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I didn’t grow up with a theology. But I made one out of the insights gleaned from my adopted grandparents. Who didn’t know me. Who I never met. Yet who exerted such enormous influence over my sense of place, history, belonging and spiritual possibility at a young age, and whose worth evoked from me so

The clouds are spilling over Tugwell. It’s an inelegant name for such a lovely mountain, smooth with forest green, patterned purple where the shadows of the cumulous ripple over and away. The clouds are collecting, the clouds now are releasing their water, the mountain is getting a pounding. That inelegant name, I’ve just found out,

Ages back I’d planned to write something about this year’s pilgrimage to Mt Bride in March, part of our annual Walking the Mountains of Home project. But that event was wedged between two paradigm-smashing events: the climate change bushfires and the pandemic. We’re in the midst of strange, unsettling, complex times. Topics that once were

We’d been talking all the long drive to the ocean. Working through ideas with each other, his sharp and complex mind a strong thing to meet. The car wove through the coastal gums, bringing us to the beach by the end of the afternoon. Overcast and humid, a warm steady breeze, the tide had drawn

Cat McKay has created a beautiful artwork here; fusing her film making with my words to convey something of the experience of dancing contact improvisation outside. This is dance with a human other, and a more-than-human world. It’s one of my favourite things to do, and a powerful way of learning and knowing. And here

After the dismay of the election, and a sense of wanting to crawl into my shell, perhaps it’s more helpful if I learn how to engage with alternative media, this other world we can reveal and create together, the different stories we can tell. So, a little something to say sorry, for sorry day, and