Life on the Edge

About a twenty minute drive from Windgrove is Remarkable Cave, a sea tunnel that is entered into from the back side at low tide to gain access to the ocean. Standing in it yesterday, two much used phrases came to mind: "tunnel vision" and "the light at the end of the tunnel". Am I guilty of the former when I constantly seek to have the clear felled logging of old growth forests stopped? Is the pain of the thousands of animals poisened during these operations, along with the deliberate destruction of their ancient ecosystems, blinding me to a wider, more encompassing and tolerant vision? Or, is the Future Perfect exhibition which opened last week in Hobart (showcasing the work by more than 60 writers, artists and thinkers) pointing to a vision that offers some light at the end of today's dark age mentality of forestry mismanagement? It is a constant struggle to stay informed and fully aware of all that is happening around us when government and corporate spin doctors are relentless in their paid occupation to hide the full truth of their actions. It is enough to make one crawl into a cave and hide.

The dogs of war might seem to be a dominant force in the world today, but here, two days ago among the sand dunes of Roaring Beach during a lull in the bombing rains, the angelic mark of peace became visible.

Windgrove's latest refugee-in-residence, Melanie Mowinski, flew in from Massachesetts last Wednesday evening for a short two week stay and was met with heavy downpours, constant overcast skies and howling gale force winds. This morning, Tuesday, the sun dramatically reappeared in a cloudless, windless sky.

Melanie writes in her journal:
"The stormy-blowing and rainy weather of my first five days forced me inside to listen to, not only nature’s music, but to the words that form within me. Listening: such the challenge for me. Being quiet. Holding still. Not doing. Being. Being present. Being grateful. Feeling blessed. Slowing down. Letting the earth speak to me, learning to feel more (to feel, period, and not always be in my head) and intellectualize less."

Whenever one country goes to war, their propaganda machine requires that they convince the public that those they are killing, whether civilians or not, are somehow different and less worthy than they are. This makes it easier for the general public to accept the deaths of thousands of children, women and elders. Think of Dresden or Japan where America and England deliberately targeted the non-military populace. Think today of the human shields from America, England, Australia and elsewhere who have gone to Iraq to try and prevent their countries from bombing innocent civilians. Although I admire their bravery and understand their motives, it is still an indication that western lives are more important than those of the people who live, work, pray, celebrate life's passages, mourn the loss of loved ones, marry and die within the cultural, religious and ethnic circles of Iraq. Although not complicit with the demonizing of the world into "them versus us", the human shields high-light this separation. Look at the two photos of Roaring Beach (excuse the dog). They are untouched and taken from the same vantage point. Seemingly different, yet undeniably the same. So too, are the peoples of the world. Will the leaders of America, England and Australia ever come to the understanding that the killing of civilians in Iraq is, in effect, the killing of people of their own family? Am I pulling too long a bow in suggesting that their war is a form of human familocide? To storm the family house to get at the one crazy brother requires that the utmost care be exercised to protect the lives of all the family members within that house. Force, if used, is only done after every other means of dialogue has "totally" failed. Every police chief in every city knows the importance of this in handling a hostage situation. The death of one Iraq civilian should be as horrific a loss as the death of one Australian. How can the potential loss of a hundred thousand human beings in Iraq ever justify the "revenge" of New York or Bali? We are destroying our family. And we will pay the price of this for a long time to come.

Animals seem to know when something dangerous is about to happen. Birds head north (or south) when winter approaches. Ants get desperately busy before a storm. Quiet falls across the land before an earthquake. These are harbingers and nature's messengers that the days ahead might be difficult. Up against my fire wood shed and facing the entrance to the drive into Windgrove, is a small donation box. Oblong and vertical in shape it receives a scattering of coins from grateful visitors. For the last couple of days a baby brushtail possom has sought refuge in it.

The message: "Help. I've lost my mother and father and I am hiding here out of harm's way. Will you protect me?" I pray that when the bombs fall on Iraq, the memory of the many innocent children who will be maimed or murdered in the name of peace will not be forgotten. Bush, Blair and Howard seem hell bent to have their way. When the refugees start streaming out of the war zone, let us open our homes and hearts to them.

Sometimes one has to stop writing letters to the editor about the deteriorating condition of the world and take the time to savor the bounty of what is still beautiful and available to all of us. On the dining room table surrounded by twelve chairs can be seen two apple pies fresh baked this morning and cooling in their blue ceramic dishes. Soon the Roaring Beach kids and other disciples of fine food will begin dropping by for a taste. My original intention was to show my community the recently finished "Generational Flow/ an altar" before it went on exhibition in Hobart. But like any good opening, there has to be an ulterior enticement. Shunning the normal cheap wine and cheese, the baker at Windgrove wants to tempt the neighbors in with the remembered aroma of grandma's pies drifting through the house. And when these two are eaten, there are enough apples for more pies.

I sit sipping a late morning coffee. Looking out through the shading trees, the blue of sky and sea mingle. I have read just a couple of pages of Pete Hay’s book, Vandiemonian Essays, and am pondering the question he poses (first asked of him by Barry Lopez) of whether or not Tasmania is the custodian of an important truth, one which the entire world will one day need. I came here 18 years ago for just a year but stayed on for the simple reason that I felt Tasmania did offer something; the ensuing years have been an attempt by me to understand what it is. Am I any closer to this understanding? Let me just say this: when the weather is benign like today, the wind soft and the air warm and birds flicker through the green, I can just begin to tease out a faint voice coming through the land. Today I need your ears and heart to help me listen. With the sound of war circling the globe, it is getting noisier and I am growing afraid. With the sound of governments willing the destruction of this earth and of its children, I am afraid the voice that I am only just now beginning to decipher will be lost under a pile of debris of our collective making. Will this truth be lost forever? Or just harder to get at? Will it ebb slowly into silence with each ancient rain forest tree cut down; with each child's death accepted as collateral damage? Or will the voice of the land always be there for us, waiting with generational patience until we are whole enough again to hear its message?

Tim and Ros Bowden came through Windgrove today after having seen it on an SBS Global Village television documentary. Australians might remember Tim as the ABC tv presenter of Back Chat as well as the author of two travel books "Penelope Goes West" and "Penelope Bungles to Broome".

Well, Penelope (the 4X4) brought them here to discuss my thinking behind memorials; specifically the Peace Garden (see my web site http://www.windgrove.com) for a possible inclusion in a future book about their travels in Tasmania.

Here's a scoop: Tim's autobiography "Spooling Through -- an Irreverent Memoir" will be published this April 4.

Upon leaving, Tim paid the nicest compliment. He said, "The place: your house, the land, the Peace Garden, your art; everything just feels right."

What more could one want?

Windgrove visitor, Stewart Brand (see March 6), has written: “Civilisation is revving itself into a pathologically short attention span. Some sort of balancing corrective to the short-sightedness is needed -- some mechanism or myth that encourages the long view and the taking of long-term responsibility, where the long term is measured at least in centuries.” His co-authored creation, the Millennial Clock, is a paradigm for the Long Now. My contribution to this discussion of sustainable living is the altar, “Generational Flow”. Stand before it, move into it. Expand out of a narrowing sense of present time and push its/your boundaries into deep time. Hold the stone and feel the ancient past. Hold the stone and feel the future grounded and certain. Hold the stone and hold the ova of all that have come and will come. Trace with your fingers the sine wave and hold your place in the continuum of time. Stroke the inside of each vessel and hold on to what they speak.