my home my habitat

i’m a descendant of dispossessed irish and cockney low-life, gypsies and english jews, powerless people, many of them brought to australia in chains, others working their passage to the new colonies, fleeing famine or insupportable tyranny in their own stolen countries.

000_0903

i was born in 1951, a baby-boomer born protesting: war, human rights abuses, ecological destruction and unethical politics – and the list goes on.

a misfit from the start, i had inherited a ‘family madness’ or ‘fairy shamanism’ (quite common among the english) and flummoxing badly after quitting the family home, i dropped out of a prestigious university where i had been studying ancient and modern languages and ended up an out-patient at a mental hospital, having the first of a succession of ‘nervous breakdowns’, which i did not know until much later were the result of major paradigm shifts required to configure my mind and perceptions for the ‘shamanism’ about to unfold.

i could have accepted the diagnosis of madness and been stultified by treatment as an in-patient, but for a year spent interstate doing primal therapy, an emotional release therapy that incidentally cleared the way for my first telepathic and clairvoyant perceptions.

i was 29 when, fresh from the mountains of the dorrigo plateau i felt the call. i was on the brink of buying land at a place called dundurrabin, when suddenly i was swept up in a strong wave of magic, in which i ‘saw’ the mallee of my birthplace and knew it was conscious and womanly and knew it was calling me home.

so i came back to adelaide, sold my little house in norwood, and bought an 80 acre mallee scrub block which was being sold off for bikers and stock car thrashers to trash, and with all possible reverence for the land, four of us pitched tents (though two left, the girl pregnant, soon after) and offered the best respect we had to the true custodians of this land, the aborigine ghosts and spirits whom we were actually beginning to see. we asked for their pardon and permission to live on the land. one acre for us, 79 for them. we couldn’t hear their replies back then, but what follows suggests that they liked us.

it’s not just us two, or shamans, or psychics that can see them – the land gets into you and makes you see. ordinary locals, yes, even bikers, self-suffers and wood-cutters etc, report easily seeing ghosts in a sustained way, seeing into their world where they live and work as we do in ours. we were seeing just these ghosts at first, most but not all aborigines – people who had died and remained in the land at a different vibrational level. it’s easy to get on to each others’ wave-length. their reality is as solid as ours.

and then as they responded we were seeing and were sometimes ‘transfigured’ by shining, beautiful angelic aborigine people, and also the much bigger spirit people with their dark, rich, beautiful, gentle radiance, like crows. as a tree person, i was right into the trees and found their tree spirits and fairies easily.

later i was shown the tiny tuckonies, (i got the name from a whitefella book, so it’s my guess whether i’m using it right or not – i’d love to be put right if i’m wrong.) they are highly intelligent, as well as very dignified spirit guides.

as my psychic ability increased, the tree spirits and some of the young women ghosts showed me flowers and leaves and berries to eat to increase the resonance between my reality and theirs so that we could see each other better.

they also made me aware of my western grey kangaroo dreaming (arinnya, they told me), and helped me to receive her communications to me. nelly stopped eating the bush tucker and so got off that wavelength for a while. i was drawn in deeper and deeper till i was hearing their voices, speaking to me in pidgin, and one night a part-aborigine man who was teaching me his sort of magic appeared in my caravan as solid as flesh and blood. in full moonlight, we stared at each other with great joy – it is indescribable the relationship between sorcerer and apprentice – and he said, to break the spell, ‘you can kiss me!’ and i did, and he was as solid as i was. then he vanished. he was a plain looking man, like a stockman, about fifty years old or so.

for many years, i have lived here, sometimes alone, or nearly so, and kept my little cottage farmlet and my only companions were the wild creatures and farm animals and the voices and visions and spirits and ghosts of the land. i turned ‘a bit blacker’, and found myself talking in their soft way. i have seen the star women coming down from the stars, stepping so easily – and they have known me and my whitefella ways through and through at a glance, given power to my wands of native wood and wonderful insights about the time-space continuua to me. the land is calling, the and the spirit animals are bursting with communications to share with us all, white or black, green, blue, purple with pink spots, striped, spangled or brindled black and yellow, the biome couldn’t care less.  i don’t know what will happen from here on, but i believe it’s going to be good: good magic, good culture, good politics, from the personal to the political.

i support aboriginal land rights to the hilt. i think that planting the queen of england’s flag in the dirt was not a legal acquisition of this land. all crown lands and other unoccupied lands should be immediately returned to the custodianships of tribes who once resided there.

i strongly support the rights of aborigine people to teach their own traditions to their own children in their own languages, as they choose, with english as an option on their terms, not  those of the obscenely rich and deeply corrupt queen of england.

i don’t own the land, i own the title, the certificate of entitlement.  i have purchased certain quite limited legal rights to this neat trapezium of land once marked out with pegs no longer visible. i acknowledge those rights and responsibilities, but relinquish all claim to own the land itself, which no one can own as it is our mother’s body, and i live here as simply as possible, with permission.

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “my home my habitat

  1. Ah… Wild One, I love your telling of this story… so many things we of dispossessed ancestry must work out for ourselves… I’m so grateful to you for some signposts in the wilderness…
    X

  2. I feel we are team mates in the work we do with the spirit beings of the land Wyverne.
    Thank you so much for sharing your experiences which in ways mirror my own.
    You live in a magickal place as do I ! We are blessed and I know that those in spirit who we are in contact with also feel blessed to have us supporting them and listening.
    Many blessings to you and yours always xxx

  3. Healing-grounded writing, VOW. Among your finest.

    ‘powerless people’? or people blessedly ill-fated to rediscover that source of power that never dispossesses?

    Word strings that readily bore rereadings:

    ‘”nervous breakdowns”, which i did not know until much later were the result of major paradigm shifts required to configure my mind and perceptions for the “shamanism” about to unfold.’
    Pseudo-power forbids us embrace these shifts. How else would we know it and their worth?

    ‘the land gets into you and makes you see’

    ‘i own the title, the certificate of entitlement. i … relinquish all claim to own the land itself, which no one can own as it is our mother’s body, and i live here as simply as possible, with permission.’

    Peace be upon you, Wyverne.

      • De rien, Wyverne. My turn to thank you for the kind words.

        By sheer serendipity I stumbled upon a delicious series of podcasts about the late, great Ivan Illich:

        Part Moon, Part Travelling Salesman: Conversations with Ivan Illich

        http://www.davidcayley.com/podcasts/?format=rss

        These brought you to mind again. II’s background and temperament are slightly different to yours, but his spirit, vision, beneficence and pluck seem quite kindred.

        FWIW, VOW. Were he alive, he’d get on excellent well with your goats.

        (Yes, I know, the signal may not come in well over the taught string leading to the tin that once served you as CPU & speaker. But perhaps you have upgraded to twine?)

        Bush Otter

      • thank you. it looks serendipitously like what i’m angling towards. nope, i’ve actally up-graded, jam tins out, tupperware drink containers in. the new blue baling twine looks very fetching. i think it can trickle feed me the podcasts. 😀

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s