mahlifern

[mahlifern]

A Great and Intimate Story of Now: Who wears the Crown?

Blessing from a soft leaf 

When death and despair crush our Souls;

Leaving us in a puddle of fear, Grasping for that last square of two-ply.

When the tiny terrors of our world,, Slowly assemble a great monster

That charges through our news channels Into our fearful hearts and minds.

What choices are we left with?

What questions must we ask?

How can this soft leaf teach me

That everything I need

Is right

Here

Friends we are now in the grips of a great pandemic. The Monster that wears the Crown has assembled itself, and is now sweeping through our physical, digital, emotional and psychological worlds. It is exposing the fragility of our social and economic structure, our lack of toilet paper, and the fragility of our own bodies, hearts and minds. We may look to our technological, political and information sharing systems for answers; for a Hero or Heroine to reclaim the Crown, to quell our fears. But what are we really likely to find there? 

What is the truth of this demon? 

From where does it draw its power…?

Where does that Hero truly lie? 

What are these times asking of us and what opportunities may lie hidden within their recesses?

And, finally, what is it telling us of the greater story we are living; both individual, and collective? 

I am not the Keyholder. I am no expert. I am just like you. So whatever wisdom might come through here, is not mine, but the same that exists in all of us… Yet my story is as valid as any, and so I choose to share it. I would like to speak of fear, love and of that which unifies and empowers us all in these times. 

If we were to scroll backwards through our last 6 months of social media; what patterns would we see emerge? No doubt fire, then flood, then the one who wears the Crown, would be found strewn across most of our screenscapes. Peppered amongst these topics might be our anger towards our incapable leadership and of course, the greatest story of our times; climate shifts and the death of our natural planet. If we were to tally the troops of hope versus despair; I dare say the latter would amass a much greater army… though of course I AM generalising.

Hidden amongst it all might be some less valued, yet possibly more important, personal stories. Of the lives we are living, right here, right now, day to day. Food, babies, dogs and socially valued outings are of course a given. Yet I am talking about those moments that communicate a much more intimate existence. Experiences which touch and move our hearts, challenge or inspire our Souls, and reveal our universal struggle to live a connected life. Such stories are often hidden from the world because they expose a tenderness, a vulnerability and the possibility of rejection. Yet these are our true stories… often told in poetry or art, tears and laughter…. They expose who we are in a dangerous climate, and so perhaps Twitter is not necessarily the place to reveal them. However they must find a home, and I would venture that they may indeed be the swords we best take into battle as we face the great Monsters of our times.

And so let us look at this Monster; for, just as the Buddha faced Mara, Jesus the Devil, and the Avengers Thanos (a derivative of Thanatos, the Greek personification of Death)… our mythopoetic history makes it clear... facing the demon is the only pathway to liberation. But what maketh a Monster? 

Is it their size? The Crown bearer is smaller than the eye can imagine… 

Is it their strength? Can a nightmare move a mountain, or even a grain of sand? 

Perhaps it is nothing to do with the Monster itself, only the place it occupies in our own psyche. 

I have avoided using a name thus far, though it appears that avoidance is no solution, in fact that is arguably the most nutrient dense food we can feed a demon. Coronavirus COVID-19. There I said it. Hmmm, perhaps not as dangerous a word to speak as I had imagined… or is it? What does your body do when it hears those words? Where does your mind go? Does it speak to you of statistics; that perhaps half the world are likely to contract this virus, and if so 1 in, say, 50 are likely to fall at its clawed hands? That there are currently 200 cases reported in your country, state, city? That gatherings of over 500 pose an unacceptable risk, but education, business and economic growth must continue as usual… 

Perhaps instead it speaks to you of a loved one, whose job, age, or health might place them much more directly in the monster's path. Perhaps you are that loved one. For me, it is no doubt the latter two that is the stuff of nightmares. Am I ready to lose my beloved family members? Am I ready to lose my own life?

Let us then zoom out again; and witness another great “monster” of our times; the Climate Crisis. Having named it as such does it lose or gain power? Again it depends on the heart of the receiver. And again we might be drawn into the world of statistics; surrounding melting ice, rising sea levels, desertification, climate refugees, species loss, hectares or bushland taken by fires…. And on… and on…. and on. And of course, we might also turn our hearts to stories of sacred places of our childhood, once brimming with the verdant goddess of nature and her creatures, many known personally to us… now destroyed, or at risk. Or the heartbreak of a friend who lost everything, when those fires and floods swept through their home. Perhaps increasingly it will be the loved one who was lost. Or perhaps it is you.

I begin to paint a grand picture of the great monsters of our times, and a mosaic of the personal losses we are likely encountering… day to day, week to week. Yet friends I am not here to add fear to the fire. Our politicians, news channels, and wounded parts of our Self are doing a good enough job of that… so let me share some thoughts on the possibilities that are on offer right now… and how that links to the only Hero we can truly empower… the Hero inside of all of us.

I read today of the huge reduction that Coronavirus measures has had on the carbon emissions of the Chinese nation. Of the slow in economic growth and the positive immediate impacts it has had on the environment. I have also heard them sing in the dark hours of the night; confined to the cells that are their homes… yet connected by hope and struggle. 

I have witnessed the collective and communal efforts that town after town experienced, in response to the bush fires that burnt our Country. Of how it brought people together, and brought light and life to the fight against climate crisis. And of friends who have walked their lands since the rains came, and been brought to tears by the green life that has re-emerged, and the little survivors that are still moving through the land.

Woven into it all; I have had friends, loved ones and family, share their day to day struggles, and victories, as they work with the mystery and madness of life. These stories are often told in much more intimate spaces.. A long car journey, a walk in the forest, a small campfire… a long overdue phone call. Some of you reading or listening to this would be counted amongst those.

I want to now bring this strange tangle of threads together. 

What I am witnessing in my world (external and internal); is the eternal story of life, loss and love. Of the unavoidable struggle to survive, to find purpose, to accept the truth of death and loss, and to choose to love anyway. At the core of it all is a human’s irrepressible longing for deep connection. Connection to their Earth, their community, their life’s purpose and for those courageous enough, their true self. When we witness the effect that Monsters like Coronavirus have on those things… we respond. And we usually base those responses on either fear, or love. Or perhaps both. For it is love of our world, which creates a deep fear of loss.

FRIENDS LET US LOOK AT THAT FEAR… it is that same fear we experienced when our mother left us for the first time, when our father was not there to protect us from a threat, when we had to face death of a loved one, or our own death. It is the same fear that runs through our lives and keeps us small; avoiding following or revealing our hearts, revealing vulnerabilities and joining in on the game, speaking our mind, standing up for what we believe in, or being honest about our inability to cope with something in our lives.

We can project that fear out onto the world; and create monsters of a grand scale - that push us into anxiety, anger, panic or numbness. Then we can take this into our world, or run away from it. Either way it trickles into the collective energy… and feeds the Monsters still.

Alternatively, we can look at those projections, and ask ourselves where they truly reside…. what is really at risk here? What am I truly afraid to lose? 

I dare say it will turn our attention away from the mass story, and back to the personal one. To the places and people we live with, day in, day out. To those intimate spheres of existence where we must play local Hero. Where we must feel into and accept all of the crazy fucking emotions and thoughts that pass through our beings, and continue anyway. Here is our true battle ground. Here we need to call on our inner Hero again and again, and do whatever it takes to love, in spite of the risks of loss. For those losses are the greatest we will feel. 

Yet here the old saying, it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, rings so deeply in our human hearts. For what greater tragedy, than to have withheld our love, not just for others, but for ourselves… when we might have instead opened.

And so to bring it back to the great collective story; the one where Crown wearing Monsters strike fear and panic into the world, or we feel the great despair of the loss of our natural Earth mother… for here the two intertwine beautifully; as represented by the un-expected effects that a global monster can have.

Firstly, it unites us, it brings to awareness that we are indeed all intimately connected to each other and everything. A beautiful realisation that yearns for deepening, through exploring the greater mystery of existence of spiritual connection and of the expansiveness of our self.

However, I think more importantly right now, it brings us home. Confined and crowded public spaces no longer serve.... Nor do social obligations, or journeys of great distance. We begin to rely on what is local, at the physical, social and emotional level. Reduced emissions and localisation aside, this is a beautiful thing. If we are forced to retract our sphere of existence to our own backyard; literally contained to our home, or family or to the intimacy of small groups… then we are given a great opportunity. To fully bring ourselves, present and vulnerable, into those places and to CONNECT. This is where our inner Hero might truly save our life, and the planet, in the same graceful movement.

Freed from our external claws of distraction we might sit with the trees and birds in our backyard, tend to our garden beds, drink tea with a neighbour, wander the quiet bushlands or beaches in our homelands or take to localised travel, by foot and bicycle, wherever we are called. In it we might share much more intimate experiences not just with our loved ones, but with our neighbours, the natural world, and of course our Self. And although there will be challenges; financial, relaitional, personal… there will likely be terror and panic... and there will be death, always... yet with the reminder that death is an ever present companion in the walk of life, we might be asked to surrender a little more into these precious moments of intimacy. Into our true Hero Self. And Reclaim our Crown. For what is a life lived if not in this place, this moment, this body, this Soul?

[mahlifern]

When the Water Dropped

I don't quite remember the beginning. It's cloudy. More of a feeling. Floating; warm and safe in Mumma's belly. Until the heaviness began to come. Then the Great Storm: a flash of lightning, the roar of thunder and the imminent separation. I know I fought it with everything I had. But I couldn't hold on...

My first waking memory was the fall. The fear; terror. What lasted only moments felt like forever. Down down down and then.... blackness.I woke in a puddle. Confused and cold. Others were there too. Some older ones where looking after them. They helped me too. Showed me their world.There I learnt to play. I made friends. I dreamed and imagined. Heard stories of strange creatures in far off places. And of the Great Ocean beyond. Life settled in. Others came; and some left... "Where to?" I wondered, with a mix of curiosity, and fear. I found out soon enough. When one day a great storm roared and flooded us with new arrivals I was once more lifted, fighting with all the terror I held, away from my home. I was rolled, bashed, bruised and beaten into a darkness. 

I woke for a second time, and found myself in a much bigger pool. I felt tiny. Vulnerable. It didn't take long: rules, hierarchies, responsibilities. I became one of the many. In part, I found a place I belonged. I found love of a sort. But comfort set in and I found my addictions. Forgot my dreams, and the stories of life beyond.

Well, almost. 

For the day came when I started to remember. I remembered stories of the mythical Ocean beyond. For the first time in my life I wanted to leave. To step off the edge. The fear was still there. It terrified me. But I had to. When the next storm surged I took my chance. Over the edge I went, down the waterfall and into the Great Stream. Equal parts excitement and horror filled my heart. But my goodness, the things I began to witness! The stories were true. As I flowed along that great highway I experienced something extraordinary, again and again and again. I got hooked.  I began to wander off into side streams where strange arts were practiced, where stories of the Great Ocean were told by those who had seen. I had to find it. I caught glimpses of it here and there, in my dreams. I pushed hard, seeking, searching, seeking. Too hard, too fast. I didn't see the Great Drop. Over the edge I went again, this time when I landed on that hard, cold stone, it that shattered me. I floated around a broken being. Lost. Confused. I drifted back to old habits, old addictions. Holding on tightly to whatever I could. Darkness swallowed me and I gave up.

Not knowing what to do I cried out for help.... somewhere,something must have heard my call. Or I heard its call. "Surrender," it whispered in the distance, "Into the fear, do not fight it". I closed my eyes, and let go. A wildness drew me away, towards the sound of its howl. Soon, I met others who heard the same voice. Together we began to explore, wandering with openness, rather than desire. Things began to come back to me. A feeling long lost. I began to feel my connection to those around me. To the Great River. I began to trust again. It knew where to take me. I just needed to flow with it. And flow I did. The more I let go, the more I witnessed, the more I noticed. All of this around and beyond me? "It's always been there". "You just needed to let go and listen". Whose voice was that? Was it my own?

As I meandered forever eastward, the river grew, and so too did my heart. I began to see it in my dreams again. To feel it.To taste its saltiness. And eventually, I saw it. The Great Ocean. My Sacred River carried me towards it like a child into a world beyond imagining. Of course the fear was there when it did. Powerful. I wanted so badly to turn around. For a time I held the banks and watched as others flowed out, pretending it didn't exist...  (I think this is where I am right now!)

But eventually I surrendered, and was delivered into its arms.As I rolled around in its waves, bobbed up and down on its ripples, traveled across vast distances in its currents, I expanded. I became less I, and more Omn"I". I explored this with all of my senses, all of my heart. The stories were true. The Great Ocean held us in a place of deep connection, and I became part of it. I became IT. (and this is where I would like to be :) )

I grew old in that ocean. I got to know it and all within it as one knows their own body. It was my body. A time came when I was ready for one more adventure. One evening, I lay on its surface, watching the sun in the sky and began to feel the tingle. A warm light flooding through my beingness. It began to lift me once more. I closed my eyes, and said goodbye. I felt my body break into a thousand tiny particles. A felt myself drawn towards the light of the sun. I opened my eyes and found myself, or what was once my 'self', floating once more, warm and safe, inside Mumma's belly. Only this time, I understood. I was not I at all. When the next Great Storm came, I was ready.

[mahlifern]

Nature 2 - An adventure into the wilds.

[mahlifern]

The Snake and The Basket

I hold here a basket. First one I ever wove. What do you think?

Sure it has a few unusual bulges here and there, a few bits sticking out where they shouldn’t, maybe not woven quite as tight as it could be. But I love it. It was woven with love, the support of a great woman, and a tribe of kindred spirits. I think it is perfect in it’s imperfection. And it represents a journey, it holds things more powerful even than the fire sticks inside, though they themselves hold magic and mystery…

I created it at a course I recently completed; a 10-day immersion in primitive skills and culture run by Nature Philosophy on wild land west of Coffs Harbour. 6 days building our skills and relationship to the place, each other, and ourselves, then a 3-day trip on country trying to live as close to the old ways as a group of modern Australians could manage…

Deep stuff really. Many stories, many lessons emerged. Let me tell you about one that stood out for me…

The first night I arrived, I decided to sleep in a primitive lean to we had built on an earlier course; thatched roof, leaf bedding, open face to catch the sunrise. I awoke the next morning as rays of light started to trickle over the hill to the east and looked around sleepily. To my shock and surprise I had a visitor. There coiled up in the corner of my shelter was a beautiful Diamond Back Python. After getting over my initial fear I felt a sense of gratitude to have such a being come and share the night with me.

 ‘Hullo friend, what message do you bring?’ I pondered.

Snakes and serpents. Ominous creatures indeed. Many cultures, many views. Was this a sign of danger, the fall from grace, fears of night shadows? The rebirth and transformation of the shedding skin? Or something more?

Not yet fluent in parsel tongue I was unable to interpret the serpent symbology yet, but in time the significance of this creature emerged. In many powerful ways…

The days that followed were filled with weaving, crafting, carving, shaping and moulding earth materials into objects of beauty and purpose. Baskets and bowls, spears and clubs, cordage and bags… even the sacred spinning of primitive fire. Alongside this, practices of deep listening and awareness that attuned us to the energies moving within ourselves, each other, the nature around us and the mysterious space in between. Challenges were set that brought both frustration and breakthrough. Old fears and stories would come up, and were building with the knowledge of the imminent adventure into the wild. I felt them manifest in strong resistance, a desire to run, turning to ‘comforts’ of food, warmth, retreat and even self-defeat. What if I wasn’t strong enough? Capable enough? Worthy of the group? Each time they did, I felt disconnected, stuck.

 Thankfully, due to the holding of our guides, the support of the group, and the mysterious workings of nature, I moved through some of these walls, and a sense of excitement and curiosity began to balance the fears of what was to come. The bonds between the tribe were strengthening, so too our connection to the land.

 On the final day of preparation, we were given a challenge that would secure these bonds. Blindfolded, as one, we were to move across the earth and up a creek. A ‘snake walk’ it was called. Only the changing ‘head’ of the snake was allowed the sense of sight, the rest of us had to trust and follow, one hand placed upon the shoulder of the person in front.

It took some time to find our rhythm, our flow. People slipped and stumbled, the line was broken. Yet slowly, surely, we began to drop into the movement. With all manner of emotions pumping through my body I breathed into the silence and listened to my surrounds. When it was my turn to lead, I laughed at the obstacle I had to navigate; a fallen tree across our creek path. Although I tried to take us under, the message got lost and some had to scramble over causing confusion and a little chaos. I felt that old voice of failure piping up, and the dark sensation that accompanies it. But, this time I would not let that story dominate. I shrugged it off, knowing I had chosen with good intent, and the group still managed to continue, until we eventually emerged from the creek successful. Bonded. United.

That night we snaked our way into a ceremonial sweat lodge in final preparation for our time on country. Sitting in circle, we shared our prayers and intentions for the upcoming adventure. The heat was intense. The sentiment equally so. Heartfelt words were shared as the ancestor stones sat burning hot in the centre, doused by water from the creek. Though, ironically, it was perhaps the song we sang together, an unlikely theme of the camp, that would remain in the hearts and minds of the group as we stepped out the next day… it sure stuck in my head. Ah the incessant Sound of Music classic… “Doe a deer a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun…” Haha, a true tribal chant! Don’t get much more primitive than that eh?

But so be it! With the bare minimum of possessions (a few mini comforts) and a mix of excitement, trepidation and curious wonder, we wandered our way out of village camp, across the ridge, and arrived at ‘Old Camp’. Together we built a 13 person lean-to just big enough to house 13 spooning sardines, fronted by a fire lit with only materials sourced that day, the same sticks held in this basket and ate food gathered from mother earth along the way. The next three days we spent wandering the country in small parties: hunting, gathering, resting... Some stayed behind to tend our fire and strengthen the shelter. What had been built up as a man vs nature experience in my mind, turned out to be such a beautiful immersion in tribal living, short as it was, that I had to laugh at my pre-held fears of failure and struggle. Not to say it was without challenge. With an injured foot I had to hobble around much more cautiously than usual. We were unsuccessful in acquiring any good animal meat, though the earth foods we got kept us alive and well. And we were fortunate to avoid any severe weather challenges, yet the nights were still edgily frigid.

When we returned to village camp three days later, I think something powerful came back with us. We took that mystery into a final sweat lodge, in snake formation re-entering the ‘mother’s womb’ for a final time… a way to close off the circle, to put a lid onto the experiential basket we had woven together these past 10 days. As the four elements of fire, stone, water and air combined sweat flowed from our bodies, and words of deep gratitude from our tongues. To the earth, the trees, the animals. The teachings and guidance of the course leaders, the support love and acceptance of the participants. Some time later, I crawled out of the lodge in a state of exhaustion and near delirium. Slowly the group made it’s way down to the creek to finalise the process of rebirth with a ritual dip into the frigid waters of the creek waterhole. The aliveness in my body was electrifying; the communal silence amongst the group, and the darkness of night, was humbling.

In the time that followed I reflected on what I had experienced. I looked back to that sneaky serpent in my shelter on day one, and realised all the medicine that the ‘mythical’ snake had provided me these 10 days. But of all of them, one stood out for me most vividly. It is embodied in an ancient symbol, one that was funnily enough marked on the bottom of the only clay vessel that survived the wild adventure. It was known by the Ancient Greeks as the ouroboros. A serpent circling around and biting its own tail. Amongst other things it can be seen as representing the totally, the unity, the connectedness. I realised how this short immersion had allowed us to experience this in a profound way; with the land, ourselves, each other and the space in between. Through shared challenge, struggle, success and failure it had been formed. Through deep listening and appreciation it had been formed. Through laughter and play, song and ceremony. But most powerfully, through a felt sense of being loved, accepted, worthy; not as a master hunter, fire-maker, basket-weaver or Bear Grylls wildman. Simply as being me. Mahli. A soft-footed kid from the city. In whatever form he might show up.

 This is the medicine I want to take out of that experience and carry with me into this crazy world I live in. I know it is not realistic that we all go back to living in tribes in deep connection to the earth (though I recommend giving it a try!). Still, if we can cultivate a sense of loving acceptance and gratitude to all things around and inside us, not judging them but loving them. Then… well, then I think we just might stand a chance.

[mahlifern]

A Yolngu tale...

I sit in Brisbane airport, plugged back into the matrix. Facebook, email, sound system announcements, planes, trains, chain stores… we all know the deal.

A few days ago I sat by a fire, covered in Buffalo blood and dirt, chewing on its freshly cooked heart and ribs, seasoned with nothing but sand and coal. I was surrounded by a group of men and boys speaking in a tongue that has been used for at least 40, 000 years, wild nature, and the unbridled night sky. We were sharing the harvest of the day’s hunt; 2 Dethung (wild buffalo) shot expertly by my Wawa, my adopted brother, and butchered as a group. It was my first hunt, and the first time I had found myself wrist deep inside a warm and bloody animal’s body removing it’s insides. I consider myself a humane, conscientious and sensitive man. Yet the whole act of finding, killing, slaughtering and then providing and sharing wild meat had given me a deep sense of connective joy that brought me vividly alive. This was one of many powerful lessons in life learnt through a two week immersion into the ancient but evolving life and culture of the Men of Mapuru, Yolngu Land, NT. A set of experiences facilitated by a man I respect deeply, Sam Robertson of Nature Philosophy Australia, and shared with one other Balanda (whitey), Jonno, another gem of a human. I would like to share these with you if you have a little time and curiosity…

Now don’t get me wrong, the community is not living as they once would. When you drive in, any romantic notions of a people existing naked with the land and culture as it was before white colonisation are quickly dispelled. They live in simple, often dilapidated western housing, they wear western clothing, they eat flour, sugar and milk powder as a staple. They are increasingly speaking English and they all have phones. There is rubbish strewn around the land, packs of dogs and broken down vehicles. In fact, at first glance you might be forgiven for judging them as a people living in poverty, in need of some positive intervention. But such an approach would completely destroy the potential to scratch the surface and understand that beneath this superficial surface, is an ocean of beauty and wisdom that we have much, sooo much to learn from….

On our way out to the remote community in North East Arnhem Land, we were given strong advice from our leaders Sam and Kate (Kate leads the Women’s Weaving experience alongside the Men’s Business) to take things slowly. We were entering relatively untamed territory, the danger’s out there were very real. Accidents, infection, sickness, crocodiles, snakes… Kate was adamant: Let go of our western pace, breathe, watch the Yolngu people, move like they do, take your time and you will be fine.

Of course the moment we got into camp, in my excitement, I jumped of the roof of the car and hurt my right foot. Shit, I thought, you have gone and done it again Mahli! I hobbled around that night… but it turned out that it was merely a bruising… and a good warning…

Kate was right, the Yolngu do not run around trying to get everything done. In fact, the pace of the men could easily be considered ‘lazy’. But, as I discovered over time, there is usually a deeper sense of wisdom that directs their culture, a culture that has evolved organically within that place for many thousands of years. It is often our modern western mind, and it’s quick to judge attitude, that vales the genious of the Yolngu Way. The men move through the land (be it the spiky but lush bushlands, rich swampy mangroves or the stunning but sharp stoned coastal edges) only when necessary, and when they do, it is with an ease and fluidity that I could not come close to matching. In the heat of the day they rest. But when it is time to act, when moving food offers itself, the response is rapid, precise and effective. In this way they survive, avoiding injury, dehydration and unnecessary wastage of energy. Something that becomes increasingly valuable as you move away from the western world. At the same time I watch the young ones. They run, jump, swim, flip, twist, wrestle and play like energy is an in exhaustible resource. They are incredibly agile, and their strength defies their wiry frames and damper based diets. Inspired by their movements I tried myself to follow. But unfortunately I was not quite up to their standard, and an attempted flip off a tree into the nearby, potentially croc inhabited water hole ended with a bruised face, bruised ego, and even a public 'shaming’ telling me I was not to take part in such behaviour. I was more than a little embarrassed, and felt my sense of anger towards being told what to do by the elder men and women. But again, upon reflection it made sense. For their intent was first and foremost to protect me, both because they care deeply for the well-being of their guests and because an injured person is a liability to a community that exists much closer to the edges of survival.

It is a matter of listening to our elders. Something I believe I have lost, or at least find challenging. For their elders hold high regard. They are respected and honoured. Of course, in an often contradictory and difficult to interpret cultural model, they are also at times ignored. For all members, young and old, are given free will. And teenagers are teenagers. But more often than not their directions are given with a wisdom that commands respect. I would be lying if I said I found it easy, but it taught me to be a little more humble, and to pay more attention to my ears, rather than my mouth or egotistical sense of self.

As I did start to settle in. To slow myself, to pay more attention, to listen more carefully and with less western judgement, I found I began to dive much more deeply into their world. I was adopted and given a Yolgnu name Napalawal (or pigeon), a family, and a Malk or skin name which then meant I was intrinsically connected to every member of the community, and Yolngu people of the land. This kinship system is the foundation of their communal existence. Both with each other and the land. You refer to all members both by their Yolngu name and their relational name; Ngandi (mother), Ngapipi (mother’s brother), Waku (sisters children) etc… Each relation has a set of guidelines that help you negotiate interactions and to maintain a balance within the complex system. It also creates an understanding of which land you belong to, where you can hunt, the stories song and dances that belong to that land and your family or moiety.

As we spent our time making gara (spears), nyidaki (didgeridoos), joining morning literacy sessions at school and going on Men’s business to the beach or local hunting spots, I practiced language, Yolngu Matha. I listened to stories of the land, of Sacred Men’s Business, of the hopes and dreams of the elders and the young. With every new word or story came another piece of the puzzle. One that is vast and complex, deeply interconnected. And by valuing and showing an interest in their traditional ways, we were welcomed into their network lovingly. What’s more we were helping them take pride and put time into practising culture in ways that many of their neighbouring communities had lost.

Mapuru is a special community like that. They have resisted Western dominance. They have maintained language, kinship, ceremony and control over their land. Although their school is Christian, it is co-run by two amazingly dedicated Balanda John and Linda, who have invested their lives into working with community Elders and giving the community a sense of self-empowerment and determination. The Elders refuse to allow drugs and alcohol into their community. Their is no real violence, theft or maliciousness within their community. They are keeping it real.

Throughout the two weeks, the challenges continually presented themselves.The western way of thinking; expecting a please or thank you, the idea of mine, monitored systems of work, hygiene, rubbish disposal. The superiority complex. Resentment at the discomfort or lack of 'personal space’. It was a journey in patience and non-judgement. But it was worth every moment. It was an adventure outside and in. It helped me see what it means to be connected to a deeply earth-based community. I saw young men spontaneously create a bongul (or ceremony) in which they danced and sung ancient songs of their lands and its beings, one after another, with increasing ferver and joy as the sun settled in the west with another dazzling display of crimson hues. I had no idea what they were so excited about, but I knew that if we can come along and support the continuity of this incredibly rich culture, simply by valuing it and wanting to be part of it for a little while, then it was something of deep importance.

As we headed home, exhausted and probably a little to eager to reconnect with our own land and people, we slightly overshot a sweeping bend, went sideways and flipped the troopie. I saw death narrowly pass over our group in a slow motion video of red dust and terrified faces. In the aftermath, to find that our worst injury was a badly bruised arm and some internal bruising, I saw the powerful lessons I had learnt emerge. Life is fragile, but beautiful. It wants to be lived slowly in a deeply connected way. If we rush into the western world view not taking time to know ourselves, our land, our relationships, we might miss this beauty. It may not come with comfort and after dinner mints, but it certainly allows for some wild and wonderful adventures! And sometimes we need to step, open-hearted, into other worlds to fully appreciate and understand this amazing web we are part of!

[mahlifern]

[mahlifern]

DEATH: A journey towards living

Last week I found out a beloved aunty of mine has been given 3-6 months. How strange that modern medicine can give us this... and is such news a gift or curse? Well, I guess it depends on how we see DEATH... What is this thing we call death? What is my relationship to it? How does it effect my life? What is it I want to learn from it?

It is now Autumn, a season of letting go, of shedding, and of a movement to Death and stillness. Summer has been hot, powerfully hot. Now the rains have arrived and it seems they are washing away the intensity of this heat. For the time being the plants and animals are actually flourishing: green, soft, lush and welcoming. But things will begin to slow down now. Darkness will encroach. And although we never quite get that cold here; the land and its animals and people will in some way or another retreat.

Unsurprisingly, I have just realised the Language of the Universe speaking to me in tones of impermanence. The afore mentioned news, my brothers death day next week, the synchronicity of Griefwalker Stephen Jenkins’ Australian tour and a coinciding event on death and dying at the powerhouse. Last night I attended a storytelling event on ‘waiting...’ soon the theme for World Storytelling Day will be ‘transitions’. I have also been given news of the transitional nature of our celestial energies, of the shift from Pisces to Aquarius at the grand level, and of this moon phase being one of release, transition and, as with all death... rebirth.

SO then, what is this thing we call Death? Well, how could I answer that. I am alive. But, then again, what of life is not death?

Not too long ago I spent 5 years unsuccessfully attempting to gain a realisation of death through the practice of Vipassana meditation. The underlying belief being; if we can gain experiential understanding of the impermanent nature of our bodies, minds and hence all things, we are no longer slaves to the craving and aversion that relate to loss, death and dying. Yet my mind was never able to quite let go enough to experience it. It held on tightly. Would not surrender control.

Why?

Perhaps the fear of losing control, of dying was too strong. I feel that at the core of our being is a formidable terror of the reality of death. So powerful that it guides almost all our behaviours (and I would invite you to consider this for some time, what of our actions are not driven by the desire for immortality, physical or symbolic?); unless of course it is thwarted by a wisdom gained through deep understanding. One that I am far from attaining. But if the omens are right, the Universe is telling me it is time to find out... the Mexicans are known for their vibrant Day of the Dead festival. This has inspired hipsters around the world to get tattoos of Catrina, or better Mictecacuat’l, the Mujer de Los Muretes, Lady of the Dead. Hell, I even got one in Mexico a few years back :). The concept is simple, Catrina will visit us all at different times in our life, before finally taking it. So we either run and hide, or we learn to dance with her...

And so how to approach this? There seem many pathways to ‘death literacy’ as Stephen Jenkins, author of Die Wise, calls it. Though his opinion is that we live in a culture so death phobic, so ‘death illiterate’, that we remove it from consciousness only to deal with its full brutality, mostly with terror and resistance, when Ol’ Grim comes knocking with his scythe of life.

What might some of these pathways be?

Experiencing the death of others - an opportunity often shied from. One I faced at 15 when my 16 yr old brother became terminally ill with cancer. After a strong initial resistance, he soon moved into a 2 month journey of slow starvation, pain and movement towards death. I was emotionally unable to negotiate this journey with him, and so in my fear I did not engage in the process. Had I had the right elders there to help guide the process perhaps it would have been different, but denial seemed to be my most powerful ally. And it took a long time before the cracks of grief and mourning were  able to form. That said, through the healing nature of community I have indeed been able to tend to some, perhaps much, of this grief, along with a deepening faith in the rightness of the unfolding of life (and death). Now I have another close relative about to enter a similar journey. Where before I would have ran, now I feel called to travel this road with her as much as is welcomed. To support her journey, and to gain wisdom for myself. A compassionately selfish approach I guess... but I am intrigued as to what developments are possible for all involved...

Experiencing death in nature - It is clear that nature is a world of constant, often brutal, death - from the micro, to the macro . Leaves falling, predators killing, seasons changing, rocks eroding, the sun setting, moving toward death and explosion... hell, the potential contraction of our universe! Of course, when surrounded by walls, bright lights, screens, cities that never sleep, and a world of plastic surgery, old folks homes, industrial hospitals and the like, it can easily be overlooked, denied. But with time in nature; sitting, walking, watching, listening - if we want, we can see it in every moment. Not to say I have done this at length... but I will say that now that death is taking a front seat in my psyche, I am sure it will become ever more apparent.

Experiencing death in ourselves - Suicide? No no no. But when I contemplate it, I can view my life as a series of deaths. Each transition from the old to the new means death: of the baby, the child, the adolescent, the young adult and so on... Each year I grow older. My body is now on the decline in many ways (though I haven’t given in to this!). But what of each day, each moment. For in essence an old  “Mahli” dies each and every moment, and is replaced with a new one. As my thoughts, life understanding, beliefs, career trajectories and so on change, so too am I letting go of an old ‘self’. But for the most part, I choose to run from, ignore, deny or distract myself from this fact. For it can be painful if felt at it’s fullest. And still, I get the feeling that if I continue this approach, I will only fuel the power of my death phobia. No, I would rather the courage to face it, feel it and embrace it...

Contemplating death -  This is an underlying philosophy that informs the meditative practices of many Buddhist schools; and religious schools around the world. Be it visiting deathbeds and graveyards, observing rotting carcasses, noting the sacrifice that mother nature and her creatures make to give us food and life. Giving gratitude or holding festivals to honour those who have come before us. The sacrifices of Jesus or other prophets and martyrs. Considering death poetry or mantras. The more meditative approaches such as visualising the death of oneself, or, subtler still, experiencing the moment to moment changes in our bodies and beings that indicates this constant phenomena.

These are practices recommended by the wise ones, often declared essential to our lives; but what for?

Well, I imagine it is in the way that it informs and influences our lives. For a life of fear, no matter how unconscious and well denied it is, is not the life I want to live. No, I want to live. To live fully. Therefore, acquainting myself with death seems a non-negotiable. If I can reduce my fear of death, surely my love of life will increase?

I have recently started a slow journey into the world of free-diving. First by experimenting with breath and breath holds on dry lands. Secondly, incrementally increasing my ability to dive into the ocean mother and, starved of oxygen, experience the world beneath. Here I am confronted, every time I hold my breath, with a fear of death. If given any energy, this fear multiplies at a rate beyond control, the oxygen I have is burned up and I lose any sense of peace. The alternative, is to cultivate a peaceful state of mind, and let go of thought and fear. Easier said than done, but in my few weeks of experimentation, I am already seeing the powerful nature of this practice. One that I am determined to pursue. I am sure there are many similar practices; cold exposure, extreme sports, survival trips, activities where we are forced to face our own death. And I am sure, that if we cultivate presence, loving awareness and acceptance, even if we choose to act against it, then we would gain a depth of understanding.

Rites of Passage and initiation have also come into my world of late. These times of transition, often marked with trials, ceremonies and rituals, are clear moments of death encounter. Whereas I might have drunkenly attempted some form of ritualistic death initiation as an adolescent, I definitely never faced it mindfully, nor in way that was held by wisdom gleaners who could help me gain the insights I would need from such experiences so that they grow instead of traumatise. The Vision Quest, a four day wilderness fast from food and distraction, is a powerful ritual I have twice entered into in the previous year. Though I didn't quite experience the depths of insight I am seeking, this definitely gave me some understanding of what it means to be stripped bare and present to nature’s impermanence within and without. I feel that such practices, or similar immersions and exposure to wild nature, are powerful and perhaps essential rituals to cultivate in our lives. I intend to continue to explore and deepen such quests.

However, what I am discovering, is that a powerful antidote to death, is the realisation of the Self. Not the small and fearful egoic self, but the deeply connected Self; one who is part of a tribe, a land, a universe and ultimately a ‘god’ like source of creational energy. All religions offer some level of interpretation of such. But to know this at an experiential level is a different story. No doubt when immersed in community, relationship with others or nature, sexual intimacy, earth-based living, deep meditation, and transcendental practices such connection scan be experienced. I hear it everywhere, and have tasted it myself. Here the connective factor seems to be love. Though a special kind of love. One that combines pure awareness with acceptance and deep empathy. If this state is cultivated, intentionally or otherwise, then the level of connection seems to transcend the egoic self. For this, fear, anxiety, anger, judgement; all need to be suspended, at least as much as possible, in exchange for the peaceful states of mind afore mentioned.

You might have noticed my lack of reference to deaths ever-present counterpart. Conception or birth of life. For in every experience I have mentioned thus far, one might be able to access some level of this understanding. At least if we are present and accepting enough of the death part.

And so this is where I constantly arrive when contemplating it all. In essence: to cultivate a loving awareness of the present experience. Be it an internal awareness, an external awareness or both. And if this is combined with intentional exposure to death in its many forms; to courageously asking Lady Death to dance, then I feel that fear will slowly lose its power, and instead be replaced by joy, love, and the courage to enjoy life at the fullest level. Sounds pretty good to me. 

I will finish with a commitment to this journey. For the journey of dying is in-extractable from, and fundamental to the journey of truly living. Here’s to embracing it as a path to peace, love and freedom! And not taking it all too seriously either :)  Will let you know how it goes... if I live to tell the tale :)

[mahlifern]

[mahlifern]

Wild Wandering; My Quest to Connect

Its been a long time in between blogs here, but after a year back on home soil…

I am sitting on a bus heading slowly north towards what might be the most challenging and nourishing journey into the “wilderness” yet. A theme which my life has been consumed by. Exploring the wildness within, without and between. It is nothing groundbreaking, and I am no guru or ascetic. In fact, I have recently been immersed in an absurdly polarised struggle between self-indulgent city life and the experience of a connected life in tribe, in nature, in myself. How to blend the two? This has been a true test.

Ooh old habits die hard. I look forward to the day i can happily say, “yippikiyah”. To the demons that have ruled my life.

But I am also trying to be loving to myself. I feel, like many, I am far too good at self abuse; emotional, physical, spiritual. Of judgement, self disrespect, self criticism. Why? I dont really know. Why dont we just love and accept ourselves as we are? My pathway, post major life and psyco-emotional crisis 5 years ago, has gradually, but synchronistically turned towards one of “connection”. Some call it nature connection. “What is this hippy business?” I often hear…

Well… I dont really know. But for me, It is about relationships. It is embracing those things which connect me with a true self, with others in my life, with the earth I inhabit, and ultimately with the spirit, or energy, or godliness that flows through all things. Of course it is one thing to say it, but to do it? A monumental challenge! That said, it has been a journey that leads me to places of immense natural beauty; with communities (human and other) that love, accept, inspire and nurture me. I have experienced joy and depth I never knew. Playing in the wilds, sharing tales by campfire, nights alone in the bush yet surrounded by life. I have witnessed love and growth, support and beauty, that has humbled and changed me. I have rediscovered the child within, and connected also with the “Elder” that holds and understands the shadowy selves that are hidden in my unconscious but expressed daily in my thoughts and actions.

I am far from liberated. I found myself last night sitting in a high rise apartment at 2:30 in the morning, alone, indulging in junk food and feeling sorry for myself because I didnt have someone to share my bed with. Desperate to be loved. To be held. To connect. It is not the first time i have been there. And to be honest; romantically intimate connections have been almost absent from my life. I often feel like I am unable to let such relationships arise because I fear the rejection. Because i believe I am unworthy. What rubbish! Who is unworthy? We are all a part of this greatness, full of both horror and love, of darkness and light. But regardless of which one we are existing in from moment to moment, we are still worthy. I believe this in my head. And in time I believe my heart will follow. With each connective experience, it opens slightly, the ice that time and trauma have built up around it melts a bit, the fears and anxieties that guard it subside a little more.

I have no doubt. Learning to connect, means learning to love. Unconditionally. And this love comes from a felt sense of unity, of oneness. Of breaking through the illusion of duality, or separateness, or the disconnected self, into the self that expands far beyond my struggling ego caught up in the troubles of my self created “reality”. So then, the only questions I need to ask myself, are what do I need to do to connect? What stands in the way of me doing it? And how do I move through these barriers? So far it feels the answer is love, fear, and love. In whatever form that may take. Be it playing with children in the wild, heart to heart sharings of truth, listening to the earth and its beings, swimming naked in a river or singing songs around a fire of warmth and light.

So then, I am asking for the strength and wisdom to love, to let go of fear, and to love some more.

Tomorrow is an auspicious day. The new moon will bring in the day of the dead, all hallows eve, of what was once Samhain. This is a chance to play or dance with death. To learn to accept and let go of old selves that still haunt, to move into new phases of life. I personally need this very much. I look to strengthen my vision of growth, through shedding. I look to honour those who have come before, whose energy still flows through my body. I hope to honour them by honourin nthe greater self, my true self.

If you read this, and we are connected in some way, I hope you will join and support me on this journey, and that I can support you on your own. Without this I dont know that I can succeed. But together, I know that anything is possible!

[mahlifern]

[mahlifern]

Farewell to Old England for... now...

If my time in England was an unstructured ballad at a spoken word event it might sound like this :

A young wanderer arrives by ship, greeted by grumpy guards and suspicious interrogation against some unknown invisible invasion.

Making his way down winding alleys, hopping trains, his feet carry him to a doorstep through which a broad smile and family hospitality give him shelter, warmth and welcome.

Not long after he escapes the smoky haze and city craze to adventure into a parallel world of wild wonder. Into the fields of Worthy Farm, where a motley community of mysterious souls (globe travelling, truth unravelling, nature nurturing, green future birthing) offer initiation into the Glastonbury creation which builds up into a monstrosity of human brilliance, before being busily demolished by ravenous packs of dishevelled revellers, rebelling against social norms and creating new forms of “anarchistic” activity.

Mindlessness reigns supreme but in the unseen corners, explorers of deeper meaning are carefully gleaning a living from the passers-by who, high on all but life, unknowingly offer their purse in exchange for pleasure and pain; and so the travellers keep travelling.

Yet the marvel of music plays through, above, below and between, and beneath the imagined is the truth of melodic mastery; warming hearts, shuffling feet and holding us all in dance enducing beats of all kinds of rhythms and rhymes.

Back to the big smoke, big joke, knuckle down, gaze to the ground, earn a pound, anything but forward is upon heavily frowned.

Darkness grows, neon lights glow and winter swallows hearts and hope as the wanderer gets doped up on food, warmth and booze and snoozes through morning’s magic to be caught in the tragic cycle of wintery depression and joy repression. The sirens sing of pleasure but deliver pain.

Still, in dim lit venues with dog eared menus exist wooden floors and hard soled shoes, allowing the wanderer to lose thoughts of life-draining lacklustre to be swept up in a swinging world of jazz rags and rhythms... toe tapping playfulness for the disconnected, misdirected souls who yearn for touch and tenderness from the hands and hearts of others who share their daily struggle of work worry and trouble.

Ah the delight of the swing out! The in and out, around about, keep the flow, don’t let go, not too fast, not too slow. Stretched out circles that move across dance floors whilst trumpets toot, cymbals syncopate and pianos weave webs of magic through it all.

Sure enough spring springs, the blackbird sings, along with robins and ranting wrens whose birdsong flavours match the flowers power to wake up and invigorate, melt the heart and reinstate a sense of joy and hope to escape the dope of winter.

Deep in the south west, the Wild Wolves call and the Wanderer falls head first into the. A sense of unity in a little bit of woodland sitting on the edges of Dartmoor. Here he begins to explore; inside, outside and all between, the seen, and unseen, the heard, smelt, touched and deeply felt; when awareness is expanded and bare feet are landed on earth that holds and nurtures souls.

The magic and mastery of the wild but wise Wizard moves hearts and minds, he summons the pack to his beating drum just in time to hear stories of past glories, bells that ring, moons that fall, river bards that sing to gods and find wives beneath deep oceans of unknown. The Wanderer is brought home.

Here the imagination is immersed in possibility, overcoming barriers and boundaries of negativity, a proclivity  for living a life connected, sleep rejected in favour of waking up and smelling the sensuous delights of our mother earth and all that she births in each moment of each day. The wolves they play and pay homage to the trees; birds beetles and bees, those gone before us and those yet to be.

They open their  hearts and truly see what it means to be accepted, sacred gifts well-directed, fires lit and stories spun, songs sung, heartwork done yet much of it in good fun.

Forays into child inspiring, curiosity-firing camps that trick the tempted into embracing the non-human world that spirals and twirls, flows and curls, creeps and crawls, jumps and falls all  around their bare feet and beating chests.

Things start to make sense, the fog less dense, less time in cities, more time in tents. Intense experiences force minds to go deeper than before, reconnecting not just with joy and play but grief and dismay, anger and sorrow, for the life of tomorrow, for all we humans have hungrily borrowed but have no way of paying back.

Nonetheless the wanderer’s quest becomes slowly clear, as the end of a journey comes near:

He has built his strength, his courage and at length he finds his mind starting to unwind, and his broadening heart starting to shed its rough skin and the fear within to beat in bold rhythms of possibility for a future yet imagined.

The heart of the pack is within him now, no longer will he cow in the face of a world filled with darkness and ignorance, greed at the world’s expense, not the fault of the greedy but a yearn from the needy whose insatiable desire for happiness is blindly misdirected and completely disconnected from that which nature and community could readily provide.

And so boosted by the edges explored and barriers broken down he sits down and decides to go back to his motherland where he will once again stand, barefoot and begin to sow seeds and see if the needs if his people can be met in new ways of play, passion, purpose and peace finding

Eescaping the daily grinding and coming face to face with the WILD that waits for those wililng to dive in deep and know what it means to be truly alive!

The old fear is still there, but the courage to go on is far too strong.

Arrrrrrooooooh! The wolves howl behind him, and off he sets.

Though he knows he will return…

For the journey has only just begun…

���9&�qi

[mahlifern]

The cottage in Charlton, the garden and the South Downs Way. The Survival Crew early days, home camp 1, solo camp shelter and smoke signal and post solo survival Crew.

[mahlifern]

Surviving and thriving in the UK

After the social intensity of Herrang it was with much gratitude that i was given the social opportunity to house sit the cosiest cottage and garden i could ask for, belonging to one Rachel; Castagne Green Futures friend and radio human being. While she retreated to Galicia Spain i took care all of BnB business, tended the garden and wandered the golden and woodland covered hills of the South Downs of Sussex. Although i committed far too much mental energy to formulating possibilities of futures studies, work, adventures i and the like; over the two weeks i managed to slowly bring myself back down a little closer to earth. To take in my surroundings a little more deeply and to calm my monkey mind a little. And it felt rather satisfying. Nonetheless, after much deliberation, hesitation and procrastination I decided it was time to better develop some important man skills for the unpredicatable future of the planet. I booked myself in, waved goodbye to the tree-clad rolling hills and quintessential cottages and dragged myself off to a Trueways Survival Camp, held deep in the heart of the woodlands of a little known area called Whitely Retirement Village  (just outside of London actually). Although a little unimpressed with the location, the school held up to a vigorous Google review search and so I had some confidence that it would be a worthwhile pursuit; that and the fact I had nowhere else to go for a week, it was reduced by £100 and I had been giving a move into outdoor education a lot of thought of late so I figured it was a good start, especially for one so inept at outdoor self-reliance.

Upon arrival (late as per) I was greeted by instructor Andy and my soon to be survival team. They were a motley crew of ne’er-d-owells, ex-cons,  tax dodgers and wacky survivalists (more specifically there was a software developer, an aged care worker, a janitor, and aged-care product marketer, a young deaf traveller and a hypnotist, but apart from the hypnotist that lacks a sense of danger doesn’t it?). It wasn’t long before we entered the depths of the woodlands, adjacent to the village golf course, and were thrust head-first into the modes and methods of emergency survival.

So, what does survival entail? In brief PLAN. Protection, Location, Acquisition Navigation. Get yourself safe and warm, make yourself findable, get some water and if you really have to find your way out. We focused heavily in the PL. Building and maintaining fires and shelters from natural resources, staying warm and dry and then doing everything possible to make yourself visible (intelligent placement of rubbish, creatively displayed to capture attention, big crosses in the middle of the field, and the most fun by far, billowing smoke signals to penetrate the canopy). Interestingly enough, though a little disappointing for a food fanatic like myself, the acquisition of food is given little priority in such a situation. WHAT! I hear you thinking… well it’s like this: 3 minutes without oxygen, 3 hours without protection from extreme elements, 3 days without water 3 WEEKS without food. So the reality is, you are planning to be outta there long before the arduous, unlikely and over exertful effort of snaring rabbits or bow hunting moose might serve you a warm and hearty meal. Fact is, apart from a bit of foraging (and the blackberries and nettle soup are both plentiful this time of year), your best to ignore the hunger and get on with the bloody job. So that’s what we did, for the most part.

It was a gritty, somewhat uncomfortable, but intrinsically rewarding 5 days of learning and grafting with a bunch of people I would rarely spend time with but gladly got to know and work alongside. A real sense of camaraderie emerged, particularly as we were sent out on our final night ”solo” to put into action all that we had learnt. We came back red-eyed, weary from lack of sleep and smelling like smoked bacon; but we all managed to get up a water proof shelter in the rain, get a fire cracking with only some flint and steel to help and set off a good deal off poisonous smoke into the ozone to let the local traffic report copter know where we were. I might not have picked up the fine art of bow making, impaled a pig’s head on a spike for the flies to gather or outmatched an alien sent to earth to hunt humans like game (whilst covered in heat reflecting mud), but I did survive and I tell you I can get a crackin’ good fire flaming if the need arises.

After such an adventure I needed a cosy rest, thanks to Jean of Green Futures Fields I was welcomed into the Crescent Road Community to spend the next few days recovering, house searching, drinking endless cups of tea with biscuits and chocolate, reading up on alternative ways of getting by and preparing myself for another stint in my trusty Zephyros one-manner at the Small World Summer Festival in Kent, to which I head tomorrow. It will be the last of my meandering before planting some more permanent roots in the concrete jungles of East London where I begin my teaching appointment in September…

[mahlifern]

As I took a total of 0 photos; these come to you via two awesome photographers: Jasper De Waal (jasperphoto.nl) and Gaelle and Ben at Groovy Banana (https://www.facebook.com/GroovyBanana).

Welcome sign, 9pm Meeting/Famliy Gathering in front of Folkets Hus, my class group (I'm second row on the left), the lake, ballon bouncing to classical music, the bike shop, the Lindy hop shop, class act Pao from mexico, Jasper and I looking spic (standing next to a Dutch model isn't the best for making me look good I know), out the front of Folkets Hus.

[mahlifern]

Herrang: The swingenest place you've never heard of

Ask most Swedes where Herrang is, and they'll be hard pressed to give you directions. That's because it's a little bitty summer vacation town in the middle of no-where-ish. But ask any swing dancer round the world, and they'll probably have been, or are planning to go to, the world's most esteemed swing dance affair. Seeing as I was only a short plane ride away, figured I might as well go see what it's all about...

After arriving to Stockholm and passing a few days with long lost, never forgotten, super friend Kieran Meirendorff and his lovely lass Sophia, I set off on a bus to reach the fabled camp. It's a lovely country Sweden, very picturesque and unthreatening, so the journey was a pleasant one. From the moment I got there I could feel something in the air. You could see it on the faces of the people bopping around, the setting of the camp in a quaint school and campground, nestled in by green and funky looking pop-up shops and what nots... this place had some magic about it.

I checked in, got my volunteer passport and decided I'd have a good look around. Basically, the Herrang DAnce camp takes over a small school, a couple of local halls, adjacent fields, a nearby campground, a few extra buildings and a little lake. It's nicely spread out with lots of space in between, but filled out with dance tents, accomodation dorms, space for camping, an "Ice Cream Parlour" with lots of goodies, a make up tent, a sauna, two kitchens, and in the main buildling, Folkets Hus, three levels of dance floors, two cafes (open almost 24 hours), an annexed "Library" and a few other sneaky little rooms. Folkets Hus is fronted by a kind of village square with a bike hire shop, reception box, Lindy Hop Shop, Yes crew fix it workshop, a container full of dress up clothes (always open), and behind it there is a little lake with a row boat available for everybody to use (this was actually the first thing I did when I arrived).

What goes on here? Jeez louise, everything: dancing till 7 nearly every night, classes of lindy, blues, jazz, tap, balboa everyday, a 9pm "meeting" with performances, skits and general sillyness, Friday night themed parties (a big deal), Tuesday night Slow Drag (bluesy and well dressed) a party of other sorts every night, "secret" Blues parties in unlikely spots, "secret" speakeasy parties in unlikelier spots, crews of ninjas looking after everything, random acts of dance, theatre, sillyness all around the camp, trips to the local beach, ukulele jams, 24 hour cabaret (with a lot of bad Karaoke), lots of bands or jam sessions playing inside, outside, every side, people from every part of the world bringin their culture and energy to the camp, contributions from so many different people, a massive crew of volunteers taking care of business, video production and screening, films, latin rhythms in the basement, circus stuff, and of course, dancing, dancing, dancing. And this is every week, for 5 weeks (just go watch this video http://vimeo.com/83981655),

So what'd I do? Took part in it, all of it: volunteered in the bike shop, became a "bin lord" and kept the place clean, then a ninja, danced like a mofo, met all sorts of new interesting diverse people, was humbled by the abilities and skills and talents of so many people, relaxed by the beach, or in the sauna, or in a hammock, or on the grass, or at the "secret" lake where I fell asleep for four hours while the rest of the world came and went (sleep is a precious commodity here, very under-utilised), found all sorts of cool places to sleep other than my tent, played ultimate frisbee, learnt Bulgarian folk dance, ate brownies and ice-cream at 5 in the morning, rode my bike through the forest... just lots of stuff, cause everybody's doing it (and you should too! they do have a beginners course and I met people who stated their swing dancing journey at the camp this year). 

Yes it's a strange bubblle, yes it is a little overwhelmingly swing fanatical at times (though there is plenty going on outside of swing dance to keep you sane), and yes it could be quite an expensive endeavour. But it's a wonderful bubble to float in for a little while, swingaholics are really such warm, welcoming, fun-loving people, and if you volunteer and learn a few insider tricks, you can get by without forking out much at all.

So in the words of the late great don of Lindy Hop Frankie Manning: "Dance, dance, dance"

[mahlifern]

Green Fields , Super Crew, Sunset before the storm, big bright stuff, fir breathing machine (see video), descent into Hell (Shangri Hell), the aftermath, trailer trash clean up.

[mahlifern]

Glidestonbury 2014: Very nicely portrayed...