"For going out, I found, was really going in"

Monthly Newsletter | Australia, September 2024

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September already… Not sure how that happened!

Back in the Northern Hemisphere, this was my favourite month. Especially during my childhood growing up in the Mediterranean. The sea was still warm and the swarms of Anglo-Saxon tourists had gone. I loved the quiet and crisp mornings, the return of freshness to my imagination after the sleepy lull of summer.

September is harvest time, both literally and metaphorically. It was the month of the grain Mother, Demeter - when initiates were sworn into her Mysteries.

Here in the subtropics of Queensland, Australia, it’s the other way around. It’s as though summer just landed on us like a burst balloon, spilling a thick, pitiless heat over our lives. We live in a small cabin in the bush, without air conditioning, and this sudden heat is a stark reminder of last year’s summer and what awaits.

The snakes are out, waking from their winter dreaming. And nights burst with the orchestra of insect serenades.

And wow! A kangaroo just hopped past our pond (or Dusty’s bath as we like to call it!).

I’m writing to you today from my outdoor office. A few weeks ago I decided to take my desk outside, or, shall I say, inside - back into nature.

“For going out is really going in,” wrote the nineteenth-century mountaineer John Muir (1838).

I’ve nestled my desk under the giant mango tree, grateful for its dappled shade, and overlooking the knitted bushland below the small hill our cabin sits on.

I am surrounded by eucalypts, banana trees, the occasional acacia and a meshing of fern, wild raspberry bushes and twisting vines.

Out here, as I’m sitting still for hours, kingfishers have started landing on the electric poles above my desk, hunting for worms and relieving me of some of these summer-loving mosquitos.

Sometimes I hear rustling in the undergrowth that surrounds the house, and I don’t know what it is. A cane toad or a bush rat, or if I’m lucky, an echidna. I got to see one when I first arrived, scuttling under our banana trees, and haven’t seen one since.

And sometimes I feel watched by snakes. There’s no way to describe how I know this. If you’ve ever felt the presence of a snake without seeing one, or just before seeing one, you’ll know what I mean. They must have an enormous energy field. Something on the back of my neck stands up every now and then, and I’ve now been here long enough to know it means snake.

Dusty has developed a snake bark, too. It’s a sort of bark-growl, and he completes it with a snake dance. It’s very cute. He keeps his body very still whilst lowering his head and swaying it from side to side like a snake-charmer.

The bush speaks without words. Sometimes she is hostile, and sometimes welcoming. When I go for morning walks, sometimes I stop in my tracks and know to go no further. A white cockatoo will screech in a certain way and I’ll know it’s time to head back.

Other times I’m just about to head into the house after perching by my bees with my morning tea, and I’ll have a hunch not to go inside just yet. And then the screech of a flock of black cockatoos will fly overhead like stingrays of the sky, and it is one of the most religious experiences I have here.

This wildness is what informs my writing. It rouses the instinctual and primitive in me, and draws me back into the invisible tapestry that holds all of life together.

Here, I can hear the songlines, the mythlines, and the under-currents of ancient lore. My animal snout decalcifies and picks up on scents my human mind can’t keep up with.

I have access to a raw, unbridled alertness, an unmixed attention that Simone Weill calls prayer.

Since I got back from my field trip to Indonesia, I’ve slowly been piecing together my research and look forward to sharing some of it when it’s ready.

And of course, I’ve been cracking on with my book. It was really great to dedicate the month of July to it- it moved me forward a fair bit.

Finally, as next month will be Under a Fig Tree’s two-year birthday (how?!), I’m reflecting on the last couple of years and the future of my publication.

I’d really love to hear from you!

So I’m opening the floor here to you, dear readers - i.e. the comment section!

Your thoughts… your feedback… what you would like to see more of… perhaps even things that you would like done differently.

I’m thinking about the format of my posts, and wonder if you prefer a shorter weekly entry or a longer one every fortnight?

I’m also wondering how to make my work more accessible, whilst also ensuring I can still make a living from it.

I’ve received a few messages from free subscribers over the past months wanting access to my full archive, but expressing a lack of funds to do so.

Please let me know if you are on the same boat. This way I can gage if that’s a common issue and will consider adjusting my rate.

Perhaps if there are more of you who upgrade your subscriptions it would allow for me to lower the price. So if this is your case, please let me know in the comments or in a private message.

I will take all your reflections into consideration.

Now as usual, here is the poetry offering and my upcoming event announcements.

Wishing you all warmth, deep, bone belonging, and the prickling of the animal ear that hearkens to the old language of the soul of the world.

With love,

Gabriela

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Poetry Offering

What Kind of God?
by Kabir
From “Love Poems from God: Sacred Voices from the East and West”. Translated by Daniel Ladinsky, 2002.

What kind of God would He be
if He did not hear the
bangles ring on
an ant’s
wrist

as they move the earth
in their sweet
dance?

And what kind of God would He be
if a leaf’s prayer was not as precious to creation
as the prayer His own son sang
from the glorious depth
of his soul –
for us.

And what kind of God would He be
if the vote of millions in this world could sway Him
to change the divine
law of
love

that speaks so clearly with compassion’s elegant tongue,
saying, eternally saying:

all are forgiven – moreover, dears,
no one has ever been
guilty.

What
kind of God would He be
if He did not count the blinks
of your
eyes

and is in absolute awe of their movements?

What a God – what a God we
have.

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Upcoming Online Events

Firstly, a reminder that the deadline to apply for The Bee Priestesses is coming up this Monday, September 2nd. The program begins on Sunday, September 8th.

Please see the link for all the details of the modules, dates, content and cost.

September 2nd | New Moon Rite

September 29th | Dismemberment Ceremony

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