The freeways are gone; the mirrored glass of office buildings have become opaque; bridge towers are mystically obscured; the river flows through hidden channels; mountains no longer exist; space itself is virtual.

In conversation with a friend, I remembered the details of Ken Colbung's long-standing attempt to exhume the head
of Yagan, his ancestor, which was severed from his body after his murder in Australia by two white youths in the last century and brought to England. It was eventually buried in Everton Cemetery, Liverpool, by Liverpool Museum in 1964, along with another aboriginal head and
a dream I had several years ago:

i am dead, a spirit flying along with another, and a third i only sense. I ask where everyone else is, as billions of people had died before me, and am 'told' they are higher up.  Now i am striving to rise higher. Above me is a dome with a disk at its center. My 'arm' is stretching to reach it, while I'm shouting...

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God appears as a whirlwind, a disrupting force, a menace to sheltered beliefs. What one worships in a temple is the known, the fablized, the tamed; not God, who is wildly unfamiliar. God the cranky neighbor whose tree threatens to crash through your roof.

 

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