It was New Years Eve

If I turn my back on the Forest now at this very moment when She is burnt to cinders and it appears that life has been extinguished, then I am not a true friend.

If I turn away now because it pains me to see the charcoal embers of my dream that has turned to ash in my mouth then I would be committing betrayal.

For this garment that She wears now; the Little Black Number, the ashes to ashes killer outfit is just another frock in the wardrobe of the life of Forest.

It is my call to find the Beauty within, to see the promise that is held in waiting, to hold true, stand fast, cradle the seed of tomorrows and acknowledge the whispers of renewal.

If I am a true friend, if everything I have ever said is to retain its meaning and integrity then I must stay observe and witness this phase of devastation.

I will croon sweet songs of lament and sorrow, of hope and resurrection to Her.

I will say thank you for revealing another facet of your mighty Being to me, for revealing the face of the Fire Goddess.

I honour your courage in Burning, burning standing, burning falling collapsing, giving all in the face of this onslaught.

And I who have heard your screams will weep hot tears of sacred water for your loss.

Your loss is my loss. Your pain is my pain.

Together we shall hold hands and gently tenderly heal our broken hearts, our broken skin, our blistered and fevered minds.

Together we will sing of a new life emerging, a new dance awakening. a new song singing.

This I have learnt; the roaring of an approaching fire is hugely loud , it is so loud that while it was still miles away it woke pulled us out of bed and sent us out into the paddocks to see the huge glow behind the mountains. 

I have learnt that fire dances ; plays with air, tussles with water and scalds earth , behaves erratically mysteriously, beyond our plans and ideas. 

I have learnt that humans are resourceful and brave, that our differences become nothing and over a fenceline the farmer and the forest lover can hug and cry together, pleased to see that each other has survived.

I have learnt that humans are kind and caring and helpful in times of crisis.

For all the creatures burnt to a crisp or asphyxiated I weep, for all that have survived and returned I rejoice.

 As the days go on there are turtles at the dam again, wallabies some not all of the tribe yet, there is rufous fantail and grey fantail , there is magpie singing the morning song and the evening song, the whip bird the kookaburra the wombat the boo book owl, crimson rosellas and yellow tail black cockatoos.

what will they eat? what is left for them now?

I pay homage to the ancestors guides allies , to the spirits of land and air and sea and fire, to the angels and wisdom voices ,to all that have supported protected held me in their embrace for all of You I give thanks and many blessings. 

I have a dream……. within this flame there is the possibility of Deep Change- effecting  renewal redemption salvation even – at the very least an opportunity to take stock  – to come clear about who we are and where we are – redesign how we think, how we build, how we create, what we need, what we can have, and who we Become.

x

Sylph Aware

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One day as I was sitting in the forest green

I felt a Presence albeit unseen,

it played with my curls

blew gently on my face,

rustled the leaves

took up residence in my space.

I heard a woman’s voice calling to me

a woman that I could not see,

She spoke to me loud and clear

I Am Elemental

I am a Spirit of the Air.

 

I am Sylph

I am Sylph Aware.

 

I am a voice from deep space

She said with a caress upon my face,

I want you to listen to the Sylph that you Be

and claim your inheritance,

some of which comes from me.

I am your existence

your most precious support,

I animate your very thought.

I’d like you to contemplate your Sylph within me

and plunge bravely into The Space that you cannot see.

 

Have Sylph-respect and practice Sylph-care

Sylph-esteem is Sylph-evident in the currents of the Air,

show Sylph-discipline in the eye of the storm and

embrace Sylph-acceptance as being your norm.

 

Come explore other dimensions

and Sylph-knowledge will grow

Sylph-control Sylph-confidence

and Sylph-love will flow.

 

I am found in the breeze

and the howl of the wind,

I am seen in the clouds

and heard in a hymn.

 

I am a Sylph playing in Air,

I invite you to join me and Become Sylph Aware.

 

*   from the Websters’ First New Intergalactic Wickedary of the English Language conjured by Mary Daly in cahoots with Jane Caputi 

Sylph:1: one of the four Elementals : one of a race of Spirits who inhabit the Air  2 : a tempestuous, Distempering woman; one who clears the Air of phallic pseudopresence, creating free space

 

 

 

the weather is beyond our ken is it not?

 

today the wren shared the hommous  with me. I am sitting on the verandah with a juicy warm autumn sun a carob drink a plate of hommous and a bunch of sourdough crackers thanks to anne marie the zero waste chef extrordinaire who you can visit  here .

this is what I do  :    soak the chickpeas for 24 hours,drain and cook them . keeping some of the water I put them thru the mincer and then add  garlic salt  tahini  lemon juice some of the reserved liquid and a pinch or two of ground cumin which rob assures me is a vital addition.good enough for me good enough for the wrens.

the superb blue wrens have lost their startling blueness, the breeding season is over and the fellas don’t need their bold colours anymore. blue-wren-415267_640it fades bit by bit like paint peeling off a wall over time and all that is left is a darkish blue tail and the motley brown grey scruffy look.  a scruffy fella sups out of the dish once twice thrice and then skips off. they are all over the verandah around my feet pecking at morning toast crumbs and visiting the top of the table for a direct infusion of a chickpea paste.

I barely move so entranced with this sharing but even when I do they don’t take a lot of notice.

it has not rained for a couple of months or more and the land is drying out.   the wallabies drink out of a water pot in the garden and empty it every couple of days. the kangaroos are camping near one of our dams and it is getting lower .

the conversation in the village is all about rain about wanting rain needing rain. jokes about rain dances and prayers for rain.  heads are shaken- farmers sell off stock and water is bought – there isn’t anything we can do about this is there ? the weather is beyond our ken is it not ?

or is it?  perhaps we and the elemental world are connected – perhaps once we had a relationship with cloud and moisture and land and forest and river and bee –

hang on a minute -we still do.  we use poisons which kills the  bees and fertilisation of our food is becoming a problem . we cut down the forests and there goes the mist the cloud the dew the drops.

early morning I walked in the autumn mist – yes the spiders had all their webs slung about . I stood watching the sun beams angling thru the trees highlighting the webs and reflecting upon the dam.  I could hear and feel drops falling on me. not rain per se not a cloud above just trees and mist.

we are connected to all of these things – we deplete our rivers and the landscape dries out we tear apart the mountains drain the swamps for suburbs rob the aquifers for mining projects,  make armaments out of depleted uranium and have created enormous plastic/chemical sludge islands in our oceans.

we are faced with a harsh lesson in which our actions are resulting in monumental shifts of ice of land of water of body and of mind …

what are we to do?