The Moon in Australian Aboriginal and White Fella Dreaming

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In many indigenous myths, the moon waxes and wanes because of the greed or selfishness of an ancestor spirit. Whether lusting after an unavailable romantic partner or feeding endlessly on a special foodstuff, often sweet, this character ends up displaced into the night sky, forever to repeat the pattern of unrestrained appetite, to fullness, to the wasting away that is its cosmic recompense. Ultimately, the moon/character is reborn, but this act of seeming divine forgiveness is once again sharpened by the karmic lesson it must teach us mere mortals; endlessly, the greedy one must repeat their transgressions and pay the price. It won’t learn, which should be enough of a reminder to us that we must – unless we also want to repeat destructive patterns forever.

 

We all know traditional cultures, including our own, looked to the night sky and told stories about what was seen there. Can we, as moderns with scientific knowledge, still learn from these stories? Part of what White Fella Dreaming seeks to do is to draw those threads together; to be true to what we know of the world and ourselves, today (as Campbell exhorted), but also to learn from wisdom traditions at the same time. We know the moon waxes and wanes according to its orbits around the earth and the earth’s cycles around the sun. But the old stories mean a great deal, if we are prepared to listen. They can put us back in touch with the laws of nature, both inner, in the human psychic world, and outer, in the environment. How? Check it out.

 
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The greedy character acts against others in order to fulfill their desires. The endless loop of their gratification and demise in the sky teaches us to take care of others when we act upon our appetites. This applies whether our tastes run to sweet nectar from the trees or that gorgeous young lady who is already promised to another, or who loves another, or who has the wrong skin name. (Interestingly, in Australian Aboriginal mythologies, the moon is often male.) The moon’s constant demise in the second half of its cycle, from fullness to death, teaches us to curb our desires, to let it go, to recognize that our appetites won’t always be sated. Same goes with the fruits of the land; in the hunter/gatherer world of feast and famine, it doesn’t do to long for more of a crop that is going to be lean this season, or to let others go hungry, or to force them to work for your greedy desires … others must be considered, if we are to act in a civilized, sociable manner. Tighten the belt, accept a measure of suffering, give up on something you thought you had to have, allow your desires to be ‘educated’ (as suggested by utopian theorists Miguel Abensour and Ruth Levitas).

 

We don’t only have something to learn in regards to our inner lives here. We also need to relearn the lessons provided by the long days feast and famine that are coded into our cultural codes; to curb our material appetites, in order to align our human ways with the laws of nature and be true to the earth again. The oil bubble, combined with the industrial revolution, working on top of large-scale agricultural civilizations, has led us to an era of unprecedented plenty. It’s hard to exaggerate how much this means: in the privileged centres of western (and any technologically advanced) societies today, we are gorged on an eternal feast in cities of light. This is an entirely new level of abundance and one that we cannot deny for its power. We are drawn to it like primate moths to a flame. And I am not merely suggesting a move away from abundance, technology, modern life or our highest hopes for al humanity here. But what I am suggesting, as I listen to the moon – exactly at mid-point in its phase tonight over Eltham, a perfect semi-circle lit against the night sky and the ringtail possum walking the tightrope of an electric wire past my front verandah – is that we need to remind ourselves of the cost of this feast. We are the ravenous man now. Modern global civilization is acting as if it can have everything and will not have to ay for its greed and selfishness. And we know, in our hearts, that this is true. I’m just reporting that the wisdom traditions still speak that truth. Go outside at night and listen to the moon. It will tell you; restrain your desires and think of the earth’s others. Or accept the same destiny as befell all of those that have come before you, who were placed in the sky to remind you of the danger. Before it’s too late.

 

 

Images: purchased from one of those megacorporation places. Sometimes i do it.

The Modern Goddess

I’ve been waiting for a powerful dream to contact you with next. Finally, she came last night. I didn’t call her in, or pray for her help, or undertake any of that kind of begging. (Not that I couldn’t be accused of resorting to these tactics at other times, mind you.) She just slipped in, quietly, mysteriously, to watch the human drama unfold. Was she touched? I couldn’t tell. If our sets of agonizing, playful, colourful actions had any effect on her at all, she didn’t show it. But now that I have made contact – or rather, she with me, or better still She with my Dreaming – I’ll be sure to go back and ask. After doing ritual, natch. She deserves respect. I’ll call her the Modern Goddess and ask her what she thinks. What we should be doing. To intervene. In the drama – helping, where we can, like Kwan Yin or Avalokiteshvara, or Sweet Blessed Mother Mary, or any other dispenser of compassion beyond understanding. But also to maintain balance within ourselves, to play our part in being intelligent animals in touch with the sacred, informed by it, trying to walk in it.

 

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We were in a large, open auditorium. It was regally plush, with rich, deep green velour wallpaper, accentuated by golden trim. There’s a stage nearby and as there is about to be a performance of some sort, I look for a good seat. Behind the stage is a set of ornate chairs and benches, which seem to face the action. So I head over there and, being first to arrive, choose a fine seat with crimson velvet upholstery. Very nice, I think, until I see another man pass me and head up to much better seats above. He asks me what I am doing down here as he takes up the second best seat in the house; it is a high-backed chair, right next to a magnificent throne, of dark materials so rich they are obviously meant for royalty and no less, which is placed top and centre of the dais upon which we will sit. I am emboldened by the other man and take up the equally regal chair on the other side of the throne.

 

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The rest of the seats fill up as the lights go down in preparation for the action. Just at this moment a woman enters silently from behind us and takes her place in the throne. It feels exactly right, although there is nothing to indicate what she looks like or why she seems so comfortable in this place of honour. The play begins in small scenes enacted in different places around the auditorium. It’s a piece of theatre with ‘shifting’ sets, a postmodern piece that decentres the point from which the audience views the action, including them in the drama.

 

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When my consciousness shifts from the reality of this otherworld to the everyday, waking one, I wonder why she was so silent and so unannounced. Is She humble? Perhaps She is so powerful that She requires no introduction, as they say. Does She care? While I see no evidence of this, I ask myself why She would come at all if she had no interest in our human drama, which also has such a profound effect, now, on the state of the rest of the planet. I hold gently the awareness that I am her left hand man; a subtle contrast to the right hand man of the patriarchal Father, the warrior who carries out His orders regardless of feelings like compassion or pity. From here, I get to feel everything, and serve Her with conscience, finding balance between the God and Goddess powers within and without. She asks not for my unthinking devotion; quite the opposite. I am forced to think for myself, to make decisions based on whatever information I have at hand, to feel for the Earth and to remain loyal to its people, to choose to fight for them. She does not need to see the pendulum swing against the Sacred Masculine, for she is already awaiting us, at the centre, holding His hand, married to the light from her sacred abode in the darkness. She is the silent, unnamed Tao, which does not require defense. And She calls us on to the good fight, which is carried out in our own hearts and minds and souls and bodies first, and then in the world; paradoxically, at the same time. It’s a matter of intent and clarity of action. Blessings Be and welcome to the tribe, She says, and I follow her.

 

 

Images: 1. By Munna (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons. 2. By Jebulon (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons. 3. See page for author [CC BY 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Becoming Deep Ecology

From Ecocrit to DEGeoff Berry presenting at the OASES Breakfast Seminar

This brief video explains a little about Deep Ecology; especially, what it does. In it, Geoff Berry, of White Fella Dreaming, describes the shift from being an ecocritic to becoming a deep ecologist. The key to this shift is around the lives we lead; being true to Deep Ecology means taking action, as well as accepting an idea, and hence using philosophy as the medicine with which we constantly remake ourselves as ‘sacred animals.’ While ecocriticism gives us great tools to deconstruct and decolonise our minds, it still leaves us outside our own stories according to Berry. As an example, an ecocritic analyses literature and film from ancient to modern, religious to scientific, to examine what it says about human relations with the rest of nature – while Deep Ecology asks us to take up the challenge of living as if we really were loyal to all aspects of nature.

Berry believes that by taking Deep Ecology seriously, we can regain access to wisdom traditions and experiences that enable us to live in accord with a higher, deeper, greater version of ourselves, which is always waiting to be birthed into life. This involves us in having our own practices as well as learning as much as we can from indigenous epistemologies and the ways of nature mysticism. This presentation was made at the famous OASES Breakfast Seminar series in Hawthorn (Melbourne, Australia) on Saturday 7th February 2015. There were some good questions and Geoff thanks the OASES community for keeping this tradition of public speaking alive and inspiring a very healthy crowd to engage with this ecospiritual material.