Sulum Factum Magus

I am very lucky in where I live. I have magnificent forests a short drive from my door, and I often go for walks there, to reconnect with myself, nature, and the essentials of life. Indeed, more than luck, because I chose to live where I do, because of my love of the forests – or the bush as we say in Australia. It is so easy to forget in the tumult of the Western World, the bustle of the city, and the intensity of the workplace, that humans are but one form of life on this planet. Western culture takes for granted that humans are superior to all other life forms, and that nature is ours to use, exploit, and to eradicate for condominiums. We can trace this back to Judao-Christian world views expressed in biblical terms as God giving Man dominion over the beasts of the field etc.

However this is not the pagan world view. While pagans believe all sorts of different things, a common thread running through the modern neo-pagan movement is respect for nature, and for other forms of life, based upon a view of humans as one of many life forms, each playing an important part in the bio-sphere of our mother the Earth. The mechanistic view of Western Culture sees nature as blind, and beasts as “dumb”, and humans as the pinnacle of evolution or creation, depending on whether you subscribe to the scientific mythology or the religious mythology.

My view is that the natural world is full of life and consciousness and intelligence, but that most people, imprisoned within their individualistic symbolically mediated communication methods, have lost the art of communicating with this intelligence and spiritual energy that manifests through nature.

Today, my walk took me through the rain forest. A light mist cloaked the trees, and the thick clouds let loose sporadic showers of gentle drops. I passed several glades of native violets, as I walked under the canopy, padding along on a thick bed of leaves. Bright red berries of native raspberries beckoned from the side of the path. On a wet week day, there aren’t too many people about, so there were plenty of birds to keep me company. Inquisitive little finch like birds came to check me out, as I stood still for a breather. Rufous fan tails fluttered up the path in front of me. The Wompoo pigeons were calling in the canopy arround me. Everywhere underfoot were the bright rainforest berries of summer. I stopped to talk to a bird that appeared on a branch in front of me. How are you, I asked it in my mind’s ear. How are the insects? Plentiful, it told me, before hopping along its journey. As I made my way along the ridge line, the canopy thinned out, to make way for magnificent white mahoganies. Gradually the path became thinner and more overgrown, the further I tracked away from the road and the car park. I caught sight of a medium sized black bird flying off in the under brush, and turned a corner in the path to see what looked like two handfulls of twigs, planted side by side in the ground – the bower of the Satin Bower bird, which he uses to attract a mate.

The path opened out onto a small clearing, with a large log along one end. I sat on the log, and called my Deities, and honoured the elements, and sat in quiet contemplation. I expanded my aura, reaching out to embrace the forest around me, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the bush – the many varieties of birds, and the sound of drops of water falling around me onto the forest floor.

There is a music in the sounds of the bush, the twitters and clicks of the birds and insects, and the pat of the falling drops of water gathering on leaves before plopping onto the ground. To become attuned to this music, allow your attention to dwell on your heart as you breath out, and on your third eye as you breathe in, gently, lightly. Feel full of joy and a sense of connection with everything around you. When you feel that you have got the rhythm and pace of this music, allow yourself to join in with it, by making clicking noises with your tongue and popping your lips quietly and gently. Other gentle noises that you can use to join in with this music are the sounds you make by gently sucking air through your top teeth. Try to imitate the sounds around you, of birds, drops, insects, or whatever you can hear.

If you have made the correct preparations, you will find yourself being a part of this magical music. There will be no separation. The energy that moves the rain, the birds and the insects will also be moving you, and you will be part of the music.

There is no further description of this that I can give – except to encourage you to try this out for yourself. You won’t regret it, I am sure.

Blessed Be,

Robyn.

Australia, and in particular Sydney, has just survived the visit of the catholic pontiff. One of the most interesting issues surrounding the visit, in my opinion, were the calls for a pontifical apology for the many cases of sexual abuse perpetrated by catholic clergy. Having had a catholic upbringing, and attending a catholic boys college, this issue has something of a personal relevance. Although I was not personally subject to any sexual abuse, and had no first hand knowledge of any at the time, it was common knowledge in the playground that there were certain members of the teaching staff, not all of them priests or brothers, either, whom one had to be very vigilant around. Indeed, a common playground cry in those days was “Bums to the wall, bums to the wall!”, whenever one of these questionable characters strolled by, thus informing the perpetrator that their activities were public knowledge, at least amongst the students. Adults, however, teachers, clergy and parents, found these cries disrespectful taunts, and treated them as something to be punished, rather than as the warning signals which they obviously were. Perhaps there were also innocent teachers who suffered these taunts. However it seems clear now that underneath this smoke, was a deadly fire, damaging and burning many lives.

When I think about this, and why the warning signals were ignored, I come to the conclusion that our society treats children with contempt and mistrust. The initial assumption is that they are lying, being nasty, or otherwise acting mischievously. Somehow, children, our society seems to assume, are naturally inclined to being naughty, and it is only through discipline, and in those days, corporeal punishment, that the evil is driven out of them.

The origins of this child-hating attitude lies, I believe, in the very doctrines of Christianity itself. The doctrine of original sin teaches that we are all tainted, at birth, with the sinfulness shown by Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Baptism, is supposed to wash away the taint of original sin, but it is, apparently, ineffective, if the attitude of the teacher-clerics is anything to go by. This belief in the intrinsic evil of children caused the clergy, in my school days, to be great believers in the discipline of corporeal punishment. They took delight in the strap, the cane, and six of the best.

Even today, we have adherents of this view spouting their nonsense in public. Recently the leader of the state opposition in Queensland, was defending the right of parents to smack their children, saying he was smacked as a child, and it made him a better person – seemingly unaware of the irony of his remarks. Having been raised in a culture of physical and corporal punishment, I regard physical discipline and smacking of children as child abuse. It breaks my heart to see parents smacking their two year olds with repeated slaps. “Stop that, or I’ll give you something to cry about”.

I am a great believer in establishing clear boundaries, and consequences for anti-social behaviour. Establishing in children the consciousness of interacting positively with others, and the need to respect other people emotionally, physically and spiritually is, or should be, one of the principal jobs of parenting. Personally, I feel no need to resort to physical coercion, intimidation or violence to achieve this end.

Indeed, I believe that attempting to teach respect, love and consideration through beatings and physical intimidation is misguided in the extreme. Most often, it results in people who become hardened to their own suffering, and that of others, and all too often, people without scruples about using intimidation and the threat of violence to get their own way in adulthood.

But it goes deeper than simply the doctrine of original sin. There is also the question of sexual innocence and celibacy. As I discuss in my book the Great Work, the concept of celibacy is based on the idea that divinity and sexuality do not mix, and that to be pure, and a suitable emulator of Jesus Christ, one must refrain from any sexual expression, not only in action, but also in thought and imagination. The reason this is thought to be so is that creation is conceptualised as balanced between the ultimate good (God) and the ultimate evil (the Devil). Any union of opposites is mapped onto this basic paradigm, with one side of the coin acquiring a gloss of goodness, and the other acquiring a sinister gloss.

Thus the inevitable conclusions are reached: day is good, night is of the devil, man is good, woman is of the devil, humanity is good, nature is of the devil, reason and rational thought are good, emotion, intuition and instinct are of the devil, activity and progress is good, rest (idleness) is of the devil. These days, our society is not quite so stark and medieval in its outlook, but underneath our so-called modernity and rejection of superstition, lies the very same basic worldview as medieval Christianity. Even in the cartoons, the goodies battle the baddies, re-enforcing the view that the world is driven by the endless battle between good and evil.

This viewpoint, in my opinion, is a destructive and unhelpful one for this period in history, and needless to say, out of step with the viewpoint that underpins many pagan philosophies. The pagan viewpoint that I espouse sees the universe as the creation of equal and complimentary principles: the generative and nurturing (female) archetype, and the inseminating and activating (male) archetype. With this worldview, sexual congress is seen as a resonance with the divine creative process that gives rise to the world. Sexuality, thus has the potential to unite one with one’s divine nature. In the Christian based worldview, sexual congress is seen as a flirtation with the devil, or the lusts of the flesh, something that separates one from one’s divine nature.

Now human beings have evolved to have and enjoy sexual activity. They are blessed with emotional and hormonal drives and desires to seek out sexual partners, and to couple with them. The pagan viewpoint of my path is to honour this aspect of our nature, and to seek to intensify the resonance with the archetypal forces of Divinity. This has the potential to transform the self and one’s relationships, by harnessing and expressing the creative power of the universe in concentrated form. However, indiscriminate and unconscious pursuit of these drives can and does bring pain and heartbreak. Therefore recognising the powerful nature of sexuality, an ethical dimension ought to surround sexual expression – based on mutual consent freely given.

In our society, we have established guidelines for when mutual consent can be freely given, and these guidelines involve the age of the parties, and whether there is any relationship of power or responsibility, or use of any physical, emotional or other form of coercive pressure.

In the Christian clergy, we find people who have, more than most, taken to heart the worldview of Good versus Evil, and where sexual expression is definitely on the Evil side. Clergy are only human, and left to their own devices have just as many sexual thoughts and urges as anyone else. However these thoughts are a source of guilt for such people, as they have bought into a worldview where such natural inclinations and thoughts are seen as the temptations of the devil, and a sign of evil working in their lives.

They may well begin to see themselves as corrupt, guilty, and undeserving. Perhaps they see their young charges as innocent and happy, and desiring this same innocence themselves, an innocence which they have constructed as lost, they wish to possess it again, by sexually possessing these (in their minds) objects of innocence.

In any case, normal modes of sexual expression are denied them. They are in a position of trust and authority. Sexual possession of the innocent may allow them a perverse return to their own sexual innocence – temporarily at least. For of course given the world view they adopt, they must be conscious that their actions are “of the devil”. This leads to greater guilt, and a greater need for redemption, and a greater attraction to childhood innocence. In short, a vicious cycle of sexual predation on the young.

While the Christian religion in particular, and our society in general, sees the world as balanced between Good and Evil, and caught in the everlasting battle between God and the Devil, there will be no let up in the line of abused children.

And it is not just the priests. We are an entire society lusting after the innocence of youth, and at the same time rushing to corrupt and take advantage of youthful innocence to turn a dollar, in marketing, sales to children, TVs, movies, toys, music and so on. However attempting to fulfil this drive to recover our innocence by purchasing the appearance of innocent childhood, will provide no more than temporary relief.

To really reclaim our innocence is to reclaim the sacred nature of sexuality, and the sacred nature of creation, and to erase the brainwashing that says that the union of male and female in sexual congress is evil, and to erase the brainwashing that says that the union of a male and female divinity is blasphemous. It is not blasphemy. It is the beauty of creation, seen through innocent eyes. The reclamation of sexual innocence is not easy, as it requires, for most of us, a fundamental change in world view. Such changes require effort and commitment. However, for the practicing pagan, such a change sneaks up on one. The God and Goddess become real, and their union more than a metaphor. The recreation of the world occurs within the crucible of ritual, every time the Sacred Marriage of God and Goddess is ritually enacted. In time, one looks out upon the world and sees in every process and circumstance the sacred wheel of becoming – the interaction of the fertilising and generative principles, producing their offspring, and continuing on the cycle of life. There is no place for guilt or shame about sexuality itself, and no drive to recover sexual innocence – which in extreme form is, I believe, one of the drivers of child sexual abuse in our society, especially by clergy.

I don’t imagine that changing world views will remove all sexual exploitation. Nor do I believe that the pagan community is itself free from this scourge. There will still be selfish people who think more of satisfying their own desires than about the effect they might be having on others. But I hope that an airing of these issues will help in understanding how to overcome and reduce the sexual exploitation of children in our society.

BB,

Robyn

As I have mentioned many times before, I’m sure, it is very healing and re-newing to spend some time in nature. Today I went for a long walk in the forest. At the start of the walk, I was feeling quite down in the dumps – with all the stresses of the modern world weighing heavily upon me. Bills piling up, work stresses, feelings of disconnection and isolation, and worst of all, feeling a long way away from my true nature. Usually I can spring myself into a more positive frame of mind, but today I just wasn’t in the mood for any inner work. It seemed like such a chore! So after a few yoga stretches, and a spot of breakfast, and toying with some meditative exercises, I decided to go for a walk in the forest.

As soon as I got amongst the trees, I started to feel better. At the beginning of the track was a lovely grove of Sydney Blue Gums, with their cool slate grey trunks marked by wavy darker insect lines. I felt their calmness and un-ruffled presence begin to wash over me, and my poise and equilibrium began to return. As the forestry track wound down the hillside, the Sydney Blue Gums gave way to a mix of Tallow-woods, Grey Gums and Ironbarks, and the feeling of the forest became less lofty or dreamy, to my perceptions, anyway.

As I continued to walk, my worries and cares literally drained away from me, and I became calm, and for the first time in several days, it seemed like I had some space around me, in which I could connect with myself again. It was a lovely autumn day – sunshine in a cloudless sky, just cool enough for comfortable walking, and the sun low enough in the sky to give plenty of shade from the trees on the side of the track.

As the elevation got lower, and the soil became rockier and lighter in colour, the Spotted Gums came into preponderance, with the odd White Mahogany scattered around. Ironbarks of course, still in evidence. I always like to be in the company of Spotted Gums, with their many different hues from blue to reds and orange, and their dimples which remind me of boiling water swirling around, then snap frozen. Further down the slope, I came to an area of stunted Queensland Blue Gums, getting ready to flower and in amongst them, I was delighted to come upon three Kurrajongs growing in a clump. I am particularly fond of Kurrajongs, which in my system of magic, assist with the telling of stories which touch and/or express the emotional depths. In my experience, I have usually come across Kurrajongs as single isolated trees, so it was very unusual to see the three of them there. Perhaps under the ground, there was only the one trunk. In any case, I christened them the three sisters, and spent quite some time in their gentle embrace. As I said, I feel an affinity with the Kurrajong, perhaps because I have always felt a bit different from the people around me, like the Kurrajong, the only one of my kind, surrounded by other species of people: you know the types – those who are interested in corporate ladder climbing, the latest fashions, making large amounts of money, with little sense of the spiritual, or the artistic, and whose sensitivities have been dulled by food, drink, and immersion in a heavy materiality. Not that I am opposed to a nice meal or a glass of wine on occasion, or earning a living by honest means, mind you. Just that, like the Kurrajong, I have always felt I was the only one, surrounded by other types of people who didn’t appreciate or understand me. Or perhaps more simply, surrounded by people who didn’t resonate with me.

So it was nice to spend time with the three sisters, and draw on their strength and ability to calmly and self-assuredly be themselves, even though surrounded by other types of tree. And as I write now it comes to me that indeed the Kurrajong fulfills an esoteric purpose in its aloneness, within the widespread range in which it is found. For it is like the leaven that makes the bread rise. A small amount goes a long way. I heard a fellow taking about the orders of Hermetic magic this way once – that they were like the leaven that helped the dough to rise – the dough being western society. I think the same is true for all people who serve the Ancient Ones – in whatever way, whether Hermetic, Pagan, Wiccan or any path with heart. There are precious few of us, and sometimes it seems that we are working in isolation. However, together, we help to make the dough of life rise into a shapely loaf – whether through channeling energy, or helping others to recover their true nature, healing or magical works, or perhaps most importantly, having the courage and knowledge to be one’s true self. Most of the people out there don’t appreciate it, or even recognise it. And that is the way it should be!

However it sometimes takes its toll when one marches to a different drum beat to that of one’s colleagues and peers. People’s suspicions and ill feeling are easily stirred by someone they sense as being vaguely different, or motivated by unfathomables. In the old days, it was the teaching amongst the wise that those who followed the path should make every effort to appear no different to a typical person. Their dress should be unexceptional, and as befits their trade. Their demeanour should be temperate, and their behaviour moderate. They should engage in the customs of their village, town or country as befits any respectable person. They should have friendly relations with all, and if such were not possible with a particular person, such a person should be avoided. If one was brought into conflict, in spite of one’s efforts to avoid it, one should give every opportunity to have the conflict resolved fairly. If this proved impossible, due to a person’s ill will, then the conflict should be engaged impeccably if it was possible to win. If, however, one’s opponent was so superior in resources or social position as to make victory impossible, then this should be recognised, and one should allow them the victory, and move on. As tempting as it may seem, one’s esoteric knowledge should not be used in order to revenge oneself on such people. Typically, they lack the knowledge and skills to defend themselves, and the grief or harm that you may cause will undoubtedly spill over to effect others who are harmless and undeserving of ill. Thus the wise teach of old that the power is not to be used in this way, except that those who continually do serious harm, and where efforts by ordinary means to address the situation have failed, then a binding may be conducted to prevent further harm. The web of life will reverberate with their actions, and in time they will reap the rewards due to them, good or ill, as will we all. This guidance is no less true today as it was in days gone by.

The chance to connect with and work with spiritual brothers and sisters is a treasure without price. In those times when one’s brothers and sisters are far away, or yet to be discovered, one may draw strength from the Kurrajong, who is used to being different, and knows the way of it.

As I walked back up the hill, feeling refreshed and re-newed, I noticed many birds, which had seemed absent on the way down. At one point, two pretty little finches came and sat on a tree branch only a few feet from me, and enjoyed my company as I stood watching them for several minutes. I fancy that they could sense the clear and open energy that I carried, as I walked back, a far cry from the dense and unhappy energy as I started my walk.

So get out into the forest, and amongst the trees! You will feel better – I’m sure of it!

These days, one does not hear so often the term “duty”, or about people feeling they need to do it. In common with many in my generation, I tend to think more in terms of personal satisfaction and fulfilment. Duty, however, has been on my mind of late, as I have been thinking a lot about my grandfather, who passed away before I was born, and who did his duty as a soldier in World War One.

For many years, I never gave my grandfather a second thought. My father rarely mentioned him as I was growing up, and I knew next to nothing about him. One day however, well into my adulthood, my sister found an old photograph, and thought it would be amusing to show me, as she thought there was a strong family resemblance. As soon as I laid eyes on the photograph, of my grandfather in his World War One soldier’s uniform, I felt an over powering urge to burst into tears. I believe I had to excuse myself, and go outside to give myself time to become composed again!

Needless to say this was a totally unexpected and puzzling reaction. Ever since, I have become interested in my grandfather’s life. Fortunately, one of my auntie’s is very interested in family history, and his sent me an account of her remembrances and researches into his life. There are a number of curious coincidences, such as the fact that he wrote and published a book, and published a country newspaper for many years (I am involved in publishing and writing); had a love for sayings and proverbs (a characteristic I share); and became very close to a French speaking family following World War One (I am very interested in the French language).

This Samhain just passed (beginning of May on the southern wheel), he had been on my mind, also due to Anzac day being the week before, and deciding to get up and go to the dawn service. During our Samhain ritual, there was an opportunity for attendees to express themselves to departed loved ones, during which I expressed to him my regret at not meeting; thanks for his service during the war; and hope that I may do my duty, as he had done.

It was a very emotional experience for me. Since then, I have felt his presence very strongly, and have spent time re-reading the family history, and even composed a song commemorating his life, which I find difficult to sing without bursting into tears. I wondered at first if I might actually be my own grandfather re-incarnated. However, he seems to be a completely separate person. On one occasion, I felt his presence very strongly, and heard with my mind’s ear his dour, heavy voice telling me that he was estranged from his sons. He appeared to have confused me with my own father, calling me to give him a hug, by my father’s childhood nick name.

What do I make of such experiences? Well, they are in accord with my belief that ancestral consciousness can be contacted, and worked with, as if those who have died carry on their life and consciousness in a world beyond the veil, and that those who are willing to make the effort to train themselves in the required skills can establish communication and interaction with their departed loved ones.

What is the point of such contact and communication? For me it is a part of the healing journey, an exploration of the wound, hopefully a step towards wholeness. In understanding my grandfather’s life, and appreciating the resonance between our lives, I am coming to a deeper appreciation of the influences at work within me. I hope that by appreciating and resonating with his commitment to doing his duty, and his willingness to fight in the service of a worthy cause, I may find the resources within me to persevere with my own duty, in spite of the many disappointments and hardships that life offers. Compared to the hardships he experienced in the trenches of France, including being seriously wounded and spending three months in hospital, my hardships seem rather trivial! I believe that it may also be helpful to him, in his own healing journey, to have such contact with one of his descendants.  In a wider, less individualised sense, there is, I believe, a shared essence which transcends his and my personal boundaries, and this shared essence continues its journey of becoming and self discovery in my life today, as it did also during his life.

For much of my life, in fact as long as I can recall, I have felt a ball of un-cried tears in my throat. I have from time to time gone through intensive efforts to work with this energy, blockage, or grief, call it what you will. While this work has been tremendously valuable for me, and has helped me to grow enormously as a person, the grief has remained. I believe that now I am starting to come to grips with those un-cried tears, and it has to do with my grandfather’s life. However it is a long journey, which is just beginning.

I encourage you to start your own journey, to broaden your horizon of self experience, and explore the potential for healing in working with your own departed ancestors. Some techniques are given in my book “The Great Work”. Or simply find a photograph or heirloom, and put it on your altar. During your practice, activate the third eye chakra, and then split your attention into two, keeping one part of your attention on the third eye, and place the other within the photograph or heirloom. Breathe deeply and regularly in a relaxed manner, imagining your breath to move in and out of the third eye, flowing between the two points of attention.

Allow impressions to come into your mind in a non-judgemental way. After five or ten minutes, cease the breathing and attention, and just sit quietly and allow whatever impressions arise to be received. Afterwards make a gesture of gratitude to the Gods and the Ancestors.

At the very least, you will come to an appreciation of the mysteriousness of life!

Blessed be,

Rob

As regular readers will know, one of my enthusiasms is working magically with Australian trees. I believe that our native trees are every bit as magical as the revered trees of the old countries – and even more so for those of us who actually live and breathe in Australia. My philosophy is to work with nature as she expresses herself in the place in which I am. There is a great body of esoteric lore associated with the trees of the old countries – a body of lore rightly respected and studied by pagans of this new country. However when these studies lead antipodean pagans to want to plant circles of sacred norhern hemisphere trees in sensitive Australian bushland, then I believe the balance has been lost somewhere.  Especially as the sacred trees of the northern hemisphere can be terrible pests and serious environmental weeds in Australia. So here is my advice – when in the northern hemisphere, reach out to the sacred trees of your ancestors, experience their magic and age old connection with the pagan way. When in Australia, or any where else, for that matter, reach out to the trees that naturally grow in that location, and experience the magic of place through them, as they will be naturally melded into that energetic tapestry.

The difficulty, however, is in knowing the lore of our antipodean trees. In order to help, I have penned the following verses, which is my attempt to sum up the essence of  each tree that I have worked with. I commend these verses to all Australian pagans interested in the lore of our native trees. I hope that they inspire you to do your own psychical researched in the Australian bush! 

You might like to look at my Brisbane tree pages as well, if you are interested in this topic!

Blessed Be,

Rob

Verses for Australian Trees 

By Ironbark endure dark night

By Brushbox transform ill to right

By Melaleuca, true the dream

By Bunya, true self’s pride receive

And ever know thee tree of light

And ever grow thee tree of light

Bright within the womb of night.

By Wattle Black, thy plans be sure

By Banksia, now dance with Joy

By Kurrajong, give stories heart

By River Red Gum, tread thy path

And ever know thee tree of light

And ever grow thee tree of light

Bright within the womb of night.

By Wattle Green may’st hunt and trap

With Turpentine, the dragon damp

By Sydney Blue gum, hold the mist

Red Cedar, time’s decay resist

And ever know thee tree of light

And ever grow thee tree of light

Bright within the womb of night.

Let Hoop Pine’s presence rule the stage

Silky Oak thy quest’s true page

By Casuarina sing the sea

With Bloodwood’s warm embrace of thee

And ever know thee tree of light

And ever grow thee tree of light

Bright within the womb of night.

By White Cedar sense refine

With Broadleaf apple Her design

By Spotted Gum thy depths up-well

To Lady Fig, thy grief may’st tell,

And ever know thee tree of light

And ever grow thee tree of light

Bright within the womb of night.

The apology by the Australian Parliament to the stolen generations of Indigenous People, and their families was, in my view, a momentous historical event in the history of the country. Many Australians, however, will not be aware that the apology has reverberated through the psychic atmosphere of Australia, and this psychic atmosphere has significantly shifted and opened in a way that is unique in my experience.

Ever since I can remember, I have felt the psychic environment of my home town, Brisbane, to be oppressive. This was expressed outwardly as the repression of the Bjelke-Petersen years, and a widespread disdain for artistic pursuits, or so it seemed to me. There seemed to me to be a blight of poverty on the place, both materially, and spiritually, causing people to work long and hard for a meargre return, with nothing left over for pursuing the richness of culture, art or spirituality.

Thankfully, this has moderated significantly in the last decade or so, and the atmosphere is much more open. I believe that this psychic oppressiveness comes from a number of causes – including the harsh history of one of the most notorious penal colonies in Australia, Moreton Bay. Its tyrannical commandant, Patrick Logan, is commemorated in the names of the Logan River, and the now city of Logan. Now it beats me why the name of this guy should be commemorated this way at all, but such is the nature of officialdom. One of his major occupations, it would seem, was stringing convicts up on wooden structures, and having them lashed to within an inch of their life. In the name of discipline. A good number of these convicts were Irishmen forced into petty theft by poverty. No wonder the man was hated and feared.

Logan was eventually assassinated by one of the local Indigenous Brothers, no doubt outraged by the atrocities that were being perpetrated under his command. The story is commemmorated in a folk song “Moreton Bay”.

But I digress. Any country must establish its own myths to believe in and give itself meaning. One of the endurring myths of Australia, much harped upon by the Howard Government during its term in office, and its gaggle of conservative commentators, is that of the glorious march of the pioneers, enduring extraordinary hardship to open up the country to farming, settlement, mining and general exploitation. This glorious myth, of course, has a dark side, that of atrocities and dispossession inflicted on the Indigenous inhabitants, who were by and large forcibly removed to “missions”, and forced to live lives without the normal freedoms that most in this country take for granted. Such freedoms as the right to earn a living, to manage one’s own finances, to leave the mission for any reason, or to bring up one’s own children were systematically stripped from our Indigenous Brothers and Sisters. And this was still taking place within the lifetime of a good many Australians living today.

It is high time that Australia apologised for such atrocities in its past, and the Apology to the Stolen Generations is a great beginning to the journey which we have in front of us. This journey, is not just about redressing the wrongs of the past, although this is very important, but about creating a future for Australia.

Pagan philosophy, and esoteric philosophy generally, recognises that reality is manifested outward from the inner dimensions. The future is created by the astral forms that are created today, and through which the future manifests. Prior to the apology, there was, it seemed to me, a strict demarcation between the astral forms of Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australia. The astral dimension of the Indigenous people, it seemed to me, was well guarded, and few non-Indigenous people were given the opportunity of coming into contact with this Astral zone.

After the historical welcome to country at Parliament’s opening the other day, followed by the apology, it seems to me that there has been a loosening of this Astral guard. It is now easier for non-Indigenous Australians to interact with this part of the Astral sphere of Australia.

Of course, the great majority of Australians will have little interest in or awareness of such things. A new generation of Australians will come to maturity taking this loosening for granted. But let those who see and know work constructively within this newly loosened astral framework, in a spirit of respect and cooperation, to co-create a future worthy of our 60,000 years or more of human history.

And what has Captain Logan got to do with this? In my view, our Indigenous Brothers and Sisters have always had our welfare at heart, in spite of the atrocities heaped upon them by the authorities. We modern non-indigenous Australians are, by and large, the prisoners and dupes of those in power, and our own thirst for money and knick knacks that fill our lives with emptiness. Many Indigenous people, through their generosity of heart, I believe, have recognised this. Will the apology be like that spear which dispatched the tyrant Logan, and set us, the sons and daughters of convicts, free from the scourges that rake our collective soul? I sincerely hope that it will be so.