My replication of Goldsworthy’s “sticks-in-the-air” is in celebration of finally having some 500 plastic bags and 2000 bamboo sticks removed from trees near the Peace Garden Pond. Trees that formed the bottom portion of a gigantic keyhole symbol (if viewed from the air).

To do this required the generous international cooperation of people born in Canada (Lorne), Holland (Nel), South Africa (Terry), America (Kate, pictured) and Thailand (Chalerm and Tanwa). Talk about a welcomed Christmas gift.

About the time that I first saw a photo of Andy Goldsworthy throwing sticks into the air I was planting out the 2,000 or more trees that created the outline of the keyhole that stretched from the Peace Garden pond to the top edge of Windgrove’s boundary line; a perimeter distance of around a kilometer or 3/4 of a mile. This was eleven years ago.

I don’t know what Andy had in mind when he threw his sticks in the air, but my sticks represent “a job well done”, not only by the friendly humans that gathered them up over the Christmas holiday, but to the sticks themselves that served all those years as guardians of the young trees as they matured into the tall trees of today.

“Three cheers”, I say.

Post Script: After posting this blog entry I took some newly arrived friends and their kids down to the Drop Stone bench to watch the sunset. The beauty of the setting red sun is always special. Coming up opposite to the sun was a near full moon. More special.

Then we saw a seal playing around in the water below us. We got excited watching where it might surface next. Even more special.

Then little Oscar says, “Look! Dolphins!” And, sure enough, four separate pods of dolphins were swimming between the two headlands of Roaring Beach. So, very, very special.

“A hundred cheers”, I say.

Maintain: to continue, persevere in; to carry on, keep up; to keep in being; to sustain by nourishment.

Maintenance: the action of maintaining.

The interesting thing, for me, is that the etymology of “maintain” is rooted in the Latin “hand” (manus) plus “to hold” (tenere). Again and again the physical world is the basis for our present day language. Seemingly forgotten in the abstraction of modern living, it is there none-the-less.

Yesterday, in order to keep the Peace Spiral in good nick, I spent the day living up to the fullness of this word “maintenance”.

Once, when I was at the top of the ladder reaching a bit too far with the oiling brush and the wind came up and blew my hat off, a touch of vertigo set in and I dropped the brush and held onto the ladder with both hands. I little scary, yes, maintaining myself while maintaining the Peace Spiral. Lots of hands on action and lots of holding on.

There is, also, in this discussion of the word “maintenance”, whether or not there is within artistic creativity the requirement that one’s art work be maintained. Is it enough to bring something into being and then abandoning it?

I suppose I could have left the Peace Spiral to turn grey and weather gracefully, but I also understood that a good oiling now would prolong its life for another 100 years, thereby, allowing countless more visitors to be inspired and feel hopeful of the future.

The question I like to ask is, “how does one maintain or sustain a healthy emotional and spiritual life?”.

The answer might lie in one’s ability to literally grab hold of the physical.

Feeling down, massage someone.
Feeling angry, chop wood.
Feeling depressed, hug a tree.
Feeling spacy or disconnected, bury your hands into the garden soil.

Yearning to be a more spiritual person? Take a walk in bare feet.

The shiny, reflective, inner beauty of the Split Rock only came about after the whole was broken open.

Your heart is now thus. The pain of the American and Australian elections can lead us to a deeper wisdom, a deeper compassion, a deeper love for all of life. These winds that seem endless and, at times, all too tiring, are polishing are character. Let them serve this purpose.

This week half of America is licking their wounds.

Well, keep licking. Like any animal that has been hurt, bruised and battled scared, now might be the time to retreat softly into the protective custody of friendly surrounds. Take time to be kind to yourself.

Just remember that half of America still believes as you do. And, I would guess, most of Europe. You are not alone.

Yes, keep licking. Try ice cream. The dew off a leaf. Your lover.

Do not forget the sensual beauty of this world.

Do not forget the delicious flavours this earth gives away freely each day. Indulge in them. Take time to immerse yourself in the joys that are found in the woods, the sea shore, the valleys and the mountains.

And after your licked wounds have healed, come back into the ring again and stand tall for the earth, for social justice, for peace.

My first intention today was to write about the fur seal that swam within meters of me this past Saturday with a grace and ease that I could only wish for.

I changed my mind when, this afternoon, I came upon a wombat in broad daylight and, seeing his comical gait, I wanted to share the gratitude I felt in knowing that the numbers of these delightful, walking sacks of concrete were increasing at Windgrove.

But, it was seeing the Peace Spiral reflected in the pond just at dusk that I knew what I needed to write about.

It was seeing its reality distorted and made to appear transitory that I was made to ponder on how difficult the achievement of peace really is. Not because it isn’t possible, but because there is a shortage of leaders with the vision to lead us to peace.

Consider the following words and ask yourself if these same words could be spoken by any of our political candidates today as they make their way across the country seeking our votes:

“Let no man pull you so low as to hate him. Always avoid violence.”

“If you succumb to the temptation of using violence in your struggle, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and your chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos.”

These words were spoken by Martin Luther King in a sermon delivered nearly 50 years ago.

In this election year, are there any politicians who have the insight King possessed? Are there any governments courageous enough to “give peace a chance”?

May I suggest that when voting day arrives, we cast our votes to those candidates prepared to work for peace in ways other than pre-emptive strikes.

Good Friday and Easter are reminders, even for non-Christians, of the importance of allowing oneself to venture into the “cave”; into darkness, mystery and the unknown.

Three days seemingly dead and then a rebirth. Just like the moon when it disappears from view for three days, only to reappear as a thin crescent of hope waxing, yet again, into fullness.

Do any of us avail ourselves to this call? Do we allow ourselves to enter into the dark well of our being? Why are we so afraid of this part of nature’s cycle?

To be born requires gestation in the womb; any womb. For adults to be born again, this might require an entrance into Earth’s womb before an exit into newness is possible.

Maybe it just isn’t possible to always be in the light if one truly wants to see.

As one walks into the Peace Garden there is a sign that explains to the public various aspects of the sculptural elements around the pond. The top of the sign reads thus:

The third “peace” is concerned with how we humans interact and make a sustainable connection with the natural world around us. This could be called the “green peace”.

It was appropriate, therefore, that this weekend a small group of Greenpeace people spent time here at Windgrove as a sort of R&R retreat.

How even more appropriate were Alanna and Kim reclining like temple guardians at the entrance to the “womb of the earth” and plant spiral totem of the garden. This area symbolises the future and these young people are the future.

And, wasn’t it encouraging for me to see that there are passionate, informed and committed young people willing and able to dedicate their present lives to defending the earth and informing the public of the work of Greenpeace.

Hearing their stories of being “front line” activists on city streets raising money and signing up memberships for Greenpeace, one realises that it takes a steady courage to face a not always generous or sympathetic populace.

My heart goes out to them. May they continue to dance and see the deep underlying goodness and joy that lies within all of us.

It was a pleasure being in their company.

Stationed between the Ancestral Midden and the Spiral of Hope, the Split Rock is a six ton hunk of stone sawn in two with each inside half polished.

The symbolism of its initial concept was to make visual the dynamics behind the deep weathering of our personal character by the forces of life. When one is broken open repeatedly or when one’s heart is cracked, buffed and polished by life’s winds (whether through intense joy or sorrow) we can then age into maturity fully compassionate. And able to demonstrate, as James HIllman would attest, “the force of character”.

To seek to protect oneself from pain and to live in the emotional gated community of perpetual comfort zones might seem to be an easy escape through life, but like the personality of the 70 year old who has had one facelift too many, one sleeping pill too many and one shopping trip too many, the wrinkled, compassionate elder that should have emerged to guide the younger generations into a fuller wisdom has disappeared into a pitiful joke.

This morning as I walked past the Split Rock, the spiral symbol of perpetual hope and rebirth was reflected on the side of one of the two halves. In this dawn light, the penny dropped for me as I further realized that for any of us to perceive or grasp the future, it is imperative that we have allowed the winds of life to polish our hearts. In this way, the image of our future will be more clear and easier to foresee.

I also liked that the reflected spiral image pointed in the direction of the Ancestral Midden, an area dedicated to honoring the past. It seemed to suggest that our ability to embrace the concept of living in the Long Now (of holding the past, present and future simultaneously) would require being an active participant in the shaping agents of life.

Curled up in bed this morning — a morning of cold, wet and grey — I couldn’t help but feel slightly depressed about the ongoing destruction of Tasmania’s old growth forests. Especially now that the government has both lifted a moratorium against logging in the Tarkine, the world’s largest remaining tract of temperate rain forest, and commenced logging in the Styx Valley where some of Tasmania’s tallest trees live.

Wrapped in my warm doona, I reflected on how today is also the day that the Wilderness Society is beginning a thirteen day around the clock presence at the Styx Valley to coincide with the July 1 High Court decision 20 years ago that stopped the flooding of the Franklin River.

“Brrrrr”, I thought. “They are going to have a miserable time erecting their marquee and maintaining high spirits in this weather.”

With the thought of dedicating my morning prayers to the Styx Valley crew, I jumped out of my snug confines and made my way over to the Peace Garden in the light rain to greet the ancestors before making my way to the Peace Fire.

And what should happen…… The dawning sun breaks through a small opening in the clouds and throws a rainbow down.

It was as if to say:

“Listen, within the storm resides beauty and hope. What you witness as turmoil is an agent of change, out of which compassion and love for this earth will grow. Stay steadfast in your commitment.”

I went back into the warm house more than buoyed to carry on in my own small way to raise awareness of the reciprocal, reverential connection humans need to have for this earth.

Edward Abbey came to mind:

“We are obliged, therefore, to spread the news, painful and bitter though it may be for some to hear, that all living things on earth are kindred.”

I like how the evening shadow of the Peace Garden’s Spiral acts like a large sideral sun dial as it casts itself over the pond towards either the Ancestral Midden or the Split Rock. There is a slow, six month journey of the shadow between the two sets of stones.

During the month of June the top most portion of the long evening shadow cast by the Spiral passes over the pond and stops just to the right of the Ancestral Midden. After the winter solstice (June 21) it begins to move back towards the Split rock and hovers there half a year later during the suimmer soltice period in December.

With the Spiral representing “the Future”, the Split Rock “the Present” and the Ancestral Midden “the Past”, the evenings sun dial effect of the Spiral’s Future’s shadow moving between the Present and Past, keeps the whole of the Peace Garden alive with its cyclic, clock work changes.

What was a total surprise to me happened yesterday as I stood in front of the Ancestral midden while the Spiral and the setting sun were directly behind me on the far side of the pond.

The shadow I cast over the midden stones was a double shadow; one from the direct rays of the sun, another from the sunlight bouncing off the mirrored, still waters of the pond.

Almost eerie, yes?

If one wants to contemplate how the “Long Now” might be visualised, one need go no further than to look at this photo.

Rising up from the ancestral stones, the resultant shadow seems to be of an ancestral spirit wearing a chasuble or some other dark, sleeveless ecclesiastical vestment.

To the right, and in the raised hand of this chthonic figure, is the shadowy spiral staff of the future, held firmly.

I was tantalised and then became mesmerised by what I was seeing. Me, obviously the Present, being sermonised by the Past who is holding onto the Future.

Talk about lack of boundaries. Or, a visible representation of the “Long Now”.

Can you hear what I heard? Can your hear yourself being told to listen to the past to gain the wisdom in order to protect the future? Not the future of next week, but the “Long Now” future where your great, great, great, great grandchildren reside.

Can you, at least, hear the Hallelujah Chorus?

Post Script…….. After writing the above, I happened to notice on top of the piano were these photos of my parents shown wearing the attire when my mother was the choir director of Detroit’s Serbian Orthodox church. Sleeveless vestments.

Celestial music, anyone?

I strongly believe that in imagination is the preservation of the world.

By calling upon those who have passed before us for help and guidance, we can create a future that is not only safe from terrorism, but full of reverential gaiety and fearless enjoyment.