sailing the seven seas

months have tripped by and life has been unravelling stitch by stitch
only to be scooped up examined and mended where possible.
post fire life has taken on a different quality
and explanations are poor affairs when integration and trauma
wrestle for space.

Here’s a tale ( but not all is told)
of a man with a mission
a dream realised
of bravery high drama and fortitude
of inspiration and love.

We had been waiting for hours
finally a sighting,
a white sail bobbing on a big swell
crossing the foaming horses galloping into Horseshoe bay.
a week since leaving Botany Bay
My beloved is almost home.
the wind threatening
will not allow hats scarves or the use of binoculars
hair stinging against cheeks.

Kingston wants to sit in the car
play with his ipod.
Why love?
its windy grandma.
heaven help me
look here comes grandad
he doesnt realise
having an adventure at 73
turning your world upside down
sailing an ocean
tackling your fears
giving up comforts
hang on a minute,
he has a teapot and cosy
chocolate cheese and paisley curtains
books and charts on bulging shelves
a feather pillow for sweet dreams.

Sailing past the heads
where is he going grandma?
just checking out the bar love
no room to get this wrong
not on this wild day.

Midsummer blood sport in Bermagui
a crowd on the cliff top
on a ferociously windy day
watching the trawlers, pleasure boats, fisherfolk
bump and wobble cross the bar,
ooohs and aaahhs chasing.

A tiny 24 foot blue boat
Telemachus
remember him
son of Penelope and Odysseus,
went looking for his dad
found him, they teamed up
and beheaded all of Mums suitors.

The ocean thrashing around
wind scudding and bold,
Telemachus is caught out on the turn
lurches and leans over,
Kingston squeals grabs me
they are designed to roll I say
heart in mouth.

come on love you can do it
you’re home love you can do it
some madwoman is screaming
oh gosh that was me.

All round us people are jabbering
phones clicking videos streaming
mad as a cut snake this bloke
why doesn’t he put his engine on?
has he got a phone?
goddess help me
sever their heads.

The pitching blue boat lines up the bar
hand fixed to tiller
white sail snapping in the wind.
Telemachus rises up
bounces falls rises again
catches a single moment of calm
and sails elegantly through the heads
into the harbour.
he nailed it grandma.
indeed he did.

Thunderous applause claps and cheers
from awed bystanders
puzzles the tired captain.



all the way from Sydney to Bermagui
our hero and no suitors to behead.
January 25, 2021.

In choosing we Dream tomorrow

rising up like waves activists
press against the bastion
eroding sharp edges
flaking chipping away,
the wall remains sealed
holding tight
against the change agents.

anyone who has ever been part of a movement of protest
knows the drill,
hours days nights plans maps letters
bright ideas, fundraising
tears dramas court cases,
years flowing like the river
banks ever changing,
where once a pool now a sandbar
where once a gurgling rapid now a reedy swamp.

grey hairs threaten
exhaustion depletion anger
ptsd despair depression,
until …
run walk away give up fighting
become a baker or a plumber
retire take up gardening
drink a beer knit a blanket
.

and still after all the blood sweat and tears 
the brilliant campaigns
the lock ons tree sits marches
meetings with politicians
bumper stickers
signs of hope
minor victories
changes in legislation,
the bastion remains.
greater technology deadlier weapons,
coveting more and more Earth
a seeming impenetrable nightmare of coercion and profit.

some activists change stories
slip sideways
stop pushing against
return, reduce the scale to one life
theirs
one choice……. theirs
one hope……. theirs
and from one breeds many.

the virus teaches us this
infection spreads
ever widening its circle of influence.

a smile thrown to a crowd returns
a story spoken around breakfast whispers over social media
a piece of art, a quilt, a poem,
teases and stretches
melding into cells and blood vessels
strengthening resolve
soliciting further inquiry
enabling contagious spontaneous bursts of action
for the benefit of…
for the Whole.

2021 begins
active aware creative open hope full 
in choosing we Dream Tomorrow.

one year on

one year ago this day we were in Merimbula visiting Zoe Kean and Frankie, Kingston was with us. Frankie was four then , Kingston nine and not feeling well – sore stomach – probably anxiety – living in a thick atmosphere of smoke and threat of fire over many weeks.
Zoe checked ‘fires near me’.com – the Badja fire was growing bigger – time for us to leave.
Back home we prepared – roof swept, gutters cleaned out with rags stuffed in the ends to hold water, pumps filled with petrol, hoses connected around the house spraying water over verandahs, sweeping tidying gathering  – on and on it went under thickening smoke with black embers dropping into existence above our heads.
Last summer was hot and dry so very different to this years cooler temperatures, heavy cloud cover, drizzly misty with exciting afternoon storms and green green green, dams full and rivers gurgling. The scarring of the fire on the ranges is still very evident , a bald look with a stubble of charred pencil trees standing lonely in once was forest.
We laid out clothes selecting wool long sleeves heavy soled boots, tried on our new beaut face masks made adjustments, checked the app repeatedly, listened to ABC radio, drank cups of tea, ate some dinner, gave everything a good soaking and went to bed. In the middle of the night a fierce Roaring woke us – on our bedroom verandah facing west we came to the realisation that we could hear the Fire.
Kinda like sitting in a 747 revving up on the tarmac maybe louder.
Hopped in the car and beetled out of our forest through Christa’s paddocks to vechiles, a ridge top with views east south west ,meeting our neighbour Keith Fish out for a look. The sky was lurid- oranges pinks yellows blacks – a sickening mix and swirl of colours that looked wrong maybe 25-30 km west of us- a monster blaze – huge flames visible. I don’t know what we discussed with Keith – good luck probably fingers xxx, back to bed and sleep.
Waking again around 4 am – another listen – yep still roaring though perhaps not as loud ,another drive out to vechiles – this time the sky a murky blanket , activity difficult to spot and for those brief moments I thought that the blaze has gone behind Wandella mountain away from us and our valley.
Wrong wrong wrong.
I checked fires near me.com saw the evacuation alert for Cobargo – rang the daughters – leave now. There had been no preparation for this , no inkling that a village could or would go up in flames. The baby was only 2 weeks old.  And so through fire and flames on either side of the road the two families along with hundreds of other people made their way to Bermagui. There beside the ocean under a malevolent sky and air so putrid with smoke that breathing was difficult they were befriended and given a place to stay. Kind souls poured out of their homes to help the refugees.
Even now we all experience a timeless disassociation where we cannot fit the events into a linear time frame, where our trauma racked minds and bodies slide off images and grasp uselessly at memories that float just out of reach.
Satisfied they were safe – little did we know the fire was already eating the village of Cobargo – we decided on a cuppa and toast rather than bed but before we could raise a cup John felt the pull to start the pump down at the dam and I masked up. By the time John returned hoses were squirting water onto our verandahs and fires were slowly creeping into our bush munching ferns grasses vines, whooshing up trunks of trees, crackling snapping rumbling.
A few times I crept down the track from the house to watch the fires journey  on the other side of the dam. There is a fascination with fire –it is a mystery, a wonder, an attraction, something impels us to move closer to it – we cannot grab it but within its flames are worlds dreams and visions that beckon some primal instinct within us. And yet when we get too close it becomes a menace a monster a flaming scary beast.
The shack near the dam caught alight-  windows shattering metal roof screaming – a motorbike in cold storage exploded – and so the fire moved inexorably closer and closer engulfing everything in its path. The house filled with smoke – I realised that if the fire didn’t get me asphyxiation might. I had heard the stories of oxygen being sucked out of the air ahead of the fire and how the very air can combust far in advance of flames and heard too of  firestorms that are like tornadoes twisting and uprooting trees cars buildings and flinging them for miles. We watered as the fire rained down upon our home ;embers flying, gardens and sheds burning, gas bottles exploding.
I had lit a candle on the altar, incense and prayed – ask and ye shall receive it is said and so it is and so it was that I was answered held and safe.  
I am not an island alone eking out a physical existence – there is a whole journey behind and ahead of me , lineages of ancestors and wisdom keepers, a universal web of connections to which I and You belong.  If it was my time to depart then I would not be writing this story – instead I lived to tell the tale again; with deep deep gratitude in my heart and body for still having this shelter, this beautiful mud brick castle I call home – this beautiful family of friends children grandchildren, this beautiful forest that burnt and lives regenerating generously with grasses vines flowers and plants I have never ever seen before.
I take the example of this forest and apply it to my life – its capacity to hold and to give, its courage and humility, its fearlessness and innate strength of Being,

One year on :
still dwelling in a choppy sea of emotions as we make our way , as we endeavour to return to lives forever changed by this experience. If there are lessons to be learned from this it is about how we care for each other and how we care for the earth. There is no separation – as we do to each other so we do to the Earth.
There has been enough cruelty and suffering. We know we can do better; that we are light as well as dark and bloom best under kindness and good will . This new year let us reflect on the light we see within each other on the care we take with each other and the love we share.

Namaste
Sandra
xx

…inside the joy of another

Frankie is
seriously kooky
a character actor
a ragtag fun charged giggle
expert at play .
At four and a half she says

‘when I grow up I want to be a Koala’.
well ‘hallelujah’ I say.
At last, at long last perhaps the tide is turning
and humanity is growing up.

She wants to be a koala not a pop star or a teacher,
not a doctor or engineer, not a pilot banker or farmer .
Among all the influences of her first four years
it is Koala that grabs her attention.
We guess she will grow out of this notion
but what a great aspiration,
what a truth of the relevance importance significance and
worthiness of our Kin.


There is some thing irresistibly sweet about this
that amid the drama acting out
increased weaponisation of space land and sea,
this solid determination to be enemies,
a small child sees another picture.
One in which we share the planet with the koala
in which there is no divisive separation,
no compelling reason not to choose a life among the tree tops;
hanging around in the fork of a branch chewing eucalyptus leaves.

Life is lived in these moments
the moment when we see inside the joy of another
when it comes bursting out and knocks our senses with its purity.

I love that I am witness to the comings goings and doings of the many Beings that have no vote no pension card no shares no credit card.

The gate of our enclosed vege garden was left open and while we were busy with our lunch two goannas ventured in. Fat guts as Greg calls it (featured below) chases the smaller goanna around -trampling the peas broadbeans silver beet carrots cabbages and broccoli- absolute wreckheads round and round lifting their heads up against the wire trying to find the way out. John places a duck egg outside the gate – we sit and watch – eventually fat guts lumbers out and snaffles the egg – no breakage – down in one.

Thank you Rob Parnell who captured this pic last week while he and Glenda were staying with us.

I have to pinch myself sometimes that I have this ringside seat
even when they are in destructor mode ,
even when the fairy wrens drive us bonkers pecking all day at the windows and some unknown ( wallaby or was it possum?) scoffs the carnation seedlings
even in these moments it is a joy to be face to face with indigenous Earth natives.

Here they are going about business of life on earth; so too Frankie – doing what she does best – playing/Being the child and curiously highlighting an uncharted field of possibilities for human aspirations. What a grace to offer to hard wired domesticated grown ups. Somewhere within us- the child the wild the spirit – yearns to explore this sweetness of life unencumbered by the restrictive mores of a society modelled on dubious ideals.

Lead the way young ones- we have much to learn yet.

spring equinox

it doesn’t matter how it was done
what matters is how we do it now.

so many perspectives now of how we view the world –
from the air we look down onto countries cities streets homes oceans rivers valleys.
we can zoom in for detail – count the dots on a butterflies wing or out for long views of lava spilling over mountain sides.
from the ocean we look back towards land – the curve of a coastline –
shapes folds harbours river mouths and hills.
and space shows a spinning blue orb .
our capacity to see our world keeps changing
and so too our view of our Selves.

What can we learn from this ability ?
that there is always another angle another glimpse another possibility.
no matter how we peer into the minutiae we cannot ever see the entirety,
no matter the video cam on the spotted owl or the tracker on the koala there will always be more we do not know than what we think we know.
some call this The Mystery.

How are you doing with this covid dance a la 2020?
protests pop up in places
masks mandatory or not
tests and statistics define our mornings
harried health professionals frowning
conspiracies too numerous to elaborate on
everyone has an opinion.

is it a wake up call?
an alarm?
a death sentence?
is it a hollywood movie and we actors with the script already written?

Spring equinox :
dear friends visit and the young king turns ten.
the family gathers to wander the damp trails of a wetland, stop for a picnic and kick a ball .Ten years old he grows lean and and tall, keenly interested in nature . The next generation of grandbabies are all girls- squealing laughing playing hard.

The season is warm and rain has been friendlier.
The forest a sea of dead black trees with life burgeoning up trunks and on limbs of some.
I can still see through it-  the far hills of the valley plainly visible, so too the cows in the neighbouring paddocks – all this was once obscured by a rich understory.
The casurinas and bush cherry start their growth cycle from the beginning.
I understand that I will be compost before I see them again in their full glory.

Whales play along the coastline
unaware of masks and restrictions on land
mindful of plastics hooks lines and sounds that shatter their sense of direction.

Drones take over the skies
spying out newsworthy stories
owning our privacy,
everyone needs to know
social media determines the value.

In this neck of the universe we hug
cry and hold each other,
united in our grief for all that we have lost
bonded in our gratitude for what we still have-
companionship generosity and loving-kindness.

My friend picks up a vacuum cleaner from the relief centre
a donation
her house home beautiful garden is gone
her ancestor’s keepsakes photographs and kitchen utensils.
remarkably she is cheerful and pragmatic,
with her husband they are building again
slowly.

The bushfire inquiries release their findings
burn burn burn,
more burning they say
not less, not never again.
as if this will help
as if this force of nature can be deployed in this manner and we not get burnt
as if any of the forces of nature – air water earth coal uranium can be contained and not come back to bite us.

What message this equinox my friends?
What can we glean from the bones of fires death and virus?
What do all these things have in common?

Now there’s a thread to follow – like Alice down the rabbit hole
into the hallucinogenic world of talking caterpillars smoking pipes –
we can be big and we can be small.


I have taken up visible mending – worn to be seen -to be noticed
a stitch in time they say,
this is the time for that seed to be ignited –
weaving our beauty love compassion strength integrity
into tomorrow – starting today-
this equinox when light balances dark
we can mend something
a hole in a sock, a loss in our neighbourhood,
a friendship, a garden,a path,a fence,a picture,
we are menders fixers creators visionaries.
lets not wait for tomorrow
mend something today.

*******

lifting our faces to sky rain and lightning

Exif_JPEG_420

Black swamp wallaby pauses
ears twitch head turns.
what do you observe my friend?
what approaches ?
standing on tippy toes it snavels the bird seed.

A virus disrupts the world
spreads its vaporous claim over all
grinding the machine to a halt.

Here in the forest
black trunks sprout green leaves
cutty grasses vines ferns pokeroot and tiny tree seedlings
thicken and swell over charcoal ground,
great emptiness where once life thrived.

Every day demands my attention in a new way.
how easy life was before new years eve
when the forest was vibrant fecund bustling with lives,
snorting weaving nesting whistling burrowing plodding napping bounding chortling
and I;
I was able to wallow in their field of busyness
heart immersed in their stories
delighting in their families.

They were my narrative my kin my foundation
post fire I am stripped raw with grief,
heart sore for all that is lost-
peppermint sheoak bush cherry and ancient angophoras
wrens honeyeaters red neck wallabies…

I follow fox ,why are you barking ?
where are you going?
your family are they alright?
I worry over baits and guns.
hello sleepytime bush
you have returned
so many medicines lost
so many lives.

Still, burrows are being dug
nesting sites explored,
goanna wombat skink turtle bandicoot echidna come to tell me they are here.
I am grateful many kin have survived and our work continues,
greeting the sun
kissing the earth
lifting our faces to sky rain and lightning
shivering shaking twitching singing grumbling snoring blinking
dancing life on earth.

I am the less for this tragedy
yet I have to be greater,
to keep singing their Being
honouring their Song
their return after fire.

The virus is unmaking our world
yet unmaking has a most worthy purpose,
every hand; every knitter sewer hat maker artist sculptor cook understands
that there are times when we have to undo and re make.
Sometimes the mistake turns out to be a blessing showing us a better way .

In the early lockdown (which passed unnoticed in the forest)
a friend talked of how eerie it was to hear no traffic,
the air was clearer and birdsong sweeter.
‘I think I hear the Earths heartbeat’, she said.

This could be hope full
and gave me pause to imagine,
perhaps people were tuning in to a deeper resonance
of earth and heart …….
earthearthearthearthearthearthearth

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

how on earth…

Sunday in May.
             I pause at the kitchen window, gaze out over my forest domain; a bounding moving shape catches my eye. Although it left its’ mothers’ pouch this summer I still know it as the Baby. It is zooming around leaping onto a fallen log disappearing in the brush appearing again the other side of the rusty burnt out van, another fast circle and abruptly stops. Mum comes into view already carrying a tiny new model in her pouch. She is in no hurry nibbling sweet green shoots.
             Early morning sunlight streams into a sleepy world still autumn deep in shadowy places, last nights dew sparkles on the tall grasses and leaves of the aspiring return of growth.
In among the burnt forest still trembling on the edge of recovery or Not, three black swamp wallabies( an adolescent young male frisky with hormones comes into view) go about their Busy ness.

             The question I had been pondering this morning over my bowl of porridge and not for the first time …….How on earth did they survive – the wallaby the snake ( sightings of red belly black and diamond python) the echidna, the goanna ( the big ancient one and a young fella) the bandicoot, birds ; when there is not a skerrick of unburnt land for miles around me, not a patch here in my 80 acres of forest or next door in Keiths or Patricks. Except for our house and they did not come in here.

             I call this place an ark do I not as in an ark of possibilities for living in some other way – without locks or keys or alarm systems, without flush toilets, without dependency on the electricity grid And with Earth Bird Bee Animal and Other.
What did the snakes and goannas do holed up in their hollow logs  when the logs caught on fire?
             Perhaps like the stories I used to tell Kingston the wombat burrow attracted and became a refuge for forest creatures that crammed in and waited out the fire???
The stories always started ‘Once upon a time there was a little boy and his name was Kingston john who lived in a beautiful forest with all his kin. One day Kingston john and his friend Wa wa ( aka black swamp wallaby) decided to visit wombat.’ These stories often involved rescue missions/ magical tales that he joined in with as he grew older. Visiting wombat was about learning from a wise one who offered sage advice, blackberry cordial and scones.
             An Other explanation???
It took water (lots) hoses pumps face masks for John and I to stop the fire from taking our house.

Perhaps some of the animals jumped in a dam doggy paddling round and round and round until the fire front passed. But then what?
The fires continued, trees burning for weeks, hot ashes everywhere, scorching beds of coals, thick choking smoke fumes . Can a snake or a skink slither over hot coals? And how about the teeny feet of skink or echidna?

             It is still a mystery to me serving to remind of the intelligence wisdom resilience of creatures to survive and adapt. And to honour the potential for magic and miracle.

Their food sources were obliterated and our bird population has been drastically reduced. For weeks we put out food; pellets sweet potato carrots , fruit hanging in trees and maintained water stations. 
We noticed wallabies hobbling with burnt feet and one day I came across a charred body and have since found some bones. They say over 1 billion animals ( does this include birds) died in this summers fires.
Seeing the exuberant  play this morning was a gift in a time when grief is still raw and tender.
             Yesterday I discovered a newly made burrow, a large earthworks of a very big wombat. The size of the tunnel tells us the size of the maker of the burrow not necessarily who might be living there. I went back this morning and the very big  wombat was poised at the entrance to greet me.
 Young fella wombat has been observed renovating a bank in the gully below the dam. This gully whose aspirations to become a rainforest has suffered a severe set back. In the early weeks after the fire young womby hid out under our bedroom verandah occasionally joining its mum and her new bubba in her burrow.

For so many this summer the world was turned upside down.

             When I see the wild creatures going about their Business I offer up thanks for this glimpse into their world, taking note of their healthy appearance, their capacity to endure play and Be.
Today in this moment my forest domain is safe; the ark is fulfilling its mission of providing home and refuge, home for Other, home for Being to thrive.

May all Beings be so fortunate.

roll out the pipe dream

 

ball ball shaped color earth

Restrictions are easing and people cheer for these small mercies
forgetting they are sovereign Beings enacting a sacred life on a sovereign planet.

I started to tell a story about the state of forests four months after The Fire raged through almost the entire east coast of Australia.

In this story I was going to tell there featured an arch villain Eden Woodchip Mill not only continuing operations but with plans to make briquettes from burnt trees for export. And then a lament of how desecrated the forests are in the south east corner where I live, desecrated by management that in serving a chipmill clearfells and control burns on a regular basis. I finish this story with a heartfelt regret about how some of these ransacked forests will never recover,  and then,  I caught myself.

So off in the tired old story I almost believed it. So off in a mechanistic logical rational equation forgetting the true potentiality within and without.

If we acknowledge that humans are multi-dimensional Beings who can Sing Pray and Heal then the truth becomes that we can do/be anything.  We have little idea of all that we capable of. We  know we are able to pollute our entire nest, split the atom, splice DNA, rob aquifers, exterminate species, fire missiles and pretend that capitalism is a valid role model.

Also aware that we have a capacity for kindness compassion forgiveness nurturing families communities while living respectfully lovingly with the Planet.

So kinda like jekyll and hyde characters. On the one hand our bodies hearts minds can be inveigled into serving the machine, the machine seemingly intent on our self destruction certainly our planetary base Or, we can surrender and perhaps in this discover an innate divine nature with inherent inner wisdom. In this state the resonance of the heart of Earth / Universe, the Great Spirit leads us to the possibility that we can walk in balance with the totality of existence, the dreaming of oneness, in love with creating Beauty for All Beings.

This path does not require religion faith or servitude.
It does require sacrifice truth and integrity.
I am one and I am many.
Like the neighbour, the senator the plumber.

The end game, my friend Heidi says, is here.
She’s right. It is the end for despair, bad deeds, subjugation and greed.
Even though many pointers channel us relentlessly in this direction.
The end of excess. The end for coal gas fracking, bio weapons, nuclear missiles, drone strikes and hatred. The end of all the dirty putrid ways. The end of indulgent mindless behaviours.

The abscess (from latin abscessus ‘a going away’ )  has been lanced, it oozes unpleasantly painfully and with a certain amount of relief that at long last all that is wrong is being exposed.  Many keep grasping onto what was, spin the story  and apply band aids .

For others this has become a time of revelation renewal and reflection.  A time of deep immersion in the Songs of Earth …Wind … Bird … Ocean … Whale … Rock… and Spirit. Tuning in to a higher frequency in which time and space merge into a oneness of loving attention, stillness solace nurturance and joy.

A pipe dream, a fantasy, a wish. I dare Us to hold this pipe dream, to wish, fantasize and activate another mode of living.

I dare us to not restart the old but chart another path through the rubble, the restrictions controls vanities addictions of yesterday into the Present unencumbered with all that seeks to destroy our beautiful planet home.

When faced with a pandemic we have proved that we can shut the world down. We have proved that when faced with difficulties we are creative and caring, that we can live without so much that was thought to be necessary.

What do you reckon?……. roll out the pipe dream…  nothing to loose.  Sing  it into existence into our gardens our grandchildren into the molecules of  land and sky.  Take a journey into the amazing cosmological evolutionary story that brought us to this moment and realise that as co creators we are part of the next chapter …

In honour of Murray Richmond Taylor who loved the trees the wind riffling in them the birds skipping around the yard; who loved the idea of a world without war and violence hunger and pain, who loved our long rambling phone conversations about how to ‘fix’ the world.   Father dearly loved and missed.

The crown

art carving close up crown
Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

 

put on the crown

there is no other way to play this

own it

it is yours.

our birthright

the crown of divine rule

signature of high office

of Know Thyself.

 

it was a crown of thorns for Jesus

a crown of daisies for us

sprawled in the grass

spindly legs freckles on cheeks

ribbons in our hair,

fingernails slitting the stem and feeding daisies through

until we had a ring of them squashed on our heads,

dancing and laughing in sweet innocence.

climate disaster war coronavirus nuclear waste

a long long dream away,

more like threepence to spend on a lolly

a new pencil case or ruler

shoes with laces

because now I could tie bows.

 

it was porridge and bath before bed

a hot water bottle and a goodnight kiss.

now the grandchildren know

empty food shelves

closed shops parents out of work,

they know the swimming pool the playground the skatepark

and the gelati shop are out of bounds,

they know that if they don’t wash their hands someone might die.

 

fear and statistics broadcast hourly

more restrictions

don’t hang out with your friends 

don’t sit on a park bench even on your own

don’t go for a drive or have a picnic with your family in a secluded spot

don’t hike or camp.

 

the lost job queue winds on around the corner

phone lines internet choke and seize up

not enough data

facemasks hand sanitisers tissues

not enough

placing health workers at risk.

 

science is definitive

telling the story

crunching the data

building models and graphs

stand back stay home

wash your hands

governments around the world agree

and lockstep a program designed to keep us in place.

 

go online and get a life

if only we had data

skype youtube zoom facebook,

the world’s your oyster on a screen

look up nature

david attenborough will show you unimaginable beauty

all with a cuppa in hand.

 

the bandwagon calls us to participate

and it matters little what we believe or what theory we admire

or whether we agree,

it is clear, it is legislated

stay home and wash your hands.

let go of normal existence

stop the world.

 

corona is latin for crown

virus by name

game changer by station,

children are home climbing trees in the backyard singing

seeds and seedlings are being planted

windows doors open so voices can reach out and touch anothers heart

waving at neighbours

home deliveries

meals left on doorsteps.

 

Has Adani stopped operations?

the guns been silenced?

the military on hold?

Have weapons manufactures shut down?

logging of native forests ceased?

Is there a moratorium on the making of deadly viruses in labs?

Will hunting elephants and whales stop ?

 

Do not gather in numbers greater than two

five at a wedding, 10 at a funeral,

someone has called for single use plastic bags to be reintroduced

does this make sense and how would we know anyway?

the righteous send forth and

the kindhearted people who do not wish to see this virus spread

stay home and dream.

 

I make hand sanitiser, anti- viral sprays and soap.

sew face masks, hankies and oven mitts

knit dish cloths and scrubbers.

I no longer hug friends if I should accidentally see them 

take wide circles around people in shops and shower when I come home.

I stay home in a country of…  ‘we are all staying home.’

don’t know for how long

if we will get sick and die or get sick and live or stay healthy.

we don’t know if we will go mad, if food stocks will improve or whether there will ever be toilet paper pasta or rice on the shelves again.

what we do know is that we have no right to socialise,gather in groups, sit in cafes or playgrounds parks or beaches, we cannot go to the opera the football the movies the museum…

And many many people no longer have the right to work.

 

 

This is how it is

here is where we find ourselves and reinvention is part of playing the game.

This is an opportunity for that retreat you didn’t know you needed

for honest reflection

what do we really need?

what can we let go of?

and bring into focus

the healthy option for all humans and all planetary life.

 

A crown is on offer

championed by a virus that has stopped the known world.

Sun wind wallaby oceans tides flowers and cabbages continue

to make their mark

to be who they are

clouds stars evolution love is all around us

within us.

 

we listen

push through the veil of stock market share price illusion

enter into divine realisation

take up the mantle

put on the crown

go to work

and

transform the world with respect and integrity.

 

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behold : human Be-ing

         Millions of dollars have been donated to this ongoing fire storm disaster and yet obtaining help is a difficult play. When Stephane from Disaster Relief tried to get the RFS to clear our access track he was told our road had already been cleared  ( not this section of it) and when he approached the SES and local Council they said, not a priority . By a serendipitous encounter he bumped into the blokes from the Riverina. 

 Six men set off from the Riverina

with a semi trailer full of farming supplies,

they had a fundraiser in the local

a mate down this way.

they turned up at  the Cobargo Relief Centre at the Showgrounds

wanting to assist someone

heard our track was blocked

came out to help.

all a bit of a laugh

two chainsaws a big ute

files and wedges

lots of good natured ribbing

they cut dragged and cleared,

seamlessly.

for us a god send

angels I called them.

nah… just country blokes

with hearts of gold

a royal act of generosity.

 

             A Crisis is all about applying to a multitude of organisations and proving you are damaged, in need, proving Your Story.  Again and again we have witnessed not help from the charities not help from the government or the council but solid practical enduring support from the community-  friends family neighbours and strangers. 

             Should we be surprised ? I don’t think so. The startling thing is that we still hold the assumption that authorities will come to our aid, fix climate change , fund mental health programs; that… they will do the right thing for the people.

 

Meanwhile Safe has become a relative term

meaning little beyond this moment,

 it is an idea

a structure we build

a fortress we defend.

 

   One month on the Fire dragon remains on the south east coast breathing down our collective necks, making allies, joining forces, building in strength and temerity, playing the waiting game; moving slowly, picking up speed, changing directions, sending out scouts. The effect is unsettling unnerving and terrifying. A glance at the RFS fire map of the east coast reminds us no one is safe. Another heat wave approaches and again we prepare to defend hold and endure.

 

The days of generosity

a point in time

crisis

knocking our sensibilities

provoking feelings

striking a chord as they say.

some thing is activated

the kindness gene

the DNA of generosity

the hormone of care and compassion.

is this who we really are?

Beings of kindness

capable of self-organising

in response

to crisis

acting selflessly

in service to the community.

 

I am witness to the actions of 

Human   Be-ing.

It is a beautiful thing.

 

xxx