Nature's Place

The Mythical Bunyip Of Oz …

… of Aboriginal lore, or Koori as I believe they prefer to be called. Said to inhabit swamps, creeks, waterholes – anywhere there is water really. Apparently the native Australians held this entity or creature in awe and dread and could never tell the white man its form or character, though the white man tried to rationalise it no end – no way.

These are just one of its many forms and its character is represented in the colours of Aus, where life is there will be the Bunyip in some form and colour.

The spirit behind, the nature and teacher of man.

Well, now we know for sure one of its forms since I caught it on camera, two in fact, quick shots as it was a precarious position hanging over the railing. I would say it is the water spirit and reaches into the land of Aus the way blood permeates the body and its character is one commanding respect for the Earth but especially water in all its forms and functions as it is the basis for life emergent.

And woe-betide anyone who dares ignore its telling of lore – the fact and truth of life – through experience and negation.

Anyway, I found these two Bunyips beside a bridge in a local rainforest garden. They were just standing in the shadows of a darkening afternoon saying nothing in particular, hearing the colourful birds chattering their day’s events to each other before sleep, tasting the coming rain, feeling the wind on their faces. Clouds rolling in.

It was time to go.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Pearls of Clarity

Falling with ease, tumbling, colliding, splashing big soft drops that soak in as they hit and drench in the beat of a wing, cool summer rain. Wonderful wet washing water from the sky. What an amazing thing that is.

Tup, tup, tup on the big broad leaves of the palm trees outside my window. Crashing into green. Leaves bounce as they are hit and rain water rolls down and drips off to explode and soak into the earth below. Life to some thing, many things. Death to others.

Wonder, wonder, wonder. The way things are in existence, how every thing is separate but fits exactly where it is in the web of form and function that is nature. Reflective of the vitality below, above the formlessness that powers it all.

And here I am sitting on top looking ‘down’ with nowhere to go but back, back home.

Or … What is left to do, for a wet bee.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

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Colour Me Wicked …

… colour me blue. An if dat don’ fit just colour me true. Cause if you don’t colour me I’ll have to colour you. Ooh, the ways of the world, and in colour too. ((:

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Colour, colour everywhere. Just reach out and touch it, smell it, feel it, taste it and see it – of course, awake to it. And have you got that other sense, inside, a certain sense of beauty, of colour.

What a wondrous form of life colour is.

The colours and structures of flowers are wonderful and sweet to the inner sense and though they are ‘known’ in the moment they don’t exist in isolation, they depend on insects for their  existence, mostly. And they are best shown in contrast to something … contrasting.

So when this bug showed up on one of my garden plants, in fact on a blade of grass in a hanging basket where I haven’t planted anything, sheltering from the wind and rain, I couldn’t help myself. I got the camera out and paraded her, it’s a her, from flower to flower to see where she was most at home and most beautiful.

Well, she loved the yellow, she couldn’t get enough of it, always reaching out for it when we were close enough but otherwise content to bask in the rays of coloured sense. A truly enlightening activity all round, delving into sense where there’s no place for ‘trouble’.

Then there was the white with a little yellow heart against the green. And she loved it too, obviously in communion with the different colours, just not in words, but sensewise – the wisdom of sense.

And when I brought her to the big yellow she was thoroughly uplifted, I’m sure I heard her laugh a laugh of  pure delight. Ha, ha, ha, loud, clear and uninhibited. I’m nearly sure. ((:

When we had enough of this playing she climbed off to tuck up under a leaf for the night, to sleep undisturbed.

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Delightfully colourfully I.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

Dreams of Coloured Yew …

… and Me.

This little fella got lost one day, climbed onto my foot and, weary of the trek across the great waste of concrete asked for hospitality from a fellow traveller and for me to point the way, since I am so tall and can see so far, he said.

How could I refuse? I gave him some colour to play in before feeding and watering and sending on his way, out into the wilds of the garden where he promptly dug down below the grass and into the soil – built for digging, he was right at home and soon disappeared from sense. Or in sense. Hmmm!

Could be she.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge

Blades of Colour

… flitting about so fast and sudden they are barely visible. During the day, at this time of year, they are the fairies of the garden, only catching them at the corner of my eye. Before I can focus on one it is away in pursuit of whatever it chases around the green carpet of grass, lush after the summer rains.

Orange and steel blue darting about, I could almost wonder where and what and how. But the mystery remains, so obvious, ‘tis my own immemorial self. Have you ever looked inside and seen the primordial you? And know instinctively what it is and does.

The intelligent form in the darkness through which you rose from the knowledge of stone and wind and fire, made supple by the waters of the earth, the movement of the tides. As the forms and functions of nature. To see my self in a wasp, or colour, or …

Up through the jagged landscape of a time where nature crosses to human, inside. The endless cacophony of perpetual change. The maelstrom of being and becoming. See the red and grey grit of the ancient twilit self.

Have you seen the waterless deep of being beyond that? The dark light of a quiet star? Beyond heat and cold, up and down, inside and out.

Where there is nothing, left, to speak of.

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A flash of colour in the darkness is all it is sometimes, that moment of elevation, an opening of the veil. A little more clarity.

Mark Berkery ……. Click any picture and click again to enlarge