...my home bordered the ‘other neighborhood,’ the one where the Fenians, the Papists, the Catholics lived. The ones I was afraid of. I had stones in my pocket to throw at them if ‘they’ came up ‘my’ street. So I sat on the curb with my friends, waiting for ‘them’ to come.

In this crisis to which we’ve brought ourselves, we can only change what is happening through transforming the way we imagine things. That happens through art. This is why I think stories and images are crucial if we’re to cope with our impending fate with kindness and dignity. The story may not actually be about our own survival, but it has to be about how we fit in.

The ceremonial dances at Ringbalin were about the river ecosystem and how the people would have found sustenance from it. Ngarrindjeri elder Uncle Moogy spoke about how the creatures are seen in their culture as Naatchi, meaning their friends...

As a spirit traveling through matter on a journey towards an unknown event horizon, poetry has been a record and exploration of the inner experience, thoughts, and feelings of this human voyage in a world that is beautiful, mysterious, radiant, and at times terrifying.

The ceremony, which only makes sense if holy beings are watching, draws us into an experiential reality in which holy beings are indeed present.