it rained steadily solidly all night.

knowing I had to work in the gallery this morning I wondered whether the track would be passable.

by the time dawn made its appearance the rain had stopped.

I heard the waking murmurs from the next room and within a second the door banged open

and Kingston with an armful of friends was at my side of the bed.

he thrust them at me -green sheep   tuatara    tigger    aunty dog  red dog and clambered in for a  snuggle.

‘tory is demanded.’ in a minute’ I say savouring  the closeness the smell .

we continue the adventures of Kingston John Wawaa (wallaby) and wombat .

today I introduced a tractor because he is a machine boy , working things he calls them .

John rolls over and says working things indignantly (I thought he was still asleep)

what about whale I want a whale story?

he gets out of bed to light stanley and whale takes us to meet a seal with a sore flipper.

there is no bread so I make chapatis – a mix of flour olive oil and water

roll them out and lay them on the top of stanley to cook .

I throw another piece of wood into the firebox and jiggle the kettle around to get a boil happening.

whenever I make chapatis I wonder why I ever do the bread thing

because flatbreads made in the moment with their endless possible variations are just the ants pants.

Kingston rolls his own but graciously allows me to cook it .

he lathers on the butter and then the blackberry jam.

‘You helped mummy and me pick these blackberries’ I remind him.’

‘and Carole ‘ he pipes up.

‘yes Carole did help and remember she was worried that you were going to eat them all.’

‘mmmnn’

‘what about a fresh squeezed orange juice ‘ I ask him trying to lure him out of the cool room which is kinda like a cubby for him?

‘good idea’ and he pulls the big stainless steel squeezer  off the pantry shelf and carries it out to the kitchen table.

‘ this is even hebier than the chickpea machine ‘ he informs us.

I cut the oranges in half – he puts  half in place and pulls the lever down – with a few repeated pulls and a bit of pressure he turns the orange into juice and drinks it.

smacks his lips- asks for another one .

then it is over and he decides to wash up –

drags a chair over to the sink and splashes around for a while.

building the blocks of living skills.

building a base of adventure mystery and loving kindness.

building a platform from which he will  spring off into his own journey.

it is a long way from here – from three and a half and we have no idea where he will go

but we do know

that he will take all this with him.

I am opening flowering seeding nurturing giving receiving

folding into the pose of the child

opening again

unfurling body mind and spirit.

reunited revisited remembered

moving in tandem with the tone of energy

of heart          of consciousness

of all that is.

responding to the weft and the weave of the web

a balancing act

a formless warrior honouring heart

and

carefully walking the edge

tempered by dancing with wild and unfettered abandon.

 
I am lost and found

home and away

here and there.

words form like dewdrops

caught in a sunbeam early in the morning

all a quiver shining with breathtaking light

a rainbow flashing.
they fall into a space in front of me

calling attention

intention to them

other times they are vague and indistinct

just passing

words going somewhere else .

some drop through like a magical ball

a  ball of possibilities

with ideas and journeys.

they form a coherency

a reality

a real dream walking

a sound a vibration a path an energy.

I dance  with the mountains and these landscapes

with the stars and the ancestors.

I am here.

sensing a communication

participating  without words

for what words will suffice?

and then  the desire to communicate the mystery

unfurls within like a banner caught in the breeze

and I am called to offer  a story

and hurl it into the light of consciousness

and say,

catch this

remember this

you are also here.

the little lad has returned to the forest with his parents for a week.

he has 3 and a half years of high octane enthusiasm and rowdy rambunctious play to offer to us.

mostly centred around the Thomas team of toot toots

that accompany him everywhere.

this morning we made hummus together – a ritual we undertake everytime he visits.

Kingston goes deep into the pantry and pulls out the box with the mincer in it

hard work he says struggling a little under the weight.

‘you are very strong’ I tell him.

we assemble the mincer together and screw it onto the bench.

standing on a chair he spoons the already soaked and cooked chick peas into it.

I turn the handle and then he has to eat some – so it goes some for the mincer and some for him.

we add the crushed garlic the spoonfuls of tahini .

he squeezes lemons – tips the juice in – adds a few pinches of salt.

some of the chick pea water and mix mix mix.

fingerfuls find their way into his mouth down his chin over the bench.

‘what do you think ? ‘ he asks me with a tilt of his head.

‘garlicky’ he adds.

‘yes it is good perfect I reckon ‘.

‘mmmmm’ he tries  some more and more and more.

there is no limit to how much hummus he can eat.

Kingston runs into the bedroom to ask his aunty if she wants to take some home with her when she leaves to day.

yes she says but when he comes back he tells me aunty can only have a little bit.

he like to fill the pots and jars but this morning he is too busy eating.

at morning tea time he will take charge and dole out the hommous onto a rice cracker or stick of celery and the amount we get is variable – sometimes you can hardly notice the smear and other times a great pile of it.

this rainy season  which continues today after a few days off has marked the end of summer.

most of the skinks have gone into hiding and the goanna has probably found some lovely hollow in an angophora tree and is snuggling in for the long haul .

so too the python and the red belly black snakes – they have no doubt found some nook or cranny to dream the winter away.

what an amazing thing this hibernation idea.

good night I’ll just switch off now and dream for oh about 6 months- I won’t get hungry or bored .

I certainly won’t need hummus.

what a saving that would be in terms of consumption on the planet

perhaps this could be our evolutionary future.

as John reminded me yesterday bears hibernate too so it isn’t all about cold blooded types.

I went to Mumbulla School on Sunday

which is our local Steiner school,

a day for the community to gather together and support a beloved child.

it was a ‘lush out day ‘ raising funds for the Stone Family.

for $60 you got three sessions plus lunch and morning tea .

on offer was a wide variety of healing modalities – cranial sacral – acupuncture –

theta healing – reiki – breathwork …….

there was half a dozen different forms of massage and yoga classes

there was pedicures  dance  movement and tarot.

there was food and friends to live for.

Finn Stone age six was in a car with his Mum and sister parked on the side of the road waiting for assistance.

His sister got out of the car and went for a wander.

A concrete truck slammed into them.

the next scene takes place in intensive care with tubes and bags and fluids and Finny is in serious trouble.

His mother Radha sits beside him loving and loving and allowing – knowing that whichever path he takes will be challenging.

One day Finn opens an eye    squeezes a finger and claws his way back into our hearts.

after many months in the city he has returned to his home on Myrtle Mountain .

the body brace is off and he is learning to walk again.

Sunday was the opportunity for friends of Finn and his family  to heal and be healed to love and be loved.

grandma

that is me

I am many things wear many badges hold many titles

but hearing the grand bebe sing out grandma is one of the sweetest.

being grandmother is a blessed gift and I am truly grateful.

it is true I duck for cover sometimes

the labour intensity of a small person is huge.

I had forgotten about that

how much one has to give again and again and again

forgotten the hugeness of parenting

of being on call 24/7.

which is why it takes a community to raise a child and

why when Finn needed support there were many hands and hearts available.

the trick thing about giving is that it requires us to master receiving.

the cool thing is that when we gather together this happens naturally

easily and lovingly.

fracking

is the name of a process that extracts gas from coal seam pockets deep in the earth.

First a well vertically into the earth ripping thru rock strata and aquifers and then off  it goes horizontal for a long long long way.

a mix of benzene ( known carcinogen) toluene ethylbenzene xylene is poured under high pressure along with sand and water to bring the gas out.

this is my simplistic version of no doubt a scientifically certified means of enabling us to continue along our highend energy consumption path and one that they assure us has no ill effects.

the offside to this process is immeasureable but what we do know already is that there is sustained damage to the underground stratas, that our aquifers are being compromised and that highly toxic chemicals are contaminating above and below.

in our food belt we have seen farmers light a match to a tap in their paddocks and instead of water fire bursts forth.

reports of sickness and water unfit to drink

toxic sludge wastelands occupy the land.

protests are also occupying areas

one look at a map of Australia with the projected thousands more coal seam gas wells could be enough to turn a couch potato into an activist.

the farmers initiated the ‘lock the gate’ movement ,a largely symbolic action but proving highly effective at keeping the gas moguls out.

350.org is organising divestment day on May 3.

A get your money out of the hands of the banks that directly support the fossil fuel industry.

stand up and say no fracking way.

feminism

saved my butt and my mind

restored pride in my form.

gave honour to our work our capacity and our loving kindness .

Mary Daly Starhawk Betty Friedan Germaine Greer Judy Chicago

Diane Stein, Barbara G. Walker , Vicki Noble , Anne Cameron

the honour list rolls on continues unfolding learning

repairing and renewing the dreaming.

I never liked wearing bras anyway.

fire

I ring up Roger a local wood cutter

with a log splitter machine.

put us on your list I say.

when it stops raining I’ll be out there darlin’ he replies.

fire nymph

the name of our wood heater.

John measures how much flue we need .

the days grow shorter – socks appear on my feet

some mornings a beanie is needed.

this winter we will farewell the open fire.

and welcome the fire nymph.

faerie

fey

wise ones inhabiting the realm of the wild.

somewhere else outside of time.

the faerie embassy reports directly to humanity and answerable to the great spirit.

includes all

the dryad and the sylph

devas angels and mist maidens,

the rainbow and the light at the end of the tunnel

the warrior and the sage

the master the healer and teacher

all wisdom and all kindness.

Earth

Mother

I love You.

without shame or embarrassment I say this

I adore You.

I am totally smitten enamoured and full to the brim of joy at being part of your magnificence.

that even though I breathe with you a zillion times a day I can never know all of you

You will always be a mystery and for that I love you too.

embassy

as in the faerie embassy

my home space within a forest.

we are ambassadors that represent all those without a voice in the human world

the unseen   the unknown    the invisible

wind   rainbow   spider   wombat   tree   fern   mist   wallaby   owl ……..

the mission – to challenge the current paradigm with conscious co creation.

we do this by exploring the journey of living

within the Vital Presence of Mother Earth.

energy

from the Sun

solar panels mounted on our roof

no electricity bill in 30 years.

aware of the power we consume

blessed be the Sun.

Elsie

daughter of my womb

a rose

with a few thorns.

a laughing petal

a warrior on a journey.

D for downpour  deluge and the steady drip drip drip of water spilling over the guttering .

it is definitely not drizzling nor is it skiffing sprinkling or spitting

it is pouring – steady and determined.

the great spirit of rain has turned the tap to full and it buckets down.

last weeks rain was so welcomed so needed so lapped up but it was only the prelude the appetizer the starter before the mains.

we are flooded in. the causeway will not allow us thru until it stops.

halelujah

come for a swim Cheryl had said yesterday – meet us at mystery.

the day wore a thick grey cloak – the temperature was mild.

after stopping for coffee I drove up to mystery bay.

it started drizzling.

Cheryl and Lana turned up  – we looked at the sky

shrugged and left our clothes in the cars to stay dry.

it backed off the moment  we set our feet on the path to the beach of souls.

before feeling my way into the ocean I told them about the shark attack at Tathra that morning.

A woman our age swims no more.

we bobbed round in crystal clear water staying in the shallows .

golden bladderwrack and mermaids pearls  gathered  into hedgerows along the beach by the last tide.

we lay down on the mound of stones , the warm healing stones.

a sea eagle visited  – circled- a tip of the wings  – we tipped our wings back.

a few ravens flew into the scrubby bush on the headland the eyes of Biami the creator .

we drifted gently with the spirits of the Dreamtime

with the grandmothers holding the space

with the circles and cycles and ceremonies

performed over thousands of years.

this is the dreamtime country

dynamic

an event still unfolding still sung and still danced.

leaving mystery bay I drove home in drizzle which petered out

at  the gate to our forest.

stopping I gathered a box of kindling.

the rain obviously waiting …hovering…

I  lit stanley  our stove then wheelbarrowed a load of wood into the kitchen.

a sprinkle  – time for one more load.

filling  another barrow and  stacking it on the verandah .

it was done.

thank you  I said .thank you. thank you rain.

down it came .

I was in –  dry  -the kettle was heating for a cuppa .

thru the night the rain pelted down heavy on the tin roof.

it is a deluge and is absolutely and totally delicious.

C

for ceremony.

she sat down in the circle and crossed her legs .

everyone else was already seated with eyes closed.

she matched her breath to the space and deepened into her Self

past the mask and illusions beyond the ego and the day.

the space washed over her in its heavy stillness its complete calm

its tingling vibrational connection to all the other souls in the room

to the spirits that had flocked to the call of ceremony

and to the ancestors at their shoulders .

she was aware of all this and more

of the breeze tickling her neck       the sun touching her shoulder

 the call of birds       clouds passing

and the cheerful tinkle of the creek nearby.

this interconnection of beings brought her home .

the air thickened and  swelled.

the feeling intensified and then the ceremony began.

today it was a healing ceremony for the Earth our Mother.

the gallant lady provider whose womb we emerged from

 whose breasts we suckle

the giver of light and dark.

to her we owe all .

first came the grief       a keening

 surrendering to the pain we carry on behalf of…

giving voice to the forest loosing diversity and integrity

to the rivers loosing wellness

to the land gouged and hacked and poisoned

to the waste dumps and plastic islands in the ocean

to the starving the suffering

the wars and tattered dreams.

the sense of togetherness soothed the jagged edges

and

the singing of gratitude followed

in absolute gratefulness for  the bounty the shelter the beauty

and the magic.

harmonies resonated thru all dimensions

bounding from mountain to lake

from  rock to river

from village to city.

faces glowed       breath accelerated       ecstasy enlivened every cell.

she opened her eyes to the circle of beings around her.

the ceremony was done.

it was time for a cuppa.

the power of sacred ceremony transforms

transforms the self and the world around.

it is a meeting place of all realms of all beings

a space outside time

and

a moment in which we can tap into the inherent magic

that animates all things.

being bird

bird being

how clever birds Be.

the lewins honeyeaters are going off at the corner of the house this morning.

glorious autumn day    the sky a rich deep blue       the sun shimmering in the forest         the garden still damp from the rain and the air fresh and sparkling.

they are the squawking sounds of alarm and danger. I know this because they taught me over the spring .

I run to the window – what is it?      is the snake about I ask ?

I look out.  I cannot see them or anything else so I head out to the verandah.

the pair of them are in the lemon verbena bush and hop from there into the bottle brush and calm down.

I scan around the rafters of the roof peer into the still thick wisteria but  cannot see the danger.

I can see no diamond python.

over the spring and around christmas time the python was a constant presence on this corner of the house. it was trying to get back into the roof that we have sealed to keep out the bush rats.

the lewins had made a fine hanging basket shaped nest in the wisteria and they felt threatened.

For hours she would go off with the alarm cry setting off all the other birds nearby.

 I am sorry I cannot do anything I kept telling them – the python will leave sometime .

 she was so unnerved that she abandoned the nest.

ever so carefully I looked in one day and there were the two eggs lonely and cold and never to be hatched.

 since then the honeyeaters are hyper sensitive and though I go running what can I do?

a few weeks ago I brought the nest down to show Kingston.

we admired it – touched the soft downy lined inside – studied the construction and noted the use of stringybark tissue paper hair web and leaves . such a  work of art      a thing to admire      a feat of accomplishment .

how clever the birds Be.

it stayed on the table on the east verandah still is actually

but

one morning Kingston found the eggs had been eaten-  rats we suspected .

there were some bits of shell left but during the day the skinks would take turns nosing into the nest licking up the leftovers.

all things in a forest return they have a purpose there is never waste     it is life renewing it Self .

that’s the thing isn’t it – all creatures are Being – they are living in tune with the orchestra of life going about their busyness  and though they face predators and dangers and things do not always work out for them  –   eggs are not always hatched        the babies do not always survive…

still it is life in the raw

in the wild

 life Being.

we could learn a lot from this     –    from nature from life being lived by the tree and the turtle and the bird.

we could learn to set aside our doings and ego self importance     take a huge leap into humility and learn to Be.