…inside the joy of another

Frankie is
seriously kooky
a character actor
a ragtag fun charged giggle
expert at play .
At four and a half she says

‘when I grow up I want to be a Koala’.
well ‘hallelujah’ I say.
At last, at long last perhaps the tide is turning
and humanity is growing up.

She wants to be a koala not a pop star or a teacher,
not a doctor or engineer, not a pilot banker or farmer .
Among all the influences of her first four years
it is Koala that grabs her attention.
We guess she will grow out of this notion
but what a great aspiration,
what a truth of the relevance importance significance and
worthiness of our Kin.


There is some thing irresistibly sweet about this
that amid the drama acting out
increased weaponisation of space land and sea,
this solid determination to be enemies,
a small child sees another picture.
One in which we share the planet with the koala
in which there is no divisive separation,
no compelling reason not to choose a life among the tree tops;
hanging around in the fork of a branch chewing eucalyptus leaves.

Life is lived in these moments
the moment when we see inside the joy of another
when it comes bursting out and knocks our senses with its purity.

I love that I am witness to the comings goings and doings of the many Beings that have no vote no pension card no shares no credit card.

The gate of our enclosed vege garden was left open and while we were busy with our lunch two goannas ventured in. Fat guts as Greg calls it (featured below) chases the smaller goanna around -trampling the peas broadbeans silver beet carrots cabbages and broccoli- absolute wreckheads round and round lifting their heads up against the wire trying to find the way out. John places a duck egg outside the gate – we sit and watch – eventually fat guts lumbers out and snaffles the egg – no breakage – down in one.

Thank you Rob Parnell who captured this pic last week while he and Glenda were staying with us.

I have to pinch myself sometimes that I have this ringside seat
even when they are in destructor mode ,
even when the fairy wrens drive us bonkers pecking all day at the windows and some unknown ( wallaby or was it possum?) scoffs the carnation seedlings
even in these moments it is a joy to be face to face with indigenous Earth natives.

Here they are going about business of life on earth; so too Frankie – doing what she does best – playing/Being the child and curiously highlighting an uncharted field of possibilities for human aspirations. What a grace to offer to hard wired domesticated grown ups. Somewhere within us- the child the wild the spirit – yearns to explore this sweetness of life unencumbered by the restrictive mores of a society modelled on dubious ideals.

Lead the way young ones- we have much to learn yet.

but the train has left the station

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I am Earth born

and steadily returning

dirt under my nails

dirt etched in wrinkles and seams

dirt leaf web in hair,

roots entwined with stringybark and kurrajong

limbs braced cradle nest feather egg

animated by wind and lightning,

a Song in my heart

a poem in my Soul.

 

danger is real, threats ever present

truth terrifying

scalding our hearts and minds.

 

islands of plastic expanding

soil leached of promise

artesian waters meet fracking

forests cut sliced into chips

women beaten children wronged

madness in place of common sense.

 

I am not alone

in this feral forest community

of feminine and masculine,

as children we arrived

now wisdom visits.

 

wallaby thinks not of place or belonging

comfortable in its own fur

claws perfect for scratching

picking lemons

pulling up artichokes

nurturing baby.

wallaby is not human

and I am animal

not animal enough to Know place

to belong

but animal enough to be Kin.

 

moon set

boobook poses the question

bandicoot squeals,

ants on the run

pobblebonk sings the rainSong.

 

change is upon us

denial is fruitless,

humans play catch up

but the train has left the station,

some do not hear the whistle

some lay down on the tracks

others nap head pressed against the glass.

 

no matter,

it is what it is

our Mother will decide.