Waiting for Mack’a



Noosa’s main beach… looking South.


Waiting for Mack’a… a true story
The morning air was silky warm with seagull’s crying above the boom of unseen surf. Jack locked his ute and walked across the bitumen car park in his bare feet, noting the sand on the black surface was cut into rivulets by the night’s rain. A 60’s Holden station wagon gleamed in the shade of the she oaks, lovingly polished it looked like new. Further on a 70’s Ford, the paintwork fading from 30 years of buffing. At the top of the beach in the shade of the casuarinas were a few empty camp chairs, the surf a lazy 2 foot swell breaking in noisy foam. Far out to sea just above the horizon, white clouds brooded under a pale blue sky. Scattered along the beach the early birds had staked out their patch of sand with bright towels and a few brollies.
The sand squeaked beneath his feet as he walked down the beach, after a hundred foot or so he stopped and shook out his towel, laying it flat on the sand. Kneeling down he pulled off his tee shirt, using it as a pillow he flopped down making himself comfortable. The sand was cold and lumpy, but he ignored the discomfort as he listened to the sounds of the beach. A cool breeze blew the smell of salt and sand through his mind, stirring up treasured memories. Something about the beach he thought to himself, the smell and the sound of surf, even the feel of sand, something exciting.
Snatches of conversation, and in the distance the cawing of crows intermingled with the cries of children. The early morning sun was like a balm on his skin, the sounds and smells exhilarating. He felt himself merging into the sand, his old red board shorts and lilly white body blending with the bright towels and tents scattered along the shore.
After five minutes he was starting to burn, he turned over with his ear to the sand and opened one eye. Two children, a boy and girl accompanied by mum and dad appeared at the top of the beach. The little girl around 6 or 7 jumped with excitement, in her hands a small red plastic bucket and shovel, around her neck a brightly coloured towel. Her brother was a couple of years older, his face under his floppy white hat was smeared with sun screen, over one shoulder a towel like his sisters and a foam boogie board under his arm. Mum and Dad looked to be in their mid-thirties, Dad with a beer gut and red budgie smugglers holding an esky between him and his wife. She looked like a fish out of water with a black sort of top coat over her ‘Woollies’ designer cossie’s in black and white… not forgetting her lacquered red hair.
Closing his eyes he lay like a chameleon, convinced he couldn’t be seen… listening to the family as they passed. The sand was like a drum amplifying every sound, the children’s foot falls excited and rapid the oldies more stayed and plodding, each grain squeaking against another until the sound reached his ear. Sun screen and bitter perfume assailed his senses as they past, their foot falls and talk receding into the boom of breaking waves.
He lay soaking up the rays and thought about his everyday life, and how he avoided the Sun. Nothing was clear cut he thought to himself, things changed from day to day; what was black and white last year could now be shades of grey.
It was a long drive in his diesel ute to get to this beach; a round trip of 5 hours or so. But it was worth it for a bit of sun and sea. Fresh water wasn’t the same he thought to himself. He’d always believed the minerals in the sea were good for the body, same with the sun but only in small doses. Out west the sun was the enemy, only a fool would strip down and lie about like a lizard on a rock. On the beach it was different. He turned over and sat up, watching 2 ladies jogging along the water line, somebody fishing from the rock wall cast into the water, the line snaking out in a flash of gold. The family that had passed earlier had set up a small tent along the beach, the women sitting inside out of the Sun, Dad and the 2 children splashing in the water.
He got up and walked down to the water, lines of foam weaving along the shoreline. Wading in, a small wave broke over his knees, splashing up to his chest. Grimacing he sucked in air and stood on his toes, meeting every swell with a bob. When the water was up to his waist he dived in and swam under a breaking wave, the shock sudden and invigorating. Standing up he wiped his eyes, a shoal of bait fish scattering around him, the Sun glinting through a wave as it built up, the undertow pulling him forward. The water was cold and clear as he ducked under, the wave breaking above, his body invigorated with fingers of water as it past. Surfacing, another wave was building, shoals of whiting swimming this way and that.
Laying on his back he floated in the water, rising and falling with the incoming swell. The joy of bobbing around in the sea was unexpected; it was so pleasurable, so simple. A wave broke over his head, spluttering he dived under the foam, his body massaged by the undertow. He spent another five minutes playing in the small break, then managed to body surf nearly all the way in.
Dripping and exhilarated he spread his towel out, careful not to get sand on it. He felt so clean and invigorated, the mites or tiny spiders he sometimes unintentionally picked up from the scrub had given him the itches for the last few days, no matter how much he showered, shampooed and soaped, it had no effect on the invisible bugs. The Sun and surf had killed them dead.
He thought about the magpies on his farm, and other birds lying around in hot spots with their wings spread in the sun, he knew they didn’t do it for fun… there’s a reason for everything he though as he lay in the Sun. The constant sound of the surf was like a heartbeat, so different from the quiet of the bush. He liked the beach, it was clean like the desert. Most times, you’d never catch him out in the Sun without a hat and long sleeve shirt on. Sun screen and baseball caps were for townies he thought, not for people in the Sun all day long. No substitute for covering up, he thought wryly.
It’d been dark when he left his farm, the sun coming up as he crossed the Divide and descended the long forestry tracks that came out at the Yabba, from there it was bitumen all the way. Driving through Kenilworth the bakery and news-agency was open, the paddocks green and lush, the hoop pines along the road shrouded in mist. Crossing the Mary he knew he was getting close, the diesel and dust of work receding as the fog in the valley thickened. Twenty minutes on, where the road falls away to the coastal plains, the ranges on both sides funnelled the fog over the road where it dropped into a sea of white mist that surrounded Mt Eerwah like and island in the sky. He’d pulled over to watch the scene and was stunned by the beauty of the moment.
Turning over he put his arms out, listening to the occasional word as it floated past, carried on the wind and blurred by the surf. His mind drifting from one thing to another, the simple pleasure of listening, the whiff of salt and sand filling him with contentment. The low sound of an approaching quad bike intruded his mind, two people talking above the engine shattered his thinking. He determined not to look, but remembered reading about people getting run over on North Shore. Sitting up he dusted himself down and watched two middle age life guards, one driving, one riding pillion coming towards him at a safe speed… obviously heading for the ‘life guard tower’ at the start of the rock wall. As the quad passed, the bloke riding pillion gave him a wave but never stopped talking. The smell of exhaust fumes triggered a knock in his head, holding his breath he turned over just as a lone cloud cast a shadow over the beach.
A cigarette butt was uncovered by a cold breeze that swept up from the water, somebody at the top of the beach started talking in a loud voice, others joining in with put-on laughter. It was the people in the camp chairs who had appeared mysteriously , talking to the life guards who had arrived on the quad. A chill wind blew as the day got greyer.
One of the life guards was at the top of the steps to the tower, his voice somehow amplified as he spoke to the one below. The loud voices seemed to stir up the oldies sitting in the camp chairs, all of them making wise cracks and laughing like galahs. The air was shattered by 2 big and very loud burglar alarms on the life tower, the noise defining. One of the life guards had tripped the alarm, and neither of them knew how to turn it off… the two of them franticly looking under the stairs for an ‘off’ button. Seagulls took flight, while little children put their fingers in their ears and stamped their feet excitedly. After shouting at each other above the alarm, it was decided one of the ‘senior’ life guards would take the quad back to the clubhouse and get some advice, while the other sat on the steps with his finger in his ears. The oldies in the camp chairs were carrying on as if nothing was happening; maybe they were deaf, he thought as he covered his ears and closed his eyes, wishing he’d brought his ear muffs.
As the quad passed, he was engulfed with exhaust fumes and fine sand, the blare of the alarm rattling his brain. The magic of the day had vanished, cherished memories banished with the screeching blare. Back to reality with sand in your face, he thought as he picked up his towel and tee-shirt, dusting his face off with the soft material. Plodding up the sand with both hands over his ears, One of the old blokes in a canvas chair yelled something as he passed, but it was lost in the din.
He turned with his hands over his ears and smiled, shrugging his shoulders in that universal, helpless gesture. A couple of them were probably the same age as him, even younger; grey nomads with the same cars they had when they got married, probably driven up from Brisbane that morning. They looked like they were ‘waiting for Macka’, he thought to himself.
One of the ladies, a real country looking lass in her 50’s had a pink rubber bathing cap on, pulled tight over her head and ears; she was saying something but he had no idea what. He smiled again and shrugged helplessly, his head ringing fit to bust. Turning for the car park, he gave a sort of half-hearted wave before leaving the beach… for the peace of the bush.


Life guard tower, Northern end of Noosa’s main beach.





Golden light


Sunrise this morning, the light is golden, just magical.  Sunset is the same.  I can just about touch the light, it’s something else.


Looking west from the Story Hill this morning, fog along the Mary River and the ephemeral golden light of Sunrise.  If I could bottle that light… how rich would I be.  Rich to me, could be poor to you, life is an enigma.





Top of the Story Hill first thing today. I can’t quite catch the light. After feeding the wild birds and a cup of black coffee I sat down and wrote up my log.

equinox in Australia


The first people.

The first people out of Africa, possibly the oldest culture in the world.

I see their magic all around, they have danced on this Story Hill since the Dreamtime.

They see things differently to you and I, they see what you cannot see.

I see what they see. I see a people going back to the beginning… the first People.




Australian aborigines.








Cyber Alchemist

A children’s story or maybe young adults… It could be true in a parallel world.


I am the Alchemist, the doorway to knowledge.
I see things you cannot.
I am Hope and Ann, the dragon is Tuchekoi.
Do you believe in magic and the oldest land on earth, do you believe in moonlight and shadow.


My name is unimportant, but believes me when I say; this is real… I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. This is not a story more a message; have you heard of ‘power spots’… Island Head is one. Where I am now is a portal; a portal to what or where I don’t know. The Alchemist and their companions travel in a place between places, in a time between times. They’ve found a place between quantum and reality, a place that is, or is not. I know this sounds weird, but like the Alchemist say’s; they can see you, but you cannot see them. In time you’ll come to understand all this, that is, if you want to join this adventure.
The Alchemist is two people, the twins; Hope and Ann. Before Ann attained the Tincture, and Hope the realisation, it was obvious they were different; both are well over 6 foot tall with the physique of Olympic swimmers. For me it’s their eyes; some people say a person’s eyes are a window into their soul… Once you see their eyes you’d know what I mean, but it’s more than that; they’re different, like we’re different from Neanderthal.
There’s so much to tell; they don’t speak to me but I know what they say. The history is written down; you think I speak in riddles, I don’t. Do you know what a min min is, or an alchemist? Have you ever seen a dragon? Dragons are nothing new in Australia; we call them lizards, except for a couple of little ones, like the Bearded Dragon. Have you ever seen a flying lizard? I have, I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe.

They arrived here this morning, the alchemist; Hope and Ann with their companion Lula and the dragon Tuchekoi. At first light the valleys were full of mist, this hill like an island with a quarter moon sky. I saw the dragon from the corner of my eye, like a silver apparition it glided from the North. I’ve seen it before, its name is Tuchekoi. When I went outside to see better, there, on the dew soaked lawn was Hope and Ann and behind them their lifelong companion, Lula. I quite forgot about Tuchekoi.
The twins presence is overpowering, they’re like Gods, their style of dress out of this world. Ann wears sandals set with turquoise in silver, her dress is green silk beneath a long shamus coat, her body armour floats about like threads of gossamer. She carries a thin black sword across her back with silver boomerangs at her shoulder; all this at 7 in the morning.

Lula is as tall as Hope and wears the same sort of sandals as Ann, but hers are set with opal and pearl, her bodice like top is silver-black mail, but it’s not made of any known metal. Around her waist are two intricate chains; one gold the other silver, one holds a long hunting knife in a crocodile sheath, the other her silk loincloth overlaid with strands of almost invisible mail. Like Ann she has two boomerangs held at her shoulder, but hers are as black as her skin. She looks magnificent as the women from the Channel Country do.
I could go on describing them for hours, but we haven’t the time and I haven’t even told you about Hope; he wears faded blue jeans, a soft kaki shirt with a leather tube across his back, not forgetting his faded Akubra, RM boots and a well-used saddle bag. I’ll tell you about Tuchekoi later.

You’re invited on this journey to the Winter-Solstice, with the alchemist of Island Head; Hope and Ann, Lula of the Channel Country, Tuchekoi and me… I’m the scribe with all rights to the words & pictures.
Dress however you like, the weather is chilly in the mornings sunny through the day. Sensible footwear is advised, first stop the Oracle of the Great Divide. A welcoming feast will be served after sundown; be what you are, dress is optional, a grand ball will be held after the feast
…………………………….Sent into cyber. …………><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸´¯`· ><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>

The twin alchemists greet me well before I see them; they speak in my mind… I hear what they say, but not with my ears. I never know which of the twins is communicating, that’s why I think of them as one. I’m waiting at the kitchen door, they come out of the mist like a portent, accompanied by Lula and Tuchekoi who circles the house and lands on the roof, its shiny black talons rasping across the corrugated iron in a teeth clenching noise. Making itself comfortable the arboreal reptile glared at my kelpies… the dogs growling from the pit of their stomachs. I invite the twins and Lula into the house, letting the dogs sit inside next to the door. Putting on the jug I ask if everyone would like coffee, with a nod from my guests I busy myself getting out cups. ‘I didn’t think you were going to start so soon’ I say, ‘nobody else has arrived.’

The Alchemist’s thoughts form in my mind, ‘We know’ they say without speaking, ‘don’t be concerned.’ Ann stood next to one of the big windows framing the Mary Valley with the Great Divide in the distance, rain smearing the glass like tears. Turning she looked directly at me; it’s hard to describe somebody you’re in total awe of without getting carried away, but I’ll try. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about the twins it’s this; they don’t do magic, they’re different. Think of it this way, if you were a Roman centurion a couple of thousand years ago and somebody came up to you with a Polaroid camera and took your picture, what would you think… especially if they’d just landed in a helicopter with the Beetles blaring from a MP3.

This is not a story, just entries in my journal. The Alchemist wants me to document this journey, for what reason I haven’t a clue. Looking at Ann, I think to myself ‘How can somebody have such blue eyes.’ She’s stunningly beautiful; she looks about 30, but I know that can’t be right, standing about 6 foot 2 with sun bleached hair pulled back from her face, the colour of her eyes changing subtly with her mood or the light. Both of them have the physic of Olympians; powerful shoulders and deep chests, the sort of understated strength of a big cat hunting. Beneath her coat a fine silver belt and a sheathed knife clings to her waist. I see strands of almost invisible armour clinging to her body, she has no rings or bracelets, watches or armbands… in fact no bling or anything unnecessary. At her shoulder are two silver boomerangs held by invisible fastenings, down her back, an unsheathed black foil that glitters with malice. The three of them have the look of hunters… people to be respected.

Hope’s shirt and trousers look sensible, his jacket comfortable, on his feet he wears rawhide boots, his wide brimmed Akubra bleached by the sun. He carries a leather tube with a compound bow fixed to its side and a well-used knife at his waist. Lula is dressed the same as the last time I described her, except her loincloth is now the same colour as Ann’s dress.

The water jug boiled as Tuchekoi scratched the roof, the noise setting my teeth on edge as palms rattled to a fresh gust of wind. As I pour the steaming water onto the coffee grounds, I think about what I should take for a journey to the Winter Solstice; boots and jeans plus a couple of shirts with my dryasabone wrapped in my swag, not forgetting my tiny p/c slash digital phone.

Half an hour later, I was following the twins and Lula down the hill. With the wind gusting hard the kelpies ran ahead, all the time keeping a weary lookout for Tuchekoi. Entering a stand of remnant rainforest the wind was blocked by the timber, the high canopy sounding like surf on the beach. We followed a wallaby trail with Ann in the lead, the leaves wet and glossy, the wind gusting high above. I know this patch of rainforest like the back of my hand, knowing exactly where we were until we came to a glade I’d never seen before. The dogs came in close to my legs, goose bumps raising along my arms as I stood there in amazement.

Ann and Hope started to do strange things with their hands, it was like they were casting spells. Watching, I realised they were looking for something in the air, something invisible, something I could never see. The words formed in my mind, ‘We are looking for a door, a portal in time.’

They could see something I could not. Lula and I stood back with the dogs, the rain falling like a soft luminous mist. I remember thinking how green the moss was, and how beautiful the ferns and orchids were. It was obvious the twins had found what they were looking for, because Ann disappeared. As hard as I looked, I couldn’t see anything; except the trees, ferns and wet leaves. Tuchekoi came out of the mist like a cloak of silver and green, only to vanish into nothingness. I knew there had to be some kind of doorway in front of me, I just couldn’t see it.

Lula and Hope guided me through an opening I couldn’t see, the dogs so close to my feet they just about tripped me. It still seems hard to believe, but we came out on a grassy flat at the bottom of a high waterfall. Blue, my male red-kelpie growled in the pit of his stomach, my mind doing somersaults as I tried to come to terms with what had just happened. I reasoned we’ed just walked through some kind of ‘event horizon,’ that hypothetical zone between what has happened, and what is about to happen; a portal or doorway between ‘parallel worlds’.

Water crashed in a dull roar bringing me back to unreality. Rainbows of spray rose in pearly clouds, birds calling from the bush. Waterfalls, rainforest and palm lined creeks is typical coastal Queensland. I could have been anywhere within 20 miles of my house, everything looked the same, yet somehow I knew it was different.

The dogs ran to the water while the twins did strange measurements in the air with a thing that looked like a cigar, I felt like I was from the bone age as I watched. When they were satisfied with whatever it was they were doing, we forded the creek and followed a game trail that wound through the forest coming out at another huge water hole with a high rocky bluff. We followed the boulder strewn creek to a strange formation of vaulted rock protruding from the bottom of a tall imposing cliff. Stopping, Hope inscribed some sort of symbol over one of the monolithic stones and unbelievably it swung back like a piston, the rock at least forty to fifty foot high by fifteen foot wide and weighing hundreds of tons. When it was fully open, Tuchekoi glided through like rippled evening water.
We walked into a natural cavern like a huge cathedral. A long pool of subterranean water refracting sunlight in a misty green, moss and delicate ferns accentuate by the jade light, the floor covered with washed pebbles in long wavy lines, everything laid down in some long ago flood. Bleached driftwood had collected into the most beautiful sculptures imaginable, everything dazzlingly simple, the size of the place overwhelming with the slightest noise echoing.

Timid at first the dogs were soon exploring, my finger snap commands reverberating like thunder. After a five minute walk along half the length of the chamber we came to a natural stairway worn into the rock by water. Looking up it seemed to go forever.
Tuchekoi glided down from somewhere up above and landed on a huge smooth boulder, folding its ethereal wings its green eyes blazed momentarily, its demeanour as inscrutable as stone…………
From the journal of the ‘Cyber Alchemist’.
Sent into cyber this day.

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21st September 2016  ´¯`·.¸..¸¸..<º))))><.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..<º))))><.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..<º))))><.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..<º))))><.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..<º))))><.

Cyber Alchemist. Journal entry No 3

After climbing the never ending stairs for what seemed like hours, we came to a plateau of emerald green grass kept short by small white wallabies. Standing with her back to us in a natural amphitheatre stood the Oracle, the last rays of the setting sun streamed from her silhouette like golden daggers, the sky turning red.

I knew the Oracle was female and I knew she was old, but that still hadn’t prepared me. Her hair was as white as snow and fell in a wave to her waist, her skin the colour of ivory. Turning, she looked directly at me, her eyes like pearls that cannot see. She is very old and best described as bony, she wore a fine cape of possum skins with a frill of echidna quills, her dress is green snake skins stitched together with spiders web. Pearl, opal, stone and tooth dangle from her neck in a charm… her staff a rod of power.
She walked towards us as if she can see, the sky turning yellow. Shadowy people bowed as she passed, people I hadn’t seen before. Stopping before us she nods at the twins, I know they are exchanging information, but I cannot detect anything. The Oracle pointed to a pile of kindling. I wondered what was going to happen as Hope stepped forward and knelt down, putting his hand to the twigs… seconds later smoke curled up as flames leap and danced. I couldn’t help being impressed, until I noticed Hope slip the plastic lighter back into his pocket.

Drinking ambrosia from emu-egg cups I was told in my head, that my bath was ready. Standing up I looked around, a map forming in my mind… knowing where I was going I took my leave and walked to a beautiful grotto where a hot spring bubbled in a pool of crystal clear water. Taking off my clothes, I laid them on a moss covered rock, alabaster mist swirled in a dance, steps of dazzling quartz led into the pool. Immersed in the silky warm water I sat on a smooth rock looking around in awe, Just as I got comfortable the twins and Lula appear with the dogs and Tuchekoi. The dragon appeared out of the mist like a glittering jewel, it’s beautiful scales reflecting subtle blues, greens and silver, the colours like a school of whiting in the surf… its long curved talons ripping the water in a score. Ducking as it flew past, I was just in time to watch the beautiful arboreal creature fold its wings as it settled on a moss covered ledge overlooking the pool. Deflating to its normal size it reminded me of pictures I’d seen of mythical mermaids, its demeanour as stony as a rare green gem. Looking at the strange reptile I felt very uncomfortable, however beautiful it was I believed it would like to eat my dogs. Besides, I had a strange nursery rhyme playing over and over in my mind… ‘Never trust a dragon with two red dogs, two red dogs, two red dogs.’

Floating in luxury I watched Ann and Lula undress, the dragon resting its head on its dagger like talons, the mist glowing with an opal green light. The place seemed quite normal, except for its strangeness. I wondered what else was going to happen before I slept… but sleep was the last thing on my mind as Ann and Lula stepped into the pool.
Sent into cyber this Winter day. …………><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸´¯`· ><((((º>.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸><((((º>¸.·´¯`·.¸..¸¸..><((((º>

Cyber Alchemist: Journal entry No4

This is all getting a little weird, if you know what I mean. Another day has gone, yet here I am in yesterday. Things are not what they seem. Being in the Oracle’s keep is like being in fairy land. Rooms with curved roofs and moss covered floors would be seen by sum, as mossy caves with great views. This place is about a different point of view, with a different way of looking at things. I saw it as a beautiful and somewhat strange castle/keep in the sky.
With lofty views over the land, we sat in a magical garden under a huge tent of translucent gut. Java, the forest people were there, as well as other shadowy beings never quite seen. Everybody was very polite and discreet, the women especially beautiful. We sat next to a fire on chairs made by nature, the moss carpeting soft and green.

I can’t tell you how beautiful this place is, it’s so real… the thing is, where is it? It feels like Queensland, everything looks the same… but it’s the subtle differences that keep throwing me. My gut feeling is telling me this is a parallel place. I wonder if any of these messages are getting through; I’m downloading from a flash card that is hopefully uploading to a satellite, the Net and you. For obvious reasons, you are the only people I trust at the moment. Let’s face it, half the people reading this would think me mad, but the other half might half believe, and a quarter of them would have plunder on their mind; this place is richer than Gympie and Ballarat combined.

Things started to get a little bit weird that first night, the night of the Grand Ball… and the Ball wasn’t what I was expecting at all. The Grand Ball was in fact, just that; a silver ball perforated with holes that issued smoke, inside it was filled with the finest ‘pitura’ and glowing charcoal, the billowing smoke allowing you to see into other worlds.

The place was filled with people,but I was alone… until I saw the Oracle. There she was, this old lady dressed in snake skins and charms with a polished stick in her hand. She pointed at something between us, but as hard as I looked I couldn’t see anything… and then I saw something that couldn’t be seen. I could see time swirling between us… like pieces of string that never quite touched, the soup of everything moving in impossibility. I could see matter and antimatter, but more, I could see the separation. The Oracle opened an invisible door and I stepped through.
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23 September 2016

On the other side of the invisible door the twins and Lula were waiting, even the dogs were there. I looked back, wondering if that was the way forward, but there was nothing there. My mind perceived things my eyes couldn’t see. I could nearly see God. I was at the well of time and energy. Everything looked the same but it was different.
“Where is the Oracle?” I asked rather lamely.
‘We have left the place of the Oracle,’ the Alchemist words formed in my head, ‘this is another place.’ There was no light, yet I could see, or maybe there was nothing to see except us. It wasn’t black and it wasn’t white, it was silver grey. Above us Tuchekoi appeared and disappeared in and out of the nothingness
“What’s happening” I said, confused.
“Nothing” Lula said in a hollow sort of voice, “we’ve been waiting for you, now we can start.”
“Where are we going” I said, looking around in confusion.
Lula smiled and patted her long hunting knife. “We travel to the Solstice, this is the way.”
Tuchekoi hissed from above, its beautiful silver scales winking with allure.
‘Follow closely’ the Alchemist whispered in my mind.
One of the first things I noticed was the absence of shadows, there were no in-betweens, just the silver light. I had the impression we were high up, why, I don’t know. Maybe it reminded me of climbing in the Himalayas with the silver light of clouds from below, but I knew it wasn’t clouds… this was something else. We were walking on spongy silver sand, you could feel it and see it, but like the wind you couldn’t quite hold it. The dogs stayed close to Lula, something they would normally never do. Tuchekoi circled above, almost transparent like shoals of whiting over sand. No wonder people never see dragons I though, besides being rare to the point of extinction, they are shy and ethereal. I can’t tell you how long we journeyed through the place of silver light, because time had no meaning. I think we were walking in a tunnel of time, we weren’t walking back or forward, but across the curve.
As we walked, I thought about the aerial reptile who was learning to fly when Cook sailed the coast, but I’ll tell you more about that later. What concerned me was, where were we, and how do you navigate when you’re in a place that doesn’t exist? We were beyond quantum… we were in it. I think we were in a time curve where light bent. So the question arose in my mind, what were we doing and where was the Winter Solstice? I was lost in more ways than one.
We came to a high hill overlooking a green misty valley, how, I don’t know… we just arrived there. Tuchekoi soared into the rare blue sky on wings of transparent silver, both dogs wagging their tails with joy. Three black cockatoos called loudly as they sailed over the emerald green forest far below, the hills blue with eucalyptus fumes.
Strands of Ann’s body armour shimmered in the sun as she pointed to a bend in the river. I knew it was going to be a long walk, but at least it was downhill.

More to come…

Springtime in Queensland


Full moon setting to the West… from the Story Hill.


Collum the carpet snake waking up after a winter sleep; he’s about 12 foot long and very docile. Most houses in the country have a resident Carpet Snake… better than having a Possum in the roof.  They eat all the rats and mice, possum’s, cats, and when they get big enough wallabies and bandicoots … and other snakes.  Years ago I seen a carpet snake about 25 foot long… it was big fella.  Watching them mate is a sight to see, they stand upright (4 or 5 foot high) and twist about each other, oblivious to everything except themselves.






The beauty of life



Every photo in all these pages is taken from the Story Hill, the views are ever changing like the days and seasons. I’m constantly amazed at the new vistas, country I’ve never seen before… yet I’ve been here for over 40 years and every day I’m still surprised.  For thousands and thousands of years the ‘Old People’ and their ‘Story Tellers’ watched the land from here and worked their magic… the magic is still here.

I cannot make magic… but I can use it.  I see things you cannot.



Tuchekoi this morning… looking NW from the Story Hill.





The other side of a Black Hole

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A black hole is a million, trillion Sun’s compressed beyond quantum, beyond imagination… and on the other side or at the centre a new singularity is formed in another space-time dimension. We are all a part of the beginning, we carry the information in our own ‘dark matter’… some people call it our soul; something that is nothing, the ‘blue print’ of life.  Remember the first law.  We are part of the first speck of matter, the first singularity.  We are made of stars and black holes.

But where did the first singularity come from… and who made God?  To understand the small things we have to look at the big picture. Big is small and small is big and then you have something in 2 places at the same time; quantum is a bother.  Whatever you can imagine is true.

I see things you cannot, I see things that cannot be seen.

For every action an opposite and equal reaction… the first law.







Nothing escapes the first law, every single action in the universe has an opposite and equal reaction… that is a fact. We started as a singularity contained in space time with one law … the first law.

I see what you cannot, I see beyond quantum and dark matter… I perceive what cannot be seen.  I am you, you are me… we are the same.  This is not a riddle, it’s a fact.


The Prophecy


I see things you cannot…I see the future and know the past. This place where I live has a history of prophecy going back before the Sphinx, before the oldest place known to Man.  This place goes back to the Dreaming, the beginning.

Be careful what you ask



ISLAND HEAD: the beginning.

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