Mutant Message Down Under (10 page)

S
EVERAL PEOPLE
in the group possessed the medicine of music. Medicine was the word used in the translation sometimes. It didn't mean medicinal, nor was it related only to physical healing. Medicine was anything good that one contributed to the overall welfare of the group. Ooota explained it was good to have the talent, or medicine, for setting broken bones, but that was no better, or lesser, than the talent of having kinship to fertility and eggs. Both were needed, and both were uniquely personal. I agreed and looked forward to a future meal of eggs.

That day I was advised that a great musical concert was to take place. We carried no instruments in our meager possessions, but I had long ago ceased to question how and where things would appear.

That afternoon I could feel the excitement build as we walked through a canyon. It was narrow, perhaps twelve feet wide with walls extending up eighteen feet. We stopped for the night, and while the vegetable and insect meal was being prepared the musicians set up their stage. Round barrel-shaped plants grew there. Someone cut off the tops and scooped out the moist pumpkin-colored centers, which we all sucked. The large seeds in the pulp were put to one side. Some of the hairless skins we carried were draped over the plants, tied securely. They became incredible percussion instruments.

An old dead tree lay nearby, several of the limbs covered with termites. One was broken off and the insects knocked off. The termites had eaten the center out of the branch, and it was filled with sawdust. By using a stick in a ramming motion and then blowing out the dead crumbly core, they soon had a long hollow tube. I felt I was seeing Gabriel's trumpet constructed. I found out later that this is what the Australians commonly refer to as a didjeridoo. It makes a low musical sound when you blow into it.

One of the musicians started clicking sticks together, and another used two rocks to establish a beat. They had taken pieces of shale, hung them from threads, and created the sound of tinkling chimes. One man made a bull-roarer, which is a flat piece of wood attached to a cord; it is whirled around, making a roaring noise. They expertly controlled the increasing and decreasing of the volume. The arrangement in the canyon created a fantastic vibration and echo. The word
concert
could not have been more aptly used.

The people sing individually, in groups, and often in harmony. I realized some of the songs were as old as time. These people repeat chants created here in the desert before the invention of our calendar. But I also experienced new compositions, music being composed just because I was there. I was told, “Just as a musician seeks musical expression, so the music in the universe seeks to be expressed.”

Because they have no written language, knowledge is passed from generation to generation in song and dance. Each historical event can be depicted by drawings on the sand or in music and drama. They have music every day because it is necessary to keep facts fresh in the memory, and to tell their entire history takes about a year. If each event were also painted and all the paintings were laid on the ground in the proper sequence, you would have a map of the world as it has appeared over the last thousands of years.

What I really witnessed, however, was how these people live life to the fullest without any material attachments. At the end of our festival, the instruments were replaced where they had found them. The seeds were planted to insure new growth. Signs were painted on the rock wall, indicating the harvest available for the next travelers. The sticks, limb, and rocks were released by the musicians, yet the joy of creative composition, and the talent, remained as a confirmation of each person's worth and self-esteem. A musician carries the music within him. He needs no specific instrument. He is the music.

It seemed to me that day I was also learning that life is self-service. We can enrich our own lives, give to ourselves, and be as creative and happy as we will allow ourselves to be. Composer and the other musicians walked away with heads held high. “Pretty great concert,” one musician commented. “One of the finest,” was the reply. I heard the featured individual say, “Guess before too long, I'll change my name from Composer to Great Composer.”

It wasn't an inflated ego I was observing. These are merely people who recognize their talents and the importance of sharing and developing the numerous wonders we are given. There is an important connection between acknowledging one's own self-worth and the celebration of personally bestowing a new name.

These people say they have been here for all time. Scientists know they have inhabited Australia for at least fifty thousand years. It is truly amazing that after fifty thousand years they have destroyed no forests, polluted no water, endangered no species, caused no contamination, and all the while they have received abundant food and shelter. They have laughed a lot and cried very little. They live long, productive, healthy lives and leave spiritually confident.

O
NE MORNING
started with an air of excitement as the small group formed our routine pattern, facing east. Only a hint of color indicated impending dawn. Spirit Woman walked to the center and replaced the Tribal Elder who had concluded his portion of morning worship.

Spirit Woman and I had a lot in common physically. She was the only Aboriginal female in the entire tribe weighing over 120 pounds. I was sure I was losing weight, walking in the intense heat and eating only one meal per day. I had enough excess adipose tissue stored throughout my body that I quite liked the picture of fat dripping off and surrounding my footprints in the sand.

In the center of our semicircle Spirit Woman stood, hands extended over her head, offering her talent to the invisible audience in the sky. She opened herself to be a means of expression if Divine Oneness were to operate through her that day. She desired to share her talent with me, the adopted Mutant on this walkabout. The petition concluded, she loudly and emphatically gave thanks. The others in the group joined, shouting gratitude for the yet unmanifested gifts of the day. Normally, I was told, this would be done in silence, using their perfected head-talk, but because I was still a novice at receiving mental telepathy, and a guest, they performed within the framework of my limitations.

We walked that day until late afternoon. There had been very little vegetation growing along our route. It was a relief for me, however, not to have spinifex blades injecting their barbs into the soles of my feet.

Silence was broken in late afternoon when someone spotted a grove of dwarf trees. They were strange-looking plants, a tree trunk that spread out on top like a giant bush. This was what Spirit Woman had asked for and had been anticipating.

The previous night, as we sat around the fire, she and three others had each taken a flat hide surface and stitched it solidly to a rim. Today they carried the finished objects. I did not ask the purpose. I knew I would be told in time.

Spirit Woman grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the trees, pointing. I looked, seeing nothing. Her excitement drew my attention back for a second search. Then I saw it, a giant spider web. It was a thick, glistening, complex design involving hundreds of woven strands. There seemed to be one on several of the trees. She spoke to Ooota, who in turn told me to choose one. I did not know what I should be looking for but had learned that choosing intuitively was the way of the Aborigines. I pointed to one.

Next she took an aromatic oil from the pouch she carried at her waist and smeared it all over the round tambourine-shaped object. She pulled away all the leaves behind the target of her attention. Then, placing the oiled surface behind the web, with one swift swoop forward, she emerged with the web captured perfectly and framed professionally on the hide. I watched as others came forward and selected a web, and each of the women, carrying a frame, recreated the scene of whisking the gossamer threads onto the ready-made mounting.

While we had been playing, the rest of the tribe had been busy building a fire and gathering food for our evening meal. It included many of the large spiders from the dwarf trees, some roots, and a new tuber I had not eaten before that resembled a turnip.

After our meal, we gathered around as we did each evening. Spirit Woman explained her talent to me. Every human being is unique, and each of us is given certain characteristics that are exceptionally strong and can become a talent in life. Her contribution to the society was that of Dream Catcher. Everyone dreams, I was told. Not everyone cares to remember their dreams or learn the information from them, but everyone does dream. “Dreams are the shadow of reality,” she said. Everything that exists, that happens here, is also available in the dream world. All answers are there. These special webs are helpful in a ceremony of song and dance to aid in asking the universe for dream guidance. Spirit Woman then assists the dreamer to understand the message.

I understood them to say that the word
dreaming
means levels of awareness. There is ancestor dreaming when thought created the world; there is out-of-body dreaming such as deep meditation, there is sleep dreaming, and so on.

The tribe uses the dream catchers to ask for guidance in any situation. If they want help in understanding a relationship, a health question, or the purpose behind some experience, they believe the answer can be brought to light in a dream. Mutants know only one way to enter the dream state and that is sleep, but the Real People are aware of dream consciousness while awake. Without the use of mind-controlling drugs, merely using breath techniques and concentration, they perform consciously while in the dream world.

The instructions I received were to dance with the dream catcher. Whirling is especially successful. You plant the question firmly in your mind and ask it over and over as you move about. The most effective spin, and the Aboriginal explanation for it, is an exercise that increases energy vortexes in seven key centers of the body: merely standing with my arms outstretched and spinning always to the right.

Soon dizzy, I sat down and reflected how my life had changed. Out here where there was not even one person per square kilometer, in an area more than three times the size of Texas, I was performing a whirling dervish, kicking up the sand and causing the air that contacted my dream catcher to ripple endlessly across the open expanse.

The tribal people do not dream at night unless they call in a dream. Sleep for them is a time for important rest and recovery of the body. It is not meant to be a time of splitting energy between projects. They believe the reason Mutants dream at night is because in our society we are not allowed to dream during the day, and especially to dream with one's eyes open is totally misunderstood.

Finally it was time to sleep. I smoothed out the sand and used my arm as a pillow. I was handed a small container of water and told to drink one-half of it now and the remainder upon awakening. That would help me remember the dream in detail. The question that was most pressing on my mind was the question I asked. What am I to do, after this journey is concluded, with the information I am being given?

In the morning Spirit Woman, speaking through Ooota, asked me to recall my dream. I thought it would be impossible for her to help interpret the meaning because it did not contain anything that seemed related to Australia, but I told her about it anyway. She asked me mostly about how I felt, what emotion was attached to the objects and things that happened in my dream. It was remarkable how she could draw insight from me, when the civilized lifestyle I had dreamed of was totally foreign to her.

I came to the understanding that there would be some storms in my life, that people and things I had invested a lot of time and energy into were going to be laid aside, but now I knew what it felt like to be a centered, peaceful being, and I had that emotion to draw upon anytime I needed or wanted it. I learned I could live more than one life in a lifetime and that I had already experienced the closing of a door. I learned that a time had come where I could no longer stay with the people, the location, the values and beliefs I held. For my own soul growth I had gently closed a door and entered a new place, a new life that was equal to a step up a spiritual rung on a ladder. And most important, I did not have to do anything with the information. If I simply lived the principles that appeared to be truth for me, I would touch the lives of those I was destined to touch. The doors would be opened. After all “it” was not my message; I was merely the messenger.

I wondered if any of the others who had danced with the dream catcher would share their dreams. Before I could ask the question, Ooota read my mind and said, “Yes, Tool Maker wishes to speak.” Tool Maker was an elderly man who specialized in making not only tools, but paintbrushes, cooking gear, and just about everything. His question had been about muscle aches. His dream had been about a turtle that crawled out of the billabong to discover he had lost legs on one side of his body and was lopsided. After Spirit Woman talked him through the dream, like she had done with me, he came to the conclusion it was time for him to teach someone else his trade. He once had loved the responsibility of being a master craftsman, but now there was less true enjoyment and more self-inflicted pressure, so he was signaled a need for change. He had become one-sided, no longer balanced in work and play.

I saw him teaching others in the days that followed, and when I asked about his aches and pains, his withered face increased in deep lines, as smiling he said, “When thinking became flexible, joints became flexible. No pain, no more.”

I
T WAS
during our morning prayer ritual that Kindred to Large Animals spoke. His brotherhood wished to be honored. All agreed; they had not heard from them in some time.

In Australia there aren't very many large animals. It is not like Africa with elephants, lions, giraffe, and zebra. I was curious to see what the universe had in store.

That day we walked at a brisk pace. The heat seemed less concentrated, perhaps even a few degrees below one hundred. Female Healer put a thick lizard and plant oil combination on my face and nose and especially on the tops of my ears. I had not counted layers of skin but knew I had gone through several. Actually, I was concerned that eventually I would have no ears left because the sunburning never seemed to cease. Spirit Woman came to my rescue. They called for a problem-solving meeting, and although this situation was unique for them, they rapidly came up with a solution. A gadget was created that resembled old-fashioned earmuffs worn in the snow. Spirit Woman took an animal ligament, tied it in a circle, and Sewing Woman attached feathers all around it. This was hung over my ears, and combined with the oil, it provided wonderful relief.

The day was fun. We played guessing games as we traveled. They took turns imitating animals and reptiles or acting out events from the past, and we tried to solve each riddle. There was laughter all day long. Footprints of my traveling companions no longer looked like pox marks on the sand; I was beginning to see the slight variations characteristic of each person's unique carriage.

As evening approached, I began searching the distant plain for vegetation. The color ahead of us was changing from beige ground cover to shades of green. Then I saw some trees as we approached a new terrain. You would think by then I would no longer be surprised as I witnessed how things manifested out of nowhere for Real People. But their genuine enthusiasm at the receipt of each gift had become a part of my core personality.

There they stood, the large animals who wished to be honored for their purpose of existence—four wild camels. They each had a single tall hump and were not at all groomed like the ones I had seen in the circus and at the zoo. Camels are not native to Australia. They were brought here for the purpose of transportation, and apparently some of them had survived, though the party riding them did not.

The tribe stopped. Six scouts went off, divided. Three approached from the east and three from the west. They silently crept forward in a hunched position. Each carried a boomerang, a spear, and a spear thrower. The spear thrower is a separate wooden item that launches the spear. By using the full arm motion, as well as the snap from the wrist, the spear distance and capability for precise accuracy is tripled. The herd of camels had one male, two adult females, and a half-grown member.

The keen eyes of the hunters surveyed the pack. They advised me later that they had agreed mentally it was the elderly female who was to be taken. They use the ways of their brother animal, the dingo, to receive signals from the weakest animal. It seems to call to the hunters, the desire to be honored that day for its purpose of being and to leave the strong to continue the lifeline. Without words, and no hand signals that I observed, in totally coordinated timing, the rushed advance took place. A perfectly planted spear to the head and a simultaneous one to the chest brought instant death. The three remaining camels galloped away, the sound of hooves disappearing in the distance.

We prepared a deep pit, lined the bottom and sides with layers of dry grass. Kindred to Large Animals, knife in hand, sliced open the belly of the camel in zipperlike style. A pocket of warm air escaped, and with it came the strong, warm odor of blood. The organs were removed one by one, heart and liver set aside. These were valued by the tribe for the properties of strength and endurance they contained. As a scientist, I could see the tremendous source of iron they brought to a diet that was inconsistent and unpredictable in nutrients. Blood was funneled into a special container carried around the neck of Female Healer's younger apprentice. The hooves were put to one side, and I was told they were very useful, having numerous purposes. I couldn't imagine what they were.

“Mutant, this camel grew into adulthood just for you,” one of the butchers shouted. He held up the enormous, watery bladder pouch.

My addiction to water was well known, and they kept looking for an appropriate bladder to make into a vessel for me to carry. One was now available.

This land was obviously a favorite grazing spot for animals, as indicated by the piles of dung. Ironically, I now treasured what only months before had been repulsive objects even for me to discuss. Today I picked up dung, grateful for this wonderful source of fuel.

Our joyful day was ending with more laughter and jokes as they debated about my carrying the camel bladder tied to my waist, around my neck, or wearing it like a backpack. The next day we marched with the camel hide stretched over the heads of several people. It provided shade but also allowed the hide to dry and cure as we continued our journey. They had stripped the hide of all visible flesh and treated it with tannin collected from plant bark. The camel had provided more meat than we needed for our meal, so the rest was cut into strips. Some of it had not cooked well in the pit, and that portion was strung on a tree-limb pole.

Several of us carried these banners across the desert—camel flesh flapping in the wind, drying out and becoming naturally preserved.

An odd parade indeed!