Nature's Place

Squatters

The BBB likes to make a nest by tunnelling into dry clay, where it’s sheltered from the elements. Females sleep in the tunnels, males roosting nearby, as a general rule.

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From a hole in the side of the mud brick this fly emerged, staggered, looking fresh as … Could be a youngster, I think.

Whatever their normal behaviours are they are unique and amazing little things, no less than the big ones …

This one, a brother perhaps, stumbled out of the same hole and was promptly entangled in a spiders web just below.

Not the first little creature to find itself trapped by nature of another kind, there’s an ant in there too, and that ball …

A mosquito, looks like, ant below it, one leg stretched to the ground, the ball touching it. Ways to die on earth …

This new born bee got its timing wrong, or I need to reorient the brick. It emerged at sundown instead of sunup, and lost its way. I lent a hand …

I made a mud brick with earth from under the roots of a fallen tree and drilled holes for the blue banded bees to nest in.

It took a while for any to take to it this year but a few did and would roost nearby, not a good year for the bees anyway.

In passing I noticed some unexpected activity and bent to investigate. Flies … spiders and others, no surprise really.

Where there’s space for it, life takes form, form dies, and life goes on.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Golden

They can often be found on these flowers, always producing nectar for the little ones. Though it’s a dangerous passage to such bounty.

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Joining me at the table, a crumb or two to be had from the nearby giant, less dangerous too. As long as she knows her place is not on me.

Sharing a little goodness. Glad to see another who survived the perilous journey? We have much in common, if we could only see.

Happy little ant, no sign of danger about, well fed, just taking it easy. Not a single problem on its little mind, no ruminating on past pain.

After the climb up the sticky stem and something delicious to eat she takes the time for self-cleaning exercises. Intelligent little thing.

Wandering the byways of the wilden green the golden ant takes a morsel to keep it going. Doing what? Living, what else, as an ant.

If we could live as a body, without all the things we think we are, or are not – the notions and potions of mind, we would be doing as well as the ant.

No problem … Could we do better than to be without the madness of mind, as compulsive thinking, anger, fear and wanting?

Is there a ‘we’ can do that? Since ‘we’ presumes any plurality has a hope of ever being free.

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In times of difficulty ‘don’t judge the situation’, as a guiding mantra – will keep mind from running rampant.

And be the body as sensation, by focus of attention, through any thought or emotion that tries to rise.

That way what passes passes all the quicker and cleaner. As what passes always does.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Lilith

… or Lillith.

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The old stories of Lilith being a demonic seducer of men who also stole and ate babies, and other such nonsense, are from men who lived in fear or ignorance of their own nature and failed to understand the purpose of what beset them, and so couldn’t be responsible for their love. It’s the same today.

All nature is sexual – meaning its first function is to reproduce, what life on earth does. And every living wonder flows from that. That’s the fact. Which does suggest there might be more to love between man and woman than making babies.

This nature is every mans and womans, and what sets us apart from the rest is a spiritual spark, the capacity for self reflection directed by the imperative to improve. Spiritual being the imperative of negation consciously engaged, dis-identification with what passes, eventually.

It’s the way it is. Evolution is not in progress ‘out here’, it is in the negation of identity, divining original space by an act of attention, or will. No religion here.

The rest is practise, of right action, within and without, under the guidance of one who has already done it.

The mystery is something else, the mother, or father, of light, or dark, behind.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Kooky …

She? appeared suddenly and waited for me to get back with the camera, as if I was one of the family. See the hitchiker behind the eye?

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The youngster maybe, centre of the garden, between the adults. Learning the ways of the world, a hunting.

The other side, the other parent, teacher and provider. How we are … until death us do part.

Sharp eyed hunter, bright vision in blazing sun or deep shadow … the king of kingfishers is our Kookaburra.

It’s a lovely time of year, the hot summer’s over and a warm wet autumn has begun.

I was taking dead heads from the yellow rose bush out back near the fence when I heard a sound close by.

I didn’t recognise it and thought nothing of it until a big kookaburra appeared just above my head, about three feet away.

It must have been around two feet long, tip to tail, and that beak … a deadly serious hunting tool, to the gardens small creatures.

It wasn’t at all wary of me, probably somewhat used to people given it lives in the suburbs and probably gets fed on occasion.

Then I heard a soft kooky cry from behind me and there was the youngster, or was it the mamma. I don’t know …

And then there were three. One casting around for sign of live food, a movement in the shadows, a flicker of give-away light.

One sitting on top of the clothes line, or watsitcalled. And the other diving towards the far fence to sit high for the outlook.

But no, nothing to be had in my backyard this hour of this day. I ran up and got the camera …

and some grain bread, but no interest from the family. Their need being for fresh meat.

And I didn’t have any to give … but they let me take a few pix from close by.

A simple pleasure, unhurried.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Horse Flys …

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She came in through the front door … and got herself trapped against the fly screen.

She was just following the light, not knowing to turn back into the darkness of the shaded room to get free.

She doesn’t do any knowing in that sense, being an entirely instinctive creature – this one wasn’t the exception.

So I got a glass from the kitchen and caught her up in it for transporting to the verandah.

She seemed to enjoy being out in the air, though I’m sure she didn’t know what had happened.

It took a while for her to find her feet again, don’t know how long she was trapped.

And so I left her, being what she is, to find her way once more in the wide world.

Then she took to the air … as all good flies do.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Time Flys

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Smiley …

A few caterpillar shots, eating a gum tree in the local bush.

A very unusual looking creature. No idea what they turn into.

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Do you ever stand outside at night in a dark place and look up at the stars.

See them in the blackness without resting on any one for long.

No naming or counting, just the sense of them.

In a vast black space. Balm to mind.

Wonderful …

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Blue Banded Bee

Blue Banded Bee asleep gripping a dead twig of the star jasmine on the fence. Under cover from the rain.

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A female, by the four bands, not five, about two metres from the mud brick house cast for her early in the year.

And on the other side of the house – two youngsters in tandem on a flower stem, under the moon. No blue bands yet …

Flash disturbed the one behind, who began to buzz and struggle, as if agitated dreaming. So I backed off …

With all the rain and wind the past couple weeks these little creatures are struggling. But not suffering emotionally, they don’t do that.

They are cognisant of the effort and the hunger, are it, but not a single thought is wasted on it. And it can’t be changed.

The sun will shine again … the flowers will bloom … mud brick homes are available.

Everything changes in time …

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Friday …

Just the one sleeping on a tendril hanging from the fern above the Orange Tail Resin Bee hotel.

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S/he started to buzz and appeared irritated with flash so I pulled back for it to withdraw to darkness once more.

Ok, just one more … from front and below, bee hotel in background. Everybody asleep … for now.

The Blue Banded Bee is much about the garden through the day. Less visible at night though.

The flash can waken them and they fly to the nearest light, not good for BBB. So only a few shots for now.

Maybe when it gets colder and they are more sluggish, and I can find them, I’ll get some more.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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Born Again … Again

I came upon this Orb Weaver one night, molting. Hanging upside-down from a few strands of silk.

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Gravity helps him exit the old body, too small now. And helps his new body stretch to its full extent.

Swaying and turning in the night breeze, it took a while to get free of the old. No doubt some effort is involved.

Stretching out to aid the new, exposed to every danger … but not a predator in sight. Safe on a silken thread.

A crop, to show his eating gear. Fangs above the palps, and above that a couple rows of black cutters.

After a while hanging down he curled up, clenching his new body. A little natural spider yoga preps it for action.

Not yet ready to start his new life. Exercises need repetition, duration and timing for optimal effect.

Brand new spider body … functioning perfectly … almost ready for life on the wire … how many more to go, bodies.

It’s a theatre, a play, a part, then shuffle off the stage … to a new body, and newer still, until the last and then no more …

… to be born, or die, into a world of light and beauty. But who’s to tell, unless you see …

Free? Not yet, old shell gone now but still some living to do. Hanging in there … for what may be.

And once he’s done here, upside down, he turns around and back he goes from whence he came, into the black night.

It takes a spider a long time to be born again. And then there’s no guarantee …

But guarantee would be a form of death … to any self-respecting spider.

Then again, life’s one guarantee to every form is death.

© Mark Berkery ……. Click on those pictures for a closer look

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