What is White Fella Dreaming Today?

Urban Grids

 Now that we have the cities, which suck so much power from the earth in order to provide the abundance of the eternal feast and the fuel for the pretty lights, what do we do next?

Go shopping?


White Fella Dreaming stands for less consumption. It celebrates riches within, to remind people of the incredible abundance we already have and that we always had, the opportunity to live as self-aware primates on a rare and wonderful planet in a bejewelled universe of exploding star dust.


White Fella Dreaming listens to the land and to the people of the land. The wise elders, who teach that we can all access the inner wisdom that also arises in the traditional ways – the intelligence of the earth and of the stars, of the other creatures and the voices (or ‘people’) of stone and wood, whispery air spirits and fluid water devas and fiery reminders of danger and endless power … gentle voices, explosive voices, swimming and flying and crawling and snuggling voices.

It’s time to find our way back to our own earthly wisdom and celestial intelligence. To our indigenous soul – at home right here and in the precious passing moments of our lives – and to whatever connection we retain to the eternal spark of life that manifests as us, in these bodies, in relation to all other creatures, with the responsibilities and freedoms this entails.


The city grids of that first image above, for all that they try to flatten out the rough edges of life in a linear cross hatch (so much easier to navigate when you have something to trade), still follow certain primal principles of life. The kind we see in the leaf and the pattern of capillaries that shift the juices of life from earth to flowering tip, from a core to the peripheries, from a place of power to a place of nourishment.

Everything that comes to life seems to want to grow – until it dies. Once we are beyond our prime (or the flush of youth), we continue to grow – psychologically, emotionally, ‘spiritually’ – to embrace more of life, more complexity and ambiguity and intangibility, to forgive more easily and to incarnate more generosity. (The best of us remember that we have that kind of growth keyed in from birth; we remember that true human maturity begins to flower as soon as we wake up to life and that it doesn’t just begin when we want something, or feel that we have lost something worldly.)


This is White Fella Dreaming today – transferring as much of our intent as possible from the shallow materialism of unsustainable consumption to the deep materialism of embodied spirituality, true to the earth and to its wisdom, as well as to the unlimited potential of celestial intelligence available to our minds, to the nourishment of fresh water and air, the wild beauty of the planet, the gift of friends and kin, the humble life-giving warmth of fire, the movement of dance, the contemplation of meditation, the joy of song and the immensity of art and the childish innocence of laughter (tickle someone today!), the warrior power of action in the world, the greatness of the ancestors, the deep currents of emotions and feelings within, everything everywhere, even in the folds of all the other dimensions within which we walk and talk and live and love and accept.

This is White Fella Dreaming today. Stay tuned for further updates.

White Fella Dreaming

 We thought we were making something beautiful.

Some more than others. The slaves always grumbled. The elite always won. The cities grew. The light shone out of the windows.

What were we chasing? That light. The way it made us feel. Filled with love, power, ecstasy. Overcoming. Transcendence.

But to make this all happen, we had to tap nature. Tap it, transform it, bank it, roll it up and smoke it.

And somehow we convinced ourselves we were going to get away with this.



Next come the lightning storms.

And we remember we need to find those things we always wanted – lover, power, ecstasy, overcoming, transcendence – here at home, on earth; without breaking the bank.

We might have already broken the bank – we’ve poisoned the soil, acidified the oceans, razed the forests, choked the skies – but we are still going to try and find those old things, those drives that rise spontaneously from within and without. So now we need to try and find them in a new way. While we still can.

With more of a feeling of being at home, here, without needing more stuff. Singing the song of the land and of the sea, of the fresh water and air and soil, with all the other creatures and the ancestors and the blood in our veins and the electricity of our thoughts and nervous system endings and the breath of life coming through us all the time like it always did.

And hopefully will keep coming.