Author: faeriembassy

the faerie embassy is my home space,a beautiful mudbrick castle in a richly diverse forest. which means I am very passionate about wallabies and pythons and mist spiders and twisted angophoras and the sound of the wind and the feel of the rain . we are an ark ,an island of light, a beacon of common sense in a crazy out of control consumption mad world.we have a composting toilet for goddess sake.

never minding us

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a backgammon game is happening on the east verandah

John  Mick and a bottle of home brew.

usually john thrashes him and mick takes the beating with excellent humour .

he has not yet developed the strategies needed

to best John,

who gives no ground .

the wind is blowing thru the trees and the garden

leaves and sticks crackle and snap onto the roof.

strips of bark flap and tear off

 a whirling swirling  motion

a dance

an action of life exploring it Self.

tree creepers stab their beaks in  up and down the trunks

butterflies dip in and out of the buddleia flowers

black snake lying next to the water tank

a glistening coil in the sun.

water skinks play  chasing inside and outside

they wander along the bedroom window sill

climb the mud walls

scoot behind the stove and the wood pile

never minding us.

daddy long legs start to rebuild in the windows

following my cleaning .

little swamp wallaby rests under the shade of the lemon tree

eating the artichoke plants.

all things are going about their business

being their life

never minding us.

maybe you need tampons and deodorant

  I have just dug up potatoes
its great… stabbing the fork in the ground somewhere in the vicinity of the dried stalk
and unearthing a nest of  underground eggs.
my hands sifting thru the earth and pulling out a  dark purple potato and another one and another
until I have a basket full of promises of meals to come.
there is something very sensual about it .
some people will get it but  I guess others might even think that weird.
I mean we are so far into our own realities aren’t  we .
my reality contains  growing food
 and I have a song inside me for the veges and the herbs and the rain that waters them and the sun that grows them .
 
years ago I shared my menstrual blood with the garden
the children turned a blind eye 
my beloved encouraged me 
and the garden loved it. 
the connection deepened 
the earth and I became lovers 
sharing our juices with each other.
taking it too far perhaps???
 
what sort of union do you feel with this planet you live on? 
and do you even notice?
is it just a world to you ?
a life within a city of buildings jobs business credit cards  iPods and emails entertainment sex alcohol partying church sporting  buying  busy busy
inside walls inside cars  inside screens 
always inside always busy 24/7
maybe that is your reality .
maybe you need tampons and deodorant 
maybe you need labels and  insurance
maybe you have never ever thought about where you live why you exist and what you live on
and no I am not talking bout income.
 
ecstasy doesn’t just live in a pill
it inhabits raindrops and  ocean spray 
it is found on mountains  and in rivers
in gardens and forests
it inhabits wild creatures and sings thru the dawn chorus
it is in your fingertips and on your tastebuds.
all is an erogenous zone 
when you are the zone.
 
I gathered carrots and turnips and beans today
I weeded around rocket and beetroot and basil.
I have dirt under my fingernails 
and between my toes.
 it seems normal to me to be having an experience
with earth and sun and cloud and wallaby and tree and fern and rock and spirit. 
to talk to the wind to hear the reply.
 this morning I sang to the tomatoes and they moved gently in the no breeze in response to my loving tones
and now I am singing you.
 
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first there was the door

                                                          
    it is hot 
   the house is in lockdown 
   the glasshouse is sealed off from the     
  lounge with thick ex british embassy   
  drapes.
  someone that used to be a friend got them .
  hard to imagine the brits in canberra  
  having a garage sale.
  maybe it was who you know knows  
  someone  and that someone said psst very 
  expensive thickly made blue swirls triple 
  lined are on the chuckout pile.
  they went to a house in canberra where 
  they were way too long for the windows.
  they are a 4m drop for crying out loud and 
  I knew as soon as I saw them that they had been made for our room .
       funny thing is when john was building the house from the ground up with mudbricks the walls had to be a certain height because  of a  door as in our front door. wooden  with a frosted glass window above  and in the middle of the frosting  a sword and shield. blue and gold perfect colours for the curtains that arrived many years down the track.  and that is why I call it a castle because of the height because of the sword and because it carries a medieval vibe about it.  mud walls mud floor secondhand windows and the beams sourced from this forest.
      a handmade house created lovingly over 2 years by John after he chucked in the city the business the bullshit and chose a life within nature.
 
 
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2012 at the faerie embassy begins

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a new year

a new blog

another statement

an observation.

the year of prophecy

the year ringing a dinging in peoples ears

in drunken end of year conversations

end of world fears riding

the coat tails of the imprisoned mind.

whispers of hopes

dreams of unity

promises a mystery.

the  end  becomes

a beginning .

*******

he comes now on his bike

went off to fix Carols pump

he said,

tick tick the hot day passes

evening approaches with a cooling imagined

he will have stories to tell.

carole sees ufos when she is out in the wee hours tending her sheep

she is a shepherd not a farmer

hasnt a clue how to start the pump.

she draws pictures of the ufos she sees

 describing the event with much flourishing of hands and sound effects

to me to john but not to everyone,

some people dont get it she says.

he collapses on the chair near me

smelling of petrol and oil and machine

exhausted hungry and pissed off

the pump wont go he says.

he grabs a beer eats the chips

I pat I hover what do I know of his day ?

she is an old friend

a most unusual person worthy of a book

a national treasure perhaps but that doesnt make it easy

to get on with her

on her backward rundown farm

where  all the sheep have names

and all the lambs are hand reared

and tails bless their backsides.