Category: Online Zen Group

By ~ Sally Mackinnon

I’ve felt a stuck muteness and poet’s block since 6 September 2019 when the first of the shocking Spring-Summer 2019-20 bushfires devoured the sweet neighbourhoods and subtropical rainforest that I call home – at Beechmont/Binna Burra in South East Queensland. Since then there has been too much news and too many logistics going on in my world.

On an evening walk with my dog recently, as we rounded the top of a steep hill and stood on the edge of the forest in the dark, I had a little yarn with the cosmos…”I miss writing poetry so much; I would love to write again. Please can you help me?” There is such power in intention and asking for help isn’t there? The next morning as the sun streamed into my bedroom, I sat up in bed and gliding through the ether came a poem…

My mother’s pyjamas hang lifeless on the washing line.
From the kitchen window, speckled with webs,
I watch them – inanimate – without her flesh,
as the sun reaches from the east across quiet sky
to light up new leaves on red cedar
like Christmas.

Today I will walk without the dog, into subtropical bush.
Like a whisper of invisible breeze I will drift past
those busy roadworks that deliver
engineered restraints across this mountain
after wildfire scorched us all.
It’s calling me again, that forest.
Any chink in the manmade armour and I’m in;
asking permission to enter only from the Old Ones and the sea of green,
answered by the keen of black cockatoos and shy butterflies.

In this time of plague and serious news from cities,
I pay attention to the way the ground rises to meet my feet;
how earth surface and sole, step-by-step connect.
This is no monologue,
it’s a dance, it’s a song, it’s a deep-time songline and I pray that
simple walking will mind this life…

It’s also this sweet home on the top of the hill that
anchors me here.
Nothing is straight or orderly but the way
the sunset glows through the kitchen to
ignite every facet in my grandmother’s cut glass bowl is an afternoon aria.
After almost a year, we are all home again in this study of light and shade,
pyjamas and forest,
black cockatoos and rising earth.
Nothing is straight or orderly but
at sunrise and sunset we sing.

Today is exactly eleven months since the fire. The study group is reigniting my capacity to lean into more than grief – to be open-heartedly curious and light again; and to feel I am becoming a student of Zen.

I’m so grateful to you all.

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Sally