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I arrived in Australia three weeks ago, having extended my stay in Dominica so that I could enjoy my new-found sense of harmony and happiness in my little house in the Bush.   I concede that it normally takes me some while before I home in on the essential experiences I am, unknowingly, looking for.   I know there's a lot more I could add now to my last article, but I have moved on and am now trying to make head or tail of this huge continent.
It's strange how aware one seems to be of the size of the landmass around you.   Here I feel aware, sitting some 30 kms from Australia's most easterly point - Byron Bay, of the vast, vast expanses of scarcely populated land between me and the west coast.   Just tracing out the distances in the Atlas it appears to be about the same as London to Iraq.

As I said, I've been here three weeks which have turned out somewhat differently from what I imagined.   The principle difference is the weather.   I've only been here in the Summer before and I held illusions about winter days being about as warm as a mild English summer. In fact, when the sun does come out it is warm enough to wear shorts and T-shirt, but the evenings are cool enough at the moment to have to wear a warm jacket to sit outside, and you wouldn't want to do that for too long.
I didn't count on the heaviness of the rainfall in what should, by now, be the dry season. It seems that this is a global pattern.   When flicking through world weather maps on the internet heavy cloud cover appears to dominate the planet.

So, instead of touring around in the Kombi, leading a leisurely traveler's life on the road, exploring and getting to know places, we are based here in Rosebank on the flank of a green and forested valley, a private little world of rain, mist and reflection.   It emphasizes the sense of being cut off, isolated.   My thoughts are reflected back to me from the other side of the valley and we are all experiencing a sense of being in limbo.   I consider and reconsider what I am doing here. I am not here as a simple tourist, as I, essentially, was in Dominica.   I'm here on a 'mission' that started unfolding in October 98.   Little glimpses, the inner voice and a conversation helped to lay the foundations of a project to buy some land in Australia within the energy field of a nodal or linking point on the network that connects it to other points in Australia, to the rest of the world...and beyond.
What I'm looking for is a Sacred Site!   Well, if you've read my first article 'How to spot a Sacred Site', you might expect that I'd developed a bit of a nose for it, but due to the circumstances I have mentioned, and others I have not, I confess to finding it difficult piercing through the veils to find the place.   In fact, I'm feeling rather dis-placed.

The rain ceases and a couple of flocks of birds pass through the valley in the minutes before dusk.   Others, settling in the trees, call out in their distinctive, exotic, far-reaching voices, calling and connecting.
On this huge island perhaps it is the birds who create the web, who bring it all together, who harmonize the continent.   I know it is they who connect me most strongly to Australia.

There is a somewhat esoteric tome, called 'La Vraie Langue Celtique' written by the Henri Boudet about a hundred years ago in France.   In it he talks about the 'language of the birds' in terms of learning about the nature of a place from the individual syllables that make up its name.   It is true that names are a definite clue to the energy of a place.   After all, Rosebank is a nice spot.   And who would want to live in Stoker's Siding? (Except for railway enthusiasts)?




 

 

 


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