Narrung

THE LORE OF THE LAND

Seven Sisters shone overhead. The sharp clean scent of Eucalypt rose with the smoke-spirals of camp-fires. On a clear cold summer's night, people shrank from the chill and settled into woven shelters. Voices stilled, nestled into the womb of sleep.

Sharply calling my name, he roused me. I added some leaves to glowing coals and, as warming flames sprang up, sat listening to this earnest Wongabon man, telling his people's story. Did we share a cup of billy tea before he left? I don't remember, but I treasure the thread of intimacy woven between us by his yarning. Each night, he came and each night he told another story, his voice gently penetrating the darkness.

He told stories of small creatures with great hearts, or of great creatures who had the power to harm or heal; stories about the folly of greed, stories about courage in adversity, stories of the stars, stories of the River: his homelands. Indeed, his torrent of stories flowed into my isolated lagoon like the life-blood of the River itself. My nocturnal companion explained that, from source to sea, the stories of all the nations the length of the River are connected for they sing about life. The profoundly restorative power of these tales eased my grieving soul, just as Sheherazade had told a thousand stories and turned a king from an insane and murderous path.

Even when my young story-teller was gone, distant black mountains seemed to whisper a tale just below the threshold of my hearing. It coiled down the valley, down the European obsession with clear views, and up the steps of the very white Old Parliament House, refusing to be turned from its path.

Stories live in the landscape, waiting, willing to be heard.

NGARRINDJERI LORE

'Knowing the stories, passing on stories and being a story-teller are ways that Ngarrindjeri care for country,' observe Ngarrindjeri women in Kungun Ngarrindjeri Miminar Yunnan (Listen to Ngarrindjeri WomenSpeaking). 'Stories sustain and structure the Ngarrindjeri social world, explain the mysterious; provide a secure haven in an other wise hostile world; bring order to and confer significance on relationships amongst the living; hold hope for future generations; and open up communications with those who have passed on,' say the women.

It was ancient story that had brought us to this historic law place: the Aboriginal Tent Embassy.

The lore that urged the Ngarrindjeri here in 1997 was a story that the South Australian justice Iris Stevens deemed "fabrication." One of her 'Ngarrindjeri' informants, Dulcie Wilson, described by journalist Chris Kenny as a 'leader,' the 'matriarch of the dissidents,' is, according to The Aboriginal People of the South East, 1994, 'not Ngarrindjeri but Buandik,' a descendant of Kunduwi of Pt MacDonnell and a Northern Irish whaler called Tripp.

The media broadcast the so-called dissension, while the Australian Government passed the Hindmarsh Island Bridge Act 1997, and legislated away rights to protect Ngarrindjeri Ruwe (living lands and waters). Both the federal Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Heritage Protection Act, 1984 and the Aboriginal Heritage Act SA, 1988, 'whitefella' laws, proved toothless.

Deeply offended, deeply concerned, representatives of the Ngarrindjeri Nation travelled over a thousand kilometers and set up camp in Canberra. They had cultural responsibilities to fulfil. They took their case to Australia's highest court.

Despite Justice Michael Kirby observing that, under the Australian Constitution, Hitler can do what he did and get away with it, a row of judges, arrayed in the colour of death, found against Ngarrindjeri plaintiffs. This decision allowed the Hindmarsh Island Bridge to breach sacred story and desecrate sacred waters.

Where for thousands of years, a vast River flowed to the mouth, today the pylons of the Hindmarsh Island Bridge stand above drifts of sand.

Ever since Foreign Occupation, the Ngarrindjeri have been mere window-dressing to decision-making regarding their Ruwe.

In the Draft Environmental Impact Statement for the proposed temporary weir near Pomanda Island, 2 March 09, for example, the Executive Summary makes no mention of Ngarrindjeri Traditional Owners. The Draft EIS states that the SA is engaged in a 'consultation process' with the 'Ngarrindjeri People.'

Is 'consultation' what the Ngarrindjeri want? In the Ngarrindjeri Nation Yarluwar-Ruwe Plan, the Ngarrindjeri state the need for 'reform,' 'negotiation,' 'partnership,' 'collaboration,' and 'consent' with regards to the Ngarrindjeri 'enduring obligation to look after 'lands and waters and all living things within our Country.'

The Occupiers' disregard for the Lore of the land is now killing the Murray-Darling River.

SUPPRESSION OF LORE, IMPOSITION OF FOREIGN LAW

Since the Norman Conquest, Western rulers have actively suppressed the Lore of the Land and enforced rule of law.

Wisdom that has guided many generations is deemed fairy tale as if it's imaginary; folklore, as if it's full of superstition; and nursery rhyme, as if it's only of value to immature minds. In decision-making, Western rulers rely on hard 'evidence,' evidence that can be scrutinized, analyzed, categorized, documented, dated and filed. And the danger is that evidence can be lost.

On the other hand, lore survives. It lives in our bones and in our blood. While evidence can be manipulated to serve mercenary ends, lore works independently on our collective conscience.

For all the West's facts and figures, for all its parliaments and legislatures, for all its scrutiny of the evidence, the suffering of the planet is increasing. This is truly a Dark Age. As story-teller Michael Meade says: 'Laws are what people make when they've forgotten the lore.'

Australian society has suppressed a continent of water lore, while a plethora of legislation has done little to ensure the health of the Murray-Darling. Waterways which previous to British invasion had always been managed communally are now damned, dredged and polluted by competing 'stake-holders:' private interests for private profit. Section 100 of the Australian Constitution protects the rights of states and citizens to the water, but it doesn't protect the River!

AUSTRALIAN CULTURAL MALADAPTION

'Cultural maladaption' is 'acute' in Australia, wrote Dr Tim Flannery in his book, The Future Eaters (1994). Flannery pointed out that Charles Darwin in 1836, assessed Australia's 'prospects': 'Agriculture, on account of the droughts, can never succeed on an extended scale.' Darwin pronounced an eerie benediction: 'You are too great and ambitious for affection, yet not great enough for respect.'

Australia's Poet laureate, AD Hope wrote in 1955:

And her five cities, like five teeming sores, Each drains her: a vast parasite robber state Where second-hand Europeans pullulate (sprout) Timidly on the edge of alien shores.

Flannery asserted: 'It is essential that Australians evolve a culture that will help them survive long-term on their continent.' Yet Flannery does not engage with the Lore of this continent. He views the over 40,000 years of First Nations' culture as a 'resource' for 'Australians living today' to 'possess.'

'Possession' and 'resource' actually belong to a large group of words that came into English as a result of William the Conqueror's suppression of local lore and language. The monologue of possession of this continent shows how even Australians of good-sense and goodwill are stuck in a medieval mindset of 'cultural maladaption.' And this is most pertinent regarding water.

Australia was founded by the theft of lands from First Nations. The foundation of the colony actually contravened instructions of the British Crown. How many Australians are aware that page 2 of the 'Secret Instructions' ordered Capt James Cook to 'with the Consent of the Natives to take possession of Convenient Situations in the Country in the Name of the King of Great Britain'?

AUSTRALIAN COLONIAL LORE

A monologue of dominion is embedded in the Australia's psyche. The Australian character sweats a stale reek of conquest. This bad smell was present at the Centenary of Federation celebrations, 2001, and is excreted annually on January 26th.

The conquest monologue is a dominant theme of Australian colonial folklore, especially Banjo Paterson's ballad, 'The Man from Snowy River.'

A valuable colt escaped. Just as the horse in Western culture has long been a symbol of 'tribal protection' and sovereignty, the runaway could be likened to the emerging Australian identity. A long way from the 'Mother Land' the colt ran free, 'joined the wild bush horses,' but this freedom was short-lived. A reward for its return brought a crowd of bounty-riders.

Paterson describes the hunt: rugged terrain defeats all but one. A young bloke's trophy is not only the recovery of a wayward colt, but the acquisition of a mob of 'cowed and beaten' brumbies. The victor is hailed as a hero, his 'manhood' made in a battle with the 'wild' country. Despite the cruelty that the reckless young rider inflicted upon his mount (it was driven to exhaustion and had 'blood from hip to shoulder from the spur,') The Man from Snowy River becomes a 'household word.'

The Man from Snowy River is a fantasy, popular because it appeases the Occupiers' fear of being overwhelmed by the 'native,' 'wild' and 'savage' bush. This conquest monologue is perpetuated with a museum, an annual 'bush festival,' a musical, a TV series, several movies; and many Australians are able to recite the opening lines: 'There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around ...'

Thus a fantasy of conquest, a patriarchal paean to dominion is active in the Australian consciousness today. And it poisons the way Australians respond to the challenges in our environment, especially equitable access to fresh water.

'Water is wealth in rural Australia and there are many who seek to use water for productive purposes,' wrote Professor Peter Cullen in his 2004 executive summary of 'Water Challenges for South Australia in the 21st century,' prepared for the Dept of the Premier and Cabinet.

Academics Robert Hattam, Daryle Rigney and Steve Hemming point out that this critical water report not only failed to 'engage' with Traditional Owners, the Ngarrindjeri, but 'Indigenous interests premised on a rights-based agenda' were 'absent in the identification of water challenges for SA.' Furthermore, 'dominant state rights of ownership and use of land, water and resources take priority,' observed Hattam, Rigney and Hemming in Fresh Water, New perspectives on Water in Australia, 2007.

LORE OF THE COORONG: STORM BOY

Storm Boy's Dad: There's a law against people shacking in the sanctuary (Coorong National Park). He (the whitefella Ranger) might tell you to move on.

Fingerbone Bill, a 'blackfella' living in the Coorong: This Country belong to him?

Storm Boy's Dad: Maybe not. The law says you can't stay.

In 1966, when Colin Thiele wrote Storm Boy, the First Peoples of Australia were not included in the national census, but were classed among the flora and fauna. In 2006, Fingerbone Bill is described by Keith Conlon, in Postcards, as 'an outcast aboriginal man.' Note the use of 'aboriginal': the form which refers to flora and fauna, rather than 'Aboriginal': the Occupiers' name for First Peoples.

Australians may have embraced Storm Boy with over a million copies of the book being sold, but no where, in the novel, the movie or any review that I could find, does anyone acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the Coorong, the Ngarrindjeri. And no where does any one acknowledge that a central character, 'Mr Percival' the pelican, is one of the sacred ngartji of the Ngarrindjeri.

I suspect that Storm Boy was enthusiastically received by the Australian public because it's a parable which proffers legitimacy to the Australian occupation of this continent. It's the story of a 'white' boy who prefers to live in a 'wild' environment rather than attend a 'civilizing' school.

Colin Thiele said of the Coorong: "For God's sake we need to realise what a treasure we have here...Don't damage it. Let us hand it on to our children, and our children's children's children, down the centuries." For all his love of the Coorong, Thiele too used the language of possession, using the impersonal pronoun 'it' for the Coorong, which, while a 'treasure,' is property, rather than a living being to be treated with love and respect.

Forty years on, Storm Boy is not generally hailed for Thiele's courageous raising of the issue of land rights. Instead, 'leading' tourism operator, Jock Veenstra, values Storm Boy,as 'a unique marketing tool.' Veenstra runs 'Spirit of the Coorong' and 'Spirit of the Murray' tours and advertises 'South Australia's Murray River is fully weired and locked with pool levels ensuring good cruising water.'

The pecuniary gains in the Coorong, thanks to Thiele's novel, are lauded by locals: 'Storm Boy selling Coorong,' is the headline of an online article for Adelaide Now in November 2006. In it Anna Vlachan reported that Storm Boy, the 1976 movie, 'has been worth millions' to the region. As Veenstra said: 'It gave the Coorong some presence ... We can say to people, 'This is Storm Boy country'.' Certainly Storm Boy has entered 'the popular consciousness,' observed film-maker Scott Hicks.

But forty years on, laws which prohibit the Ngarrindjeri from living in the Coorong National Park still exist. The Ngarrindjeri elders still wait for their 'authority' to be recognized in the management of the Park.

Today the Coorong is dying, and protesters call not for the protection of Ngarrindjeri Ruwe but of the fantasy Country of 'Storm Boy." When it comes to water, the colonizing myth of terra nullius still exists. 'Stolen Lands, Stolen Generations, Stolen Waters' the caption on a previous blog for photos depicting the Australian-made desert off the First Nation's community Raukkan has been criticized as 'too radical.'

LORE OF THE LIVING COORONG

'When you listen to our stories you can see the importance and the balance that was there in those waters,' recounted Ngarrindjeri elder Tom Trevorrow in an interview on ABC Radio Bush Telegraph, 2009.

'You see the Coorong pelican is one of our main totems, what we call ngartji in our language, and ngartji means 'my closest friend.' Now my ngartji is the pelican and I have a duty of care to look after my ngartji. For my ngartji to be strong and healthy, therefore my ngartji's waters have to be strong and health. Then I'm strong and healthy,' this elder's ancient lore advises.

'Across Australia, Indigenous people engage with water as a type of kin,' noted anthropologist Debra Bird Rose in Fresh Water, 2007. 'Water business' is about relating to 'water's own living presence' and 'involves finding ways to protect and defend the fullness of water in itself and in its relationships with other living things,' Rose recorded.

This close relationship to Water is ever present in Tom Trevorrow's perspective: 'When the Coorong was alive, so rich and abundant with fish and bird-life, ... we [were] all living strong and healthy lives out on the edge of the Corong in the old Reserves.'

This sense of inter-relationship and sharing was present in a statement made by a Ngarrindjeri elder who lived at Goolwa for many years: 'This island (Kumarangk) is not just for Ngarrindjeri miminis (women) but for all miminis."

The teaching inherent in many Ngarrindjeri Creation Stories is that of inter-relationship and sharing. Not far from me at Loveday Bay, a profound lesson for the Ngarrindjeri took place and it's retold in the story of Thukeri. It is not for me to retell, but it can be found in 'Australia's River' by the River, Lakes, and Coorong Action group, thanks to Ngarrindjeri Heritage.

GAELIC WATER LORE

A vaguely similar tale to Thukeri is told in the Gaelic tradition of the seanachie, keeper of lore, by internationally renown folklorist Joseph Jacobs. (Despite being Australian-born, he is little know here.) Munachar and Manachar go out to pick raspberries, but Manachar eats all that Munachar picks. So, Munachar goes off to find a rod to hang the greedy Manachar. Munachar has many exploits which culminate in being asked to fetch water from the river in a sieve.

Munachar is downcast by the impossibility of that task, but it doesn't stop him blessing a crow. Crow rewards Munachar's kindness with instructions on how to make the sieve water-tight. So, eventually Munachar gets his rod, but when he's finally ready to hang Manachar, he finds that the greedy sod has already burst.

Gaels have a strong ethos about generosity and hospitality. Indeed, in the Gaelic tongue, the only things a person can use a possessive pronoun for are one's body, one's children and one's homeland. All else, emotions, belongings, friends, flow like a river through one's life. But because this lore belongs to far-off lands, many Australians disregard its relevance here.

LORE OF THE LAND

When the Land you live in is alive with story, the reminders, the landmarks of Lore's teaching are always at the foot of the mountain you climb, at the elbow in the river you cross, at the neck of the bay where you fish, or on the headland from which you look out.

The lessons of this Lore are alive today in the minds of many Ngarringjeri elders, such as Matt Rigney. He recently stated: 'Our teachings have always been about a communal way of life, for we are custodians of Country. But these days we are being pushed in directions away from our culture. We are urged to start business enterprises that will benefit a few individuals. Capitalism is not our way.'

This same elder recounted how recently he'd sat overlooking the Ruwe he's loved all his life. As a boy, before he was stolen away to the city, he'd walked from the reed-beds to Teringie, from Block K to Raukkan. He'd hunted, fished and gathered eggs. When he grew tired he'd simply lay down in the shade of a katheri bush to rest. I doubt if his parents were concerned for they knew he was in the company of his Old People and their guiding lore lay all around. Matt sadly described the desert that now exists where water has always ebbed and flowed with the seasons. He was distressed because his Old People are being exposed as the wind blows away the sand.

'How do you feel about seeing your Country in this state?' I asked, and he corrected me, saying: 'It is our Country. We all come from Mother Earth and to Her we return,' he said.

'What do you feel about the plans for more dams for the lakes and Coorong?' I then asked. This man, full of memory and many stories, sounded unusually hollow. He sighed and soulfully said:

'I feel like curling up and dying.'

Many Australians make excuses for their ignorance of First Nations' Lore. Prof. Cullen, in his 2004 Water report, claimed that 'Indigenous knowledge is hard to access and to understand.' But First Nations' lore has been published in mainstream Australian magazines and book companies like Angus and Roberts at least since the 1930s. Ngarrindjeri statesman David Unaipon generously made his people's lore available, only to have a body-snatcher, the Coroner of SA, William Ramsay Smith publish the collection as his own work. Besides, too often the Indigenous Lore that warns us of the folly of hoarding, is dismissed as fantasy: relegated to the category of 'myths' or 'legends.'

However, a corner of each of our lives is tied to a Lore greater than ourselves, says story-teller Michael Meade. He reckons that small corner can be our salvation, just as the tiny Lord Vishnu fish saved the whole world from flood. 'From little things big things grow.'

ANGLO-SAXON WATER LORE

The Tree of Life, known as Yggdrasil: Ygg's horse, carries the weight of the world on its back. Worlds upon worlds are found in its branches and among its roots. The Tree suffers cruelly from all the creatures living on it. But the Yggdrasil ash does not die. It is sustained by three sources of HOLY water, translated variously as wells, springs or lakes and known as the Well of Wyrd.

The Old English Wyrd is the source of the modern English word 'weird.' In Old English Wyrd wasn’t weird at all. It was a title, an honorific, so revered that it appeared in Old English Christian texts as the word for God, the Holy Trinity or Lord. Now it refers to anything odd or a bit wicked, but this meaning is relatively recent. To 5^th century Anglo-Saxons, Wyrd was actually an ancient ‘point of view about reality,’ writes Tom Graves.

Wyrd-lore is older than English. It can be traced back to Norse poets and story-tellers who regarded its teachings so important that they retold it generation after generation:

Mimisbrunnr: the Well of Wisdom, is tended by Mimir a wise giant. He stands waist deep in water, supporting mountains on his powerful shoulders. Mimir, whose name means 'memory,' embraces all experience. Odin gave one of his eyes to Mimir for a drink from this well. Hanging upside down on Yggdrasil for nine days, Odin read the well's secret knowledge. He never smiled again, but he shared his insights. It is said that Odin's well-inspired rune lore can lift the human spirit out of chaos.

Hvergelmir: a Seething Cauldron, source of all the worlds' rivers, reaches deep into the cold underworld of Hel. Though small in stature, sons of Ivaldi, defend Hvergelmir from the raids of storm giants. Above this well, lives a serpent or dragon, Níðhöggr: Striker in the Dark. It is said Níðhöggr secretly gnaws at the root of the Tree of Life and it would destroyed if it weren't for the Wyrd-lore that constantly repairs the damage.

Urðarbrunnr: the Well of the Wyrd, reaches high into the world of Asgard, a sky-world full of Aesir: the pillars of deity, heroes and wise elders. Three of these, sisters known as Norns or Wyrds, rose from the sky-world to dwell in a hall near the well. Each day, the sisters collect holy white clay from the base of the tree and mix it with waters they draw from the well.

These life-charged waters are said to be so holy that whatever falls into them will turn clear as egg-white. It is said that all deeds of life are washed into the Well of Wyrd and mix with the many past deeds of kith and kin. This recycling of deeds is called Orlog, the collective Wyrd which has been laid down in layers to be drawn up by the scrying Wyrd sisters.

ENGLISH AND LAKE-LAW-LAY

The English words 'law' and 'lay' come from the 'log' part of Orlog, which also forms the Anglo-Saxon sacred rune 'lagu,' often translated as 'lake.' 'Law' is something which has been 'laid down,' says lexicographer John Ayto. But there's more to the primary meaning of log: it's 'life energy' or Waters of Life.

Water, to the Anglo-Saxon mind, was the law of the land! Water sprinkled in blessing over the newborn or a young warrior was believed to be drawn from this primal layered life-law-lake, charmed and charged as it was with the guiding wisdom of the Sky-world.

Since this ancient water-lore-law was the very life within beings, and since Orlog was a conductive medium between the worlds of human and ancestor-heroes, law did not need to be imposed by any external authority. Law lay within as lore.

Each day, the Wyrds pour their elixir of Orlog over the World Tree, so nothing will wither away. It is said that these waterings cause honeydew to fall, keeping alive the world around the well. Each day, it is said, the Aesir ride to the Weird's Well to hold court on the deeds of humanity. Whether demon or deity, everyone contributes to and feels the sacred influence of the waters of the Wyrd.

SWANS ON THE LAKE OF WYRD

Across the Well of the Wyrd, it is said that glide two swans. They curve elegant necks beneath the waters to drink. From these two, all swans are said to be descended. 'Swan' and 'sound' come from the same source, 'swan' meaning 'to sing or make sound.' It is said that spae-wight guardians take the form of swans to protect the Wyrd of humans. The bond between spae-wight and human is like that of lovers: honorable deeds strengthen their marriage, while broken promises muddy the waters that flow between them.

THE THREE WYRD SISTERS

Of the three Well guardians, the eldest has the name Wyrd (Anglo-Saxon) or Urtha (Norse). Wyrd is said to protect the past, for out of it she spins the thread of life. The middle sister is Verdandi who watches over the present, weaving the thread of life into all its wonderful patterns. The youngest is Skuld, who sings words of power and cuts the thread of life, dispensing death.

The names Wyrd, Urtha, and Verdandi all share the same source, an Old Norse verb verðr: to turn, wind, grow or become. This verb gave rise to the English suffix '-ward,' as in 'forward,' and 'worth' which originally meant 'towards.' In this way, Wyrd is an orientation in the world. Since both Wyrd and Urðr are the past-tense of verðr, they denote orientation towards the collective wisdom of the past. Indeed Freya Aswynn suggests that the English name for this planet, Earth, is related to Urtha, the source of all.

The present tense of verðr: Verdandi 'becoming' or 'growing' indicates orientation towards the wisdom of the present moment. Verdandi is a mother, pregnant with all the possibilities of the present.

With no future tense, Skuld comes from the Norse skole/skulle: what needs or ought to be. Her name in Old English is Scyld:promise, obligation or debt, is related to the Modern English ‘should.’ Her power is found in the necessities that cannot be evaded, the vows that cannot be broken: matters of life and death.

It is said that the three Wyrds visit all at birth. The first two bestow blessings, while the third brings a contract with life that must be honoured: many call it a curse.

What has happened to the Three Wyrd Sisters in Western Culture? Shakespeare turned them into witches to entertain James I. The brothers Grimm turned them into a characters of a children's story: the fairy godmothers and wicked witch of Sleeping Beauty. But this fairy tale still conforms to the Wyrd-lore that human courage and good deeds can turn the tide of destiny set by deity or demons. The curse of the 'wicked' fairy was overcome; though it took a hundred years, Sleeping Beauty's lover fought his way through a forest of thorns to wake her.

Respecting the wisdoms of the old lore, some canny Scots still advise us to dree our Wyrd: to turn and face our past-hewn fate. This is orientation is contrary to popular wisdom which urges us to forget the past, to let go, move on, and create our own reality.

In Wyrd-lore, personal reality is understood to never solely be our own, for it is determined not only by the collective acts of individuals, past and present, but by society as a whole. Personal Wyrd may be blighted by kith, kin, hound, human, demon or deity, but it is blessed by our own courage and actions. The realization that deeds flow into a Well from which all others will draw, urged the Anglo-Saxon to lay down a Wyrd that is good for all. The wise Anglo-Saxon remembered that the Wyrd watered the tap-root of the Yggdrasil Tree that supports all Life.

THE WYRD CONCEPT OF TIME AND THE IMPOSITION OF THE FUTURE

Old Germanic cultures were orientented towards the past, understanding its power to nourish and shape the present. The connection between the past and present was maintained by the keepers of the Language and Lore. Old Germanic languages had no future tense. The future, as we know it, didn’t exist. Any sense of future was generated from the Wyrd-Orlog layers of past relationships. So, Time was not linear. It was a tide: cyclic like the turning of the stars, the phases of the moon and the daily path of the sun.

Western society assumes that the past flows into the present and then to a future of endless possibilities. But until the 14th century, the 'future' did not exist. The word 'future' arrived in English due to Norman Conquerors, and comes via Old French, from the Latin futurus: about to be. The future is the product of invasion and domination!

When the West suppressed Wyrd-lore, it became future-oriented to the planet's detriment. Without Wyrd-lore governing decisions, the West has behaved with global recklessness.

Western sensibilities abhor living in the past, equating it with senility: the almost dead and buried. The future is liberating for those who want to escape haunting memory, but the future is a flimsy working of our imagination. Much of Western business practice is future-oriented guess-work: predicting and estimating, but like futures trading, the future can collapse. The tragedy is that the West's obsession with the future has drained the present of resources.

TELLING TALES

Just this morning Ngarrindjeri elder Clyde Rigney observed that the state of the lower lakes is an indicator of the failings of the River's governance in the last two centuries.

Lack of fresh water could be Skuld's gift-curse to make Australians pay attention to the present and examine the telling tales of their past.

Australian story-tellers notoriously have suppressed both the lore of this land and the lore of their own ancestors. Lore-less, Australia is lawless. Lore-less, the nation of Australia has little connection with 'cultural waters,' permitting them to be over-extracted, dammed and poisoned.

When will Australians realize that hoarded water suffers, becomes stagnant and unhealthy? The water that flows from our taps is subdued into lifelessness by kilometres of pipeline and chemical treatment.

When will Australians ensure that their water flows in a cycle, like the Wyrd, that is good for all? When will Australians stop stealing water?

Ngarrindjeri elder Tom Trevorrow warns: 'If our lands and waters die, if our, our birds and animals die, then we die. And until people can get that really securely in their mind that it's Mother Nature that's gotta come first, then, yeah, we haven't got a very bright future.'

And I think back to the stories that were told to me in at the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, about how the waterways connect us all, bring us all life.

I recall when Wiradjuri women led my daughter and I to a sacred women's place at the Murrumbidgee just out of Canberra. As we plunged into the pool, the nocturnal stories I'd been told washed through me. They reminded me that these clear fresh waters flow down into the Murray and eventually into the lakes and Coorong where I live. I realized that the good spirit of our happy gathering here would flow downstream too. And in that sacred place, each time my seven-year old daughter sang out like a Crow, the spirits replied on the wind. This Country was hearing us.

More stories told at the Aboriginal Tent Embassy by Wadjularbinna, a Gungalidda elder(from the Gulf of Carpentaria) come back to me now. She said to me: ‘You can’t live with all that bad spirit inside you.' She advised me to turn the bad spirits upside down; to draw out the good spirits with a sense of fun, of life and good actions.

And the thought comes: How can a River survive when the bad spirits of conquest are hoarded in dams, pools, and reservoirs, instead of flowing out to sea?

No wonder that by the time the water reaches us, the River has turned a deathly grey-green and is poisoned with heavy metals and high levels of salts.

Can we, as Australians and people of the Earth, learn to listen to the Lore of the Land? As Tom Trorrow says, 'It's Mother Nature that's gotta come first.'

We are all the offspring of Mother Nature. We humans are all Walking Trees of the Waters of Life. We each have a Tree of Life within us that we water each day to keep us alive: the cardio-vascular system. Our very being depends on the quality of water that flows through the tap. Can we take for granted how the water that flows into that tap is treated? Will our children one day recount a telling tale of how we let the River turn to desert? Or of how we restored the waterways to life?

Narrung

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

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Thursday, March 19, 2009

What the Murray's name perpetuates

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Telling Tales About Water

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