Walking two worlds by Colleen Keating

“Walk as if we are kissing the earth with our feet” exhorts Thich Nhat Hanh 

A summer storm blew up just when I was about to take a walk and I waited an hour. Little did I know in some parts of Sydney trees were downed and much damage had been done . 

However It added to an interesting walk as the bush had experienced a wild storm. There was still a wail of wind in the upper echelons of trees.  The forest world had been disturbed  

Leaves were blown wild and ripped twigs and brambles scattered the ground. Bark from the many eucalypts stripped fallen like a garment discarded forcefully. 

The light played through thunderers grey cloud with a sudden dazzle of breakthrough, lighting up small pockets of bush and then crowding over. It was an eerie feeling. 

Yet the movement of walking slowly, brought back the rhythm of my mind in step with nature.  Washed clean by the storm there was a new green and the sparks of rare sunlight threw another dimension onto the scene.

The forest floor was alive –  the small world under my feet, writhing beyond sight, but the aroma was strong with roots, mycelia, decomposers, bacteria, protozoa, worms, grubs, beetles beyond counting, beyond knowing . . .   the living and the dead brushing together to create their own symphony of sound and activity.  

The small steps in evolution going on right before my eyes,
its own miracle.  And the constant reminder we are not needed here. 

Coloured algae rooting into the sandstone, fungi at work,  soft moss and lichen covering the rocks in this rainy weather . maybe they will receed into grooves, nooks and crannies in the dry.  Small ferns, bracken ferns breaking up the rock for soil for the tree ferns,  palms, trees, and towering eucalypt  – the evolving world of plants.  All here for the ,  curious to observe the whole evolutionary plan before us.

   

it seems to me modern life is happening faster than the speed of thought, thoughtfulness. there is no time to ponder an event before the next one comes tumbling in and like an ocean wave  drops it new story. So it is good to walk in kairos time rather than the every day khronological time.. . .well just for awhile. 

As i came across a quiet corner the light briefly broke thru the clouds . i felt dizzy.

I found myself in two worlds. I was present here in the echoes of coolness but sensed a whole world around me 

 I had a foot in two worlds . . . there was chatter, laughing, mourning birthing.  I realised this was an ancient popular indigenous place. I am prone to being in two worlds . Once arriving at Schofields to celebrate a new school opening, as I got out of the car and put my foot down onto the ground I was part of a massacre the thudding of the ground, the cries, the moans .The memory  has never gone away. It made me quite sick as no massacre had been acknowledged there, at the time. I believe acknowledgement is better now. 

Happier crossovers have been at Terramungamine Common where we camped many times outside Dubbo on the  Macquarie river bank. Sitting there around a fire once I was aware of stamping, dusty feet and knew on another level we were not the first here and not alone. These were ponderous activities to be mingled with. And another in the bush at Marg’s old place . I found I was in a bora ring . It was happy too and was a good reminder of our ancestors before us. And of course at Myall Creek I smelt the burnt flesh once but at least I knew this was a documented event.  

Not sure how I rambled onto this experience . The  sense of two worlds was gone as quickly as it came and the heavy clouds dulled the forest world into an ominous and enchanting place to be. 

A tiny bunny rabbit peeked up at me and then ran as fast was his little legs would go  and I called after it .  . . You stay well hidden or we will have signs up saying baits are set here . like in other places. 

I disturbed a brush turkey courtship ,. . .the female waiting below and the male preparing the nest for the next stage. I sneaked past and apologised for the disturbance. 

 I knew I was well off the normal track as I was wandering to see if there was an easier way to get Michael to the hugging tree . (didn’t find it)

The forest holds such wonder and by going slowly to savour it I find much to be grateful for. 

The intricate patterns of trees, the colours on rocks the pools and the circles I made by dropping in a pebble.

 

Having this time to stop and absorb my surroundings is a luxury I am grateful for. 

It is my air pocket, my lifeline  needed in the busy city of life with the crowed world of demands. 

 

Desert Patterns, Short listed for the Society of Women Writers Book Awards 2020

 

 

 

 

A double joy . . .   my newest poetry collection Desert Patterns  is also short listed  in the Society of Women Writers Book Award for 2020.  adding to my excitement about Hildegard of Bingen being given the great honour of short listing.

Desert Patterns is a collection of poetry which  takes us into the inland  we often call  the outback.

When we think of the outback its often the centre of the country, the heart of the land that comes to mind,. Sunsets over desert plains, vibrant  red dirt, towering ghost gums and crisp starry sky nights.

In Desert Patterns you will experience: –

our extensive  Top End Journey to Kakadu, Bungle Bungle  Geikie Gorge the Gibb River Road, we meet memories of Jandamarra  thriving towns and towns closed down .

my 10 day walking trip of the Larapinta Trail  with the well know writer and playwright Jan Cornell and a group of wriers

our flight over Lake Eyre in flood

with poem in honour of Oodgeroo  Noonuccal 

and reflective poems about my experience at Myall Creek including a poem I read at the 70th Anniversary since the massacre.

Only 94 pages but packed with imagery and story of our wonderful continent.

Introduction

Australians are becoming more coastal dwellers.  We sit on this veranda, enjoy the coastal breeze. 

To venture too far into wilderness is a challenge. Even in the city, it is easy to become impatient with nature, for it follows its own laws. Trees drop leaves and branches, their roots wreck paths.

Animals eat our plants, (my ring-tail possums love my parsley), cockatoos eat solar wires, brush turkeys renovate gardens.As for the bandicoots and echidnas that lived in our garden, they have left long ago.  Even the blue-tongue lizards are rare now.

Thomas Berry, environmentalist and eco-theologian, writes,

 this generation has lost interaction with nature, we are talking to ourselves. 

More and more we need to talk to the rivers, deserts, mountains, forests and grasslands.Walk in their way, listen to what they have to say, begin a new conversation and become intimate again with the natural world. 

Such experiences  bring us closer,

to the heart of our land, 

to the spirit of country,  

to the soul of what it means to be a human being.

When we listen, this land sings to us, holds us, nurtures us. This land is the common ground that we share. 

This small blue planet is the common world of our existence.

Desert Patterns is a  collection of poetry that touches the membrane between two worlds

with the breath of wildness and our inland journeys. 

Colleen Keating

 

 

DADIRRI

Aboriginal writer and elder Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr-Baumann has given us 

the  word ‘dadirri’from the language of the Aboriginal people 

of the Daly River region, Darwin, NT. 

Dadirri is inner, deep listening and quiet, still awareness. 

It recognises the deep spring that is inside us. We call on it and it calls to us.  

Miriam-Rose explains,

“When I experience dadirri, I am made whole again. I can sit on the riverbank 

or walk through a stand of  trees; even if someone close to me has passed away, 

I can find my peace in this silent awareness. There is no need of words. 

A big part of dadirri is listening.”

She continues,

“This was the normal way for us to learn – not by asking questions. 

We learnt by watching and listening, waiting and then acting.

My people are not threatened by silence. They are completely at home in it. 

They have lived for thousands of years with Nature’s quietness.”

Dadirri also means awareness of where you’ve come from, why you are here, 

where are you going and where do you belong.

“Our Aboriginal culture has taught us to be still and to wait. We do not try to hurry 

things up.  We let them follow their natural course – like the seasons.”

from ‘Edge of the Sacred’  Conference At White Gums Honeymoon Gap, West MacDonnall Ranges, 

Alice Springs. 2016..

 

  A Covid launch.  in Alice Springs . on 15th March 2020. A week before the pandemic was declared and we locked down . But already in Alice Springs there was a sensitivity  and concern about the virus spreading . It was not appropriate to continue our desire to launch with a celebration at the Olive Pink Botanical Garden Cafe.

We flew to Alice Springs unknowing that  in a week we were on one of the last planes out of Alice Springs and home in time to lock down.  For the Covid launch  I read a poem to the wallaby who was hanging around in the Cafe at Olive Pink Botanical Gardens.

On the back cover are some enticing comments.

Colleen’s poetic journey invokes the deep spirituality of our landscape. She immerses us in ‘a multitude of gorgeous images’ as we we stand in Tunnel Creek remembering Jandamarra, marvel with Monet at Kakadu’s ‘blazing-blue lilies’ and dream with cicadas: ‘is it a place the gods keep/to seduce the lost like me?’

Every step of the way, ‘Desert Patterns’ will entrance you.   Pip Griffin  

Colleen Keating in her distinctive Australian voice combines sensitivity to place with clear, powerful free verse. Her images are both striking and profound. 

Again as in her previous collections, her poetry is underpinned by a gentle spirituality from a woman’s perspective.  John Egan

Take time to enter the world of this poetic landscape.   Colleen Keating invites us to listen – with all our senses.   Margaret Hede

Following on the publication of her award-winning poetry collection Fire on Water in 2017, Colleen Keating, a Sydney poet, has continued to search for a sense of place in country – a land that is timeless and always changing.  Much country has been handed back to its traditional owners, while mining companies and pastoralists continue to maintain their position. Aboriginal art has flourished and more people are searching for a place to call home.  

Colleen has also had published by Ginninderra Press,  A Call to Listen and a highly acclaimed verse novel, Hildegard of Bingen: A poetic journey. She has also co-authored Landscapes of the Heart, Picaro Poets, with John Egan.

 

 

 

Myall Creek Memorial Commemoration Weekend

Myall Creek and Beyond  Symposium

 

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Myall Creek 1838 and beyond symposium  at University of New England in Armidale was a very full day, with papers from many academics . It featured a great line up of  artists, writers, poets, song writers and dancers, historians, lawyers and commentators. This word  beyond  to mean not  just moving on but deepening and spreading the story like roots deep into the soil become the anchor of a tree.

Of course this weekend was especially focused on the 180th anniversary of the Myall Creek Massacre but many spoke of seeing beyond 1838 to find its significance in history, law and culture. And it is seen hopefully, as a reaching out to many other killing fields identified and unidentified and  both still in pain.

It was especially important to meet Lyndall Ryan from Newcastle University whose paper explained the online map in which she is compiling details of massacre sites, as they meet the criteria to be designated as a place of a massacre. We have to memoralise all the sites,  acknowledge and be aware, find the evidence for ordinary Australians to understand. This is an important part of the story of who we are as Australians. It can no longer he secret, hidden, whitewashed.  Australia has a black history.

It is white fella business and black fella business to move forward.  If we do not know and acknowledge our past we cannot be present to move into the future. Again it is like a tree, if it does not have its roots planted deeply into the earth, its present cannot be health giving and its future is one of weakness.

Myall Creek is part of a National project,  a very important movement towards Reconciliation.  It is a catalyst.  It acknowledges Australia has a black history, and that we are prepared finally to listen.

 

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Bruce Pascoe, and myself.  Bruce is the author of Dark Emu and he gave the keynote address ‘Australian’s Failure to Know its History’

My highlight was meeting the historian Bruce Pascoe, author of the well known Dark Emu and I was able to buy a new updated edition as more and more  evidence comes forward and he updates the history.

His key note address was titled “Australian’s Failure to Know its History”

This is not a summary it is just my notes from his inspirational speech. ( Michael wrote notes too and comparing our noted,we realise everyone picks up different things.

Aborigine knowledge is all around us, deep in the earth, in the waters, the rivers and the lakes and high in the sky, if you but change your perspective and listen and look around . 
Sometimes i sit and watch mother earth my mother talking to me: she teaches me how to behave.
We  have to shift our understanding of Indigenous life. In the future the young ones, will please God learn the truth of history.
Aboriginal people  had a fishing and agricultural life. They were the first agriculturalist .  They had the first tools: Picks have been found ,  grooved where a wooden handle was held probably by reeds and spinifex glue.
Grinding stones have been found. They are the rosetta stone in telling the story of culture  for starch in embedded in grooves up to 65, o00 years old. Impregnated grain in stone .
 They were the first bakers. They made a nutritional  bread from a grass seed.  
They irrigated the springs to catch a  eels high in protein .  They built the first traps to catch the fish.  Google fish traps of Bewarana for illustrations,detailed fishing weirs across rivers. (from diaries of Leichhardt)
They sowed seed,
 they harvested crops, 
they irrigated the earth. 
The seed of the kangaroo grass does not need plowing, 
it needs no extra water, 
it needs no superphosphate 
no insecticides . 
Like early Australian’s old rice it was valuable. Kangaroos nibbled it for food but the first herd of sheep that came through trampled it to the ground and ate it to the bare earth. They ate the heart out of it and their hard hooves pounded the ground. So it did not rise again. 
Aborigines were the first inventors of tools,  the first agriculturalist with their seed 
the first chemist creating dough  and the first scientists, that they heated the dough making a chemical change to cook it , to make it light and sweet.
In a diary written “for 9 miles the stooked grass in bundles of sheaves stood”  and Mitchell saw fields of yams stretching to the horizon, 
he said’
“It was as if God had prepared the land for for me”
The aborigines traded along a great web of songlines. Trade, gossip and journey followed these lines, intricate connection of Australia. 
Much research is done by Biomolecular, GIS maps, oleography and palaeography. 
Much was so quickly destroyed by British occupancy. It was gone with the first herd of sheep, before records.  It was gone before the reality was recognised. If we had  but listened.
 
“ Breath there a man with soul so dead
who never to himself has said 
this is my own , my own sweet country “
 A British slogan yet the British went out and and took others land and pillaged their culture and their language.   They needed credence, so a Papal Bull  was found that said they could invade any land that did not know Jesus Christ,  so occupation of soil took place under the banner of bringing the LIGHT.
Change language:  
We no longer speak of bush tucker and damper and other diminutives . This is BREAD
No longer huts or humpies these are HOUSES 
No longer speak of camps but TOWNS
They had the oldest towns on earth. 
So you see our beautiful country is a lot more then, 
‘put another shrimp on the barbie’  or 
‘where the bloody hell are ya’
We have here the oldest people, oldest culture , oldest civilisation on the earth.

By the end of the Symposium I felt the grit in the oyster grinding around in our struggles and our deafness to the truth of our history. Through our mutual LISTENING it will become the the pearl of our story.  And the story of Myall Creek in time is a beacon of hope. Our nation depends on us, working and walking to a shared history

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Aunty Marg and myself enjoying a break at the symposium

 

 

 

Myall Creek Memorial Commemoration Weekend

Myall Creek Memorial CommemorationWeekend

In memory of the Wirrayaraay people who were murdered on the slopes of this ridge in an unprovoked but premeditated act in the late afternoon of June 10th 1838.

 

DAY 1

Left Sydney early heading north to Scone to have lunch with  Sharon our dear friend. 

 

 

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Then up over the Liverpool Range to Tamworth for the night.

Here are a few moments of beauty from the window of our car as we drove the New England Highway with sun setting in the west. 

 

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DAY 2

Today from Tamworth the journey is like a poem in itself. 

tell me about the magpies

their song croons our picnic table 
our soul knows the song 
it plays the strings of our heart 
we leave  the cracked aroma 
of the pepper tree but not the magpies
sadly farewell the tamed Peel River
but not the magpies
they come with us
climb the Liverpool range 
windmills, tanks, cattle and sheep
Goonoo Goonoo, Wallabadah 
Moonni Range, 
Thunderbolt and Hanging Rock
Katingle, Bendemeer, Uralla  
and massive boulder and grass trees 
along the way
and in Armidale the magpies welcome us.
Tell me about the magpies 
and I’ll tell you about me.

Turn west onto the New England Tableland into Armidale. 
Autumn is lingering in the cool crisp highland air. 
The gardens of our motel are stunning with their late rich autumn dress.

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The Aboriginal Cultural Centre and Keeping Place

Our evening began amidst smoke with a eucalypt aroma 
a smoking ceremony and deep earthy sound of the didgeridoo 
under a dark starry sky around an open fire.
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The young people dancing the echidna dance 
and to more modern music 

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then to the opening of the exhibition  Looking Beyond the 1838 Massacre.

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WE REMEMBER THEM
Ngiyani winangay ganunga

 

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Leonie who gave the welcome to country and her dancers from Duval  High School,
with me at the Opening of the exhibition Myall Creek