So we roast the root vegetables. Carefully, we sharpen the knife. Carefully, we are still the sacrifice keeping that wolf’s blood at bay.
How can we ever protect and model, be the balance we are born to bring forth? How can we be?
What must we do to be who we are meant to be?
The mornings will be cool soon. I take care to pack the pan with the right amount of delight. I take a step that side of abundance to remind myself I am ready.
Call me crazy but there is a way through when all is lost when plans and ideas have combusted to gas when urges of the heart seem stupidly self-defeating
All these feelings
When I can’t find a way to assert and my survival depends upon it and the situation won’t budge
I am stuck fast
I know it’s not supposed to be right Hold me back I will eventually double down Two feet in that’s my sin
If I’m ever going to hear you Two feet – why don’t you take a seat? (might be a long wait)
Who knows how this will go?
Now I’m standing at the point the edge of the common ground the only thing that makes sense is to reach out
Across the divide
(I ask)
It’s a heavy load I’m carrying Should I lay it down? It seems, oh! oh! oh! so simple to receive truly
What use is a full bowl to an overflowing spirit?
I wonder about some things
Let that which wills be your divine feast that you may catch your sisters and brothers in the right moment
A convergence
May it be restored
So I wait for myself to return
I’m thinking — if you love probably worth persisting and perhaps you can share that –
right after the storm clouds have cleared
– straight-up-joy like how it feels in a bouncy breathe in, breathe out soul-restoring, truly connected kind of way
As though we were meant to be just the way we are and all these moments out there were part of what shapes us
Exquisitely, perhaps perfectly designed for infinite growth infinite potential infinite connection
As if nature ruled the world and all we needed to do
For some reason, during most of our lockdown in Victoria, I wrote stories in emails to friends or shared them over video chat, where previously I might have written a blog post. I lost some confidence in my ability to communicate. I am sharing a few of these stories now because, in hindsight, they seem to be clear stepping stones to a very exciting, challenging and intense period of growth or change that is still very much underway.
1 October 2020
Here are some things that make my life joyous at the moment despite all the different impediments and challenges around the place.
Herbs. Flowers. Bees. The sky. The games birds play. Cooking. Experiments.
We had a dramatic moment earlier in the week, police everywhere. Someone has been seriously injured in the building next to mine – domestic violence or self-harm or some other misadventure, not sure. We hit some problems when I gave my witness statement. Apparently only certain types of people have brown or black skin according to the detective. ^^ He decided on olive skin – not what I said, and olive is a term used to describe southern European or tanned complexions. He definitely wasn’t a whitefella, but from my perspective the statement now says he was. Lord knows how they would describe me, but the various skin tones in mixed race POC clearly continue to escape detection by the detectives (hehe). I said he was brown, like me, but lighter (descriptive not political). Mr Detective did not agree… lol… of course I signed off on the statement with olive skin. He’s not missing, he’s in the hospital, so it really doesn’t matter. If he survives he can tell them what colour his skin is should he feel he has been misrepresented. I was just confused about why this fella couldn’t be brown. Here’s to the ever-shifting landscape of identity politics.
That same morning I procured an entire organic butternut squash. I don’t know why. That night I plucked up the courage to just dump it in the oven and hope for the best – there was no way I had the energy to cut it all up after 50 million surprise visits from the police earlier in the day. Two hours later it’s finally cooked but it’s like a ball of lava and I am nearly falling asleep, so no more cooking tonight.
This morning I am looking at an entire roasted squash. It’s gorgeous. What shall I do with it? Probably when I bought it, pumpkin soup with chicken stock, now that I am peeling the skin away from the flesh and it’s brilliant orange and not the slightest bit watery, this soup has to be veg-oh. Coconut milk, leek, garlic, macadamia oil, a couple of drops of sesame to accentuate the nut in butternut, maple syrup, salt and a little chilli. It was coming together nicely until I added a few tablespoons of dried lemon myrtle, at which point my head exploded and I just melted into a state of bliss. That herb is amazing. Just a whiff of it makes me so happy, my body kind of stretches towards it.
The last ingredient will be Thai basil and potentially a bit of lemon juice. The soup has been passed through a manual food mill and now it’s on it’s final pass through a sieve to get the texture all silky and meld the flavours a little more. It’s laborious so I am taking a break, writing this, in the faint hope that gravity might do some of the hard yards.
As you can see it’s a long and somewhat tedious preparation method I have chosen, yet not one part of the process is anything less than an utterly delightful feast for the senses. The aromas, the textures, the tastes – the fundamental or instinctual skill that humans seem to be born with – kind of interacting with the environment from a mindset of both curiosity and need. Just lots of categorising, measuring and comparing the internal physical responses to determine what’s in, what’s out and what knowledge gets saved for later.
The only reason I have lemon myrtle is because I have been making hair rinses and herbal teas and mixing up potions like an ancient alchemist and I am quite chuffed with the compliments I get when I walk around smelling like lemon myrtle, lavender, rosemary, etc. (Secretly spreading joy.)
Sometimes I research online of course, but since awareness is what I am focussed on in my life journey, it’s really so much more fun to use my body as a guide. I can tell you right now that lemon myrtle smells so good that I want to bury my face in a bag of it and breathe it all day and night. I know, I am repeating myself. It means I mean it, hehe! Turns out the herb has really beneficial properties also.
Herbs and clear nasal passages, that’s all I have to say. Two underutilised ways to bring joy into every moment where it might not be visible. Also flowers, bees, patterns in the sky, bird games — every game in every tree with every bird combination is unique and yet can still be categorised for easy reference without corrupting the truth. I reckon feelings are the same.
If you ever want to experiment with lemon myrtle and other Australian Native Herbs, Spices, Fruits and Seeds. I mostly get them from The Australian Superfood Co.
Although lemon myrtle is usually a little easier to find on the shelves than some other native ingredients, lockdown and post-lockdown reality still involves rows of empty shelves and loads of on-the-spot creative thinking because you can’t just expect anything to be available like it was a year ago. It’s different every time. Probably the big chain stores are well supplied though, if you enjoy apples that never rot.
There is something about speaking my truth out loud that changes me.
I remember for my birthday in 2015 I decided to try performing a poem in front of an audience. You know, open mic and all that goes with that. This led to an adventure, a journey I could never have planned that was fundamental to my growth in ways that couldn’t be foreseen.
As recently as within the last week, I have again spoken my truth out loud in the form of poetry, and again, it has changed me forevermore. I do not know quite how those who do it all the time can cope. This performance poetry thing rattles me. It might just be me that experiences this.
It seems to move the world. Or the urge to speak comes at a time when the world was moving already. Who knows?
So in amongst all this reflection, I remember this one event occurring at what would turn out to be the closing of that particular journey or cycle and the commencement of an entirely new cycle. Same same, but different because we have more experience.
We were just finishing up the final performance of an indigenous play in secondary schools and that weekend there was a festival, plus a dance conference with a huge Blak community in town for the first time ever and I was invited to do this interview. Just going with the flow.
Here’s a link for those of you who would like to hear my voice speak a few words and generally have a good time on the radio. It’s pretty long so don’t feel you have to. It’s a background of sorts, to some of the stories I plan to share next.
You think that was something, perhaps one day we’ll talk about the time I was in a movie. I swear I thought my head might explode all over the set, it was too much… eek!
Jambo Robyn 