The slithering snake is a learning tool when we observe its frequent removal of the outer skin. Little is gained in a lifetime if what you believe at age seven is still how you feel at age thirty-seven. It is necessary to shed old ideas, habits, opinions, and even companions sometimes. Letting go is sometimes a very difficult human lesson. The snake is no lesser nor greater for shedding the old. It is just necessary. New things cannot come where there is no room. He looks and feels younger when he strips himself of old baggage. He isn’t younger, of course. The Real People laughed because keeping track of age seems senseless to this tribe. The snake is a master of charm and power. Both are good to have but can be destructive when they become overwhelming. There are many poisonous snakes whose poison can be used to kill people. It works well for that, but like so many things it can also be used for a meaningful purpose, such as helping the person who has fallen into an ant mound, or someone tortured by wasps or bees. Real People respect the snake’s need for privacy in the same way each of them requires some time alone.
The emu is a big, powerful, flightless bird. It helps the harvest of food because it is a fruit eater; by voiding seeds as it travels, we enjoy widespread abundance of plant foods. It also lays a large green-black egg; it is a totem of fertility.
The dolphin is very dear to the Real People tribe, although they no longer have much access to the sea. The dolphin was the first creature with whom they could experience talking head-to-head, and it shows that life is meant to be happy and free. They learned from this master of games that there is no competition, no loser, no winners, only fun for all.
The spider’s lesson is never to be greedy. It shows that objects of necessity can be objects of beauty and art as well. The spider also teaches that we can become too easily enraptured with ourselves.
We talked about the lessons of the ant, the rabbit, the lizards, even the wild brumbie—the wild horse of Australia. When I spoke of certain animals becoming extinct, they asked if Mutants did not realize that the end of each species is a step closer to the end of the human species.
Finally, the sandstorm ended. We dug ourselves out. Then they told me that agreement had been made about my animal kinship. It was determined from watching my shadow, my manner, and the stride I had acquired upon my developing padded feet. They said they would draw the animal for me in the sand. While the sun shone like a spotlight before me, they used their fingers and toes as pencils. The outline of a head appeared, someone added little round ears. They looked at my nose and projected that shape onto the sand. Spirit Woman drew the eyes and told me they were the color of mine. Then spotted markings were added, and I teased, saying my freckles were all covered up now. “We do not know what this animal is,” they said. “It does not exist in Australia.” They felt the female of the perhaps mythical species would be the hunter, and she would travel alone comfortably much of the time. She would put the welfare of her cubs before her own life, or that of her mate. Then, smiling, Ooota added, “When this animal’s necessities are met, it is gentle, but its sharp teeth do not go unused.”
I looked down at the finished picture and saw a cheetah. “Yes,” I said. “I know this animal.” I could relate to all the teachings from that big cat.
I remember how still it seemed that night; and I reasoned the brown falcon, too, must be at rest.
A crescent moon was hanging in the cloudless sky when I discovered our day had passed as we were talking instead of walking.
15
BIRDS
SISTER TO Bird Dreaming stepped into the morning circle. She was offering to share her talent with the group if that was in the best interest of all concerned. If it was, Divine Oneness would provide. We had not seen a bird for two or three weeks except for my faithful friend, the brown falcon with the dark velvet wings, who came swooping over our moving group and always came nearest my head.
The people were very excited about the event, and by then I, too, believed birds would appear out of nowhere if that was in the plan for our day.
The sun had cast its bright orange halfway down the side of the distant hills when we saw them approaching. It was a flock of very colorful birds, bigger than the parakeets I used to keep in a cage at home, and similar in the variety of colors. They were so numerous it was impossible to see blue sky between the flapping wings. Suddenly the sound of boomerangs hissing in the sky was combined with the language from the fowls. It sounded like the birds were clamoring insistently, “Me, me, me.” They fell from the sky in groups of twos and threes. Not one single bird lay on the ground suffering. They were killed instantly.
That night we had a wonderful meal, and the group was provided with multicolored feathers. They made headbands and chest plates, and used some to construct pads for women for use during their monthly menses. We ate the meat. The brains were scooped out and kept separate. They were dried and used later, some mixed in the herbal medicines, and some mixed with water and oil in the tanning processes. The few leftover parts were put out for the group of wild dingo dogs that trailed us from time to time.
There was no waste. Everything was recycled back into nature and back into the earth. This was one picnic that left no trash; in fact, you could barely tell we had ever camped and eaten at any of our sites.
They are masters of blending in, using yet leaving the universe undisturbed.
16
SEWING
WE HAD finished our meal for the day. The fire was a soft glow of embers, and occasional sparks rose into the surrounding limitless sky. Several of us sat in a circle around the flickering patterns. These people, like many Native American tribes, believe when you are sitting in a circle it is very important that you observe the other members of the group, most especially the person sitting directly opposite you. That person is a spirit reflection of yourself. The things you see in that individual that you admire are qualities within yourself that you wish to make more dominant. The actions, appearances, and behavior that you do not like are things about yourself that need working on. You cannot recognize what you deem to be good or bad in others unless you yourself have the same strengths and weaknesses at some level of your being. Only the degree of self-discipline and self-expression differ. They believe the only way a person ever truly changes anything about himself is by his own decision, and that everyone has the ability to change anything he wants to about his personality. There is no limit to what you can release and what you can acquire. They also believe the only true influence you have on anyone else is by your own life, how you act, what you do. Believing this way makes the tribal members committed every day to being better persons.
I was sitting across from Sewing Master. Her head bent as she gave serious concentration to the repair job at hand. Earlier in the day. Great Stone Hunter had come to her after the water vessel he carried around his waist belt suddenly fell to the ground. It was not the kangaroo bladder filled with our precious cargo that wore out, only the leather strap holding it to his side.
Sewing Master cut the natural thread with her teeth. They were worn smooth and about half their original height. Raising her head from the working posture, she said, “It is interesting, Mutants and aging. Jobs one grows too old to perform. Limited usefulness.”
“Never too old for worth,” someone added.
“It seems business has become a hazard to Mutants. Your businesses were started so people could get better items collectively than they could get for themselves and as a method to express individual talent, and become part of your money system. But now the goal of business is to stay in business. It seems so strange to us because we see the product as a real thing, and people as real things, but business isn’t real. A business is only an idea, only an agreement, yet the goal of business is to stay in business regardless. Such beliefs are difficult to understand,” Sewing Master commented.
So I told them about the free-enterprise system of government, private ownership, corporations, stocks and bonds, unemployment benefits, social security, and unions. I
told them what I knew about the Russian form of government, and how the Chinese and Japanese economies differ. I have lectured in Denmark, Brazil, Europe, and Sri Lanka, so I shared what I knew about life in those places.
We talked about industry and products. They all agreed, automobiles were handy objects of transportation. Being a slave to the payment of it, however, and possibly being involved in an accident where you would most certainly have a confrontation to settle, possibly creating an enemy, and sharing the limited desert water with four wheels and a seat, wasn’t worth it, in their opinion. Besides they are never in a hurry.
I looked at Sewing Master sitting across from me. She had many remarkable traits I admired. She was well versed on the history of the world and even on current events, yet she did not read or write. She was creative. I noticed she offered to make the necessary repair for Great Stone Hunter before he asked. She was a woman with a purpose; she lived that purpose. It seemed true; I could learn from observing the one sitting opposite me in the circle.
I wondered what she thought of me. When we formed a circle, someone always sat opposite me but there was never a big rush for the position. One major flaw, I knew, was asking too many questions. I needed to remember that these people shared openly, so when the time was right, I would be included. I probably sounded like some pesty child.
After we had retired for the night, I was still thinking about her remarks. Business is not real, it is just an agreement, yet the goal of business is to stay in business regardless of the outcome on the people or the product and services! That was quite an astute observation for someone who has never read a newspaper, seen a television, or listened to the radio. At that moment I wished the entire world could hear this woman.
Maybe instead of calling this place the Outback, they should consider it the center of human concern.
17
MEDICINE OF MUSIC
SEVERAL PEOPLE in the group possessed the medicine of music. Medicine was the word used in the translation sometimes. It didn’t mean medicinal, nor was it related only to physical healing. Medicine was anything good that one contributed to the overall welfare of the group. Ooota explained it was good to have the talent, or medicine, for setting broken bones, but that was no better, or lesser, than the talent of having kinship to fertility and eggs. Both were needed, and both were uniquely personal. I agreed and looked forward to a future meal of eggs.
That day I was advised that a great musical concert was to take place. We carried no instruments in our meager possessions, but I had long ago ceased to question how and where things would appear.
That afternoon I could feel the excitement build as we walked through a canyon. It was narrow, perhaps twelve feet wide with walls extending up eighteen feet. We stopped for the night, and while the vegetable and insect meal was being prepared the musicians set up their stage. Round barrel-shaped plants grew there. Someone cut off the tops and scooped out the moist pumpkin-colored centers, which we all sucked. The large seeds in the pulp were put to one side. Some of the hairless skins we carried were draped over the plants, tied securely. They became incredible percussion instruments.
An old dead tree lay nearby, several of the limbs covered with termites. One was broken off and the insects knocked off. The termites had eaten the center out of the branch, and it was filled with sawdust. By using a stick in a ramming motion and then blowing out the dead crumbly core, they soon had a long hollow tube. I felt I was seeing Gabriel’s trumpet constructed. I found out later that this is what the Australians commonly refer to as a didjeridoo. It makes a low musical sound when you blow into it.
One of the musicians started clicking sticks together, and another used two rocks to establish a beat. They had taken pieces of shale, hung them from threads, and created the sound of tinkling chimes. One man made a bull-roarer, which is a flat piece of wood attached to a cord; it is whirled around, making a roaring noise. They expertly controlled the increasing and decreasing of the volume. The arrangement in the canyon created a fantastic vibration and echo. The word concert could not have been more aptly used.
The people sing individually, in groups, and often in harmony. I realized some of the songs were as old as time. These people repeat chants created here in the desert before the invention of our calendar. But I also experienced new compositions, music being composed just because I was there. I was told, “Just as a musician seeks musical expression, so the music in the universe seeks to be expressed.”
Because they have no written language, knowledge is passed from generation to generation in song and dance. Each historical event can be depicted by drawings on the sand or in music and drama. They have music every day because it is necessary to keep facts fresh in the memory, and to tell their entire history takes about a year. If each event were also painted and all the paintings were laid on the ground in the proper sequence, you would have a map of the world as it has appeared over the last thousands of years.
What I really witnessed, however, was how these people live life to the fullest without any material attachments. At the end of our festival, the instruments were replaced where they had found them. The seeds were planted to insure new growth. Signs were painted on the rock wall, indicating the harvest available for the next travelers. The sticks, limb, and rocks were released by the musicians, yet the joy of creative composition, and the talent, remained as a confirmation of each person’s worth and self-esteem. A musician carries the music within him. He needs no specific instrument. He is the music.
It seemed to me that day I was also learning that life is self-service. We can enrich our own lives, give to ourselves, and be as creative and happy as we will allow ourselves to be. Composer and the other musicians walked away with heads held high. “Pretty great concert,” one musician commented. “One of the finest,” was the reply. I heard the featured individual say, “Guess before too long, I’ll change my name from Composer to Great Composer.”
It wasn’t an inflated ego I was observing. These are merely people who recognize their talents and the importance of sharing and developing the numerous wonders we are given. There is an important connection between acknowledging one’s own self-worth and the celebration of personally bestowing a new name.
These people say they have been here for all time. Scientists know they have inhabited Australia for at least fifty thousand years. It is truly amazing that after fifty thousand years they have destroyed no forests, polluted no water, endangered no species, caused no contamination, and all the while they have received abundant food and shelter. They have laughed a lot and cried very little. They live long, productive, healthy lives and leave spiritually confident.
18
DREAM CATCHER
ONE MORNING started with an air of excitement as the small group formed our routine pattern, facing east. Only a hint of color indicated impending dawn. Spirit Woman walked to the center and replaced the Tribal Elder who had concluded his portion of morning worship.
Spirit Woman and I had a lot in common physically. She was the only Aboriginal female in the entire tribe weighing over 120 pounds. I was sure I was losing weight, walking in the intense heat and eating only one meal per day. I had enough excess adipose tissue stored throughout my body that I quite liked the picture of fat dripping off and surrounding my footprints in the sand.
In the center of our semicircle Spirit Woman stood, hands extended over her head, offering her talent to the invisible audience in the sky. She opened herself to be a means of expression if Divine Oneness were to operate through her that day. She desired to share her talent with me, the adopted Mutant on this walkabout. The petition concluded, she loudly and emphatically gave thanks. The others in the group joined, shouting gratitude for the yet unmanifested gifts of the day. Normally, I was told, this would be done in silence, using their perfected head-talk, but because I was still a novice at receiving mental telepathy, and a guest, they performed within the framework of my limitations.
We walked that day unti
l late afternoon. There had been very little vegetation growing along our route. It was a relief for me, however, not to have spinifex blades injecting their barbs into the soles of my feet.
Silence was broken in late afternoon when someone spotted a grove of dwarf trees. They were strange-looking plants, a tree trunk that spread out on top like a giant bush. This was what Spirit Woman had asked for and had been anticipating.
The previous night, as we sat around the fire, she and three others had each taken a flat hide surface and stitched it solidly to a rim. Today they carried the finished objects. I did not ask the purpose. I knew I would be told in time.
Spirit Woman grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the trees, pointing. I looked, seeing nothing. Her excitement drew my attention back for a second search. Then I saw it, a giant spider web. It was a thick, glistening, complex design involving hundreds of woven strands. There seemed to be one on several of the trees. She spoke to Ooota, who in turn told me to choose one. I did not know what I should be looking for but had learned that choosing intuitively was the way of the Aborigines. I pointed to one.
Next she took an aromatic oil from the pouch she carried at her waist and smeared it all over the round tambourine-shaped object. She pulled away all the leaves behind the target of her attention. Then, placing the oiled surface behind the web, with one swift swoop forward, she emerged with the web captured perfectly and framed professionally on the hide. I watched as others came forward and selected a web, and each of the women, carrying a frame, recreated the scene of whisking the gossamer threads onto the ready-made mounting.