The teacher lives in the forest

The teacher is the tree

The earth the fire the stars

All these talk to me.

*******

The teacher lives in the elements

The teacher is in the heart

The sky the sun the waves

All these dance with me.

*******

The teacher lives in the rocks

The teacher is the journey

The bird the dream the rainbow

All these sing to me.

*******

The master is in the neighbour

The master is the clown

The grocer the plumber the baker

All these are as me.

*******

The master is on the radio

The master is on the TV

The novel the internet the newspaper

All these speak to me.

*******

I am within the universe

I am within the heart

 spirit  light  consciousness

No separation in me.

my granddad Samuel Richard Taylor was born in Moneymore Ireland.

according to the 1901 Census

Saml R age 15 is a farmers son can read & write – and their religion is Christian.

father Samuel -mother Annie

siblings- Emily 18 Annie 13 Tommie J 10 Sarah 8 and Caroline 2.

they are living in county Derry at house 4 canuse ,lisson upper, Londonderry.

I found the family again in the 1911 census – they had moved to no 10 and had another child David who was two

which doing the maths meant that Annie was 53 when David was born…..

Samuel left Ireland in 1908 and sailed to New Zealand . some of his mothers side of the family the Palmers were already there.

he took on whatever work he could find and at one point lived on eggs for six weeks when he worked for uncle Joe Palmer who apparently was ‘a mean old bugger ‘.

Along came WW1 and Sam said No  to going to war. He registered as a conscientious objector and served time in jail.

Consequently no one in my father’s family showed up for WW2 either.

patterns run deep in families and this is one I am grateful for.

the pattern of peace – the pattern of no to war was established long before my birth and continues

fascinating that it should arise out of Irish blood.

I have a son that ventured into the NZ army for a while. I reckon he only did it to get up my nose because I abandoned him when he was a baby.

he did a stint in Timor- a peace keeping force they called it. I hope he was digging drains and making tracks passable and getting out of the way when the people staggered past with a bag of rice over their shoulders or maybe even stopping the jeep and giving them a lift.

I like to think that armies are useful and capable of good works – I see no other future for them.

Jess says oh that’s where you get your hippiness from Mum from your granddad.

may be.

he never looked hippie to me . I thought he  was a grumpy ole fella and a bit scary. I never understood much of what he said either .

once he had done his time as a farmer in Te Awamutu his wife had long died he retired to  a beachside suburb of Tauranga called Otumoetai. here we visited occasionally and I loved it for all its oddness.

the beach was just around the corner with sand flats that went on and on forever -a wandering paradise with a bucket and spade.

it was a clapboard house – asbestos probably – a wee bit smelly and dirty and full of jumble .

Mark Dads youngest brother lived in a shed over the garage and went off to work each day as a fireman which at the time seemed very exciting.

one day Mum asked Grandad if she could pick some apples off the trees in his yard. she asked because he had told us to leave them alone -he didn’t even like me climbing them and would yell at Mum or Dad to get me down.

no he said. we did anyway and Mum served up apple crumble which he was tickled pink about but didn’t get that they were his apples.

My bed was a camp stretcher in the living room – a room that was hardly ever used.

the kitchen was the centre of life and I can still remember Grandad stirring spoonfuls of sugar into his cup of tea tipping it into the saucer and drinking it.

Only 243 men served jail time in NZ and yet there were over 2000 registered conscious objectors. (WW1)

it must have been a brave thing to do to say No when all around you the fever of honour and glory is stirring – when it is manliness to fight.

sometimes standing up for what we believe in is difficult and I thank Samuel for this legacy.

he died in 1972 .

1972 sitting in assembly in the school hall

I was 15

my new school – Onslow College.

the 7^th formers mostly radical students

(the counter culture had arrived in New Zealand)

requested boys be able to have their hair whatever length they liked.

‘no ‘said the principal

‘will we accept no ? ‘ a lad asks.

‘no ‘ we all chanted.

we will stay here until our demands are met

and so we did.

it grew warmer -the hall got sticky – boredom set off missiles and

whispers became shouts .

the goodie goodies had left and were attending classes with a serious lack of students.

one revolution of the wheel.

a victory – boys no longer had to have the regulation buzz cut.

a feeling of empowered euphoria swept thru us and we felt invincible

we felt like we could change the world.

we decided we no longer wished to wear  school uniforms

so we became the only coed high school in the greater Wellington region to wear whatever we liked.

that next year all matter of hippie kids turned up allowed to leave their Saint this and that – their single sex with gloves schools

children of parents with left liberal sympathies.

a tide was turning and we were part of the vanguard.

this was the time of the Vietnam war and

nuclear testing in the Pacific Ocean by the French.

our other pet hate and call for protest was

playing rugby with South Africa who discriminated on the grounds of race in choosing their team.

apartheid was abhorrent to a country struggling to deal with colonial racism

a country that was learning to come together.

there is a march in Wellington today to protest against …..

‘you may not go’ said the principal.

we went anyway – taking over the city  – stopping traffic – waving banners.

I was home in time for dinner.

what is it all about ? asks Mum.

fish in the ocean radioactivity islanders getting sick

earthquakes our backyard ocean.

‘always been too arrogant those frogs ‘says Dad.

‘tut tut’ says Mum ‘they shouldn’t carry on like that.

and what has sport got to do with politics?’

racism inequality Mum.

‘well we have to get rid of communism’ says Dad

why ( argument follows) sigh ‘it is not our fight Dad.’

where will it all end?’ asks Mum.

still no answer on that one .

in 1972 Norman Kirk from a working class background and then leader of the labour party became our prime minister.

in a government characterised by action on behalf of the ordinary people he withdrew the remaining troops out of Vietnam.

he abolished compulsory military training and in a speech to the UN  was highly critical of the US and their involvement with the coup d’etat in Chile.

A milestone had been reached in the coming of age as an independent country.

it seemed for a brief period of time that there was a mesh between the people and our government to stand up.

although Norm Kirk had said in the election campaign that he wouldn’t interfere in the proposed tour by the Springboks he cancelled the tour.

the passionate and vocal protest- the potential for violence changed his mind.

After taking France to the International Court of Justice did not stop them – Norm sent two navy frigates to Mururoa Atoll in protest.

A member of parliament was on board his name picked out of a hat.

there was a sense in the air of revolution – a turning back of the darkness of dispelling injustice.

1974 Norman Kirk died in office and the country mourned

he was a big man with a way of looking into something so inteligently and so deeply that much became possible and then he acted .

today marks the 6^th year of the passing of my mother.

She never voted labour in her life but she did possess common sense and so did Norm.

going about a few household tasks

gathering a huge bunch of lemon verbena and poking it in a pot at the kitchen door.

Bec rang last night ‘thought I might make a visit’.

‘oh yes please’.

first the train then the bus along the princes highway from Melbourne to Cobargo.

‘I’ll be there at five’ she says and ‘I will bring my beau to meet you.’

excellent which got John into cleaning the downstairs level of the tower room and me picking flowers..

Jess rings – a little boy wants to talk to me

he is full of tears and unable to chat.

I send love down the line and say I will try to visit you soon.

‘gandma will see me soon’ he tells his mum.

oh dear – one forgets of the immediacy of a small persons world.

I picked up old egg cartons and left them at the carport ( don’t tell John he hates how we fill up his shed) and my feet kept on walking.

purposefully.

oh well I guess I will go along.

past the boatyard    along the track

under the vine wrapped forest trees

my head down

like some taurean bull I thought.

past the old truck quietly rusting since the 1940’s

managing to lift my head up past the shoulder aches

and watch the wind dancing the tree tops the sky autumn blue and a few snowy white clouds ambling about.

I love you- blessing tree and earth and sun-

feet keep walking.

I hear a heavy thump off to the left and spot some grey kangaroos bounding deeper into the bush.

they were big fellas – we have noticed that the mob is growing – after all those years being shot at by our next door cowboy farmers -finally they are in recovery.

amazing what a difference a change of neighbour can make to a species.

their posture is so upright so magnificent such perfectly muscled strength.

I stand up straight moving myself into alignment.

‘you don’t need to fear me’ I tell them

‘why , I should be scared of you’

but I’m not.

they are gentle creatures and love to lie in the sun – to scratch

eat bush grasses and play.

my feet resume walking they know where to go and I follow –

what choice do I have?

down the track to the lily shack

and into the bush of last years wood site.

I stop for a piddle and a currawong flies into a wattle near me

all black and white stealth.

well hello.

no mistake it had me in its sights

giving me the once over.

judgement lies often in the eyes of birds

the heart and the weight of a feather and all that.

it took up residence a bit further away in a wild cherry tree.

silently in twos and threes more flew in and watched and gathered in  the small cherry

its branches dipping and swaying.

I wanted to say – hey you guys are too big for that tree

but no one tells the currawong off.

a dozen and still they entered the space quietly

maybe a couple of dozen by now and then as before in twos and threes they fly north some 40 metres towards the lily dam stopping again in a wild cherry.

the ways of spirit are mysterious

but I am in no doubt that they called me here.

I wandered over to check out a huge fallen tree still alive. its roots now sticking up in the air at the base of another huge tree.

I realised that one had given way to the other .

Oh bless you I said and bowed my head.

leaving the house I had carried a state with me

it was gone now.

something settled within me.

the question could be what

but that would imply that the conscious mind needs to know.

instead I thanked my spirit that guided my feet

directing me to the humble goings on within the forest.

bringing me out of and into my self…

once again.

many years back  I did a bit of study of traditional chinese medicine with my then next door neighbour who by most reports was an exceptional practitioner with an open door and no payment required  policy. He was  also a shaman a master of kendo and seducer and stealer of womens energy.

I found him to be a great teacher with dubious personality traits.

one day the teaching of the Shen cycle

we might use the word spirit.

it is a creative cycle and gives rise to  all thoughts.

Po is true heart – an empty space.

Hun resides in the liver –  emotion.

Hun Po must balance but sadly in most humans it doesn’t.

heart is the void –  actuality chases out infinite possibility he told us.

there are four organs in  the fire element and this  divides into two fires.

the triple heater and the pericardium are the ministerial fire –

this is love warmth relationships – keeping all life going and indeed life can only exist because of this.

the small intestine and the heart is the imperial fire – a quality that seldom occurs.

the heart has the possibility of creating something out of nothing –  a spark – that which has never existed before – that which distinguishes us as humans.

true Shen Po can produce spark but if the heart is clouded by Hun (emotions) then Po is starved.

this is how you recognise Po….

there is a certain kind of behaviour that can occur in Po that can change the world and

as soon as an infinite possibility is grounded

the world hears and changes and

once said it has always been so.

I leave you with a poem of Po

the Possibility exists that

one can make a difference in an impossible world.

may you realise that

you are indeed a grand plan of divine intervention.

may you continue to safeguard the small the innocent and the vulnerable.

may you realise that you are that which you are seeking.

may the spirit of Po guide you.

we are in the stride of autumn magnificence now

a clarity of sky

a sparkling of forest.

sitting here at my table in the window my observation deck.

flies buzzing around the door wanting entry.

John salted a batch of kimchi this morning this time with squid

oh and he was doing something with prawns

hence the flies.

every so often a zephyr ruffles the leaves of the callistemon the salvia the buddleia.

every so often there is a whip from the whip bird and some chatter from  yellow robin    superb blue wren     restless flycatcher    grey shrike thrush    white throated tree creeper …….

the grape leaves are yellowing browning and dropping to the verandah piling up as curling installations.

we netted it this year first with bird mesh then fishing net and that sorted out the possums and the wallabies

but along came bush rat then to munch away- didn’t matter we ate big bunches of them anyway.

John has moved on to the fire nymph.

‘I have to put the gennie on to cut the fire bricks – will that upset you  -should I do something else ?’ asks the gallant knight.

earlier I had said to him ‘ I am just going to be totally pathetic  – take it on  – feel drooby and then get  over it.’

yesterday as one tooth was feeling better a sliver of bone from my extraction broke the surface of the gum and half my  jaw feels bruised and then to top off it off my upper back went out of synch.

oh great. I am falling apart, well it won’t be the first time nor sadly the last.

as soon as I decided to get stuck into the varying range of annoying discomforting and painful symptoms I saw how funny it was -how absurd I was acting

and that in the great scheme of things how absolutely meaningless my petty disturbances were.

so from a sukky weep to a good laugh in seconds  because I met it – whatever it is  – because I allowed it to be.

look at the grape leaf for goodness sake is it weeping and gnashing its veins over its decay?

look at the beans shrivelled and dried on the dead vine are they wingeing and whining?

change is a a part of life

I know this     I know this     I know this.

and still there are times when I resist

still there are times when I want to hide from my discomfort

when I want to curl up and become numb to the suffering of self of our mother of our world.

Whitehaven plans three open pit mines in Leard State Forest ( NSW) not one but three the biggest of the biggest.

they are smashing the forest clearing thousands of hectares – an old forest and one of a few that actually still exist out west in our wide brown land.

destroying sacred sites of the Gomeroi people  – sacred sites thousands of years sung  danced  and honoured  being wiped out with a blade by a corporate body.

what happens to the energy of the earth then as we destroy all that is sacred?

well you may ask

we are living in the answer now.

and  still I struggle because every cell of my being wishes to resist this future they plan for my grandchild.

platitudes and meditations will not suffice

homilies and petitions won’t cut it.

my whole being screams out at the wrongness

and I have no answers to offer

only a deep and abiding sense that we are capable of so much more.

this year I made some which is not something I usually bother with.

I got out my super cool rainbow pencil a blank piece of paper and wrote ………

saos – forget about them

yeah no – conflicting statement

pray – often

food – love and gratitude

spirit – listen and follow

teeth – visit the dentist

yoga – yes please

heart – breathe deeply

aragannu –  cough vine

smile – inside always or not

mind – projects

earth – honour

insects – be kind

forest river – sing

ceremony – must do

Stanley – clean more often

the world – witness

camping – more

body – sit in silence

family – love

so how am I going. well I don’t eat saos anymore .

I did visit the dentist but need to return, still no word from Myra with a cancellation but apart from an overall side of the face ache feeling a bit brighter today.

I rescued a log out of the fire last night that had ants crawling all over it and placed it outside.

I did yoga this morning and try to remember to bless and sing up the beauty of earth river forest mountain and creek.

I haven’t been to aragannu to pick some cough vine yet.

and I have just got up off my butt and given Stanley a clean.

a tooth goes off in my head

barely two weeks since I had one extracted on the downstairs

and now one upstairs is resounding a bell

unpleasantly so.

I smear on the ointment that Glenda bought in a pharmacy in Havana

has clove in it but who knows what else not a skerrick of English on the tube.

it has always helped before

not good enough this time

so…

in the middle of the night with the big round moon shining silver and light all thru the house

I make a potion of poppy tincture and clove oil

worked for a bit but I may have burnt myself a little with the clove .

I alternate previous healing helpers

fresh plantain leaves pounded in the mortar and pestle is packed on the gum at the moment

wish I could say the pain had shifted.

I am home alone which is a blessing because talking is not what I want to do with my mouth

in fact nothing much comes to mind to do

meditate  breathe all worthwhile activities and sustain me briefly

and then I just wish the bloody pain would go away.

I dont want to learn from it or understand or process  my lack of decision making or otherwise thank you louise hay

what I really want is the pain to stop cease halt .

obviously the child is screeching and I lost my adult down the corridor somewhere

maybe n will be better for all of us.

I ring Myra at the bega dental practice and ask for an appointment

mmmm nothing just now but I will put you down for a cancellation

she still hasn’t rung back.

kinda gets a bit mad pain in the head pain anywhere in the body really but the head as Robyn said to me the other day after she had a bout of neuralgia for several weeks is the worst.

well all rather relative don’t you think?

but for now I will  hope Myra comes thru soon.

and try and enjoy the full moon energy

and whatever else comes to mind.

Monday

dawns with the laughing of kookaburras far off in the forest -a few twitters and tweets on our verandah.

the pink salvia is in full bloom so extremely busy these days with the eastern spinebills hanging upside down pressing their long curved beak deep in  and the striking  yellow black and white new Holland honeyeaters supping as well.

a visit to my bed from the little king with all his friends and a story about footy with the creatures of the forest.

I passed on the Yoga this morning perhaps I will get to it later. perhaps not. I have an easy attitude these days – doing and loving it when I can but no longer bash myself up when I don’t. some sign of maturity or acceptance peering thru perhaps.

Stanley launches into full chug, Greg spent a lot of his spare time here splitting wood and piling up a heap of no twos.  I love them because they make the fire starting a whole heap easier .

just after seven am Kingston and I are mooching around – he holds my hand while he eats his toast and keeps very close to me because today is going home day. we hear an OY from the verandah and on our step is Roger the wood cutter.

‘got you out of bed didn’t I ?’ he says with a big grin.

‘not me and this little fella’ I say ‘but the rest are still sleeping beauties.’

‘come in Rodg while I wake John – the kitchen is warm. he takes his boots off ‘getting colder in the mornings eh?’  he says.

‘  more rain coming- a cyclone on its way down and a high pressure system off the coast so I’ve got to get onto it’ .

I show him our new wood heater and he rapidly calculates what size he will need to cut. somewhere in his 60’s wearing a well worn pair of jeans a red checkered flannelette shirt and the once aussie boot blundstones now made in China-  he is one of those quintessential aussie characters loud and hearty – larger than life .

John makes a bleary appearance in the kitchen trying to find his boots.

‘I’m a pain in the arse aren’t I mate turning up this early’ with another big grin.

‘no one coming here to chop wood is that ‘ replies John.

John goes off with Rodg to show him what we had picked out for him to cut but he dismissed it out of hand ‘ not enough in that mate’.

he noticed a large dead stringybark beside the track and decided it was the one.

Ok whatever , we are just super relieved that someone other than John is now supplying us with firewood .

the chainsaw some distance from the house hums along backdrop to the creaking of the roof as the sun rises and warms and a gentle breeze rustling and rippling thru the trees and garden.

the little king with his mum and dad have gone –  returning to their home and their life in Canberra. John has ridden off to get a part for the car.

I am alone -the house is cleared of three year old games and apart from the chittering and twittering it is quiet .

part and parcel of grandma ism  – they come they go.

children grow up and we become a mobile family.

at odd times the house fills with daughters and their beaus grandchildren additional friends visiting an elder from NZ .

laughter bounces from mudbrick wall to stained glass windows and back again .

and then like now they leave and it is me alone drinking deep at the well of love and gratitude .

this is a really cool family – we really like each other – we really like hanging out together and I cant think of anything much better than that.

I baked a chocolate cake one of those recipes where you throw all the ingredients into a bowl and whizz it for a while.

I don’t have a whizzer so it became a job for a couple of spoons .One in my hands and the other clutched by Kingston John.

Him kneeling on a chair and me standing at the table we sang ‘mixing mixing mixing…la la da da de de … the spoons colliding and slurping chocolate mixture around the sides of the bowl mysteriously climbing onto  fingers and smearing  a grinning little face.

Into the oven it went where it stayed for hours, sometimes it is like that with Stanley. The stringy bark that we are burning at the moment seems to like poking along. obviously Stanley and I didn’t have the temperature hot enough but nothing wrong with a slow baked cake. Or is there?

When I got it out the top had gathered and puckered into ridges and valleys around the centre …- quite pretty but hardly proper for commercial consumption.

And then when I lifted it out of the tin half the bottom stayed behind.
Normally none of this would faze me or anyone else in the family but on this day the cake was for a weekend workshop -a public cake -so I scooped up the loose bits and patted it back together.

Mmmmmm What to do now ?

Jess and I conferred. I cut the uneven surface off the bottom and tried to make it smooth . that worked – sort of – only a wee bit lopsided and icing would help.

The knife swirled chocolate icing filling up the valleys and ridges creating a spiral pattern .

kind of arty I thought with a breath of relief. All it needed was a little decoration for the finishing touch.

leaving it on the kitchen table supervised by Kingston I raced outside and picked a handful of blue borage flowers.

‘ Oh no oh no what have you done ?’ What wha… the… ‘ I shrieked I admit.

‘It needed pepper’ he said calmly.

‘no it didn’t how could you eeeaaayyyyhhh’….

the cake had a mound of finely ground black pepper sitting on the icing , the pepper dish was empty.

‘Why on earth did you do that ?’

‘It needed pepper’ he said firmly showing no sign of anything amiss.

‘That is the absolutely last thing this poor cake needed.’

carefully I spooned some pepper back into its dish.

‘You had better get out of here before I blow my stack,’ I said to Kingston.

‘What’ s going on ?’ says Jess coming into the kitchen and ‘why are you under the table bub?’

‘Hiding from gandma’ he says

‘Let me do it mum.’ Jess took the cake over to the sink  grabbed a pastry brush and  I fled the kitchen hearing a last’ it needed pepper’ squeak.

In the bedroom John is reading – inbetween laughter I update him on the life of this poor cake.

‘tell them at the workshop ‘ he says’ it is a funny story .’

but I didn’t tell the ladies at the watercolour workshop.

I couldn’t .

I just hoped that when the sneezing started they would assume it was a touch of hay fever.

at the end of the day I collected an empty plate  and a bit of praise.

since then I have found a recipe for Siena cake and it actually has got black pepper in it.

so way ahead of me again Kingston John.