November 1 – and the Season of the Mysterious Other

Our spinning Mother Earth’s rhythmic breathing responds to the cosmos in which she dwells. And we live within her breathing, her seasons and tides, her darkness and light, her polarities. European Australians recently transplanted – in the earth’s timescale – into the south celebrate northern festivals minus their innate connections. Meanwhile the northern rhythm still pumps quietly in the collective unconscious. From my early twenties, I lived in England and during those eleven years the seasonal festivals emerged to the surface of my psyche. I loved the way their appearance aligned with nature's changing patterns of winter, spring, summer and autumn. One year, on the first day of November

The Flowers Are Talking

Stretching his hand up to reach the stars, too often man forgets the flowers at his feet. Jeremy Bentham philosopher This musing was stimulated when Stephen and I took our three grandkids to the Grampians in the recent school holidays. We stayed in a pioneer mud brick cottage surrounded by kangaroos, mellifluous birds and some very friendly hens. We visited Brambuck, the national park and cultural centre to learn about the indigenous people and their ongoing custody of the place they call Gariwerd. We visited ancient rock art depicting the creator, Bunjil the eagle, and wandered through the excellent zoo with its animal conservation and rehabilitation programs. The kids jumped and splashed a

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