Life on the Edge

Over the past several months, the financial situation here has been squeezing me closer and closer to selling up Windgrove and moving back to America where I was invited to join an intentional community in Hawaii. Not a bad option, actually. For me. However, when I see how important Windgrove is to the happiness and well being and potential development of people, especially children, it pains me to have to give up the vision of Windgrove just because of a lack of money. So I have wavered; looking for a sign as to the best solution. Praying. This past weekend the answer revealed itself. First in the stone.

Then in the spirits and little bodies of Brook, Kate and Isabella; aged between nine and eleven. Three girls. Three wonderful girls. Three wonderfully adventurous girls. After their visit, I knew I had to stay.

So, I have made the decision to sell off some of Windgrove's magnificent acreage in order to help secure its future. The details are still to be worked out, but, most likely, two blocks of ten acres each will be sold at around US$200,000 to $300,000 per block. Enough to build five "retreat" cabins with one adjoining kitchen and bath. Enough to offer free food and board to those lucky individuals selected to the Windgrove Resident Program. Enough to supply firewood to the Peace Fire for an indefinite period. Enough to plant out another 10,000 trees. Enough to allow me to continue carving sculptures to place along the Peace Path. Enough to, maybe, fly to Hawaii and visit my friends for a vacation, but knowing that I will be returning back to Windgrove.

They slept on the couches, the window seats and in the bus. Last weekend six university students from Japan, America and Australia came to Windgrove on the Friday/ Saturday and, as they were leaving, seven more people (plus two month old Nui) showed up. When the last of them left on Monday, I was tired for sure, but happy to have met and been able to host such wonderful people; all concerned about creating and maintaining peace in the world through their work. Already, the three Japanese students (Hideki, Eri, Tamako) have helped to set up a small organisation, Echo, where incoming students to Tasmania from Japan get shown a video about the clearfelling and wood chipping of old growth forests as well as taken on forest walks. They then return to Japan as mini ambassadors for the forests. And when Stephanie, Mandy and Phan return to America after their year in Tasmania, they will be better able to withstand the seduction of material wealth and choose to balance out their lives with social and environmental work. I'm certain every last one of them would have wanted to linger on for an extra day or two, or month. Yet, this was all the time they had. Was it enough? Will what they experience here have any lasting impression? Or, have I just exchanged three days sculpting in my studio for some party time?

The answer, I imagine, lies in last week's blog entry. Planting seeds of hope and peace is what Windgrove and my role are about. Whether these seeds germinate will be up to the individual. As well, Windgrove can be seen as a watering place to help nurture those seeds already buried within these young souls. How many of us know of talented people who burned out and turned their backs to the world? At the least, a couple of days here can refresh and re-inspire. I could never turn my back on any guest. My reward is having my heart replinished with all the love shown me by such a group. It is one thing when people my own age and experience want to visit; this is to be expected. But when twenty year olds choose to do this on their weekend, it speaks nicely about what is happening on these hundred acres; on this land with its budding buildings yearning to house, nurture and provide refuge for even more people.

Hanging broken and limp like the wing of a fallen eagle, the flag guarding the entrance into the Peace Garden took as bad a beating by the wind this past week as liberal democracy did in Australia on Saturday when the far right conservative party was re-elected with control of both houses of Parliament.

All the moral aspects of governance, that for eight years have been lacking in the Liberal Party's platform of pro-business, pro-war and anti-environmental and social concerns, are back on the back burner again languishing for want of an informed public. In Tasmania, for a brief moment preceding the election date, it seemed our mighty forests, under a newly elected Federal Labor government, would be handed a reprieve and taken off the death row of impending clearfelling and wood chipping. Sadly, not to be. To have gotten so close, only to have moved backward, is an almost crushing burden many hearts in the Tasmanian Green movement will have to carry. The equivalent situation in America would be if Bush was not only re-elected, but with an even greater majority in Congress despite all the efforts of everyone to bring about change. Today is the fourth morning after the deluge. It is dawn with the sun just breaking over the eastern hills and I am at the eternal flame of the Peace Fire asking for guidance and looking inside myself to see if there is the strength to pick up the flag, mount it on yet, another pole, and set it waving again.

A gust of wind comes up blowing through the "more mature" South Esk pines encircling the Peace Fire. Millions of grains of pollen fill the air not unlike the magic moment when the coral reefs release their billions of eggs into the vastness of the ocean's currents, and I am encased in a very potent fog of red dust. It is a very strange experience; almost miraculous in its timing. And then the answer comes to me. All of us, especially those elders among us; those with a few more years of experiencing life in its fullness; those who have been at the forefront of environmental and social change; and those of us who have touched the void before and have come back with a deeper wisdom.... we have to remain virile in body and spirit. We can never give up on the spreading of seeds of change. This is a cry from the heart of all hearts to embrace the day with feet planted into the earth and arms thrust upward into the sky and beyond to the stars. Let fly into the air seeds of hope, stories of love, words of delight for all things green, all creatures great and small. Constantly sing up the earth. Breath in fear and despair and blow out a never ending stream of activity; of decent activity. And the stronger our exhale, the farther our seeds will travel. It is true that in our lifetime we might not see the fruit of the seeds we have planted. But it is so very important to keep planting them, despite what seems as hopeless odds; despite the seeming unjustness of it all; despite just wanting to curl up in bed and face the wall. If we're in the "wilderness" for a few more years, so be it. Just remember what Shakespeare's Duke Senior had to say about this in "As You Like It": "Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything: I would not change it." And so, I commit myself to continue on with the Work; to continue walking the path of Peace; to spread, in as compassionate a manner as possible, the message of peace; to use what skills I have to foster a dialogue for change; to be open for change myself; to develop new skills where needed; and never let a day slip past without savouring for a moment the deliciousness of life.

Today, October 6, is the day when, two years ago, I began to surf at Roaring Beach daily. Not that everyday has seen the water as benign as in the photo. Nor has it always been easy to get into a wet suit when a southerly is howling or when I had the flu this past winter. But go I did if for no other reason than to honour my commitment to swim everyday for three years, three months, three weeks and three days and to experience what a disciplined, daily ritual such as this might bring. So what have I gained so far? Well, besides being in better physical shape than when I started, I have certainly gotten to know "the path" down to the water; what tea trees, coastal wattles, native currants and other flora grow there; what wombats, echidnas, wallabies, cockatoos, oyster catchers and other fauna frequent there. As for the water, I now know where the rips can be found even as the sand shifts their channels. The waves, too, speak a language that I never understood before; nor even knew existed. And the water's moods, whether fierce or calm, each has its own beauty with which to tempt me. Never is there a day when the ocean is too big or too small to enjoy. I have found that communion comes in many forms. But the ocean still remains a mystery and when I enter into it I know that I am entering into something way over my head; something I will never ever completely fathom. And, on those days when there is no other human around, which is most days, there lingers close to the surface a fear that has not diminished in the two years of being with it. I am not just talking about sharks. There is a deep, possibly archetypal fear that bubbles to the surface when one is bobbing alone out in the darkening swell. What I have learned to do with this fear is simply to live with it. Not suppress it or feel bad that I haven't overcome it; just quietly acknowledge its presence when it comes around and, at the same time, continue to ride the waves with joy. The one emotion that washes over me most frequently is the exuberant, almost childlike delight in having a wave, or the white face of a broken wave, shoot me towards the beach; sort of like tobogganing down a snowy hillside with just a modicum of control. What will the next 412 days offer?