Life on the Edge

Exhaustion overtook me late this morning. Seeking to enter into the comforting cave of sleep I abandoned the crisp, clean, cloudless blue sky and sought out the soft pillowed couch by the fire place in the sheltered darkened interiority of my house. Oh, how protected I felt as my animal body curled up and nuzzled itself into the soft, cornered base where bottom cushions meet side cushions. For delicious minutes I slumbered. Was it for ten minutes. Or, an hour? Maybe three days? In lucid dream state I felt a burning on my face; a sharp burning calling me back into consciousness. "No", I said, "let me stay unconscious; let me remain unawake." But the pull was too great, the heat on my skin too intense. Above the couch a single skylight was letting the noonday sun through to hit me full on the face. Try as I might to turn away, there was no choice in the matter as the sun's intensity bore down with its calling. In a small way I was re-enacting what the animal/Christian/ pagan peoples of the world do every spring equinox, every Easter. I was the hibernating bear who, at that moment when the equinoctial sun pierces the mouth of the cave to announce "it is time to wake up and come back into the world", lumbers out into the open spring green of newness with her two, newly born cubs. I was Christ in his cave being woken up. I was experiencing what for hundreds of thousands of years has been part of the great cyclic turning of this world: where daily, monthly, seasonally or yearly -- from gestation to birth, from seeming death to rebirth -- the sun earth and moon do their dance through darkness and light. I was the mushroom being pulled out of the dark, humic "soul" of the earth. I was born into spirit yet again, yellow with sun.

The question remains, though, "why, on such a beautiful day did I seek sleep?". The answer is in the photo below.

After my last blog entry of two weeks ago, I set about preparing for the arrival and hosting of, not only David Abram, visiting American author of "Spell of the Sensuous", but also ten young adults committed to environmental and social activism. Along with tremendous help from friend and co-conspirator, Desi Fitzgibbons, Windgrove became home and refuge over the long four day Easter weekend for these passionate, earth loving folk. Hosting these friends of the earth was Desi's and my way of honouring and offering gratitude to their diverse efforts to guide our western behaviour in its relationship to the "more than human world" towards the path of reverence, reciprocity and respect. All were nourished by the exchange of personal stories, by the light of laughter, by the wetness of tears, by the fullness of bellies, by dancing and sitting still. The dining room table, with its constant appearance of food and drink, was constantly noisy with thirteen chairs being pushed towards and away from it. The living room, the tribe's main center for communal conversation, drumming, dancing and the sharing of intense personal stories of earth and self -- of intense personal stories "between" earth and self -- also constantly vibrated. Will any of us ever forget the delightful magic of David's hands as he astonished our sense of reality with a simple deck of cards? Or the magic of waking on Easter morning to a small box of Belgium chocolates placed before each sleeping person in the dark pre-dawn? Or, the sauna just after to cleanse the spirit and body to begin Easter Sunday fresh and whole? Followed by massive stacks of pancakes, Maple syrup, orange juice, fruit topping and more stories? Or, the many walks where we swam through the landscape as fish do in the water experiencing air, not as "space" between two objects, but as a "low viscosity medium" joining us all together; inhabiting within us as it does out of us? Where Eros came dressed as gravity pulling everyone -- every human skinned, every furred, feathered, finned, stony, barked person -- together in a passionate, sensuous embrace. Will the Peace Fire and the surrounding land, air and water ever forget the young wild animal called Rebecca, Robbi, Rachael, Trish, Paul, Peck, Brenna, Heidi, Zanni, Clair? Or the wild, youthful and quirky elders, Peter, David, Desi? What a celebration. What a renewal of spirit and body to continue with the great Work. The work to restore, to reweave, to resacrilize and to remember our embodied connection to the whole of this Earth. Seemingly on horses, everyone set off from Windgrove bursting with renewed desire to protect the only home any of us will ever inhabit. And the same for me.... but first, a wee nap on the couch by the fireplace next to the rocking chair. Honey in the heart to All.

What is the sound of twelve djemby drums in a room with no people? The answer might be found in the following little story; a story that is part of a larger story as told by Kim Stafford in "The Peg at the Heart of Play" (from Entering the Grove). "...... There was once a physicist who also played the violin. One morning, he took his fiddle to the lab, wrapped it green with felt, clamped it gently in a vise, and trained the electron microscope close on the spruce belly, just beside the f-hole, where a steel peg was set humming at a high frequency. Through the microscope, once he got it honed in right, he saw the molecular surface of the wood begin to pucker and ripple outward like rings on a pond, the ripples rising gradually into waves, and the peg a blur at the heart of play. ....... When he drew the peg away, the ripples did not stop. In twenty-four hours, the ripples had not stopped. He saw, still, a concentric tremor on the molecular quilt of the wood. The violin, in the hard embrace of the vise, had a thing to say, a song. But then, in another twelve hours, the ripple had flattened and the wood lay inert." This past weekend, from Friday evening till late Sunday afternoon, all of Windgrove's facilities, its walls, floors and ceilings, were vibrating with the hum of twenty eight hands beating on half as many drums. What a hoot.

What a great gathering of food, drink, people and music. Seven drumming sessions with Stan Witik of between two and three hours duration might of made for sore hands, but my heart is still beating strong four days after the event. And not only my heart. I don't have an electron microscope, but I'm certain that tonight, even though the drums have gone away, as the full moon slipped its light into the darkened living room where I sat quietly, a tiny, ever so tiny pulse could faintly be heard. It was whispering a mixture of African and South American rhythms.

Here is the first stanza from the poem, "In a Moment of Madness, A Dublin Poet Thinks of an Old Love", by David Whyte "Twenty years since I knew her. Wherever she is now, I will go to her. I know you can never believe me but her face is as fresh to me as the winter day we parted." This week marked the 20th anniversary of my arrival in Tasmania 20 years ago. Having left my home of seven years in North Carolina on Valentine's Day, 1985, I went through customs in Australia on the 16th fairly certain that the lover and loved ones I had left behind at Penland School would be only a temporary separation while I embarked on one last major adventure before returning home and settling down to marriage and a career. Wrong. It did not turn out that way. Today, twenty years on, the tender, brown-eyed face of Linda is "as fresh to me as the winter day we parted". And not just Linda's face, but the faces of Jon and Becky, Bill and Billy Brown, Paulus, Linda and Terry, KD, Jane Hatcher, Jane Brown and Jane Pieser, Harold, Cynthia, Doug, Dan and Emily, Charlie, Jim and Debra, Jim Lawton, Tim, Evon, Tom Mills, Douglass, Pearl and many, many others, not least of whom is Paula Garett who died this week of cancer. This was my family of friends; my tribe, my community. To give all this up was a hugh sacrifice. The happiness, fun and exhilaration of being a part of such a large gathering of creative folk has never been repeated. However, the depth of my awakening into the powers and spirit of this world would never have happened in the protective, affluent womb of Penland and America. It was important that my life's journey take me to Tasmania and keep me here. Only now, after such a long initiation, do I feel the beginnings of wisdom seep into my being.

It was hard to come up with a photograph that adequately captures the many aspects of where I am now twenty years later. The best I can offer is the above photo I took yesterday while sitting on my favourite rock that overlooks Storm Bay and Wedge Island. In many ways, I feel like an island adrift in a stormy sea of global political, social and environmental events, but above me there is always a patch of blue sky pouring in its light and offering the hope of clear days ahead. The piercing beauty of it all..... the beauty that is always present...... Here is my refuge for love; that face of faces that comprises all my loves.

Helen Gee (Tasmania, Australia) Wendell Berry (Kentucky, USA) Satish Kumar (England) Margaret Scott (Tasmania, Australia) Phillip Adams (NSW, Australia) Beverly Reeler (Zimbabwe) Mary Oliver (Massachusetts, USA) Pete Hay (Tasmania, Australia) It gives me great pleasure in announcing the above people as the Windgrove Laureates for 2005; people I personally feel have remained vigilant in their efforts to enlarge the public’s appreciation and understanding of the many social and environmental issues confronting the world today.

On Monday, the four Australian "ambassadors for peace" gathered for a media presentation where I presented each of them with their individual component of the mandala. (In the photo, I am on the left followed by Phillip, Helen, Pete and Margaret.) Certainly, each of the eight laureates could win the award because of the number of books published, committees chaired, length of service over the years to the peace movement or their continual dedication to environmental and social concerns. Just as important in the selection process, however, is that each of these people is just plain "decent". Their compassion and humility for their fellow humans and the earth's flora and fauna is present with them always. I want to honour this constant humility as much as their courage to continually walk the path of peace. They are the elders this world so desperately needs. They are the role models our youth should emulate. Interestingly enough, Helen Gee (along with 16 other people and three environmental organisations) is currently being sued by a large timber company, Gunns, for what they call the vilification of their good name and loss of profit because of Helen's (and the other's) environmental activism.

Windgrove Peace Mandala The Windgrove Peace Mandala is a small tabletop sculpture comprised of nine blocks of wood. Carved and nestled into each block is a rounded beach stone. Each of these blocks, as is each recipient of the award, is uniquely beautiful and important in their own right. But, it is only when the blocks come together that the mandala itself becomes visible. This connectedness is vital. Together we will create peace. In the slow making of the mandala, the thought that these stones were full of ancient time and wisdom was meditated upon. Instead of throwing stones at each other, would it not be better if we could consider them as sacred icons of our past and to see them as a visual, felt link to a collective distant story out of which all of us, all living beings emerged. Cup a smooth stone in the palm of your hand. Feel its weight. Listen to its story, its unique journey across thousands of years. Whether as a group of nine blocks, or just singly, these little stone/peace altars are about “teaching” us how to “transform” our lives so that we might choose to move along the path of peace instead of war. It is about extended time, the “long now”, respecting our elders, listening to the past, loving the earth with its diversity of species, and, being passionate about all of life so that there will be a worthy future. The distribution of eight of these stones out into the world, and keeping the central stone/heart stone at Windgrove as a hub, is an attempt figuratively, perhaps literally, enlarge the mandala’s energetic field to encompass the whole of the world. The task of moving out beyond the safety of “home” in the pursuit of peace is challenging and cannot be done alone. A web of mutual love and support makes being a peace keeper more of a sustainable proposition. May this global Windgrove Peace Mandala help in some small way to hold the peace process and all of us together

Happy solstice day to all those interested in celebrating this day. I guess this would include most Christians as Christmas is basically a rewrapping of the gift of the promise of "light". Whether the sun, or your favourite image of the divine, this day and the days to come, offer all of us a chance to honour all harbingers of light and reflect on the blessing of being born into such a magnificent creation that is this universe, this world, this village, this particular body.

David Abram, author of "The Spell of the Sensuous", will be coming to Windgrove in March to lead a workshop over (ironically) the Easter weekend (another pagan holiday). Yesterday, in an email to David discussing the upcoming event, I described the type of person I wanted to invite: "I, myself, am not interested in inviting people out here to just sit around, talk the good talk, have a nice time and then head back to Hobart only to resume lives governed by mortgages and lacking in courage. The people I am interested in inviting are those who know it is not enough to just go to a peace or forest rally one weekend a year. I want to invite those who are already active in the healing of this earth; who are more interested in saving the Creation than themselves; who understand that gaining spiritual awareness involves getting bloodied." What really struck me was the strong emphasis I put on wanting those people "who are more interested in saving the Creation than themselves". I'm making a plea for the earth today. Personal salvation, personal growth, personal fulfilment means nothing if the earth gets destroyed in the process. Let us humble ourselves before the altar of this earth, join in the hallelujah chorus that sings its praises and go out and do the good work to bring peace on earth. Yes....."Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards All". It's written in the Bible.

A round of applause to Hertz, Avis and Budget rental cars for boosting the spirits of the Roaring Beach community. Let me explain... Most Americans and Australians talk proudly of the rugged individual, the pioneer, the explorer and settler and will defend vigourously the rights of the individual over those of the community. I, for one, honour those single minded individuals that never bow down to officious, meaningless, bureaucratic regulations, never accept on blind faith religious dogma and never succumb to those dumb tribal flag waving loyalties often seen at political gatherings or sport arenas. I honour those that thumb their noses at convention or what is considered "proper". I honour those who understand through tough experience what Nietzsche meant when he wrote: "The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe." On the other hand, I also strongly believe that beyond the three generally assumed necessities of food, clothing and shelter, there is the important fourth necessity: community. How many suburban people have looked over their fortress backyard fences and talked with their neighbours recently? How many urban people consistently climb the flight of stairs in their apartments to socialise with someone two floors up? Why, with all our material wealth and toys, are there so many lonely people? Living in community and living with respect for the well being of the greater community is one key for remaining a happy individual. If we could just accept the interdependence of all life on this earth, this just might allow for the maturing of the raw, brash, arrogant individual into a more compassionate, loving and tolerant individual capable of maintaining their unique creativeness whilst also joining in the tribe's songs and dances. Here at Roaring Beach, I desire a certain level of social cohesion to exist between all the neighbours. Call it "unity in diversity" or "diversity in unity". It does, however, take an effort to keep any community active and flowing. And here is where Hertz, Avis and Budget car rental firms play a part.

When tourists to Tasmania drive around in their rental cars, a few of them venture down the Roaring Beach Road looking for the "eccentric Yank with the eternal flame and Peace Walk". When they enter onto the Windgrove property they read a nicely worded sign that asks for donations to help support the garden, the centre and..... the Roaring Beach community. This past weekend I used one third of this donated money collected over the past year to hire the gypsy musicians, Czardas, and to cook pizzas for around 40 adults and children. It was fantastic. I had hoped to take a photo of the event, but got caught up rolling out pizza dough while the band played and the opportunity to capture something on film got lost in a cloud of flour dust, pepperoni, mushrooms, laughter and excellent fiddle, guitar and accordion playing by Marjorie, Steve and Erin (photographed below). Great music from talented individuals, good food, a modicum of intoxicants, meaningful conversation and lots of fun provided for a memorable evening that brought our community together for this night and will help keep it together into the future. All of us here are strong characters. It is a delight to be among such unique folk.

   

An Ending........ Continuing on with the discussion of "ancestors" begun in the last blog, it has occurred to me that after hundreds of thousands of biological transfers of coded DNA between "males" and "females" over the ages, I am, not only the most recent incarnation, but also the last living being on this particular long thread of existence. This is because of the two knives at work four years ago. One held by the surgeon performing the vasectomy; the other, by some haunting figure of time swinging a vapourous scythe, forever slamming the door shut on any future evolutionary perfecting. After all those generational preparations to create the genetically modified organism called me, I will not pass on any of this coded information to the future for the simple reason that I have never fathered, nor am capable of fathering, any child into this world. Stretching back to the dawn of time and winding its way to the present, one can only imagine the fascinating road my DNA has travelled. However, this particular evolutionary experiment stops with me. In short, I am a genetic dead end. I wish to thank all my forefathers and foremothers for their collective joinings and hope that they, in their ethereal knowing, look upon my physical presence and see a worthy "end result". It would be nice to make them proud.

A Continuation......... This past Sunday, three generations gathered at Windgrove to plant a tree in honour of the continuation of their family's genetic thread of existence. A flowering Pahutakawa tree was placed in the ground, along with the birth placenta, by several friends and maternal grandparents, Kathryn and Dennis, the father, Hape, and mother, Janine. The six day old baby, Arora-Nui (Australian aboriginal and New Zealand Maori for "Great Cockatoo") presided over the occasion. May Arora-Nui be "the One" to lead all of us out of the Wilderness. Or, as the father said, "May she be the one to lead us back into the wilderness". My deep appreciation for this past weekend is being a member in the birth celebrations of the great Family of Humankind. It gives me comfort to know that there are children physically linked, in this manner, to Windgrove. May the eleven trees already planted in their names be joined by many others. May they be fruitful and multiply.

Wage Peace Wage peace with your breath. Breathe in firemen and rubble, breathe out whole buildings and flocks of redwing blackbirds. Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields. Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees. Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact. Wage peace with your listening; hearing sirens, pray loud. Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers. Make soup. Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages. Learn to knit and make a hat. Think of chaos as dancing raspberries, imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish. Swim for the other side. Wage peace. Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious. Have a cup of tea and rejoice. Act as if armistice has already arrived. Don't wait another minute. Mary Oliver