Dance with sustainability


Garter snakes weave in between our efforts to maintain, they soak up the sun and ensure our mindful placement of garden tools and pitchforks. The patterns upon their skin create tricks of light and colour, creating angles and edges that camouflage and protect. Utilising edges like professional permies they giggle at the boxes: though lines may be etched below their eyes, they recognise the importance of fluidity. They are a beautiful calm on the hot days, watching the water recede from bean roots and leek loves. Summer’s touch is a beautiful joy as we a thawed of our incessant desires for hibernation and comfort. A weed is simply a plant out of place, as we all sometimes step into situations we realise we are maybe unwelcome in, it makes us no less an interesting wealth of knowledge. Within every rock, every plant, every cell we can see, read a history of knowledge: of medicine, a composition so intensely complex and yet overwhelmingly sensical.



So many hearts here beat passionate with a strength of action: of doing. A nurturing compassion that grows green love from the earth and a cascade of fresh milk may pour, quickly and calmly, into the cycle. The gentle mooing of the cows can calm even the most ferocious of wolf hazes, because in their eyes we can feel the love of mother earth. Within ripped clothes and muddied smiles we can embrace the action of change and impose ourself into life. It becomes impossible to untangle permaculture from every aspect of all that is, because all that is has come from nature, and all that is becomes observed. That we are able to be aware of the goings on, is the most beautiful blessing and curse. Through observation we can fully come to acknowledge the story that has been raging for millennia before us. From the rocks below our feet we may glimpse an insight into the layered past of our ancestors, and mimic the ingenuity, strength and fever for life.

file3And of course, do not forget that the problems are the solutions, the questions are the answers and the path is the destination. The whole contained within the microscopic can forget where it came from, but we can remind each other of the origins of all things. We are not soul inventors, each a snowflake that has already been invented we run to catch up with the glorious knowledge nature has written for us. Sometimes lost to our own demise and self-love we forget the truth, and it is ok. Take the slug-killer from your pots because it poisons your own bodies, and remember that slugs too are a part of the delectable cycle. With their own magnificent stories.


With hearts open


So many questions swirl within and around every small existence upon and within this beautiful world, this magical realm, this disgusting disgrace. How do we as beings who love with goodness, face the reality of ourselves. Ourselves in so much as we are every beating wing, and everyone is us. No this doesn’t distract from our beautiful diversity, but we must see through each other’s eyes if we are to truly understand. That understanding is hard, it is a beautiful thing to live amongst the trees, holding hands and making mistakes with fellow naked gypsy gardeners.

But is it running away?

To live far from the reaches of industrial waste, would we be unable to face the world we could return to? Or is it a bravery to stand and truly live the change? I do not have the answers, and I do not have the ability to judge those who have chosen both a hard and an effervescently beautiful life. There is a part of my soul that follows also, into the heart of dark light: into the trees and with the birds. I would gladly leave behind the rubbish of societies wake, pack my bags and leave the watchful eyes of big brother (ha, ha). It is a hardship to try to make it work within a system whose distaste runs ever present through our skin, whose solutions are tiny pills delivered with glazed eyes and a sinister smile, whose prozac runs amok through the waters of other nations. How can we not think of all the small beings without voices as loud as our machines, who swim in the contamination we love to keep out of mind?


We sit, and we listen: with our hearts, ears, minds, souls, eyes, and beings open. I watch the sparkling eyes of each of you, of each of us as we open ourselves to the golden wonders, the murky annoyances and the wonderful histories of each blade of grass. Each paddy field, each resident life. I can see the strength in our hardened smiles: the farmers hands rough as the stony grounds they cover, but soft as the sheep they keep on the edge of a feral life. The capitalist notions of ownership may not have tainted the ground we walk on yet, but the dogs of capitalism are kept at bay only by the distance, and the wilderness. Untangling the mysteries of the lands, the waters and the organisms we impose ourselves upon- thank you Tamara for such delicious representation- may take generations: but makes it no less poignant. No less necessary.