Settling down amongst
leeches and leaf litter.
Past fears about forest dangers recede.
I let it move within.
Settling down inside.
Swishing forward.
I love that long traverse up through tree ferns and Bangalows
to the Nightcap Ridge.
So soft under-foot. And quiet.
Bush flowing past.
Absorbing out, smoothing away, caressing.
Supporting inner stillness.
Camping on the razor-back
ridge,
There was enough room for three rows of tents
- if we all breathed
in, together.
I loved the sound of the cold, rain-laden wind that night. It
lulled me to sleep.
Lucky it wasn't last
night under the tall forest trees. Dangerous.
Lucky the wind wasn't
from the opposite direction. Uncomfortable.
We are being given safe passage.
First thing the next morning
we meet the guardian of the pristine forest.
Coiled in the middle
of the track.
Like all mythic gatekeepers it must sleep to allow us access
It sleeps -
Digesting its tucker, or storing early sun-energy for later movement.
We all creep past, only a foot from its lazy loops,
watching its head with cautious alertness.
Amazing -
Intense focus on body sensations.
Oh no! - that tendon.
No - Yes.
One foot, other foot. Up. Up. One foot, other foot.
Small steps up hill.
Careful steps down.
Don't stretch that muscle, girl.
Bend knees deeply. Keep weight near the ground.
Arches up, core muscles on - good stability.
Create safety with
every step.
Rasping grass-trees glide
across skin,
Their metallic edges
sliding downwards.
At the rock-ledge look-out,
I'm thrilled.
The last unseen angle.
The caldera becomes complete for me. Circumnavigated. Known.
Inside I am still.
I could easily just stay there.
Going down I become a quadruped.
Moving like a cat - stick-insect hybrid.
Slipping through detritus.
The day brimmed with a
fierce mindfulness of sorts
- but too engaged,
too attached to outcome, to truly qualify.
At least there was no struggle, no wash of emotional states.
My single pointed focus is worth something on the scale of 'virtuous'
consciousnesses.
I feel spacious.
Expanded from the intense
focus;
High on success
I'm in Heaven in this picture postcard.
Lake, mountains, Wollumbin, pelicans carving a wake on a glassy
surface.
Parklands. Hot shower.
The words 'walking this
land' choke me with tears.
With passion.
We are walking this land in so many ways.
Becoming one with the
bush.
We're walking the old Songlines,
I'm convinced.
Topography dictates
it.
Walking an ancient path, moving to a timeless rhythm
on well-polished earth
trodden by the ancestors, travelling to their big Tyalgum festival.
If proof were needed, our
path is littered with artefacts.
Lesley keeps finding
them.
A stone axe, and a
cutter/scraper with an edge and point - all nestling comfortably
in the hand.
Liz hears koori voices calling to each other by Mt Jerusalem,
and in the eucalypt forest.
Walking into the Tyalgum
valley with its wall of towering peaks, I'm overcome;
I want to howl at the
sun.
I can hear the foot-falls
of long ago,
Their delight at reaching
their destination
greeted by festival
hosts.
Like them, we come to our
journey's end.
- Nadine Hood