Bora born
Messenger _
By registered mail he arrived,
dated Friday 19th of September.
A message from Nev was earlier sent,
to say this would happen.
Gwen my next door neighbour,
had signed for the parcel,
this sort of thing she would do.
Surprised to find out who was inside,
so we talked of Brian her late husband.
Introduced Uncle Mal to her,
so as to lighten the mood.
You see Brian was cremated ten years before,
under a rose bush he should have been planted.
This had been a strange month indeed,
the conversation soon turned to.
All manner of things went down,
but nothing you could pin down exactly.
We talked of the nightly walk into town,
the night before Malcolm's death.
Gwen had heard this stuff all before,
from Murri culture these things were sometimes said.
Willy wagtails it is well known,
are regarded as messengers of the night.
Their song changes, they have a job to do,
to warn of deaths coming your way.
Here we go I can hear you say,
not more from the twilight zone.
But to give the full story,
would be like giving an old fisherman the clue,
why the weather every Thursday keeps changing.
For twenty years I have been doing this walk,
down Mann street and Tills street in Cairns.
There are always plenty of Willies about,
but this night was something quite different.
From in town they started,
Paramatta Park for those who have lived here.
Tree after tree song after song,
for two miles while walking they sung out their greeting.
Down along Tills Street in the trees front and back,
not a moment did they let up their tale.
That someone in the family was ready to go,
so prepare to help in their passing.
All night long Willy sang out,
near the back bedroom window.
By morning Malcolm was on my mind,
as was Roy his elder brother.
Roy had passed on years before,
I was nearby the night he died.
My bones knew something was on that night,
so passed up saying goodbye.
Last Christrmas that card was not sent,
just knew this would be his year.
He enjoyed receiving those cards so much,
passed up another goodbye.
News came through the following night,
with a phone call from Nev.
Describing the condition Malcolm was in,
from the effects of another stroke.
Expectations were it would be up to a week,
before he would meet his fate.
But tonight it would be,
willy had told me,
the path he would take.
Woke later that night from a light troubled sleep,
to feel Malcolm there in the room.
He should have been down in Caloundra,
in hospital,
not Cairns visiting here.
The answering machine played back in the morning,
with the sad news why he was there.
He had passed away the night before,
an hour after his visit.
Returned the call to my cousin Nev,
who talked of Mal's final wish,
to be cremated, ashes scattered in the bush,
then left alone in peace.
Recalled small talk from some years before,
a phone call with mal late one night.
And talk came from me,
no tombstone there would be,
ashes scattered in the bush felt just right.
So suggested to Nev,
why not post him home,
to be placed in the bush, here in Cairns.
On the Whitfield Range,
on the blue arrow walk,
two miles from where he had birthed.
In the meantime took a walk up there,
in the hope the family would agree.
To check out the site that had been in my mind,
for quite a number of years.
Great disappointment on arriving there,
a cyclone from two years ago,
made the rocky outcrop look like a dump,
with sawn up logs, broken branches everywhere.
So kept on walking deeper and deeper,
along the blue arrow track.
Keeping an eye out for a suitable place,
checked out this place and that.
Met a man who spoke of a snake,
under a log half way around the circuit.
So changed my mind,
to return in time,
along the track the way we entered.
The snake didn't have me worried,
to be treated as a sign.
Relied on bush sense to be guided,
and find this place from the dream.
Had already made up my mind,
not to scatter the ashes to the wind.
Had already asked Mal who was walking along side,
and for whatever reason,
felt this was not to his liking.
Almost out in the open again,
but still high up on the blue arrow.
Noticed a disturbance on the forest floor,
and a track worth investigating.
Decided to go and have a look,
up along the rainforest edge.
Cabinet timbers to the left,
coolabah's to the right,
slow progress was made.
Walked up this rise,
it was obvious, someone had been here before.
Although time had passed,
and the track was well hidden,
it seemed to be going somewhere.
Arrived at the top,
the view was just breathtaking.
Have been walking this track for twenty years,
of this incredible view I knew nothing.
Didn't even have to ask him,
if he thought this was alright.
A 270 degree view of Trinity inlet and mountains,
the perfect resting place this could be.
Walked only two metres,
to see what was around.
Someone was there some time ago,
doing some combat training,
a small shovel and pickaxe found,
lying on the ground.
Nearly fell over backwards,
to discover these tools for digging.
Put them in a safe place for later use,
if Malcolm was to come home again.
Have told Rose this story,
now guess who wants to go up there as well.
She is 90 years old next week Tuesday,
in a cemetry or fence she wants no part of.
Have also asked a close friend Gary,
ex Marist brother and principal of Lakeland State School.
If he will accompany us up the hill,
to help with Malcolm's return to mother earth.
It's a long haul up there,
takes two hours from a morning I guess.
So be prepared to do some training,
if you want to come and see this place.
His remains are here in the bedroom,
just had to get these words down today.
As this morning something happened,
that simply needs to be said.
It was 6 am just before sunrise,
had the TV on watching nothing in particular.
When something moved through the air,
toward his ashes on the stereo speaker.
What it was I do not know,
this has never happened before.
But for the life of me it was the size of a three inch ball,
floating over the bed in that direction.
It's structure was like one of those pods of white seeds,
you know the ones you can hold by the stem.
Then with a puff blow them apart,
Dandelions I think they call them,
How did it get there _ was my first response,
as I looked through the early morning light.
But as it moved over the bed,
I tell you it just simply disappeared from sight.
Telling you just what happened,
from me there is no explanation.
With other things that have occurred,
something is definitely going on here.
He was laid to rest,
on a Friday at sunset, the third of October,
the year 2003.
Had a few stops on the way up,
to catch our breath, on this day to remember,
good company all three.
Nearly an hour to the top,
plenty of stops on the way, the timing just right,
still plenty of light when we arrived there.
Gary asked me to choose the place,
the pick and shovel were soon retrieved.
Photos were taken of them both,
when to his final rest he was laid.
I wish I could pass on the feelings,
when to his spirit Gary spoke.
Of a life of beauty beyond measure,
lived on his journey home.
The earth was replaced _ dry leaves on top,
leaving no trace we had been there.
Now time to relax so down we sat,
to yarn and enjoy this last time with him.
So what now to make of this story,
deep talk may show the way.
Like peeling the layers of an onion off,
to see the bigger picture of what's really inside.
If that was his intent to show in death there is life,
lets allow more time to feel,
the examples of life the four brothers left,
before our own time of passing.
Well that's the story for now,
perhaps others will rest there as well,
and again enjoy the sound of his voice,
and the view from that beautiful place.
So to you all we are grateful,
Rose and I now have somewhere to go,
and from the last of the four brothers,
thankyou for sending me home.
- O -
© 2003 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
dated Friday 19th of September.
A message from Nev was earlier sent,
to say this would happen.
Gwen my next door neighbour,
had signed for the parcel,
this sort of thing she would do.
Surprised to find out who was inside,
so we talked of Brian her late husband.
Introduced Uncle Mal to her,
so as to lighten the mood.
You see Brian was cremated ten years before,
under a rose bush he should have been planted.
This had been a strange month indeed,
the conversation soon turned to.
All manner of things went down,
but nothing you could pin down exactly.
We talked of the nightly walk into town,
the night before Malcolm's death.
Gwen had heard this stuff all before,
from Murri culture these things were sometimes said.
Willy wagtails it is well known,
are regarded as messengers of the night.
Their song changes, they have a job to do,
to warn of deaths coming your way.
Here we go I can hear you say,
not more from the twilight zone.
But to give the full story,
would be like giving an old fisherman the clue,
why the weather every Thursday keeps changing.
For twenty years I have been doing this walk,
down Mann street and Tills street in Cairns.
There are always plenty of Willies about,
but this night was something quite different.
From in town they started,
Paramatta Park for those who have lived here.
Tree after tree song after song,
for two miles while walking they sung out their greeting.
Down along Tills Street in the trees front and back,
not a moment did they let up their tale.
That someone in the family was ready to go,
so prepare to help in their passing.
All night long Willy sang out,
near the back bedroom window.
By morning Malcolm was on my mind,
as was Roy his elder brother.
Roy had passed on years before,
I was nearby the night he died.
My bones knew something was on that night,
so passed up saying goodbye.
Last Christrmas that card was not sent,
just knew this would be his year.
He enjoyed receiving those cards so much,
passed up another goodbye.
News came through the following night,
with a phone call from Nev.
Describing the condition Malcolm was in,
from the effects of another stroke.
Expectations were it would be up to a week,
before he would meet his fate.
But tonight it would be,
willy had told me,
the path he would take.
Woke later that night from a light troubled sleep,
to feel Malcolm there in the room.
He should have been down in Caloundra,
in hospital,
not Cairns visiting here.
The answering machine played back in the morning,
with the sad news why he was there.
He had passed away the night before,
an hour after his visit.
Returned the call to my cousin Nev,
who talked of Mal's final wish,
to be cremated, ashes scattered in the bush,
then left alone in peace.
Recalled small talk from some years before,
a phone call with mal late one night.
And talk came from me,
no tombstone there would be,
ashes scattered in the bush felt just right.
So suggested to Nev,
why not post him home,
to be placed in the bush, here in Cairns.
On the Whitfield Range,
on the blue arrow walk,
two miles from where he had birthed.
In the meantime took a walk up there,
in the hope the family would agree.
To check out the site that had been in my mind,
for quite a number of years.
Great disappointment on arriving there,
a cyclone from two years ago,
made the rocky outcrop look like a dump,
with sawn up logs, broken branches everywhere.
So kept on walking deeper and deeper,
along the blue arrow track.
Keeping an eye out for a suitable place,
checked out this place and that.
Met a man who spoke of a snake,
under a log half way around the circuit.
So changed my mind,
to return in time,
along the track the way we entered.
The snake didn't have me worried,
to be treated as a sign.
Relied on bush sense to be guided,
and find this place from the dream.
Had already made up my mind,
not to scatter the ashes to the wind.
Had already asked Mal who was walking along side,
and for whatever reason,
felt this was not to his liking.
Almost out in the open again,
but still high up on the blue arrow.
Noticed a disturbance on the forest floor,
and a track worth investigating.
Decided to go and have a look,
up along the rainforest edge.
Cabinet timbers to the left,
coolabah's to the right,
slow progress was made.
Walked up this rise,
it was obvious, someone had been here before.
Although time had passed,
and the track was well hidden,
it seemed to be going somewhere.
Arrived at the top,
the view was just breathtaking.
Have been walking this track for twenty years,
of this incredible view I knew nothing.
Didn't even have to ask him,
if he thought this was alright.
A 270 degree view of Trinity inlet and mountains,
the perfect resting place this could be.
Walked only two metres,
to see what was around.
Someone was there some time ago,
doing some combat training,
a small shovel and pickaxe found,
lying on the ground.
Nearly fell over backwards,
to discover these tools for digging.
Put them in a safe place for later use,
if Malcolm was to come home again.
Have told Rose this story,
now guess who wants to go up there as well.
She is 90 years old next week Tuesday,
in a cemetry or fence she wants no part of.
Have also asked a close friend Gary,
ex Marist brother and principal of Lakeland State School.
If he will accompany us up the hill,
to help with Malcolm's return to mother earth.
It's a long haul up there,
takes two hours from a morning I guess.
So be prepared to do some training,
if you want to come and see this place.
His remains are here in the bedroom,
just had to get these words down today.
As this morning something happened,
that simply needs to be said.
It was 6 am just before sunrise,
had the TV on watching nothing in particular.
When something moved through the air,
toward his ashes on the stereo speaker.
What it was I do not know,
this has never happened before.
But for the life of me it was the size of a three inch ball,
floating over the bed in that direction.
It's structure was like one of those pods of white seeds,
you know the ones you can hold by the stem.
Then with a puff blow them apart,
Dandelions I think they call them,
How did it get there _ was my first response,
as I looked through the early morning light.
But as it moved over the bed,
I tell you it just simply disappeared from sight.
Telling you just what happened,
from me there is no explanation.
With other things that have occurred,
something is definitely going on here.
He was laid to rest,
on a Friday at sunset, the third of October,
the year 2003.
Had a few stops on the way up,
to catch our breath, on this day to remember,
good company all three.
Nearly an hour to the top,
plenty of stops on the way, the timing just right,
still plenty of light when we arrived there.
Gary asked me to choose the place,
the pick and shovel were soon retrieved.
Photos were taken of them both,
when to his final rest he was laid.
I wish I could pass on the feelings,
when to his spirit Gary spoke.
Of a life of beauty beyond measure,
lived on his journey home.
The earth was replaced _ dry leaves on top,
leaving no trace we had been there.
Now time to relax so down we sat,
to yarn and enjoy this last time with him.
So what now to make of this story,
deep talk may show the way.
Like peeling the layers of an onion off,
to see the bigger picture of what's really inside.
If that was his intent to show in death there is life,
lets allow more time to feel,
the examples of life the four brothers left,
before our own time of passing.
Well that's the story for now,
perhaps others will rest there as well,
and again enjoy the sound of his voice,
and the view from that beautiful place.
So to you all we are grateful,
Rose and I now have somewhere to go,
and from the last of the four brothers,
thankyou for sending me home.
- O -
© 2003 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
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