JOURNAL OF EARTH OTHERS

& WALKING COUNTRY

Vivienne Elanta

Ecophilosophy STP255

Lecturers: Drs. Anthony Weston & Patsy Hallan

First Week

I am meant to be observing earth others, but whom do I choose. The frogs leaping all over the garden at night, the spider, which first made her home in the kitchen window six years ago? Or should I look for a being in my neighbourhood, or would it be best to stay within the boundaries of my garden? Well let’s see what the next days have in store, which being speaks and which being will want to commune with me.

Second Week

This morning I woke up to the carolling of myriad of voices of the Kulbardi, (the Australian magpie). They used to serenade to me every morning from the two Norfolk pine trees, just on the other side of the fence in the neighbours garden, but one day they were chased away by the Wardung (the black crows), who have claimed these trees as part of their territory. Kulbardi songs are so melodic, that the Australian landscape would be empty without them. This morning their call is having a magnetic pull on me, so off I go walking the neighbourhood in search of these very beautiful black and white friends.

I can hear them clear and loud from two different directions. One group is sitting amongst the branches of gum trees of the local school, while the second group is sitting in a Lemon Scented gum tree just across the street from the school. I climb over the low fence and seat myself on the grass within the local school grounds, which is a mere street block away from home. From my vantagepoint I can see two birds in the tree across the road. They are singing their little hearts out. I just wished that I could write down these melodies, but I don’t know how to record them on paper. I cannot see the second group, but I can surely hear them.

Now I know what is going on. These two groups are having a conversation. When one has finished the other group answers. I am holding my breath with excitement right now, because 5 mudlarks have just landed on the ground not far from me. Stalking over the damp grass, and digging their beaks in between the grass blades for food, (I can’t see what they are eating), they look so petite in their black and white coats. Now two Jitti-Jitti (Willy-wag-tails) have just landed too. They are so delightful, the way they are both wagging their tails right now, while darting around looking for something edible.

I wonder whether they are the same pair, which spent most of last summer in my garden raiding the compost heap for worms and other insects. Every morning I was greeted by one of them who was sitting on the fence, directly looking at me and intensely talking to me, while very nervously wagging his/her tail. I understood what was asked of me, so I would go across to the compost heap and turn over the top layer, so uncovering lots of worms and insects. Swiftly they would dart across and eagerly gobble up insect after insect. This little ritual of turning the compost heap at least once a day continued for several weeks. I think they were feeding their young. One day it all stopped, for they did not return any more.

The magpies are still calling. I feel like joining in the conversation, but don’t know what they are saying and don’t know the protocol. Sounds are coming out of my mouth, or should I say some kind of croaks. My vocal cords are just not coming up with the right notes. Three Wardung (Australian Raven), also referred to as crow have just arrived too, stalking the ground as if they owned this place. I don’t have a strong liking for these very black ravens, primarily because they have driven the Kulbardi out of the pine trees.

The Nyungar say that when a single Wardung looks you directly in the eye, while talking to you intensely you should take note, because it is a message, a warning of danger or bad luck, an announcement of an accident or a death. When I had such a visit by a Crow barely 18 months ago I took no notice, because I believed that this applies only to the Nyungar people. Gosh was I mistaken, because our little Spotty was attacked by that massive Rotweiler two days after the announcement and then consequently died three months later. Birds are messengers to Aboriginal peoples and they listen carefully to what is being said.

So here I am sitting amongst all these birds, which are coming and going just like in a busy airport. In this moment I am so aware and so immersed in this bird world, that the human world has moved into the background. I feel a stranger, an outsider, a mere onlooker to their activities on this glorious morning. I love birds, especially the Magpies and want them to visit more often.

It is after 9pm and I am about to wonder into the garden to pay a visit to my beloved frogs. I have observed them a lot during the day over the past few years and found them to be the most interesting earth others. Frogs can be very testing to any impatient observer, because they have the ability to sit still for hours on end without making the tiniest movements, and without anything seemingly happening. And suddenly within a fraction of a second the tongue flicks with lightening speed and some poor morsel found itself in the frogs stomach. They are very keen observers and always hungry for more food. One day I witnessed a fairly large frog sitting opposite a smaller frog, when out of the blue the big frog snapped up his smaller companion, who was letting out terrible screams. It was all over in a flash, the struggling hind legs still sticking out from the predator’s mouth.

I have never sat with the frogs for any length of time after sunset, so this would be a new experience for me to be with them. Shining the torch into the bushes I can see so many eyes peering at me. I am concerned about pointing a torch at them, but how else can I see them in the dark? During the day many jump away as soon as I come close to the pond. In the dark they don’t jump away at all, which puzzles and fascinates me immensely. Why don’t they jump away? Can they see me at night? Do I look different? Before I go shining torches into their faces I wanted to know more about their habits at night, so I phoned the Dept. of Conservation Biology at Murdoch University to find out how frogs see the world. I was surprised to be told that nothing is known on that topic. Absolutely nothing is known about how frogs see the world? Here we know so little about earth others, and many are driven into extinction forever before we even discover that they lived right under our noses.

This is such an exciting adventure of embarking on the challenge to get to know an earth other of which nothing is known as to how it sees the world. I may not discover how my froggy friends see the world, but I am open to them letting me into their world and teaching me what I need to know. So I come with an open mind and an open heart and gladly accept the gifts offered to me.

Week 3

The big shakedown is here. We have just arrived at the starting point of our walk. I was shocked to find so much litter lying around, which was intensified by most people actually walking on real asbestos sheets strewn all over the ground. I held my breath until I was well away from that site. Then behind the last shrub opened up a paradise – pristine Australian bushland. We were standing on the outcrop of ancient granite rocks. The view into the valley was breathtaking.

Gathered in a circle we were welcomed by country. I loved the way Jenny stood so strong and straight on her rock, calling out loud across the valley, introducing us to country and asking for permission for us to be here, and lastly asking for guidance and protection. My hair stood on end and I felt alive and touched by the spirit of this land. I was ready for this inner and outer journey.

As we descended into the valley, white tail black cockatoos were screeching in the trees around us before they settled down for the night. As we meandered through the thick shrub, the sound of running water reaches my ear. And yes, there it was – water navigating its way over the terraced rocks down into a pool.

We have embarked on, “walking the world into being”. What does that mean? Rainer Maria Rilke suggested that instead of finding an answer to our question, we should stay in the question and live our way into the answer. Maybe this is a hint for me to stay in the question and walk my way into the answer.

As I settled into my sleeping bag for the first night I realised that maybe Patsy and Peter have taken us to this spot deliberately. Leaving the city and expecting to arrive at pristine wilderness, but finding all this rubbish instead and then being led to a very clean pristine waterfall and surrounding bushland had a powerful effect on me. Our rubbish follows us wherever we go because it is a reflection of our cultural mindset of senseless, irresponsible consumerism.

After a sleepless night, we set out in the cooler part of the morning. I love the Australian bush and never cease to be amazed at the diversity of fauna and flora within the Jarrah woodland. I felt small amongst the tall Jarrah and Blackbutt and Marri trees. The unusually serrated leaves of the Banksia, which scratched and prickled as I brushed past, as we climbed up the slopes of this constantly changing terrain from one unique ecosystem/landscape to another, opened my heart with wonderment. One moment the understorey is made up of predominantly banksia and a few steps further we enter forests dotted with Balga or clustered with Prickly Moses.

I was thinking of and Aboriginal Elder, Cliff Humphries, as we walked through these ancient forests. During a recording with Tim McCabe, Cliff said that, “The spirit of our dead were placed inside both dead and living trees”. I too can feel the spirit of the dead in every tree. As we walked amongst the trees I could feel the ancestors watching us, the kind of feeling as if someone is standing behind you and you can sense their presence. Nyungar spirit is truly alive in this part of country.

By midmorning I became very hot and tired and automatically switched off and pushed on. That was the coping mechanism I learned from the adults around me when I was growing up. “Mind -over- matter” was a standard reply to anyone expressing pains or discomfort in my family of origin. By the time we arrived at the destination set for the day, I suffered from heat exhaustion, severe headache and pain all over my whole body. I decided to rest next to the Kardup Brook, which was hidden amidst lots of small trees and shrubs, keeping the brook shady and moist. Dangling my feet in the very cool bubbling water, I rested on a thin layer of flattened undergrowth, which felt so soothing for my aching limbs.

We were meant to read Chapter 2 and 3 from “Back to Earth”, for which I had no energy left, so instead I relaxed into the pages of this beautiful book, framed by undergrowth. The rocks in the brook were covered over with the softest of green moss, and the waterfall was composing an endless and uplifting music, surpassing even Mozart and Beethoven. An exquisite dragonfly surprised me as it flitted passed my face with lightening speed, occasionally hovering in on spot like a helicopter. A very loud Wattlebird announced its arrival and small grey birds were swiftly moving about amongst the thin branches of the bushes. My peaceful rest was occasionally disrupted with the visit of a mosquito or two.

My feet were still dangling in the water, and it felt as if the brook was flowing through my own brain, washing away the heat in my head. The brook had a message for me, “to go with the flow”. This message was affirmed once more by Patsy, when she suggested to “take one step at a time”. I needed that support, because I was not sure whether I could continue with the walk or not.

Sometime during the night I woke up. As I turned my head I saw the moon rise from behind the gathering of trees. I lay there mesmerised by its sheer beauty. I woke up about every hour, only to witness another snapshot of its journey across the firmament, and close to the end of the night it reached the centre of the sky, almost ready to cross over the Milky-Way. Then dawn gave way to the most breath taking colours before a magnificent sunrise.

We had an early start and soon arrived at another dam for breakfast, which I always greeted with much gratitude. Feeling so hot I revel in the experience of the body of cold water engulfing my hot body and exchanging some of our temperatures. I frolicked in this sensuous liquid emersion. This experience is always heightened even further in the company of my fellow travellers, most of who were total strangers to me a mere three weeks ago.

Once again I lifted the heavy backpack onto my back to face the day with new challenges. Arriving at the sealed road was the demarcation line and once crossed there was no way back, only forward. When Jenny decided not to continue, I felt like staying with her. I felt her disappointment in having to leave, and I felt my own loss of her leaving the group. I also knew that if I did not continue and finish the day I too would have had to withdraw from the course. I remembered Patsy saying “to take a step at a time”, and I remembered the brook saying, “go with the flow”. And that is what I did. I send my blessings with Jenny and turned towards the forest ahead.

As we were leaving civilisation behind, and ever deeper entering this sacred old forest, I could feel a shift in myself. Crossing the sealed road was also a symbolic crossing from the old way of thinking to something new and wholesome. The revelations came flowing in and what I needed to know became crystal clear.

The practise of suppressing pain is a practise of numbing. My newfound practice on this trip is not to suppress, and push on regardless. The idea is to be fully awake to every happening in my own body as well as the larger body of earth, which is the ground I walk on and how my feet touching the earth. How earth meets my feet. How the air and the lining inside my lungs meet. How my eyes touch with those of the kangaroo in the bushes. It is about full awareness within myself, around myself, and with earth others. It is about feeling, seeing, touching smelling, hearing and all the other hundreds of senses my culture I was born into, is numb to. To disrupt the mind/body dualism is called for right now on this pilgrimage for me.

Here is my chance to heal from a long held habit and illusion, which has very destructive consequences, an illusion which has kept me burned out and in isolation. So I took on the practice of breathing into the pain and of being present to what is as I put one foot in front of the other. The trick is not to push through, but to breathe through the pain barrier, and at the same time knowing when to rest. Then I remembered one of Jean Houston’s, processes of imagining myself confident and gifted with the qualities I want to grow more of. Then follow in the footsteps of that self and you re- member that self.

I followed myself, placing my foot into my own footstep of that me, which is confident and connected to self and the world. One foot followed the next and the next and soon I felt a great sense of enjoyment and aliveness, which helped me to arrive at the top of the hill, very tired, but also very elated. I made it “one step at a time”, being welcomed with cool spring water and chocolate.

May the forests stay well, and as Cliff Humphrey said, “continue to remain spiritual reservoirs” for future beings.

Week 4

Monday: Tonight the frogs are roaming the garden again. I am very interested in one in particular, which is sitting on the slightly open shed door every night since at least a couple of weeks. It could be a male juvenile, because males seem slightly smaller, unless the young males are mating with big fat older females. He has positioned himself very strategically, obviously to catch insects, just like the spider, who has built her web right in the corner just beneath where he is sitting.

This particular species is called Western green tree frog or Litoria moorei, which is found near permanent water on the Swan Coastal Plain as well as in the Darling Range. It is also commonly known as the Motorbike frog, because of its call, which sounds like a motorbike changing gears.

This young frog is sitting very still and only twice in the last ten minutes did he blink his eyes. He just moved his hind leg sufficient to see that he has webbed toes, though his fingers are unwebbed. He is a member of the tree- climbing frogs. I don’t know why he referred as a green tree frog, because just like the Chameleon, he changes his usual green with brown patches into black or dark brown or light green, depending on the background of his environment. Motorbike frog is my preferred name. I am coming a little closer, but he is not moving, except for his loose hanging chin, which is making three small pumping movements per second. Actually now that I am looking closer I can see that this loose hanging chin is the air sac, which he can blow up with air, which creates the motorbike sounding, mating call.

Tuesday: Again just like last night my little friend is sitting on the shed door again. He looks like a little Buddha statue. A couple of hours have passed and he only winked once in that time. He sat motionless for all that time, only his skin under his chin moved as he breathed. I am aware of having expectations of the frog to be active, so that I can report something in my journal. But it is not about that. Jane Goodall sat and waited and the earth others made themselves known to her.

Wednesday: The little Buddha is sitting on the shed door motionless again. His patience is inspiring. I am sure that meditation was practiced long before we humans had the idea. I have not seen him catch an insect yet. Just sitting here and watching him is very calming for me.

Thursday: I woke up during the night and went outside to visit little Buddha, but he was not there any more. I so wanted to know what his movements are during the night.

The birds have sung me awake this morning. Walking along my street three Mudlarks are greeting me with pee-wit, pee-wit. Now the Magpies have joined in with their sweet carolling. There are six sitting in the tall Lemon-scented gum tree across the road. Two of them are greyish, which means that they are young ones. Blow me down!! I am seeing for the first time this morning New Holland honey eaters in my neighbourhood. The few Banksia trees are in flower. The little birds are darting from branch to branch, chirping excitedly and looking for nectar. In the Woolly bushes I can see Pardalotes roaming about, digging their beaks in between the fine long needle-like leaves, looking for insects. This area is very small (2 - 4 acres maybe), and very degraded, but nevertheless worthy of regenerating. The discovery of the New Holland’s has given me the enthusiasm to plant many plants of the Dryandra and Banksia family in my own street.

Ten days on the Bibbulmun Track

Today is Saturday and we have arrived at Franklin River Hut, the first hut on our 10day walk on the Bibbulmun Track. I am sitting at the edge of the Franklin River, which is so beautiful. Little wrens are flitting about and ants are running all over the ground around me. The large tingle next to the river became the major focus for poetry. Here is mine.

Ancient Tingle

Great story teller.

You who are so ancient

Deeply rooted in the earth.

Your form melting in, and yet standing out.

Branches twisting, gnarled

Stretching, reaching up into the sky.

Leaves rustling and swaying in the wind.

Grey, brown skin,

dripping with thick blood,

endlessly shaped by insects,

flame licked, charred, rough, sensuous.

Ancient Tingle, thou art so majestic.

I bow to you.

It is a beautiful Sunday morning, gone is yesterday’s rain. The sun is filtering through the canopy. I decided to go for a walk when I passed an ant’s nest on the side of the footpath. I sat down next to the mound of twigs and leaves. Medium seized brown ants are scurrying about, many carrying pieces of dry leaves or tiny twigs. One ant is pulling with all her might one long, single sheoak needle all the way up to the centre of the mound.

I know that they know that I am here watching them. When I first sat down their movements sped up, which after a few minutes slowed down again. This is more than many individual ants running around. I have a sense of being watched by one large living being. Even the sedge into which this colony has build this round mount of sticks, leaves and sand grains is a part of this larger being, as all these very busy workers are scurrying around pulling pieces of organic matter onto the mount. I find myself wondering as to wether this is one being or many beings all working away in harmony. Maybe it is not a question of one or the other, but both.

To study a single earth other is almost impossible, because quiet soon more earth others present themselves, such as the dragonfly just flitting past and the tiny wrens hopping around looking for insects. As I continue on my morning walk I am thrilled to discover that this forest is teaming with earth others. Before me lies a huge fallen ancient tree close to two meters in diameter and endlessly long. This tree has not really died. Her spirit is still alive and strong. Covered in lichen and moss, (light green, splashes of brown, tinges of decaying bark showing here or there), she has become home to many small creatures.

As I am continuing on my Sunday morning walk through the forest I come to another tall tingle, reaching her branches towards heaven. Resting against her massive trunk I feel deep relaxation flood every cell in me with contentment and a sense of deep gratitude for being alive, being here in this place. I am amongst so many earth others and it feels as if I am being observed, which makes me feel vulnerable. If I had a choice of another life I would like to be a big tingle tree and eventually be the log decaying on the forest floor, giving a home and food to a myriad of beings.

A leaf is gently, slowly gliding on an air current, being pulled by gravity to the ground. It may become food for earthworms, or building material for the ants. Who knows? A blowfly is buzzing around my head. Leaves rusting in the soft breeze, the river is murmuring sweet melodies and the birds have been delighting me all morning with their songs. I am appreciating the diversity of life in the forest, from the strong presence of the black cockatoos, screeching from the treetops, to the tiny wrens hopping around on the ground looking for food. Yes, I agree that, “the land sings”, and that “it is our sensory immersion that most profoundly links us to the land”. Sitting here at the base of this ancient being I much better understand that, “we are open systems; we are open to the world” (Anthony or Patsy).

Today is Monday and what an amazing walk I have had. I found it hard going at times, especially the hills. I am very pleased with being mindful and attentive to my wellbeing. The tingles are so majestic, so powerful and so ancient. These forests hold an immense diversity of flora, the landscape changing so fast at times. There are sheoaks everywhere sprinkled amongst the Tingles, as well as the occasional tassel bush, semaphore sedges and bracken fern. I felt like hugging every tree, but the pace was just too fast to even contemplate stopping, so I hugged them all from afar from my heart. I realise how little of the fauna and flora I actually know by name or even what their role is in the forest. I want to learn more. I want to be able to know what plants, and which parts of the plant is edible and what time of the year etc. Such knowledge would bring me a little closer to being at home in the forest, rather than just passing through.

Wednesday

Glorious morning I sing to you. In today’s circle I will dedicate my walk to the Bibbulmun people, the traditional custodians of this part of country. The air is quiet – no wind and its overcast. There is a pregnant and yet empty silence and into that silence a bird calls “tututit – tututit”

It’s breakfast time and I am hungry for fresh fruit. Instead I am eating porridge again. I am aware of how lucky I am to have access to so much good food at home. It makes me think of all the people in the world who don’t have enough to eat. So here I sit amongst the last stands of tingle before leaving the forest, eating my porridge with gratitude. Thank you tingle trees.

Descending into coastal heath land

Ocean in view

kulbardi carolling us a welcome.

Carpets of greens dotted with red swamp bottlebrushes.

Charcoal trunks of jarrah,

berry saltbush and zamia palms,

long, sword-like kerbein,

prickly, slender banksia.

Lizard flitting across sandy track,

Ants scurrying about.

A cool breeze caressing my sweaty face.

Walking, breathing, seeing, feeling, smelling,

Touching the earth.

I feel welcomed,

walking this part of the world into being.

I feel alive.

Finally arriving at the beach was exhilarating. Walking with my human community is so bonding. After lunch we continued on the second half of the walk to Rame Head Hut, which proved to be quite challenging and so wonderful.

Up and down sand dunes

Amazing vistas greeting me.

Clouds pregnant with rain,

Cool clean ocean air rushing into my lungs.

Leg muscles stretching, aching.

Pearls of sweat dripping from my temples,

heart pumping, pulse racing.

One step at a time,

pushing up-hill,

staying connected.

Opening my senses to this breath taking landscape,

covered in creeping banksia, semaphore sedge,

grey cottonballs and succulent bain.

Brushing past Prickly Dryandra and Kangaroo Paws,

then reaching another dune top.

Gasping in wonder.

Before me stand steep cliffs,

roaring, spitting, waves

thunder against these ancient rock formations.

Yes! Val, it’s orgasmic.

Finally Rame Head Hut in sight.

Tired, but happy I sink onto my rolled out sleeping bag.

Sleepless nights at Rame Head Hut

Tossing, turning, tossing, turning,

Snuggled in my sleeping bag,

Aching body on hard floor.

Mosquitoes buzzing around my head,

Sandfleas crawling over my skin.

Distant ocean waves are rolling, crashing against my eardrum.

Pain, pleasure, discomforts and joy all rolled into one.

During a long walk along Rame Head beach I found a dead cormorant lying in the sand, wings outstretched just the way cormorants do when airing/drying their wings. It is such a sobering sight to look at the hollow ribcage, knowing that her insides was food for maybe the seagull standing not far from me, ready to take flight. We are all food for each other at some point.

Today we are walking to Peaceful Bay. It has been a great walk from Rame Head to the edge of the ocean. Have just arrived at the lookout and what a sight. Black N.Z. Fur Seals diving and frolicking in and out of the gentle waves. The grace and ease, with which they move in the water, elegantly pointing velvety flippers out of the surf like ballerinas. Now they are bobbing almost upright like corked, empty bottles at the edge of curling waves. Suddenly the show is over - they have vanished out of sight.

A Song from the Edge

Rolling sand dunes,

Covered in carpets

of flame reds, greens, rusty brown and silver greys.

Roaring, blue-green waves

crashing against mottled boulders.

Like lovers,

Land and Sea hug.

Their atoms electrically mingling,

Singing of the Great Edge.

Finally I arrive for a most delicious lunch in Peaceful Bay, after lingering in scenic places along the way. A green frog in the place where we set up tarp for the night greeted Jason. I loved the “wing-ding”.

The next morning I walked along the beach just before 6am. I walked straight into a fishing operation. Several fishermen were holding a huge net, filled with what looked like tons of herring. Poor fishes were struggling in the huge net. Pelicans bobbing on the water, waiting and waiting for a fish or two. Now and then an old fisherman throws one towards the group of 8 pelicans. Fisher-wives gathering in a group, waiting for their men. A crane pulling the next load in towards the waiting truck, while Black-backed Gulls are circling the full net. Thousands of fish are gasping and struggling to get back into the water as they are airlifted in a small net by a crane. Five pelicans are scratching and preening themselves with their long pink bills, gently nibbling between their feathers. Now they are standing strategically in a row waiting for more fish. I am allowed to help myself to a few of the fish lying in the sand around the truck.

The Pelicans are coming towards me, as they can see that I am stocked up with tucker. One is very frisky, but not game enough to come right up to me, so I push the fish more towards her…. and yes, she snaps at it and pulls the fish away from me. The sea gulls are circling me too now, wanting their share. A sea gull snatches a small fish and flies away with it, chased by a pelican, wanting the fish for himself.

Although the fishermen are feeding fish to the birds, they keep their distance from the humans. I was thrilled when I was given a bucket full of fish to feed to the pelicans. It gives me a chance to see these beautiful birds from very close up. Their bodies are big, yet they are graceful in their movements. They make a grunting noise, but I don’t know what that means. One is struggling to swallow a big fish. She is juggling the struggling fish about in her bill, dangling in the pouch, a kind of distensible throat pond. Then finally she gulps the fish down. Imagine a live, wriggling fish in your stomach? The more daring one of the group comes towards me again. Our eyeballs meet. We look at each other for a minute or so, then I place another fish on the ground about a couple of meters away from where I sit. And again she cautiously, in an almost sneaking forward movement, snatches the fish away with lightning speed and gulps once or twice - all gone.

The fisher folk have long left and I have run out of fish. The gathering of human and earth others has dispersed and I am on my way to my own breakfast plate back at the caravan park.

While we are travelling home on the bus I am reflecting on this amazing 10 days, walking this part of the world into being. I am beginning to get a sense of what it actually means to “walk the world into being”.

Week 7

Monday: Back home.

Yes, Anthony is right that it is not about escaping, but to “move the more-than-human permanently back to centre stage, to re-centre, not to get away at all”. Being back after the ten days away I am so aware of earth others. There are at least six different birds in the trees in my garden right now. Two pink galahs are swinging from the branches and one is dancing on the nesting box. I think that they have claimed it for themselves. Then there is a whole community of tiny pardalotes roaming amongst the elderberry bushes, and many honey eaters, as well as the Red Wattlebirds. And then there is the Jitti-Jitti, the Willie-wag-tail demanding of me to turn the heap of grass clippings, so she can search for insects. I am particularly interested in the Pallid Cuckoos, which are eagerly devouring the hairy caterpillars from the Cape Lilac tree. Hairy caterpillars are their only food. This tree has been infested with thousands of hairy caterpillars every year, forcing me to be drastic in my response by vacuuming them at my doorstep. This is a lesson in trusting that somehow and somewhere along the line, things balance out again.

Tuesday: Tonight is the first time since returning from the Bibbulmun Track, that I spend time walking in the garden looking out for frogs. Well, little Budda is not sitting in his usual place. Actually I saw only one young frog near the compost heap. He seemed unperturbed by my presence. After about 5 minutes he jumped across into the mint plant. I did not feel comfortable chasing after him. As the nights are getting cooler, more and more frogs will go into hibernation for the winter.

Wednesday: It is about 3am and I cannot sleep. Wandering around in the garden at this time of the night feels strange and yet so good. The moon is waning, the neighbourhood is so quiet one could hear a pin drop. The air is fresh and so clean and the frogs are out foraging for food. I could only find three, including the little Budda who is perched slightly sideways on the edge of the roof of the shed. As always they sit motionless and focused.

I feel deeply disturbed by the film “Exile and the Kingdom”. I am pondering over the quote, “In the beginning Creation beings lifted the soft world out of the sea”. Such softness oozes from this sentence. “Then the earth became hard…. Colonisation, slavery, mining booms…”. Why is it that we continue to exile Aboriginal people from their land? Is it because the western psyche is also still exiled from their Garden of Eden? Why is it that we cannot and will not look to Aboriginal people for spiritual guidance, something we are so desperately in need of? I feel troubled beyond words.

Saturday: While weeding, a small brown froglet jumped out from amidst a strawberry plant. It is so beautiful and delicate. There have not been many of these very young frogs in the garden this summer. I have noticed that a number of the mature frogs are sitting around the ponds and looking into the water for hours on end. I suspect that they are eating their own tadpoles, because the number of tadpoles has been dwindling and the snail population has grown from a few to hundreds. Why are they not eating snails any more. They used to eat all the snails and the slugs. I hope that they know what they are doing.

A kookaburra has just landed on a branch. He is diving down to the ground. I could not see what he was swallowing, though I hope it was a mouse and not a frog. He found something else to eat and is now hitting is beak against the branch, sitting there for a few minutes, totally unperturbed by my presence before flying away. We seem to have visits from every kind of bird from the Perth area. We are so pleased to be offering a heaven for so many earth others.

Tuesday: I have noticed that during this semester, I have been much more alert and present to earth others. Every morning I am very tuned into the many voices of all the birds in our neighbourhood. I know most of our bird friends by their call. I am trying to learn to converse with them and it seems that sometimes they respond to me saying “aaa aaa aaa or pee-wit, pee-wit.

11 Days in the Pilbarra

It has taken us almost two hours to finally leave suburbia well and truly behind. The Great Northern Highway cuts its way through farmland. We have abused the land, through clear felling, ploughing, and fertilising it to death. Bill Neidjie says, “Land got to stay, always stay same…..You look where timber gone, pulled out. Bulldozer rip it out. Well you feel it in your body. You say, That tree same as me…” As we travel through Nyungar country I am so aware of this abuse to country and its traditional custodians. We are feeling it in our bodies. We are ill in our psyche, and many people are physically ill as well.

I think that it is so important to name things the way they are. We need to ask the question, just like Parsifal was meant to ask the Fisher King, “What ails thee?” If we don’t asked this question to the ailing earth and to our ailing heart, we will like Parsifal continue to wander around, lost in the desert of our own psyche. Once we asked, “What ails thee?” both the land as well as our own spirit can heal also. If the land is ill, we will be ill too. Bill Neijie says it succinctly: “If you feel sore, headache, sore body, that mean somebody killing tree or grass. You feel because your body in that tree or earth.”

Travelling through Wheatbelt country.

Mallee, Yate, Wandoo, Jam tree Country.

Exhausted soil,

ploughed and fertilised to death,

for the bread on my dinner table.

Mt. Singleton Country

water puddles from rain,

beautiful country.

Mulga bushes,

black feral goats roaming,

beings of red earth,

strong spirit.

Land of the red kangaroo.

Straight roads cut into this sacred land.

We are such recent arrivals to this ancient land. We will only truly come home once we respect this land and the traditional custodians and know how to live sustainably from the land.

Open mine

44 gallon drums rusting in the bushes,

spilling white men’s story onto

holy ground.

Bill Neitjie’s story

“This earth

I never damage.

I look after”.

Soft red earth

millions of flies

red sunset

warm camp fire

earth nourishing sleep

small town Cue

little quaint stone house

Travelling towards Meekatherra

Feeling sleepy

want to soak up everything

and celebrate country

take it all in.

Dead kangaroo on road side.

Wedgetail eagle soaring above.

Feeling the earth,

tightly curled white fluffy clouds,

precious water puddles,

land soaking up rain,

black, brown sheep

some with long tails.

No houses, no towns for miles and miles.

But deep holes from mining,

tailings hurt my heart.

Clouds spreading out,

slowly breaking up.

Patches of green

coming up after the rain.

More water filled ditches,

smooth hills dressed in greens.

Clouds growing

into long, thin strips,

like arrows pointing east.

Caledoman Mine site.

Big holes,

digging up bones,

ploughing sacred ground.

Gaping wounds,

burning with poison.

Earth crying.

Feeling connects me to life.

Low shrubs as far as the eye can see,

interrupted by bare patches of red earth.

Arid land?

Rich country,

lots of life here.

Everything grows fast

after rain.

First small trees in sight,

towering above the seemingly

endless shrub scape.

Knarled dead wood

strewn over the landscape.

Travelling towards Newman

Powerful country,

very harsh,

yet soft.

Land is sinking

into deeper greens.

More trees,

more bare soil,

countless clumps of tiny grass shoots

here and there.

Dead straight roads

in a land of unevenness,

beauty and diversity.

We have reached the Ferguson River. Clothes are dropping off my body fast, cool water touching my ankles, slowly I slide into shear bliss. I love the sense of community we have grown over the last few weeks, a community of humans from Nyungar country visiting communities of earth others in Nyiabali Country, home to the Nyiabali Western Desert people.

Nyiabali Country,

hilly,

grassy,

round bushes.

Mt. Whaleback,

iron ore mining,

human made flat-topped mounts.

Mt. Newman Ranges in sight,

lushes vistas.

Road to Eagles Pool.

Grasses poking out

from amongst rich red/brown termite mounts.

Feather-like grasses on long shafts,

swaying in the wind.

Strong heartbeat,

feeling serene.

I sing to thee,

Oh, beautiful Pilbarra.

Red, red earth,

ancient ranges - haze blue

lacing the horizon.

Gentle terrain,

meandering track

off the straight roads.

Charred, small trees,

stretching their bare branches

towards the soft,

blue sky.

Sunset

at Eagles Pool.

This is a great place. I slept well. I am sure it was that Port. Caroline is such a great tent buddy. We get on so well. Waking up at the feet of two very, very big (in circumference) River gum trees is magical. Drinking water straight from a creek is something I have not done in decades.

Walking to Eagle Falls was enjoyable. Arriving at the falls left me gasping. That waterfall I will never forget. The memory of sitting directly under the pressure of the waterfall naked for such a long, long time, has found its way into the marrow of my bones forever and ever. It is almost impossible to describe the experience here. Sometimes words cannot capture the feelings and impressions experienced, so it is better to leave it shrouded in that magic and mystery, that, which cannot be named.

This morning we have packed up to walk to Hidden Tree Pool. The cool morning air is delicious. Not many people can say that they sat down for breakfast in Spinifex country. Sitting on red, red earth and eating my last piece of fruit brings a sense of deep gratitude for just simply being alive.

As the sun climbed higher as the day progressed I really felt the effects of the heat. I reminded myself to stay connected to the experience of discomfort, to feel and honour the potency of this land. As I put one foot in front of the other I felt a lightness of being. The birds were singing in a nearby stand of low trees. I wonder when a human came through here the last time - maybe years ago? In this magical land, which Anthony called "Magical Meadows", I found a large light brown egg, probably belonging to bush turkeys. I loved the dainty flowers growing amidst seemingly endless rock beds. Spinifex as far as the eye can see. Lizards, ants and termites bless this land and sister-fly was our constant travel companion.

This country is strong, like strong medicine. This morning I dedicated my walk to the beings who cam e before us, who used to walk this land into being for tens of thousands of years.

Today had an almost serious ending for me. I don’t know how I manage to trip and fall, scaping my shin along a sharp rock edge. I am glad to have escaped breaking any bones. I felt grateful to Anthony for carrying my backpack for the last part of the walk. Still a little in shock, hurting all over and tired I clambered over the last rock outcrop, when a magical valley/gorge of waterholes, little waterfall and dragonflies opened itself up to my senses. I felt welcomed to this paradise. When opening my eyes on this first morning, the sun was rising, soaking the rocks in pure gold. Trees are growing between the cracks in the rocks, giving the scenery a bonsai appearance.

Yesterday definitely was hard. I felt tested to my bones, literally. I am feeling bruised all over. The land is harsh and merciless, and if one does not know how to navigate oneself through this varied terrain, one simply dies, probably from heat exhaustion and lack of water, or falling off rocks.

And yet, here I sit on this glorious morning at the edge of so much water, it is hard to belief that just over the crest is dry parched earth. I have never seen so many dragonflies in my life. There are red ones, and fluorescent green ones, and my most favourite are those with blue body and red tail. They look like beings, which flew off the pages of a fairy tale book.

Dainty tufts of grasses are growing in between the cracks of these iron rich, hard red rocks. Strong River Gum trees tower as guardians alongside huge rock formations. This land appears extremely hard and yet there is frailty and softness in every flower, dewdrop, birdsong and murmuring of running water.

A tiny froglet, camouflaged in red/grey colours, is sitting next to my right foot. He looks so fragile. He is cleaning himself and scratching his face with his little fingers. He turned around towards a grass bush, exposing dark brown/black stripes along his torso. He is a perfectly formed frog. White tailed ants are scurrying past him. His attempts to snatch one, which narrowly escapes his flicking tongue. This species is a climber. He is hanging off the rock vertically now, literally hanging up side down. With lightning speed he jumped forward and yummy, there is an insect in his tummy. And another one, and yes another one, his stomach muscles moving busily. Sitting so still I can see so many insects moving about. This is a living dinner table for this little being. Hop, hop and he disappeared out of sight, somewhere in between those rocks. Happy hunting frog!

Dragonfly Dance

Pheromones drifting on air currents.

Free for all.

single fluorescent green males

darting about

looking for dancing blue/red females.

Amorous lovers passionately

plugged into and onto each other.

In their glittering wedding dresses

they glide, flit, circle, speed up

and stand still midair,

always moving as one

in this sea of orgies.

Darting

touching the shimmering water surface.

Flitting away again,

hovering in one spot in the air.

Loosing each other,

moments of chasing,

then re-uniting.

Two pairs

dancing around each other

in delicate

acrobatic movements

midair.

Dozens of exquisitely beautiful

dragonflies

moving to the rhythm of an ancient

Dragonfly dance.

Grey sky,

light morning dew,

day birds rising to sing,

waterfall still tumbling over rocks.

Reddish/dark browns,

blue greens.

Offerings of iron red bands of

thin clouds

drifting from the east,

slowly turning pink,

then becoming yellow tufted.

Finally crowning

into a golden halo.

Ah, there she comes

over the horizon

once more pouring out her golden glory

for all to see.

Next morning,

blue sky loosely clad

in feathery clouds of white.

Every being that was asleep during the night

now awakening from a grey/brown slumber.

Moments of golden glow

spreading over the valley.

All night beings are now asleep.

Sitting on this billion- year-old rock I ponder over Bill Neitjie's words. Tears are flowing down my face and I don’t know why. "Story about Feeling" opens me up to the fullness of my feeling for country. I love the story about "Tree". I do understand that the way to connect with the world is through feeling. All through his writing shines forth an important message, namely that all life is one. We come from the earth and we return to earth. We are all family. If the tree gets hurt we feel that hurt in our own bodies.

It was good not to go to Three Pools. I am feeling my sore muscles. It is warm this morning. The rocks are glowing with such power. I am enjoying painting, thanks to Anthony's soft, gentle, loving and attentive presence beside me. It feels as if I am picking up the threads dropped 42 years ago, but with the sprinkle of 4 billion years of re-member-ings.

I felt so at home here at Hidden Tree Pool, that it was not easy to leave. The lure of another Pool lifted me across the red plains, stinging with the heat of the midday sun. I enjoy feeling my feet touching the dusty red earth. Earth meeting me. This is a sacred pilgrimage, not to be taken lightly, but to be walked joyously, letting the spirit of the land and my own spirit commune. After meeting numerous earth others along the way we finally arrived at Stuart Pool.

Hidden Tree Pool was magical beyond words. The smooth round boulders offered themselves to us for resting. Here at Stuart Pool it is different. I feel I have had to plead and grovel with the land to find a resting- place. Right now this land does not sing to me at all, and yet, it is so beautiful in its own way. The pool is so soothing and a reprieve from the scorching heat of the early afternoon sun.

Walking from Hidden Tree Pool to Stuart Pool was a little hard at first, but became somewhat easier as we progressed. The power of that particular country overwhelmed me with emotions. Pilbarra country is strong, like medicine. I remember Peter saying, "The land will swollow you up and spit you out". You don’t mess with this country. You have to listen to the land, or you can get lost or even loose your life.

Peter is a fine navigator, and I felt save following his lead. I learned a little about the compass, but not enough to find my own way. I need more lessons on map reading, as well as that other thing, which Peter carried, telling him how far to walk before he changes direction. Thank you Peter for generously sharing your knowledge of country.

This land demands of me to be honest, mindful, observant, humble, respectful and curious. This land is harsh land, yet generous and soft. Much is hidden to the unobservant senses. If willing, the land will teach you to sharpen your senses. One can even awaken to the forgotten senses, which have slumbered for many generations. This land helps me to appreciate the preciousness of water.

I find this place hard, rocky. There is no where to sit. I wanted to be back on my round boulders, back there with the dragonflies. I could not find a place to rest that afternoon. After a nights sleep the morning always offers new beginnings.

Grey sky,

giving way to the rising sun.

Trees covered in yellow glow.

Bullrush seeds dancing

on air currents.

Insects forming ripples on water surface.

Mottled River Gums,

guardians of this valley.

Waterfalls,

gentle background music.

Bird songs,

now joined by Patsy's

"Good morning to you…"

Yes, good morning it is.

At the beginning of this journey I yearned for a ritual in which I wanted to be introduced to the more-than-human world. There was no need for me to do a ritual, for the ritual has been doing me all along. The land like a mother has carried me from place to place introducing me to the rising and setting sun, to the moon and the stars, the mountains and the rocks, and the many beings along the way. I am "walking this world into being", and this land is singing me into being, and welcoming me into the world.

Pilbarra country is one great painting. Each rock is a piece of art in itself. All these rocks scattered over the red earth looks like a huge painting, a kind of rock art. Yippee! I am having a great idea. I am going to make art with the help of these rock beings, and through that, I hope to give their beauty and magical powers another form of expression.

Truly, this valley has its own haunting beauty. All morning I walked up and down the riverbed, inviting rocks to be co-creators of rock art. Only rocks which where lying loose on top of other rocks, and which wanted to be a part of this creation I gathered and brought back to the place. The placing of the rocks had to be done mindfully and slowly, as not to disturb the surroundings. This meditation had a Zen flow to it. Bringing the rocks together, then placing them under their guidance in patterns. And one day, when the rains come, all will be dismantled by the torrents of floods, making new art somewhere further along the creek bed. This was such fun and very meditative, creative and deeply interactive with the rocks.

Sitting on a rock, weathered to perfection to fit the contours of my back. I feel quiet and content after a full day of reading, journal writing, bird watching and rock gathering. I so enjoyed watching tiny birds, flitting from branch to branch, seemingly chasing each other and being very noisy. Swaying grasses in the wind and the sound of the waterfall are having a very calming effect on me.

Patsy, Peter and Elly are walking to Motorbike Pool. Anthony has gone solo up to the plateau and the rest of us are sitting in the shade against a huge outcrop of rocks, painting and journal writing to our hearts content. I have never seen so many eager students before. It's because Patsy, Anthony, Peter and nature are such great teachers. This place certainly draws something out of me. Spider Dreaming Pool has grown on me and again it is hard to part.

I agree with Graeme, that Stuart Pool is not the right name. We should rename it as " Spider Dreaming Pool". Every cranny and nook is home to colourful spiders, each one sitting in the middle of her web. As I float in this divinely earthy, watery juice of life, I honour these beautiful spiders, dream weavers of power and passion.

The face painting for the corroboree was such fun. I loved the spontaneity and the wildness of it all, with Jason setting the tone for the evening, left me exhausted with laughter. Who needs alcohol to have fun. I have come to love these wonderful fellow travellers in this unit. Everyone is so unique and so special in every way, wether it is the way we painted each other, or the way we danced, or the way we argue a point during a tutorial, or the way we smile or laugh. It was such a fun night. Thank you all. Finishing with a swim was for me the perfect ending to a full and rich day.

Friday: Today is the last walking day back to Eagle Pool, completing the circle. I dedicated my walk to the Aboriginal peoples all over Australia. May reconciliation and land rights gain a number 1 position on the national agenda. I am feeling low in energy today, so it was no surprise that I struggled to climb the very steep hill. I wanted to reach the top all by myself with my backpack on my back, but lacked the energy to carry it through. Anthony eroded my stubbornness with his gentle wizard nature. I was reminded once more that letting go and allowing others to help me is not a sign of weakness, rather a sign that strength lies in vulnerability and humbleness. Walking country is teaching me so much about so much.

Today, more than any other day I am savouring every second with intensity, as if it is the last day of my life. Once I reached the top, I gasped for air with amazement of the stunning beauty of the vistas below. It was all worth the effort. On the plateau before us spread out a landscape, which looked like an herb garden. Many plants and shrubs smelled strong and resembled herbs such as sage, lavender, marjoram and santolina. Even the seeds smelled very strong.

The last four kilometres were hard on my feet, and the landscape soft on my heart. It was wonderful sharing this last part walking with Seth. As I am writing these words, I am sitting on a thick root of a river gum, my feet are dangling in this cool soothing wetness back at Eagles Pool. I HAVE MADE IT! Not only did I survive, but also I thrived and grew. This was no trip, this was a pilgrimage for me, a pilgrimage to finding a deeper connection to land and earth others, as well as a pilgrimage in finding my strength and wellbeing.

Last week I sat here reading "May's Lion". Just when I finished this thought provoking, amazing story, I looked down and saw a small, flat honey-brown stone lying at my feet. This stone travelled with me to all the places. Now it is time to let go and return this rock being to this riverbed, where the cycle began. It is a difficult thing to do, but the land demands honesty and integrity. In my minds eye I can see a snake made from sand and the rock forming the head. The creation of this snake is a reminder of this precious time and place and the power of this pilgrimage.

Saturday: We are back on sealed road for the first time, travelling to Newman for the Wing-ding shopping. It is so different to be travelling by car/bus to see the land. That is the way most people see Australia. To walk through country, now that is much more intimate. The following poem speaks to me loudly.

ESCAPE

When we get out of the glass of our ego,

and when we escape

like squirrels turning in the cage of our personality

and get into the forest again

we shall shiver

with cold and fright.

But things will happen to us

so that we don't know ourselves.

Cool underlying life will rush in,

and passion will make our

bodies taut with power.

We shall stamp our feet with new powers

and old things will fall down.

We shall laugh and

institutions will curl up

like burnt paper.

D. H. Lawrence (p.270)

Saturday: We travelled all day, followed by a big Wing-ding. What a great party that was - preparing good food, eating it, merriment, drinking wine and beer, and sharing stories.

Sunday: I feel uneasy about going back to the place I call home. I loathe the concrete footpaths, the heavy, noisy traffic, and the obsessive consumerism and city stress. And yet…there is more than that. My beloved John, Huckleberry, Whiskel, the pardalottes, willi-wag-tails, frogs, magpies, dragonflies, ants, and… and…a whole community of earth others, are eagerly awaiting my return. Now that is worth going home for.

We are passing through Wubin, yellow earth. The land is tamed here, cultivated with crops, which are inappropriate for this land. Chopping down the trees makes the earth cry more tears, which brings more salt to the surface, creating more and more barren land. The land is in pain, but we don't listen. All we see is money and profits. What for? The flocks of birds are dwindling. But we are blind to such losses. The cities are like black holes, sucking in all the resources. Earth others loose their homes, our children's future is in question and still we send our men to the mines in the "Wild West", the "Great Frontier" to bring home more metal for more goods of which we have more than enough. Remembering travelling past the iron ore mines I recall Rilke's poem:

The kings of the world are old and feeble.

Who are their heirs?

Their sons are dying before they are men,

and their pale daughters

abandon themselves to the brokers of violence.

Their crowns are exchanged for money

and melted down into machines,

and there is no health in it.

Does the ore feel trapped

in coins and gears? In the petty life

imposed upon it

does it feel homesick for earth?

If metal could escape

from coffers and factories,

and the torn-open mountains

close around it again,

we would be whole.

Rainer Maria Rilke (p.180)

Moore River Country,

Nyungar Country,

Bindi Bindi,

turn off to New Norcia.

Endless ploughed fields

burnt fields,

earth crying.

lonely, spars trees,

cairns of orphaned rocks.

Shadows growing longer,

windmills

farm houses

power lines

Warbing

Yagina River

lichen covered rocks

grazing cattle

dead trees

eroded soil.

First Balga in sight,

rolling hills,

black fields,

like burn toast.

New Norcia 10 km away.

Salmon Gum trees,

crossing Beelar Brook

New Norcia

greyish clouds

lingering in the sky.

Longbridge Gully

Grazing sheep

dotting the landscape.

Vineyards,

steep hills,

familiar earth others of

banksia, dryandra,

balga and sheoak.

Rocky creek bed,

patches of bushland.

Descending into the

coastal plain, home to

Bassendean sands.

Advertising billboards,

suburbia,

Real Estate Agents,

land for sale,

development,

fences,

entering Swan Valley.

Traffic lights,

motorised wheel chairs

clogging up the highways,

spreading foul farts.

Into this darkness,

the dark hole of consumption,

speed and stress,

the sun still sends her rays

and welcomes us with a rainbow.

Week 8

Monday: Coming home felt somewhat strange, and walking up the driveway felt like having been away from home for months. Sleeping in a square room felt even stranger. The strangest was falling asleep while looking at our white ceiling instead of the star filled night sky. My bed was great though. I slept tight. During the night I had to empty my full bladder. In my sleep I walked around to John's side of the bed, squatted and did the biggest pee ever. This morning I remembered vaguely the event, so I had a look, and to my horror (or gladness) I saw the puddle still there, half seeped into the wood and slowly dispersing between the cracks of the floorboards. That's what I call becoming uncivilised. Evidently I am still in the bush. Honestly this has never happened to me before, and I hope this will not happen again, otherwise I might have to move our bed into the backyard for good.

I plugged into John's brain to find out about the Nyiyapali people of the Pilbarra. He informs me that these people speak the Nyiyapali language, part of the Pama-Nyungan language family, the largest in Australia. With the end of Aboriginal slavery (“employment”) in the pastoral industry in 1967, they were forced off the stations to places like Jiggalong, Newman and Nullagine. Nyiabali people have alternate generation levels, with patrilineal local descent, meaning that you inherit your locality from your father. The Nyiabali people’s kinship system is also divided vertically into name sections. This particular kinship system forms part of the Western Desert type, which is the largest in Australia.

When they were settled at Jiggalong and Nullagine, Wanman speaking Bailgu people and Mantjiltjarra speaking Martu people were also moved into these settlements. This institutionalised degrees of conflict between families and kin groups is far worse than forcing refugees from Germany, France and Italy to live in the same area. Moving these groups into a town has severed much of the connection between the land and its people, producing a sense of loss, despair, alienation and displacement, almost impossible for us westerners to comprehend.

No wonder that they queue in front of bottle shops for drink, in order to numb their pain. When forced into these settlements tribal law broke down, the young were forced into whitefella schools, leading to disrespect of elders, disrupting the pattern of cultural transfer to the young. When the mining town of Newman was build, no thought was given to the traditional owners of that country, forcing them to become fringe-dwellers in their own land.

This is such a messy situation. I don’t know how healing can occur here. Also, I honestly don’t know why I did not learn a little beyond the video about the people prior to departure. I regret not having done so. Such knowledge beforehand would have enriched walking that country. This would make a great project for next time. I am glad that at least I greeted the Aboriginal people, who were sitting in front of the shopping centre, as I walked past on our morning shopping in Newman.

I also learned by studying the map that Cue and Meekatherra are within the boundary of Yamatji Country, and as we travelled towards Wubin, Nyungar Country begins. Western Desert Country landscape is distinctly different to, Yamatji Country, as is Nyungar Country. For instance, Salmon Gum, Gimlet, Wandoo, Jarrah, Banksia and Tuart are all trees of Nyungar Country and are not found in Yamatji Country, except for some Salmon Gums maybe. Each bioregion is unique and specific to each country. I am quite excited about this new study about Indigenous Australia, which I want to pursue more in depth.

Tueday: The evenings are cooler now and no frogs in sight. They may have gone into hibernation for the winter. I am still fondly remembering the tiny froglets at H.T.P.

Thursday: Since returning I am so aware of the many birds in the morning, especially the Magpies. They have been calling from the Norfolk Pine trees next door every morning lasting several hours. I have been feeling so exhausted that its been impossible to go for walks in my neighbourhood to visit earth others, instead I am enjoying their beautiful calls from my bed, while dreaming of red earth and spinifex.

Sunday: All week I could hear the birds calling early in the morning, the traffic noise almost drowning out their beautiful melodies. This morning it is quiet on the road and I am observing the birds here at the little remnant bushland again. Next door to this bushland is a fenced in property administered by a government department called "Archives". In their yard, just over the fence is this morning's major activity. Red wattlebirds are sitting in the silver prince's tree, silver eyes are darting about and New Holland honeyeaters are dangling from the beautifully pink flowers with yellow centres, eagerly feeding from the nectar and pollen. This one is doing that by forcing his whole face into the opening of the flower. I assume that this way she brushes against the anthers and with her face covered in pollen dust, carries this to the next flower, playing a vital part in the pollination process. They are such tiny birds, so very beautiful in their black and white dresses, with a splash of yellow on their wings and tail. I want to attempt to paint this little bundle of energy if that is possible. Also very present this morning, are the tiniest of pardalotes, going about their business with speed and vigour. Hundreds of small, yellow pom-pom flowers cover the entire wattle bush, which grows snug next to a pin cushion shrub, displaying its full glory of pink pin cushions.

I have bought myself a wonderful book, "Leaf on Branch: Trees and Tall Shrubs of Perth", by Robert Powell. I want to learn about the fauna and flora of Perth. Looking through it I have identified the candle banksia (biara), and firewood banksia, much loved by many birds I can see from where I am sitting.

Then there are several Christmas Trees, (mooja). I do know that they flower around Christmas time and that this tree is a semi-parasite, but I did not know that mooja is one of the richest sources of pollen and nectar for insects such as wasps, ants, bees and nectariferous beetles. The flowers also attract many birds, such as bee-eater, silvereye, New Holland honey eater, little wattlebird, red wattlebird, yellow-rumped thornbill, black-faced cuckoo-shrike, western spinebill and brown honeyeater. Wow this is so inspiring. I want to study this book and introduce many of the trees named in this book into my neighbourhood.

I have to do something positive, otherwise I go nuts living in this suburb. The street from here leading back home is littered with broken bottles, plastic and paper. Such a contrast to walking in the Pilbarra. I think I am in shock, maybe similar to culture shock. It is not easy to maintain a sense of wellbeing in an insane society, in which most peoples senses are dulled. I am going to stay awake and alert to the newly awakened and sharpened senses from walking country. I never want to loose that. The price is that I am also more than ever awake to the grey colours of the city as well. I am going to pick up rubbish and plant local trees, so that the birds can sing us awake from this deep stupor of senseless existence.

Week 9

Sunday: During the past two days the rain has cleaned the air, giving it a crisp smell and everything green has taken on a most vibrant green.

The frogs have gone into hibernation during our time in the Pilbarra. I feel unsettled and don’t quite know why, except that it has something to do with having been away and coming back. The place is not the same, I am not the same. Something has changed in me. I need to time to integrate this something and yet since returning I have felt pressured to fulfil obligations and commitments, which are getting in the way of completing this part of the process.

I want to be able to do nothing. Absolutely nothing at all for a while, just simply be.

It feel like a vital process interrupted, like that of going back to work one week after you gave birth to your baby, or going back to work the day after your wedding. My life circumstances force me into the hectic doing mode of appointments, lectures, shopping for toilet paper and milk, paying bills, worrying wether there is enough money to pay them etc etc. After such a deeply spiritual pilgrimage the landing back into suburbia has been too sudden and too hard. I am also physically exhausted.

This has been a pilgrimage in the truest sense of the word. I have been tested and stretched to the limit. I feel stripped bare to my bones. I need time and space to reassemble. Into what I don’t know, though it feel strong and good.

Week 10

Wednesday: I very much appreciated Lauren's suggestion for each one of us to write a poem about a world worth caring for.

A World worth Caring for

Full moons

Starlit nights

Walking barefoot on soft moist earth

Frogs leaping across the pond

Birds feeding their young

People planting trees

Sweet scent of orange blossoms

Wild storms

Raindrops hammering onto a tin roof

Spider webs stretching across the entire kitchen window

Making compost

Growing my own food

Sunflowers covered in ladybirds

My beloved rubbing my tired feet

Just sitting around doing nothing

and simply being.

Sunday: It is raining tonight and I am listen out for the first calls from the Banjo frogs, which will wake up from their long summer hibernation after the first heavy rains. Maybe it has not rained enough yet.

I am thinking of little Buddha, and wonder where he hibernated for the winter. I am grateful for the teachings he offered me. His quiet presence is inviting me to spend more time in stillness. The hectic last weeks have been the very opposite. Unless I make a commitment of finding time to be still, it will not happen by itself, this I know.

Week 11

Wednesday: This bushland is still covered in local Woolly bush and there are at least ten large banksias with many more small, younger trees knee high. The total biomass of both local and non-local native vegetation supports a fairly large population of diverse bird life as well as insect life.

Coming here is educating me. I am learning that not only certain places are sacred sights, rather that even the tiniest square millimetre is sacred ground. The places that are most neglected are the ones that need most loving and caring.

I had a dream last night, in which I found a bundle placed outside my front door of my house. On closer inspection I found that it was a baby. As I picked up the little being I saw a woman watching me, who then walked away, leaving me with the baby. I took the baby inside, which was wrapped in a blanket.

Again I opened the front door and again another baby was left lying next to my door. Again the woman watched me and once I picked the baby up into my arms, she turned and walked away. I can feel it is a powerful dream of great significance for me in relation to my journey inner and outer during the past few months.

Friday: The sky is grey. Rain is on its way. The air is cool, and thick with the smell of car exhaust. I have never liked this corner of degraded bushland until now. Even now it's hard to love this place. It's not big enough to escape the pollution and traffic noise. And yet through coming here to observe earth others, especially the birds I am noticing a change of heart, of mind. Places such as this one need to be sung up. Thank you Freya. Singing up places and spaces is a sacred ritual, which helps us bond with, and celebrate them, and in so doing we become whole again.

I am walking this place into being

Following narrow footpaths

Picking up broken glass and plastic

Joining all these beings in

Singing up this place

Holy ground

Sacred Earth

I am walking this place into being

Week 12

Wednesday: This is my last entry. All things come to an end eventually, so will this unit next week. We came together from all walks of life, from different places. We have shared of ourselves, we have learned from each other and we have walked together and have grown into a little community. May our love we have grown for each other and the world spread its wings and bring more joy to every being alive.

I would like to close by acknowledging and thanking all the beings, which are the myriads of earth others, my human friends and the land, who all taught me so much about living closer to the earth.

Blessings to earth, fire, water and air

Blessings to sky,moon, sun and the stars

Blessings to all those who came before us

Blessings to all the beings alive this moment

Blessings to those not yet born, who are still to come

Blessings to the cycle of birth and death

Blessings for the gift of every breath

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