In the early 1970s we lived in Mount Isa Queensland. My father worked on a smelter for MIM and I was working at losing my Bristle accent and learning Queensland to fit in. I did not want to sound like a pom. For a “civilised” Australian the Isa is outback. I often played in the dried out Leichhardt River bed and also when on rare occasions it was wet. We went to Kalkadoon Park named after the local aboriginal tribe massacred by the whites. My father was a big part in getting the club house for Mount Isa rugby located and installed and it was with the Southsea Islanders from the club that I tasted by first Barramundi cooked on coals in a pit wrapped in leaves. The grown ups were all pissed up. I was very impressionable. My neighbour was a young aboriginal lad, over the fence. One day I asked him where his father was because I had not seen him of late.
“He gone walkabout”, was the answer.
I still find it a bit odd watching Aussie MasterChef when they make such a big hoo-hah about first nations ingredients and do all the spiel about thanking the first nations for use of tribal land. Seems a bit off for a bunch of city dudes. I don’t see them eating witjuti grubs , witchetty grubs.
Sport Barramundi can be found in Lake Moondarra a reservoir made to supply water for the mines and smelters.
By osmosis with the land and the people, I was exposed to the dreaming and the dreamtime at a young age. Since I have had easy interactions with indigenous people I have met Bantu, Pygmy and Maasai. There is perhaps something familiar about me.
This morning’s dream pertains to the South, the place of dreaming and the Gateway to the Nagual’s world. It points at tarot 18. The Barramundi is often painted with the Crayfish.
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On Friday two nurses who did not struggle with anorexia and were perhaps proud owners of a Gregg’s loyalty card had me remove my t-shirt. They proceeded to shave my chest and attach electrodes. They urged me to pedal faster. We did not say much but seemed to vibe OK.
There were dream indications yesterday that the wind is in the South so to speak.
The two southerly women the stalker and the dreamer are the portal, the gateway to the South the place of dreaming.
In the dream only I am allowed to fish for Barramundi the fish.
Not yet sure why the dreaming is going far-back to the dreamtime yet.
I am now ready for some pretty weird and unexpected.
The wallabies are watching and the owls are not what they seem.
{The Twin Peaks T-shirt which I am currently wearing.}
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Weirdly we have just run out of coffee. I distinctly remember putting some Lavazza in the shopping market trolley Friday. There is none in the pantry, the shop usually open Sunday mornings is closed and there is no Lavazza on the till receipt….
Spooky…
Dreamyoga 