Wild Sovereign Development Site

Tag: Abbott

  • splinters

    splinters

    An Abbott and two Bishops. Are we actually being governed by some weird splinter faction of the Catholic Church?

  • great barrier grief

    I feel so ashamed and disgusted and frightened at what’s happening in my country. The inhuman way the world’s oldest civilization are treated. The lack of generosity towards people needing help who arrive on our shores. The decision to dump dredging waste from the expansion of a coal port within the National Park created to protect the world’s largest living organism, the Great Barrier Reef. The carte blanche offered to quick-buck miners who gouge what they can from our ancient resources – I’m including forest-strippers and tree-pulpers here as ‘miners’ – at the cost of sacred sites, irreplaceable rock art, and whole mountains which have withstood millenia but crumble before the dreary dollar. The cars stoked with air conditioning in which we transfer ourselves from one over-stuffed mansion to the next. Malls filled with landfill. Food which is hardly food, young people’s beauty marred by the treacherous marbling fat that comes from addiction to additives and inactivity, trans fats and sugar. We are so rare and beautiful and our earth, on whose surface we are still a minority, exquisite beyond words. There is more microbial life in a teaspoon of soil than there are humans who have ever lived, all counted together. My heart is sick and heavy and I don’t know how to drag us to the point where how we live remembers that.

  • Survival Day

    Survival Day gleanings. This is what I cleaned out of my bag after we got home. Started out to hear the speeches and to march, ended up with our hearts broken and opened up all over again, robust in anger and delicately rejoicing, heart flooded like mangrove roots with a myriad various Indigenous faces including people I’d had warm contact with in the past and hadn’t thought of as Indigenous until we met again in this context, fringes of greenery shaping the old wood lace under the eaves of beautiful Jagera Hall every time I looked up to give my mind a digestion break from John Pilger’s movie, bellyful of sweet crumbling smooth bunya nuts and lilipillies, whole handsful of intensely beautiful gleanings from overhead and underfoot. The ones that caught my eye today were the colours of blood, resistance, kidney, heart, lung, fury. Oh and we brought home a bird. Just a tiny baby wattle bird, who fell down out of the overhanging tree onto a lane of the road as we passed and was kept alive in a sun hat filled with grasses and fed on pulped lilipilly and coaxed to take little beaky sips of water fed to it on a stalk of grass. He seemed to bond instantly with my companion and rode home serenely – we walked, under starlight and bursts of fireworks – on an outstretched finger. By the time we had reached the river he was asleep, with his scrappy head tucked into his fledging feathers, bobbing gently as we went along. Yesterday he rode around the house on his new, male, mum’s shoulder and began to let out lovely peeps. Today he is feeling more adventurous and is being given flying lessons, in German, by a man with no feathers, no beak, and no wings.