we are miracle makers in Bud

In physics transition means a change of an atom,nucleus, electron etc.  from one quantum state to another…

 

life is about transitions

first tooth to second

child to puberty

marriage to divorce

the now to death.

   Once upon a time I was a child who wanted to change the world; at play in a backyard with a climbable apricot tree, a passion-flower cubby, a swing that went higher than the shed and a playhouse big enough to have friends to tea party with. My father built it out of a packing case; it had three windows that opened and closed with Mum made curtains, a green sliding door I could lock and in this myspace friends and I played, acting out adult themes – teaching vet / zoo keeping  doctors and nurses domestic life and war.

               This was the 60’s and war was still very much part of our lives – war had taken off my uncles leg, broken the spirit of my friend’s father who sat in his chair all day long and frightened my parents generation who had been allocated rations living behind blacked out windows waiting for bad news.

                                         

          A favourite game was saving the world, imagining that the child come avenging angel would hold up a hand in front of the generals with their armies and say, Stop! do not do this. In my innocence with curly copper headed curls shining in a garden where boysenberries grew under the back hedge my voice quivering with real heart-felt emotion I truly believed I could do this thing. I could persuade ‘them’ to Stop this madness.

     At the same time I believed in magic witches fairies and the power of good over evil. This was the cornerstone of an ordinary childhood that contained no abuse. I was sent to Sunday school, lived in a house with pictures on the walls of Jesus with his long hair, smiling cradling a lamb or with children swarming all over him. I learnt to pray to God to help me pass my exams, give me things I needed and heal the people who were hurt. On some level I understood these notions were childish and that grownups lived in another world.

When did I stop believing? When did I realise that make-believe was make believe and that reality was well, reality?

Well gee, let me fess up –magic witches fairies and the power of goodness still hold sway in my worldview. I still believe we hold an innate capacity to change things.

In this reality I am aware injustice overpowers the Forest the Rivers the People, that it is not as simple as the childhood dream of,  Stop do do this.

In the name of civilization I am overrun with mad schemes of despoliation, exploitation, annihilation but even so this cannot deflect the power of the innocent child within who carried the adult I have Become.

Growing into adulthood I learnt to squash the whispers of the heart and divide the world into logical rational linear segments, to say compartments when talking of a forest or unnamed drainage feature when mentioning the perky little stream, and if ‘they’ had their way I would say terrorist instead of asylum seeker. Despite this ‘adult’ speak, despite solid scientific evidence which endorses that logging our native forests, mining coal, poisoning our food crops and robbing our aquifers is creating serious repercussions, despite all this knowledge still we are met with stonewall after stonewall.

In an honest attempt to bypass the heartless discourse of cold commercial gain when I write to Gladys the NSW state premier I heart speak – of love and grandchildren, of the Breath and Water of Life, of the Sacredness of the Quoll, the Bent Winged Bat, the Masked Owl, the Rainforest and the Elemental Spirit all humans share.

I have no illusions that Gladys will hear me, that Corunna Forest with its magnificent spotted gums will be preserved.

What I do have is a certainty that HeartEarth speak is a valid communication that goes to the root of our commonality, that through our shared connections we can impossibly possibly change the world.

In physics transition means a change of an atom, nucleus, electron etc. from one quantum state to another…

Existing as a bunch of atoms could lend us the idea that we inhabit many dimensions simultaneously – in our heads our hearts our offices our homes, in the wild at sea on land, in the dream, in spirit – and if so then maybe we can comprehend we are Miracle Makers in Bud and this is the Season of coming into Bloom.

The old world of logic and plausible deniability, murder and war, biocide and disrespect, is neither sustainable nor healthy for our bodies minds hearts or spirits.

Transition into a new paradigm which is more than a faint glimmer in communities around the world is arising expanding and including of all Beings.

Today we salute those that Do and those that Pray, those that Plant and those that Paint, those that Write and those that Build and those that know Magic Wisdom and the Power of Goodness.

in love trust and innocence

sandra

 

 

 

 

 

 

the innocent heart

 

 

 

there are those that rule that write the laws and administer them while others find themselves on a proscribed list.

asylum seekers are refugees fleeing persecution danger horror and terror. they come to our shores knocking asking pleading for assistance and find themselves banished to rot on other islands.

probably they were hanging out the washing one day and a rocket demolished their street so they picked up the kids and ran and ran and ran searching for a safe haven.

 

every day Kingston inquires into the world around him and so far this uncomfortable fact has not yet leached into his life.

 

Kingston sits in his car seat looking out the window watching the worlds appear in front of him.

 

there is plover nesting right beside the road again. why do they do that mummy he asks, will they be ok?

there is wallaby and kangaroo – the females heavy with pouch – a leg sticking out a head bending down to nibble. they stare at the car swivel their ears turn their head . sometimes they will with consummate grace bound away, other times they watch his small face pressed up against the glass. did you see that leap over the fence daddy? I wish I could do that.

 

there are the young bandit calves standing in the middle of the track holding the car up again – one with a white patch over its eye and one with clouds painted on its back.

the young recognize each other and they invite Kingston to a race and off they go – their legs kicking awkwardly up in the air, head bucking an bouncing , so gawky and having a ton of fun. Kingston laughs delightedly and waves them goodbye.

 

the wedge tail eagle slides into view drawing lazy circles in the sky – a pair of them gliding rising and falling.

in an instant the eagle spears to a paddock plucking a bunny up in mighty talons and sweeping it off its feet.

a gulp a heartfelt sigh for the bunny and awe for the majesty of the moment witnessed.

 

the child tries vainly to hold all things being equal and yet some must eat others – it is the nature of it and difficult to grasp in the innocent heart.

 

and there is fox -a golden red creature that races fleet footed like the wind across the countryside. three young kit foxes disturbed early one morning near a dam running for cover and in the weeks and months ahead gradually identities emerged and fearless was so named.

there he is dad there is fearless – tail flared out in the wind stopping and turning, alert eyes seeing past the window into the heart of a small boy.

the fox – interloper scavenger vermin killer of lambs and chickens is hunted baited trapped and flung aside by the great human army.

 

kingston doesn’t know any of this protected by his innocence and capacity to love all beings equally.

 

 

we humans have a righteousness which in turn creates the ‘other’. By proclaiming something other we in turn fear it and vilify it.

introduced species are front runners for proscription – once on the list they have to go and in liberal amounts poison is laid the gun is loaded the trap is set.

 

in the late light of day there is bunny bobtail racing across the grasses and tussocks, whiskers twitching, scampering across the road in front of the car,bobbing down a burrow running for its very life – hunted and persecuted by trap bait gun and virus it clings on to existence alongside us.

 

the thing about creating ‘other ‘ is how much more powerful it becomes, how much it is demonised and how much truth is bent out of shape.

 

the fox the rabbit the blackberry the willow did not seek to come to this land. they did not choose to be placed on the proscribed list. they were brought over in the pockets of the colonial barons who wished to make this land into what they had left behind.

 

there was no recognition of the indigenous way of living here- no acknowledgement of their agricultural practices, their villages their methods of conservation , food preparation medicines or cultural knowledge. no notice taken of the songs the dances the ceremonies- no notice at all of the effort they employed to maintain vitality of land river and tribe. they became ‘other’ and were systemically disempowered by the gun the church and the law. into the background of the white colonial fantasy they disappeared .

 

coming into the valley there are camels- the knobbly kneed beasts carrying their water supply come from a land of desert winds and sand dunes of hot sun and clear broad skies .their thick rubbery lips chewing – spittle flying and Kingston laughs to see this creature step out of the pages of ali baba and the 40 thieves .

 

sometimes on a late night and a little boy does not have many of them a wombat is sighted right at the time when the owl and tawny frogmouth are swooping silently thru the forest selecting their dinner. wombat is standing still pondering dreaming having a scratch a nibble of grass ambling about its busy ness.

 

back home spring has brought the skinks out to play and kingston breaks off a bit of biscuit and offers it to them -they have had a long sleep and are hungry he tells us.

 

Kingston lives in a world with so many Beings jostling for survival at a time when our very existence on the planet is looking decidedly shaky.

 

perhaps instead of our assumed colonial superiority we could learn humility.

perhaps we could advertise tolerance and sharing as a means of accommodating the biodiversity still tenuously hanging on.

perhaps we could look around and feel the beauty in all things.

And then we might ask – who are we without the eagle without the fox without the platypus?

who are we without love without family without community?

and what do we become when we persecute other?

going to town today so undie up girls

 

 

once upon a time in a mudbrick castle four little girls played 

one year apart from each other,

one of those blended families as they call them these days.

 

living in the bush meant clothing was a haphazard affair

warm stuff  in winter if you could get it on them

but summer  meant ditching clothes and running naked more often than not 

or wearing only a  ‘kirt or a string of beads

but underpants ,

well lets face it they are very tricky with the whole bladder training thing that goes on.

when you have to go you have to go,  best if there is nothing  in the way.

so we had a rule

and it was

going to town today so undie up girls.

no undies no going out.

 sometimes there were grumbles and sometimes they couldn’t find them

and sometimes they squabbled over what belonged to who

but gradually they got the hang of it.

this morphed into   “ dress ups “ followed with costumes and wearing ‘grown up’

high heels lipstick jewels clips  bows and nail polish

 all too soon  modesty kicked in and appearance mattered

fitting in with ‘the norm’ became important

and to tell the story of the no undie years brought a blush to their cheeks.