Fascists at Work

Been feeling I should update you on what is happening out here since little Johnny's take-over bid. First thing is, only the white people are taking any notice - everyone else has been living with oppression for so long that they have long ago perfected the art of ignoring it as much as possible. Second thing is that I learnt today that they are sending administrators in to every community, a move that has only ever been made in the past in the case of (extreme) white or council corruption. This is war, and this is fascism at work. Forget about healing abuse, this is just another attempt to cement abuse in the psyche of these gentle people. And I am wanting to go home and feel horrible about abandoning people with all this going on.

And for the beauty of the land that sings so strongly here - another rape by the walypala (whitefella). Last night I camped in the riverbed at Mbunghara with twenty women and a dozen girl children - a camp organised to talk about ways to protect from sexual abuse - meeting and talking with all the young girls in a culturally sensitive partnership of white agencies and local elders. Protective behaviours stuff. A huge vaulted sky full of stars and a bright moon overhead, little fires between the swags in line, old women singing in language, kids shrieking till late just like a Tuntable camp, except that no-one hassles them for it. Kids have so much freedom here. Frost on the swag in the morning and little girls lighting the fires from the embers. Kenn would have loved it, except he would have had to be in a men's camp and he would have loved that. I loved it and wish we could sleep there every night instead of in this prison world of electricity pylons and fences and besser block boxes. I fantasise about sneaking off with my swag into the bush but it is so hard to do anything unseen here and people would not like it.

Knowing myself as well as I do, I don't know how I am managing to cope. But I am, just, despite still crying at inopportune moments and not sleeping well at all. Don't know how long I can keep it up - it is very hard to be working fulltime in this head and heart space. Still I have years of practise behind me and despite my complaints, there are so many lovely people here of all kinds - Sandy the nurse rubbed some liniment into my aching shoulders today and it was lovely to have a healing touch on my skin. And when I look at the suffering all around me, I feel like a spoiled child.

The Sky of Mind, This Sky of Mine

Just walked out for a few minutes this evening to see all this in half an hour ...

Gardens, Neighbours, Weekends, Views

It is the weekend, that lovely time when I only have to look after myself and my garden. It makes me feel like I can survive here. God grant me many weekends. Here is a picture of the garden which has grown all by itself with the automatic watering gadget and will soon give me broccoli as well as ongoing pleasure. I would love to have a cat or dog for company but feel morally agonised over the idea of bringing some critter out here just for a short time - though if I could find someone to take it after I leave, it would be great to have someone to pat. Meantime I make do with looking after the garden. And my teddy, Mindfulness Bear.

Been listening to Noel Pearson on the contribution of welfare dependency to addiction and abuse in communities - and I was surprised to realise that I agree with him, despite his somewhat aggro and arrogant delivery. I should be able to relate - if anger is a product of feeling powerless and helpless, I know a bit about that. The whole issue of the govt supporting Kenn in his addictions and self-destruction has grieved me so much for years, I can readily appreciate how it must be for Noel.

More photos: the view from the back verandah and the backyard .










I turned on the tele the other night to see a bizarrely hilarious doco on the brush turkey...and here is a photo of my endless favourite tissue-paper evening sky over the honey ant dreaming hill.

I am thinking about taking up Irish step-dancing. It requires very strong leg muscles, our ancestors must have been a hardy lot of peasants. The first step for me is getting my muscles up to their standard. You can imagine me hopping around the kitchen to my trad irish music in the mornings, getting warm enough to tackle the washing up or get to work. If I keep it up I may get a DVD with the real steps and learn in earnest - it's gotta be the very best thing for my osteoporosis.

Return to Papunya #2

Here is my Alice Springs family - we had roast duck at Jan and Charlie's when I got back!
Caution: this blog contains a few whinges - not suitable for those seeking uplifting thoughts... I am back in Papunya, my favourite refugee camp in the desert and I feel like I am a refugee but I don't know from what! It is so easy to feel imprisoned here behind my wire fence and in my dark cold little cave. There is an evilly cold wind blowing which makes walking seem far less attractive than usual and the CDEP co-ordinator hassled me for smiling at her this morning (I had only just read in my Buddhism for Mothers book about how it is good to smile often...) However - this negative feeling which descended on me last night when I first walked in the door and burst into tears may also be due to lack of sleep and disorientation. People (other than the CDEP co-ordinator have been very friendly, lots of old ladies have given me hugs and my friend Wendy is here for a few days. So really there is nothing wrong, unless you count the fact that there is almost no food to feed the oldies (supermarket bungle) and there are no workers except me and Willie (sorry business). But that is only to be expected out here and the truth is that it has been running fine without me till the last week. And I am an over-qualified expert in emergency management so the oldies will get fed - and clothed, as there are bags and bags of op-shop goodies for our op-shop. So let's hope my native optimism will rise again and that it's a bit warmer tonight and I get better sleep...

Two Funerals and a Wedding

These are photos I took 19th April, the morning Ken died. I woke in the dark from a dream that I was about to be tested for something for which I had not time to prepare, and decided to go for a long walk - started off walking in the dark and eventually watched the sunrise over Ulumbarra, this beautiful mountain which is an old man lying down, the same as the Nightcap range in Nimbin. There is also a woman, Anjali, lying head to head with him. I had a lovely peaceful day until my body/mind received the news from Nimbin and went into shock. One day I hope to have such a good acceptance of death and change that it's a bit easier to deal with - and if people keep leaving the way they have been, it will be essential. I have lost so many family and close friends in the last few years.

Ken had a good send-off. He made many friends while sitting in his open-air office/cum saloon bar outside Mark's shop and they all came and lots of our mutual friends from the old days came to the funeral too, which I really appreciated. I was able to remember him again as he was back then in his prime, once his spirit was set free from all the alcohol and smoking he punished his body with for so long. I have a journey towards forgiveness that I am walking still. So I cry a bit still though I am feeling less vulnerable now, which is good as I have to go back to work very soon.


Here is a photo of Ken at peace with life and birth and finally at peace with death. He was only 55 but looked so old, it gave him much kudos as a street psychologist and guru.





There has been a wedding too - Libby and Pete were married on June 2nd and did it in gorgeous Bollywood style, though I'm sure that was all Libby's idea. Lisa Yeates lent me the perfect gear and I had a great night catching up with old friends like Liz Jensen whom I haven't seen for ages, Neil, Mary, lots of people - even danced to the pappadum japarty band for a while.
Here is the reunion of Bridie's birthing crew - and here is Sophia, Bridie's baby. They are living in Cairns now with Andrew, Sophie's dad.




Here we have a photo of Graeme. This is kind of like another funeral photo, Grazza at the end of the rainbow, maybe looking for the pot of gold or maybe trying to be a good Buddhist. He was so pissed off that I didn't put this photo of him up in my last posting that he decided to embark on a new relationship after Kenn's funeral (it's true, that's what he told me!) It didn't seem like such a great photo to me but I guess he meant he was feeling neglected after three years of just friendship and freedom and maybe jealous of all the attention Ken was getting and scared of dying and scared of grief. So he is off on another journey too and it feels like a kind of a death of a friendship and a funeral, though it is probably the best thing for me.