Under the careful planning of Michael Griffith, who co-facilitated with Doug Amarfio, we were a full house for deep listening to the land, through the word images of Judith Wright and finding a relationship with the indigenous landscape. Our initial meeting was at the sacred fire on the land before evening fell. Sessions and time for reflection were interwoven and some extraordinary films were shown of Judith Wright and also of her indigenous soul friend Oodgeroo Noonuccal (Kath Walker).

Judith and Oodgeroo personified the struggle still experienced by Australians, that of bringing together two cultures and the ways of listening to the land. Contemplation and activism make for rich experiences in a lifetime. I was challenged to get these into balance and discovering who I really am and my path from now on. Sad times when the poems described white men’s cruelty and species extinction was balanced with G.M. Hopkins ‘God’s Grandeur’:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

    And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The practical experiences were a guided tour of indigenous art at Canberra’s National Gallery, and finally a visit to ‘The Edge’, the last dwelling of Judith Wright outside Braidwood.

 This was made possible by the generosity of the present owner who was part of our learning cohort, and whose observations brought new understanding to some of Judith Wright’s images. On our walk through the property, we came across a large lone rock. Michael read to us the poem that was inspired by this feature.

ROCKFACE

Of the age-long heave of a cliff face, all’s come down
Except this split upstanding stone, like a gravestone
Sun-orchids bloomed here, out and gone in a month.
For drought-stricken years, I haven’t seen those flowers.
In the days of the hunters with spears, this rock had a name.
Rightly they knew the ancestral powers of stone.
Jung found in his corner-stone the spart of Telesphorus.
Earth gives out fireflies, glow-worms, fungal lights.
Walking here in the dark my torch lights up
Something massive, motionless, that confronts me.
I’ve no wish to chisel things into new shapes.
The remnant of a mountain has its own meaning.

Wonderful fresh meals, walks through nature, deep conversations and time to spare, came together for a memorable week. Silver Wattle is blessed by those who manage the rhythm of the day and provide guidance of the Spirit for all who are seeking.

For other such courses check out the website: https://www.silverwattle.org.au/