Surfers Paradise, the next suburb down from where I reside at Main Beach the pubs and clubs would be emptying. There would be piss, spew and potentially fights on the street as revellers from across and world and the country come to party and let off a bit of steam.

I was in Melaleuca Ward, only about five tram stops down the road but it was a different world.

I was locked away in a psychiatric intensive care unit, half way between an open mental health unit and solitary confinement.

I was sitting by myself waiting for the dawn to come, and a beautiful thing happened. I was privileged enough to share a long moment with a sole Currawong. I had no idea that birds woke and were active before dawn. I watched him in silence and darkness behind locked glass doors. He was in the light at the entrance to a crazy world, yet completely safe. It was beautiful. But I still had no idea why he was there. I was in darkness, I doubt he could see me. So I got up to take a closer look. I gave myself away though as he spooked slightly. He didn’t fly away but he was no longer comfortable.

If you have ever had a brush with the gods, been stalked or simply known you were under observation, but have no means to confront or actively defend yourself against said rapporteurs. You will know the birds unease.

He didn’t know where I was, but he knew he was at an entrance to a world that was not his own, and that his survival instincts were thoroughly intact. He didn’t know that he did not have to fear no evil, but he embraced such fears to get the “early worm”.

During this time in hospital, I had experienced altercations, not only with other patients but also with my care. I was in a lock-up, with people I perceived to be ex-convicts and gang members of a crew I had a naive run in with many a year ago. I was refusing medication and took to sleeping during the day, enjoying brews during my long nights.

But as I watched this animal from behind a glass door, I couldn’t help but to relate to him. His valley of the shadow of death, was a man made structure in artificial light, he knew of evil, felt it, but still enjoyed the fruits of his labour.

His fruits were a cracker, its crumbs were also enjoyed by a Crow and Peewee in sequence after the sun had risen and with the Currawong long gone.

I flirt with my own glass door, perhaps in my own artificial light, I have experienced my own kind of evil – but I will continue to labour.