“There’s a lot you don’t know.” It’s a quote in which has swirled my mind during the week as I spend time watching kilometres tick over. Maybe, after the years of denial in fear, our Aboriginal blood has sang to the remainder of my Grandmother’s body. Maybe now the secrets and trauma can start to heal. Maybe the minds are changing, and the rest can flourish.
The words of rap songs found comfort to the soul this afternoon, after feeling the pain and connecting over ground that sometimes feels left better forgotten. The realness and closeness of issues often bring out the fight, bring out the struggle and the reason why. Maybe that’s what those old people feel like I need, more connection. More recognition and research of my past. Truth telling across this drying landscape.
A totem, smoke affected, found refuge through scare techniques early on this week, as this little Kookaburra needed rescuing to continue life. It’s a stark reminder of the land, hurting. Hurting from the dry, the people and our mark upon the land. Once we moved and burnt, storing landscapes for the next season. Yet now this vast nation burns and forces movement.
In between work and sleep, renovations slowly continue on the new home. Awaiting trades, there’s a little more that we can get to this weekend before the next stage. All while Polly takes it in her stride to relax and catch up on sleep for the little puppy.
And then the travel hit, back to early mornings met by late nights. Across Worimi lands with protection of youth, met by new plans to then rehabilitation. A cycle.
I’m back home now, gearing up for what’s next. And pondering, what else don’t I know…