(Essay) Eternity by Kaalii Cargill

“Certainly there is within each of us a self that is neither a child, nor a servant of the hours. it is a third self, occasional in some of us, tyrant in others. This self is out of love with the ordinary; it is out of love with time. It has a hunger for eternity.” Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays.

My “hunger for eternity” has led me to temples and caves, mountains and valleys, to stand on the ground of the long ago people who made the figures I call “grandmothers”, the Paleolithic and Neolithic representations of Great Mother.

Two years ago I first stood on the ground of my current home in the Dandenong Ranges outside Melbourne in Victoria, south-eastern Australia. The traditional custodians of this land – the Wurundjeri People – were displaced by European settlers nearly 200 years ago and, over the next hundred years, many of the giant Mountain Ash trees (Eucalyptus regnans) were replaced with European trees.

There are no Mountain Ash in my garden, although giant stumps remain. Do the newer trees remember these giants? Were the roots of the 120 year old European Beech tree behind my house nourished by the remains of the Eucalyptus trees?

As a child I lived alongside one of the few relatively undisturbed areas of native vegetation in the Adelaide Hills region in South Australia. I loved it, but it was not the land of my ancestors.

My mother’s mother came to Australia a hundred and ten years ago. Her mother was born in Holyhead, the ancient Druid Holy Isle across a narrow channel from Angelsey in Wales – Ynys Môn.

My father came to Australia eighty five years ago. He was born in Calabria, Italy, near the ancient Magna Graecia Sanctuary of Demeter at Locri.

Was it possible that I, like the Beech tree, may have been nourished by the land I walked as a child even though it was not the land of my ancestors? I think so.

I learnt from the land. I learnt the songs of air, water, fire, and earth. I learnt the songs of the trees, the frogs, the summer rain, and the wind – cold winds from the South and hot winds carrying desert dust from the North. I learnt the songs of dragonflies, lizards, kangaroos, and spider orchids. The rhythms and cycles of the natural world entered my mind and body and never left.

Are the Australian songs different from the European songs? Not really. The cicadas at Locri sang the same songs as the cicadas in the Australian summer, the leaves whispered the same secrets, and there are glimpses of eternity everywhere.

My first experience of standing on sacred ground and receiving a glimpse of eternity was at Amphitheatre Rock, the name European settlers had given a huge, shallow cave in the cliff face up behind a screen of trees in the native bush near my home. Water running over the cliff had smoothed the platform into a natural stage that faced into a small gully lined with crude, tiered seats of rock. Memory, old and dim, hid in the shadows. I was four years old when I was told that there had once been sacred gatherings at the Rock. I could see the spirits of those who had gathered around the fires on the hillside, their shadows leaping and dancing on the rock walls. I didn’t know their language or customs, but they taught me to respect sacred ground.

Since then I have stood on sacred ground in other places – Bulgaria, Egypt, France, Greece, Indonesia, Italy, Jordan, Lebanon, Malta, Turkey, United Kingdom, Unites States. The songs are the same. The rhythms and cycles of the natural world are eternal.

The ancient Greeks had a word for these natural rhythms: kairos. Kairos time differs from the linear, clock time that structures much of the modern world. It is the timing intrinsic to a process, the time it takes for an Emperor Gum moth to emerge from its cocoon, or for an adult cicada to emerge from its shell. The time it takes for a mother to grow a baby in her womb and give birth. The time it takes for us to hear Great Mother’s eternal song.

Meet MAGO Contributor KAALII CARGILL