Mutant Message Down Under

  The people then began to smooth out places in the sand, and each took from the common bundle carried earlier a round roll of hide or skin. An older woman had been staring at me all evening with an uncommitted expression on her face. “What is she thinking?” I asked Ooota. “That you have lost your smell of flowers and that you are probably from outer space.” I smiled, and with that she handed me my pack. Her name was Sewing Master.

  “It is dingo,” Ooota advised. I knew the dingo was Australia’s wild dog, similar to our coyote or wolf. “It’s very versatile. You can put it under you on the ground, or cover yourself or comfort your head.”

  “Great,” I thought. “I can select which twenty-four inches of my body I want to comfort!”

  I elected to use it between me and the crawling creatures I envisioned nearby. It had been years since I had slept on the ground. As a child, I recalled spending time on a big flat rock in the Mojave Desert of California. We lived in Barstow. The main attraction was a big mound called “B” hill. Many a summer day I took a bottle of orange Nehi drink and a peanut-butter sandwich and hiked up and around the hill. I always ate on the same flat rock and then spent time on my back looking up at the clouds and finding objects in them. Childhood seemed a long time ago. Funny how the sky remained the same. Guess I hadn’t paid much attention to celestial bodies over the years. Above was a cobalt canopy speckled with silver. I could clearly see the pattern that is depicted on the Australian flag referred to as the Southern Cross.

  As I lay there I thought about my adventure. How would I ever describe what happened today? A door had opened, and I had entered a world I didn’t know existed. It certainly was not a life of luxury. I had lived in different places and traveled to many countries, on all forms of transportation, but never anything like this. I guessed it was going to be okay after all.

  I would explain to them the next morning that one day was all I really required to appreciate their culture. My feet would endure the journey back to the jeep. Maybe I could take some of their great foot balm with me, because it had really helped. A sample of this lifestyle would be sufficient for me. But today hadn’t been that bad, excluding my tortured feet.

  Someplace down deep I was really grateful for learning more about how other people live. I was beginning to see that more than blood passes through the human heart. I closed my eyes and said a silent “thank you” to the Power above.

  Someone at the far side of the camp said something. It was repeated by first one and then another. They were passing it along, each one saying the same phrase, crisscrossing from one reclining figure to another. Finally the phrase was given to Ooota, whose sleeping mat was nearest to mine. He turned and said: “You are welcome; this day is good.”

  Somewhat startled at their answer to my unvoiced words, I responded by saying my “thank you” and “you’re welcome” the second time aloud.

  7

  WHAT IS SOCIAL SECURITY?

  I WAS awakened in the morning before any exposure to sun rays by the noise from people gathering up the few scattered articles we had used the evening before. I was told the days gained in heat, so we would walk during the cooler morning hours, rest, and then resume our journey into the later night. I folded the dingo hide and handed it to a man who was packing. The hides were left easily accessible, because during the peak heat of the day, we would find shelter, build a wiltja, or temporary brush shelter, or use our sleeping skins to construct shade.

  Most of the animals do not like the glaring sun. Only the lizards, spiders, and bush flies are alert and active at one hundred plus degrees. Even snakes must bury themselves in the extreme heat, or they become dehydrated and die. It is hard sometimes to spot snakes as they hear us coming and peek their heads out of the sandy soil to find the source of the vibration. I am grateful that at the time I was not aware there are two hundred different types of snakes in Australia, and more than seventy are poisonous.

  I did learn that day, however, the remarkable relationship the Aborigines have with nature. Before we started walking for the day, we formed a close-knit semicircle, all of us facing the east. The Tribal Elder moved to the center and started chanting. A beat was established and carried through by each person clapping their hands, stomping their feet, or hitting their thighs. It lasted about fifteen minutes. This was routine each morning, and I discovered that it was a very important part of our life together. It was morning (prayer, centering, goal setting, whatever you want to call it). These people believe everything exists on the planet for a reason. Everything has a purpose. There are no freaks, misfits, or accidents. There are only misunderstandings and mysteries not yet revealed to mortal man.

  The purpose of the plant kingdom is to feed animals and humans, to hold the soil together, to enhance beauty, to balance the atmosphere. I was told the plants and trees sing to us humans silently, and all they ask in return is for us to sing to them. My scientific mind immediately translated this to mean nature’s oxygen-carbon dioxide exchange. The primary purpose of the animal is not to feed humans, but it agrees to that when necessary. It is to balance the atmosphere, and be a companion and teacher by example. So each morning the tribe sends out a thought or message to the animals and plants in front of us. They say, “We are walking your way. We are coming to honor your purpose for existence.” It is up to the plants and animals to make their own arrangements about who will be chosen.

  The Real People tribe never go without food. Always, the universe responds to their mind-talk. They believe the world is a place of abundance. Just as you and I might gather to listen to someone play the piano, and honor that talent and purpose, they sincerely do the same thing with everything in nature. When a snake appeared on our path, it was obviously there to provide our dinner. The daily food was a very important part of our evening celebration. I learned that the appearance of food was not taken for granted. It was first requested, always expected to appear, and did appear, but was gratefully received and genuine gratitude was always given. The tribe begins each day by saying thank you to Oneness for the day, for themselves, their friends, and the world. They sometimes ask for specifics, but it is always phrased “If it is in my highest good and the highest good for all life everywhere.”

  After the morning semicircle gathering, I tried to tell Ooota it was time for him to take me back to the jeep, but it seemed he was nowhere in sight. Finally, I acknowledged I could endure one more day.

  The tribe carried no provisions. They planted no crops; they participated in no harvest. They walked the blazing Australian Outback, knowing each day they would receive bountiful blessings of the universe. The universe never disappointed them.

  We ate no breakfast the first day, and I found that to be the usual pattern. Sometimes our meal was at night; however, we ate whenever the food appeared, regardless of the position of the sun. Many times we ate a bite here and there, not a meal as we know it.

  We carried several bladder water vessels. I know that humans are approximately 70 percent water and require a minimum of one gallon per day under ideal conditions. Observing the Aborigines, I saw they did require much less, and drank less than I. In fact, they rarely drank from the water containers. Their bodies seemed to use the moisture in food to a maximum. They believe Mutants have many addictions, and water is included.

  We used the water to soak what appeared to be dead and dried-out weeds at mealtime. The brown stubs went into the water as lifeless, dehydrated sticks and came out many times miraculously looking like fresh celery stalks.

  They could find water where there was absolutely no appearance of moisture. Sometimes they would lie down on the sand and hear water underneath or hold their hands with the palm down and scan the ground for water. They put long hollow reeds into the earth, sucked on the end, and created a minifountain. The water was sandy and a dark color but tasted pure and refreshing. They were aware of water in the distance by watching the heat vapors and could even smell and feel it in the breeze. I now understand why so many people who
try to explore the inner regions die so quickly. It would take the native expertise to survive.

  When we took water from a rocky crevice, I was taught how to approach the area so I did not contaminate it with my human scent and frighten the animals. After all, it was their water too. The animals had as much right to it as people. The tribe never took all the water, regardless of how low our supply was at the moment. At any water area, the people used the same spot from which to drink. Each type of animal seemed to follow the pattern. Only the birds disregarded the access rule and felt at home drinking, splashing, and excreting freely.

  The tribal members could look at the ground and tell what creatures were nearby. As children they learn the habit of minute observation and so recognize at a glance the sort of marks that are present upon the sand from walking, hopping, or crawling creatures. They are so accustomed to seeing each others’ footprints that they not only can identify the party but can tell from the length of the stride if the person is feeling well or walking slowly from illness. The slightest deviation in the footprint can tell them the most probable destination of the walker. Their perception is developed well beyond the limitations of people growing up in other cultures. Their senses of hearing, sight, and smell seem to be on superhuman levels. Footprints have vibrations that tell much more than merely what one sees on the sand.

  I learned later that Aboriginal trackers have been known to tell from tire marks the speed, type of vehicle, date and time, and even the number of passengers.

  Over the next few days, we ate bulbs, tubers, and other vegetables that grew underground, similar to potatoes and yams. They could locate a plant ready to harvest without pulling it out of the ground. They would move their hands over the plants and comment: “This one is growing, but not ready yet,” or “Yes, this one is prepared to give birth.” All the stalks looked the same to me, so after disturbing several and watching them be replanted, I found it best to wait until I was told what to pull up. They explained it as the natural dowsing ability given to all humans. Because my society did not encourage listening to one’s intuitive direction, and even frowned on it as being supernatural, possibly evil, I had to be trained to learn what comes naturally. Ultimately they taught me to dowse by asking plants if they were ready to be honored for their purpose of being. I asked permission from the universe and then scanned with the palm of my hand. Sometimes I felt heat, and sometimes my fingers seemed to have an uncontrollable twitch when I was over ripe vegetation. When I learned to do it, I could sense a giant step forward in my acceptance from the tribal members. It seemed to signify I was a little less mutated and perhaps becoming gradually more real.

  It was important that we never used an entire bed of any plant. Enough was always left for new growth. The tribal people are amazingly aware of what they called the song or unvoiced sounds of the soil. They can sense input from the environment, do something unique in decoding it, and then consciously act, almost as if they had developed some tiny celestial receiver that universal messages came through.

  On one of the first days we walked over a dry lake bed. There were irregular, wide breaks in the surface, and each piece seemed to have curled edges. Several of the women gathered the white clay, and later it was pulverized into fine powder for paint.

  The women carried long sticks and dug them into the hard clay surface. Several feet below, they found moisture and extracted little round mud balls. To my surprise, the globs, when rubbed free of the dirt, were actually frogs. They apparently survive the dehydrating condition by burying themselves several feet below the surface. After being roasted they were still quite moist and tasted like chicken breast. Over the next months we had an array of food appear before us to be honored as our daily celebration of universal life. We ate kangaroo, wild horse, lizards, snakes, bugs, grub worms of all sizes and colors, ants, termites, anteaters, birds, fish, seeds, nuts, fruit, plants too numerous to mention, and even crocodile.

  On the first morning, one of the women came to me. She took the filthy twine from her head and, holding my long hair up off my neck, used it to secure a new upswept hair fashion. Her name was Spirit Woman. I didn’t understand to what she was spiritually related, but after we became good friends, I decided it was to me.

  I lost track of days, weeks, of time itself. I gave up trying to ask about returning to the jeep. It seemed futile, and something else appeared to be taking place. They had some plan in mind. It was apparent, however, that at this time I was not being allowed to know what it was. Tests of my strength, my reactions, my beliefs, were continually challenged, but why, I did not know, and I questioned if people who do not read or write have another method for student report cards.

  Some days the sand became so hot I could literally hear my feet! They sizzled, like hamburgers frying in a pan. As the blisters dried and hardened, a sort of hoof began to form.

  As time went by, my physical stamina reached amazing new heights. Without any food to eat at breakfast or lunch, I learned to nourish myself on the view. I watched lizard races, insects grooming themselves, and found hidden pictures in stone and sky.

  The people pointed out sacred places in the desert. It seemed everything was sacred: clumps of rocks, hills, ravines, even smooth dry basins. There seem to be invisible lines that mark the home territory of former tribes. They demonstrated how they measure distance by singing songs in very specific details and rhythms. Some songs might have one hundred verses. Every word and every pause must be exact. There could be no ad-lib or lapse in memory because it is literally a measuring stick. They actually sang us from one location to another. I could only compare these song lines to a method of measurement developed by a friend of mine who is sightless. They have refused a written language because to them that gives away the power of memory. If you practice and demand recall, you retain optimum level performance.

  The sky remained a cloudless pastel blue, day after day, with only a complex of hues for variety. The bright light of midday bounced off the glistening sand to strain and yet strengthen my eyes which became renewed inlets for a river of vision.

  I began to appreciate, not take for granted, the ability of renewal after a night’s sleep, how a few sips of water could truly quench my thirst, and the whole range of tastes from sweet to bitter. I had spent my life being reminded of job security, the necessity of acquiring a hedge against inflation, buying real estate, and saving for my retirement. Out here our only security was the never-failing cycle of morning dawn and setting sun. It amazed me that the world’s most insecure race, according to my standards, suffered no ulcers, hypertension, or cardiovascular disease.

  I began to see beauty and the oneness of all life in the strangest sights. A den of snakes, perhaps two hundred in all, each the circumference of my thumb, wove in and out like a moving pattern along the side of an ornate museum vase. I have always hated snakes. But I was seeing them as necessary for the balance of nature, as necessary for the survival of our group of travelers, as creatures so difficult to accept lovingly that they have become objects to include in art and religion. I could not conceive of looking forward to eating smoked snake meat let alone raw snake, but there came a time when I actually did. I learned how precious the moisture of any food can be.

  Over the months, we encountered extremes in weather. The first night I used my allotted skin as a mattress, but when the cold nights set in, it got transferred to a blanket. Most of the people lay on the bare ground cuddled in someone’s arms. They depended on warmth from another body rather than the nearby fire. On the coldest nights, numerous fires were made. In the past they had traveled with domesticated dingos that provided help in hunting, companionship, and warmth on cold nights, hence the colloquialism “three-dog night.”

  Several evenings we would lie on the ground in a unique circular pattern. It made better use of our coverings, and the cluster seemed to preserve and transfer body heat more efficiently. We dug slots in the sand and put a layer of hot coals down, then some additional sand on top. Half
the skins were placed under us, and half over us. Two people shared each slotted space. All our feet were joined in the center.

  I remember propping my chin on both hands and looking into the vast expanse of sky overhead. I felt the essence of these wonderful, pure, innocent, loving people surrounding me. This circle of souls in the daisy pattern, with tiny fires between each group of two bodies, must have been a wonderful sight if it were observed from the cosmos above.

  They appeared to be touching only each other’s toes, but I was learning day by day how their consciousness had been for all time touching the universal consciousness of humankind.

  It was beginning to register why they so sincerely felt I was a Mutant, and I was equally sincere in my gratitude for the opportunity to awaken.

  8

  CORDLESS PHONE

  THIS DAY started relatively the same as the preceding ones, so I had no idea what was in store. We did have breakfast, which was not common. The previous day we had come upon a grinding stone on our path. It was a large, very heavy, oval-shaped rock—obviously too much of a burden to carry—left in the open for the use of any traveler fortunate enough to have seeds or grain. The women transformed plant stalks into a fine meal, and this mixed with salt grass and water formed flat cakes. They resembled undersized pancakes.

  We faced east in our morning prayer service and gave thanks for all our blessings. We sent our daily message out to the food kingdom.

  One of the younger men took a turn in the center. It was explained he had offered to perform a special task that day. He left camp early and ran on ahead. We had walked several hours when the Elder stopped and fell to his knees. Everyone gathered around as he remained in the kneeling position, his arms held out in front, gently swaying. I asked Ooota what was happening. He motioned for me to remain quiet. No one was saying anything but all their faces were intent. Finally, Ooota turned to me and said the young scout who had left us earlier was sending in a message. He was asking permission to cut off the tail of a kangaroo he had killed.