A ‘Grandma excerpt’, from the book

Hello everyone!

I’m currently creating a crowd-funding campaign to raise the money needed for the formal release of this book. I’m on a last edit, thanks to my Auntie Kay, a professional editor with whom it’s been lovely to share the journey. Kay is from my father’s side of the family and it’s been wonderful getting to know her better and sharing my mother’s family history with her. We were both surprised to find that Grandma and her especially share the same birthday, and it somehow feels very right to have her on board.

In the meantime, here’s a pre-edit snippet in honour of Grandma Anne:


Since Grandma’s funeral, I have become more comfortable in my own skin. I am validating my own approach to life, and I can feel Grandma cheering me on from the sidelines. I would like to call Grandma my guardian angel or my spirit guide but she won’t let me:

I’m not an angel, she says. I’m just me. And you don’t need guarding. You’re doing a perfectly good job of looking after yourself. I’m not doing anything that important. Just call me your spirit friend. She always was humble. At least she acknowledges she is helping me write this book.

I’m encouraging you and helping you stay inspired by your project, says Grandma. I love what you are doing, and I know you are doing it for me. I don’t understand everything you are writing about flowers being used for healing, but I can see how much you are helping people and I believe in you.

In my work I see people become disconnected from their loved ones who have passed, and it leaves a great gaping hole inside them. I encourage them to talk with their deceased loved ones, even if they don’t believe in life after death.

“Your loved ones live on inside you, in your heart, in your memories,” I tell them. “So talk to them. What would you say to them now if you could?”

We can imagine how they might reply, and this has the potential to be a source of comfort, healing and guidance in our lives.

I wasted twenty years being angry with my father after he committed suicide when I was fifteen years old, and it’s only been in the last five years we started talking again. We had a few heated disagreements and misunderstandings at first, but we worked through them and now we are really good friends. Regardless of whether life after death is literally ‘real’ or not, healing my relationship with my father has transformed the way I feel about myself. Knowing that he believes in me has healed old wounds that would otherwise hinder my capacity to believe in myself.

Desert Lantern Flower

image

I just went for a long walk through the Alice hills while home for Christmas and found this beautiful flower. I remember it from Grandmas book, when I was attempting to identify the corchorus.image

imageNow I’ve raided mums book case and have found a copy of grandmas book, to look it up. The genus is Abutilon, and in Central Australia they are often referred to as mallows.

When I tune in, this flower reminds me of a healing tool one if my student uses; a pretend brush used in archeology. I see the brush swishing, twisting… Gently prying dirt loose from wounds and buried treasure. Then I see/feel the petals gently massaging the wound/treasure to the surface.

“Open your heart to the sun. Bare your wounds, open up and let them go. Buried underneath them are treasures.”

This particular flower was hard to get to for the photograph and aggravated my sciatica, but 30 minutes later I was running for the first time in months.

Healing the Ancestral Line

Photo 18

This is one of the flower spirits featured in my book “Wildflower Spirit Journey through Central Australia’. The common name is Western Nightshade. The nightshade family of plants includes potatoes, capsicum, egg-plant, tobacco, pituri and tomato. This is a wild tomato, but unlike the other Central Australian wild tomatoes (of which there are many!), Western Nightshade has 4 purple petals instead of five. It still has the characteristic plump round fruit, which can vary in colour from green to yellow to red to brown to black, depending on the particular species and the stage of fruiting.

Continue reading