I have sat with, lived with, worked for, some of the most vulnerable, disempowered, hope-less, disabled, crippled, injured and poverty stricken people for decades … they will not have the knowledge, strength, resources or understanding of what is still to come…. The 100s I have personally and professionally encountered… they are the side-effected, affected, and infected of affluence … The dispossessed, disenfranchised, disconnected and diseased … I find it harder and harder my self to rise above the viral evil, wetiko that permeates and infects the country, the work-place, the corporate govt, the “system” … What will come of such persons and innocent ones … I’m left to my own thoughts regarding these days and times unfolding …
These daze I’m constantly confronted by how compliant the AustrAlien majority are easily fed (Bs), poorly read, readily led. Ignorance rules supreme. Fools are easily fooled and easier to please. 🤧😷🤮☠️👽💀 Have another shot of “hopeium” folks, da guvment will look afta ya!
In my line of work, and amongst the oh so many people I’ve had dealings with over several decades, how so many have spoken a lot, about compassion, caring, concern for the state of their world and their fellow humans, the environment, & such like. Yet, when life presents them with the opportunity to do so, they did nothing.
When they could’ve or should’ve made that difference at the time, in that circumstance — for another — they didn’t.
There are many “fallen angels” living amongst us, that need a hand, a gesture of kindness, a moment of compassion — presented to us, each and every day — giving us the opportunity to act on the words and rhetoric we profess. Yet, most of us will fail to recognise as such, or choose to ignore.
The quality of how we have lived, and that of our “souls” — our compassion in action — our connectedness to life — is what makes the difference. It is not the quantity nor quality of our words, nor the things we accumulate, that is the measure of a meaningful life.
Too many, too often, start from “what’s in it for me” or “what’s this going to cost”, or “I don’t have the time”, before they give to the need.
7th May 1998, 8:10 am: Outskirts of Berri, SA, on the banks of the Murray River.
Here I sit by the Murray River, under the trees on the outskirts of town. Having ‘presented’ myself to a tree momentarily, I now see how my river lays dormant and polluted, and a sadness washes over me.
This is not the river I recall as a child whilst staying at Renmark on occasion. The colour of the water is different, it has a smell of lifelessness — or do I exaggerate — no, I think not.
As I drove along the dirt road, skirting the edge of the river, I came upon a place where humans had left their discards — plastics and garbage — a desecration. Why can’t people see what they do? A total disregard and disrespect for the earth and its sanctity.
Surely we will all suffer the collective consequence of such selfish and insensitive actions.
The trees are sad here, the Kurrunpa* struggles — stagnate river flow, stagnate stifled air. And then I see a pelican fly low above the surface of the river as I write, seeking its food. What do the bird-life feel of these changing times? I wonder.
And the sounds of Freddy Fender singing on my car stereo drift across the morning, “wasted days and wasted nights”, country in our Country.
My mood is disturbed: my country ails, and the true custodians struggle all over the world as here in Australia, struggling to redress the ecological Balance, and the ‘mother’ speaks — who and how many respond to ‘her’ call?
And I know that I am not absolved from this;
my actions and deeds I must carry with me.
It has become colder since I’ve been here;
I shiver in my body, my hands feel the chill
in the air. C-r-a-c-k, a gunshot sounds-off
in the near distance. Birds take flight,
a flurry in the trees. I desire optimism,
yet sadness fills me, fighting back despair.
And now I hear the sound of a chainsaw
ripping through the air.
*Kurrunpa: Walpiri, central Australian Aboriginal word, “life-force”.