hello

it has been a while has it not
since we last met up,
here we are – once again in a circle holding hands .
the faerie embassy is emerging from its winter snuggy unfurling into a windy spring.
welcome swallows are renovating a nest on the mud wall outside the kitchen
daffodils nod in brilliant yellows around the yard
tiny swollen blossom buds on the one surviving peach tree are almost fit to burst .
the grey shrike thrush sings
magpies strut about on the verandah
stand on the back of the rocking chair and carol
look in thru the glass door at us
begging in a very proud and aristocratic way.

the heart tenderness of spring
new life rising – poignant bitter sweet in a forest deep in recovery after the fire
the regeneration is fierce, weeds prolific and many dead trees to remind us of the blaze.

Poem

Death comes knocking at her door
unprepared innocence answers
a beloved companion does not return
grief surges without tidal restraint
and the day is no longer a friend.


Tragically Chloe guide dog for 8 years to daughter Elsie died
words cannot fill the hole
sadly Chloe chose to leave on Elsies birthday
it reminds how precious every moment we share with our beloveds is.


code red humanity
code red
obviously we needed to hear it again

we needed it to be spelt out loud and clear
if ever there was a time to make some changes now is the hour
.



Poem

Unseen

by the shining Sea we sit
in liquid silence of silver light
unseen the stars weave a quilt
our breath a stitch holds on tigh
t.

by the shining Sea we pray
regret and suffering come to rest
yin and yang circle around
hearts remember all are blessed.

by the shining Sea we are
immersed within the golden mean
a Song emerges from the stars
and we who Sing remain unseen.

may the light of the divine guide us all

Sandra
xx


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

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.

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the fates thread the loom

 

before new years eve……

thick smoke envelopes our valley

coats our tongues

slipping particles into the blood stream

rivers and dams collapse under the weight

of the hot dry winds and fierce Sun

forests have sent up smoke signals

all is not well

heed the children.

 

and then one day  Fire came

orange red  flames licking

gorging on grasses wood,

devouring the tree the spider the worm

those that could scattered

rose up into the air

some diving to ground trembling bodies pressed suffocating

others fled running  for their lives

some hid to be chanced over, others fried.

 

I waited at the house

in an outfit

I had carefully selected and laid out the night before

jeans and belt

pink woollen socks big boots

singlet, green checked woollen shirt

blue crocheted woollen beanie

thick golden gloves and a face mask.

the hoses were in place

half a dozen of them in snake formation around the house.

the job description was easy,

apply water

to verandah and under

up the poles and onto windows

even the walls.

water water water

next hose next verandah repeat

oh and stay alive.

 

strangely calm

waiting, watching the advance

creeping into the bush like a thief in the night

with  an almighty roar.

John in his red woollen shirt ,

hoody up and mask on,

starts the pump

water is running from every hose

the verandah wetted from the night before

but we hose it all again.

the gutters are filled with water

watching

a ring of fire at the dam

the shack goes up

a loud  whump signals the end of  Rebeccas BMW.

fire scaling up tree trunks

gobbling shrubs ferns grasses

stringybarks bush-cherry

angophoras red gums

snapping leaves leaping dancing cavorting

and coming directly towards us.

it  picks up pace coming up the slope from the dam

a wall of flame approaches the south verandah.

John is calm

he has a the high pressure hose

fire meets water and determination

water holds

John stands firm.

 

He built this house

made every brick

from the earth in front of the house,

it literally rose up out of the ground

one brick at a time

for over 30 years a family home

one that now rings to the tune of grandchildren,

blood sweat tears births deaths marriages

this house alive, pulsates with love.

 

inside smoke is thick

visibility zero

bath tub full of skanky dam water

Zoes woollen blankets a sodden heap on the floor

a good escape to crawl under to steady the breath

before returning  outside to the heat,

the inferno the hoses and water.

embers skipping onto the roof

making holes in the clear roof panels

curling embers meet sodden verandah and vanish

no burns on the boards, no blisters on our bodies.

a window cracks in the bedroom

the window where our mobiles sit to get reception.

 

dust soot ash and charcoal coat everything

charred trunks and limbs

a whole understorey has disappeared.

will we see now?

will we wake to reality?

our Planet home

our beautiful beautiful home

trying to deal with our consumables, our plastics

our fumes our anger.

too much she cries

too much,

forgive us for we do know what we do

we know

that’s the tragedy

we know.

 

some days after the main fire front had passed

trees still smouldering

roots deep in the ground  burning,

many elder trees are continuing to fall

walking on crusty black ash

the ground as if plowed up

giant holes where once a root system lived

patterns of ash like crop circles

skirting fallen trees

shallow breathing the air

smoky thick and relentless

visibility limited.

we leave our burnt forest

drive through a silent world

a charred smouldering valley,

some neighbours houses mere rubble

power poles smashed sideways

wires curling in chaos

cows dead.

We come to our village

half the main street has been smashed

this is my new world.

 

 

the tower has fallen

the spin of ideas and aspirations has tripped

been knocked sideways

taken a slam.

the Fates thread the loom

again

They weave

brightly coloured lights bounce from fingertips

glories rarely glimpsed

consciousness stretches

tugs

elemental energies dance

holding holding holding

while the tapestry is woven

the women are Singing.

 

 

 

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

O : Oh great spirit

there is a cupboard in the kitchen and on the inside of one of the doors is this prayer…….

 

oh vintage

 

oh great spirit

creator of all

blessed be the big and

blessed be the small.

 

oh fire that warms and

water that cleanses

light that shines and

love that surrenders.

 

oh earth that provides and

air that breathes

hearts that declare and

minds that receive.

 

oh great spirit

friend and lover

blessed be the father and

blessed be the mother.

 

we give thanks.