Expression of love and magic

There is a woman I know....who I first met when she was younger.  I heard about her from her mum while she was overseas exploring, and her mum bought a skirt off me for her.  It was called 'Moon Blood', and it was blue with a red pocket on the front in the shape of a drop.  I saw her a few times after, once when she danced mesmerised at the market we loved, and at odd moments over the years.  I'd go to visit her mum in the lush artisan shop and cafe where she worked, and ask her how her wildling daughter was going.  Snippets and pictures of a woman living a full life.  Finding pockets of reality not often sought.  

And as friends with that young woman now grown on the collective virtual web, I've read more tantalising tendrils of an interesting mind growing out into the world.  She sent me my beautiful purple moo moo once, that I loung around in on the verandah, with my turquoise toe nail polish.  And cute little prince tabards, for our little prince tribe.  At serendipitous moments she conjures words for me, and sends them out on the winds.  

And just today she sent me this.  And she said I could share it so I'd like to.  Cause it's beautiful, and I'd love others to read it too.  

That beautiful woman is Ruthie Joy, and this is what she wrote......

Words are just sound to convey a thought, a feeling, a sense of place.  And so while I use words now, I hope that more than anything the sounds, as they bounce in your own voice around your head, manage to convey what I'm saying.  I'm having what I think is a wake up.  My eyes are open and I'm dreaming.

Living in joyous isolation so far from concrete, on sacred land.  I'm so close to the Western Australia border I can climb a hill and see it, only to see that such lines are pointless.  Made as a divide, and that the only lines that matter are attached to the soul, and are used to find warm hearth and open arms.  They are strings of bone and dirt and when I follow them all I find is the colour of the dirt changes, the air stops smelling of red sand and starts smelling of water, the sounds change from that of dingoes howl and foreign tongue, to howling winds and words of our own creation.  I sit in a house built by the government, but on the floor cross legged.  I drink tea that has travelled thousands of kilometres to be in my cup.  I go to work, and sit with a beautiful aboriginal woman from willuna, she tells me of mamu, in hushed tones of the angry spirits that walk behind the houses.  I am not afraid, I say that I will ask them nicely to leave, that is all you can do she says.

I leave for tall buildings and stale air in 4 weeks, but each of those days are simply the sun and the moon sharing a space.  I wonder why each of us do not share space so gracefully.  I have changed, I want for different things, to learn to play my banjo, to drive and drive and drive, picking up strangers with their stories as I go.  Then return to my nest, a little place on the lake, with my dad and my brother next door.  And for us to drink tea of the floor, around a fire we lit for warmth and companionship.

I walk differently now.  More like the child I was did.

I love my new brain.  I think I am using parts of it I haven't used in a long time.

And so, my lovely hellena, with your words, wild bird, and herds of untamed childerbeasts, these are some of my sounds about where I am, Pipalyatjara, middle of a great big land, and even bigger sky.

I hope you're well, thank you for all your sounds, they have allowed me to listen to my own.  To not be afraid of the big ones and not to ignore the small ones.

If the mood takes you please feel free to share these words like a good song or hearty meal.

All my love.