Nature's Place

There may be one person on Earth who cares what I say. There also may not be. That’s not the point. But if there is one who values it that’s good.

The point is it’s good for me to acknowledge the simple good, the ordinary things. When the ordinary is seen as it is it becomes extraordinary.

As it is means there is no thought about what isn’t ordinary and in my vision now. That’s the extraordinary bit, no thought.

I took my new hat for a walk today, how extraordinary is that? I’ve been looking at buying one for years now, the thing that kept me from it was the price $75AU.

The other thing that kept me from it was the fact I already had a hat, a good one. And it hadn’t yet worn out.

It has now, the material has finally perished, probably rotted from the sweat. But also it has seen some very tough work.

It has protected my head from sun and rain and kept the sweat from my eyes while working hard in the back of my removals truck.

It has also protected my head from branches many times while walking in the bush. And served as a buffer to the spider webs I blundered into.

Have you ever had one in your face? Lucky the spiders drop to the ground when the web is rammed and torn, usually.

But now there are tears in it and it is beyond frayed at the edges. It is literally coming apart at the seams, so it can’t do what I want any more.

It now hangs on the wall of my living room, its final resting place? Who knows, I still might find a use for it! It has served me so well for so long I am not willing to throw it out. It’s my oldest friend.

I love my old hat and, oddly, I am proud of it. A little, if there is such a thing.

If someone came and took my old hat and threw it out I would miss it, there would be a hole on my wall where my hat now hangs.

But really, the hole would be where I expect to see my old hat, in my mind.

By the way, Rosella and Queenie have never met. And she doesn’t eat frogs very often.

All Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery

Up from the deep, through the silent heart of a single flower arises the one inconceivable pulse. Irresistible will.

To enter the lens of sense existence as a single mutable multicoloured idea.

Broken on the edge of mind. The beginning of knowing. Diffraction to this or that.

Each ray gathered by the magical bee of industry, delivered to every drop of the deep green Earth for fashioning on the bronzed anvil of sharp change. Idea takes form.

To’ing and fro’ing, touching and crashing, merging and smashing.

Out of this crucible of conflict, under the hammer of necessity, the eyes of being emerge. Each tone hammered out with unknowable will. Inscrutable purpose.

Under the light of the Sun we danced. Played and pained in the garden of green as this hue and that, multiplied, diversified. Signified. And it was good.

Accumulation. Congestion. Terminal mass. Implosion. Separation.

From the rivers of solid dark colour. Through the prism of liquid clarity.

Inevitable birth. As I in all things, as you and me.

Light the deep!

Golden I.

Arise!

All Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery

Driving along the motorway at over a hundred kph, the Jeep in front pulled to the left to let me pass, a pair of butterfly’s danced into my lane about two feet off the ground. About twenty meters ahead. They just missed being flattened, and the Jeeps wake or slipstream didn’t affect them at all.

They danced on. Into my path at a butterflutter speed they weaved. Butter fluttering flies. Without a care or the slightest cognition of the imminence of death in the form of my car. They danced on.

There are many butterflies and caterpillars about today. It’s nice when they come my way. The Currawong thinks so too, for a different reason. He was having a great time feasting on caterpillars around the garden. Falling out the side of his mouth they were, as he strutted about in my back yard, eyeing up the food.

And the lovely colourful Rosella’s came round today too. About five of them at one time. Unusually, one of them sat for me, confident I wasn’t a threat. Given a little time they will get to know me.

They like the grass seed and it will be gone soon. It’s about time I set up a feeder for the winter if I want them to be coming round again. And I do.

I was wandering about the garden and as I passed the shed I came upon the spotted dove. You can see she is surprised, perhaps frightened. She didn’t know what to do for a few seconds. For a change I was quicker than the wildlife and got her picture. Then she was off under the branches and away.

It can take a long time to demonstrate to the creatures there is no threat. Some get it easy and some take time, and food. Food helps when communicating with the animals. It’s the universal language.

If you ever know hunger and someone offers you food you will know what I mean. Particularly where it gets cold and grey.

Wild yellow flower, t’was a delight to see in the bush today. There are a few flowering plants around. Purple and yellow was what I saw. The colour really brightens a grey overcast day.

All copyright reserved / Mark Berkery

Welcome sunshine. And with it came the wind. Walking on the beach I got a few shots I wouldn’t have got without the wind. One of a Tern, then a seagull and another of an Eagle.

The wind was from the south east off the sea and it howled in my ear as it caught the rim of my hat at just the right angle. It blew the sand up the beach and in places the beach was nearly rebuilt after the recent storms and high tides almost washed it away.

I had to be very careful not to get sand in the camera, especially the lens area. It being an extending zoom.

I wasn’t ready for the Tern when I saw him but it didn’t matter. He was caught in the wind and there was little he could do about it. He must have taken flight as soon as he saw me.

As soon as he was airborne that was it, he didn’t go anywhere except left and right, and up and down. He couldn’t make any headway against the wind it was that strong.

He was desperately trying to go south against the wind. Maybe to his mate or chicks, or feeding or roosting ground. You just never know without extensive experience of a location.

He struggled and flapped his wings flat out for thirty seconds or more and travelled maybe three feet in his desired direction. Not an efficient use of energy.

At that rate of effort he’d be exhausted in a very short time. Then he’d really be in trouble, a flightless bird, caught in the open. With the Eagle’s and other predators about these parts. Snakes, Dogs, Cats, Goanna’s and such.

So he did the intelligent thing. He landed. And he stood there looking into the wind, waiting for a gap that didn’t come. After he was recovered he took to the air again but with the same meager gain in distance. And he landed again.

I looked down the beach and could see vaguely a few similar figures also parked on the beach. He was not alone in his struggle, except that he was. There was no help to be had from any quarter.

After a short while he rose again to go south but it was a useless effort. This time he didn’t land though. He went high on the wind and turned north with it and east out to sea. A daring strategy, a last resort.

I suspected he was going to ride the calm spot in front of the waves. The trouble there would be the gusting. It could have him dumped very suddenly and forcefully.

If you have ever been surfing you’d know what a dumping can do to you. It can kill people, the boiling of the water can keep you under for a long time. It could do it easier to a small bird.

I saw him out over the sea at about three hundred metres and he seemed to be struggling still. He was up and down a couple of times and then he seemed to find a spot and he was off south against the wind and he seemed to be doing ok.

I’d say he got home, knackered probably.

The seagull, I didn’t see him coming, had the same trouble but was a stronger flyer in the conditions. It didn’t have such drama. Whenever it came to rest it picked at what may have been edible and off it went again. Opportunist, slowly but surely making its way south.

Then the Eagle came out of the bush from the north and west. This I did not expect. She came out from the cover of the trees and flew straight out and into the wind and over the sea. The wind slowed her down a bit but the Eagle took it in her stride.

I don’t know what she was doing, she didn’t go fishing and there was nothing on the wing that I could see. Could have been exercising her wings, but I don’t think so. Probably she was checking out some tired parked bird. Looking for an easy meal, more like it.

After a little while she flew back to the bush and disappeared from sight.

There was this fellow on the beach. Carrying a camera and wearing a hat. Taking pictures of some birds, with some difficulty. He was looking steadily into the wind as if at something a long way off.

The sand was burning his eyes and wearing his skin down a layer at a time but he didn’t seem to care. He just kept looking into the wind.

He did this for thirty or forty years. More or less. Buffeted this way and that. Always turning back into the wind.

Into the wind of his mind, through it. Eroding of all that he had collected in his time, remembered, shaken off, deflected by his untiring vision. Inside.

Looking into the other side of the wind of mind, where there is no more abrasion. Nothing more to be worn down.

No more wind. No more mind.

All copyright reserved / Mark Berkery

On a stem of grass the intrepid explorer climbed. Up, down and around he went, leaving no piece unchecked. With a grand view of the surrounding terrain. His only concern to be thorough.

And don’t get caught out in the open.

But a creature can’t live like that for long. One always must go out in the open, eventually. Though there are ways of doing it. Cautiously, of course. Dressed for the job.

I watched this little crowned jumping spider as it walked straight up a three foot stalk of grass, rapid style. It has eight legs so it can move fast.

It was a bit of a job following it for a picture. Up, down and around the stem. They don’t stand still for very long, just a couple of seconds at a time. Especially out on a limb as this one was.

Then it came around the edge into view and I was there. Gotcha! He looked for a moment and off he went again. I followed him up to the top where the ripened grain was. He covered every nook and cranny.

I got him again as he disappeared around the head of grain and see, he’s missing a leg. And no sign of a limp. No sign of loss. Just spider getting on with it. It’s only one of eight after all.

It’s the stump above the two long legs you can see. Then there’s a third leg behind that.

The mozzies have been keeping me out of the swamp and forest around here. There’s been a lot of rain for a long time and I can’t use the repellent any more, it makes me ill.

But the green of nature is cool clear water to my mind so every now and then I go into the woods, regardless. Almost. This time I got about fifty metres into the reserve before the mozzies became intolerable and I had to leave.

Not before I saw the brown Bush Wallaby grazing on the overgrown trail. She didn’t notice me for a long while. Probably because they are short sighted and she was over fifty metres away.

When she stood up I was ready for her. Usually they run as soon as they see people but not this time. She just stood there, looking at me. Then I had to leave.

There is one place where I am sure to see some birds without too many mozzies preying on me. It’s at the beginning of a track just off the road along the coast north of Wooyung.

It’s where the rain puddles last longest and the birds like to bathe at the end of the day. Very sensible behaviour. I have seen quite a few different kinds of birds here and I believe they may be getting to know me.

At first they would all disappear into the bush as soon as I showed up. Then after a while a few would hang around in the bushes, just out of reach, checking me out as I stood there talking to them. Just words of greeting.

The birds, I am not indifferent to them and there is no hostility. The natural creatures can tell. Maybe this is why they display some curiosity at times, as if peeping at me from behind their safe distance.

Now they bathe as freely as I believe they do at all times, wary of being caught out by such creatures as Goanna or Eagle, or Snake. As long as I don’t try to get too close for their comfort. They are wild creatures after all.

They don’t need anything from me. Instinct is a powerful force, almost undeniable. Except by a greater instinct, or a more real power beyond any force. Perhaps.

The track is bounded by small trees and tall bushes, the undergrowth is thick. They have their favourite branches from which to swoop down to the water and perch on to preen themselves.

It is lovely to watch them, each with their own particular behavioral quirks. Occasionally one doesn’t seem to mind me at all. But most of the time it is some variation on caution, keeping their eyes on me.

One will keep an eye on me from a branch as I walk past. Another will bathe facing me, looking me straight in the eye. Some will dip into the water as fast as lightning, and they are gone again.

Still others, extraordinarily, will bathe with their back to me. Apparently taking no notice of me at all, I wonder? Birds play.

In a hostile world eyes are tools of instinct, devised for survival. But it’s more than that now. Eyes are also the window to the presentation of beauty in form. Through which the beauty of our true nature can be seen and cognized, acknowledged.

Is it possible in the birds play there is the potential for the realization of Avian God?

What wonderful magic that conjures in me. Of untold tales of magnificent creatures in a world within.

All copyright reserved / Mark Berkery