The Nourisher - Editor’s Blog

My friend works in the local Aboriginal art/tourist shop in town. She thinks she may have Aboriginal heritage but is not sure. There is so much shame in her family over her grandmother’s illegitimacy and potential Aboriginal genes, she can’t find out the truth.

My friend sees that shame time and time again in the eyes of white Australian’s who accidentally venture into her shop. She tells me not many Caucasians from Australia enter, tourists from overseas love it but Aussies give it a very wide berth. The odd one who does come in often misses the beauty of the art because they’re faced with their own sadness, grief and shame of what ‘we’ have done to these beautiful people. She often experiences a visible shift in Aussies as they stand in her shop. Some people turn this shame into anger and indignation. Some are moved to tears by the beauty of a culture they never knew. Many feel hopeless about making up for such atrocities as have been perpetrated on these people. And many, including myself feel deep sadness for what Aboriginal people have lost because it reflects, so blindingly, what we have lost: connection to our mother, our land, our spirit, our families.

I spent much of my childhood in a mining town in North Western Queensland in the land of the Kalkadoon. I remember feeling very frightened of the unforgiving landscape that surrounded our town and how hopeless I would be if left alone in it for even one day. I marvelled at the people who lived easily in this land before we came.

When I was very young, my grandmother told me to walk on the other side of the street if I saw an Aboriginal person. There were many very derelict Aboriginal people living in the dry river that sliced through the middle of our town. They were dirty, smelly and frightening. Three young girls came to our school from missions hundreds of miles away. They were the only Aboriginal children at my school and they lived in a boarding house, far from home. They came to my school to learn about a white faced savior called Jesus. I remember feeling shame for not being able to talk to them. I knew they would probably not trust me or accept me.

My father was a learned racist. His one-lined dismissal of Aboriginal culture hurt and confused me. He was a tough man, I’d never seen him feel anything but anger, but he cried one night when my sister’s formal date came to pick her up. He was Aboriginal and my father couldn’t deal with it. This is how I was introduced to the caretakers of this land I live in. I carried this shame and separation for many years.

Wes and I visited Adelaide last January to attend a conference for The Oneness Movement. We got to meet a beautiful enlightened man and received many oneness blessings while we were there. One afternoon we left the conference filled with bliss and peace. We walked arm in arm down Gouger St smiling and breathing deeply. Suddenly an homeless Aboriginal woman who was probably my age but looked much older stopped us asking for money. I didn’t have any but offered her a hug. She persisted with her original request, a little shocked by my offer but a little less aggressive. Again, I said I didn’t have any money but would gladly give her a hug. Remember, I had just received a massive influx of spiritual energy, nothing could frighten me, I felt like I was in the arms of Creation. All I wanted in that moment was to give this woman the love I felt. She stood puzzled for a moment. I suppose the response she was used to was guilt, shame, anger and derision. She got none of this. I remember thinking, I don’t want to speak to your drug, I want to speak with your spirit. Magically, from within the fuzzy cloud of alcohol and hate the woman moved, with conviction, into my arms. We held each other for a long time, our hearts connected within our breasts. I felt like I was with my sister.

She stood back after what seemed like an age and her eyes were clear and strong. She said to me, “What’s your name?” I said, “I’m Jo, I’m from Kalkadoon Country” She didn’t recognise the name but said, “I’m Simone, I’m from Ceduna.” Her male companions who were ambling up the street behind her arrived and proceeded to step into begging mode. She shooed them from us, swearing and pushing. She turned to Wes and said, “Want a hug brother.” All three of us swooned in bliss and I thought again I was being held in the hand of creation.

Simone surfaced from that hug, smiling. I could see through her eyes deep into her soul. She looked at the beads I was wearing at my throat and said, “That’s beautiful, can I have it?” It wasn’t the same as her request for money. There was no demand, no anger, just a welcoming in her voice. I knew she meant that we were one, our things weren’t separate. I felt her wise spirit testing me to see if I understood her request. I did. “Of course” I said, removing the beads and putting them on her neck, “I made them with my hands.”

“Did you, oh thankyou sister,”Excited and grateful, she looked like a young girl. She walked away with a spring in her step. I wept like a baby.
All that pain, that anger, that shame, that separation was gone. Dissolved into nothing. Simone from Ceduna had healed me.

I realised from that experience how important forgiveness was.

I realised that not only do I need to ask for forgiveness from my Murri, Coori and Nunga (Pallawah and Wyba) sisters and brothers for what my ancestors did to their ancestors, I need to ask myself for forgiveness for keeping me in shame, guilt and fear; for keeping me separate from this land and its people. I need to forgive my ancestors and those who perpetrated atrocities upon my ancestors which trained them to see the caretakers of this land as enemies at best, animals for extermination at worst.

This really has been a sorry country these past 220 years. Funny how that word, which has been such a contentious word for years is just the word which describes our history and it is just the word that will trigger great healing among our people. (Non Australian readers please note, our previous government refused to say this word to our Aboriginal people)

When I celebrate Sorry day on Wednesday, I’ll celebrate the transformation I saw in Simone from Ceduna; the trust she place in me her sister; the gift of that healing embrace we gave each other. I’ll celebrate that finally we have a government who is not afraid to face the responsibility their forefathers left for them, the responsibility to make amends to the people of this land. I’ll celebrate the many hundreds of thousands, probably even millions of Australian’s who will be relieved to hear, we are finally saying sorry. We can finally lay down the guilt we’ve had to carry because, as a people, we can reach out for forgiveness, for friendship. Finally, we deserve to share in the richly Nourishing spirituality that this land and it’s people still hold. Finally, we can belong.

If you want to get involved in Get-up’s “Help the Healing” Campaign, go here.

www.getup.org.au/campaign/HelpTheHealing

If you want to know more about contemporary Aboriginal Australian culture, check out these gorgeous videos.

http://programs.sbs.com.au/bitofblackbusiness/home/?ep=264

About the Author...

A Super Hero and one of many who have realised their true calling as saviors of humanity, healers of our connection with Nature and creators of Heaven on Earth. The Nourisher's gift is the re-spiritualisation of the 'process of recreation' we call eating. Mother of three Super Heroes in training and wife to her God incarnate, The Nourisher hails from the place of feminine healing, Byron Bay, Australia. She gathers together Life Creators from all over the globe at NourishedMagazine.com.au