Angel faces and magical places.

Angel faces and magical places.

When I speak of the dreamworld, I speak of my home.

When I speak of my home, I speak of the vast landscapes behind the clouds.

I haven’t been there before, but I daydream of that place while I walk the streets of my hometown.

This land has stood before me and will stand long after me.

My name is Rosie, and I grew up in the beach town of Austinmer, in Wollongong on Dharawal Land. As a child, I was immersed in the environmental blessings of my town. I have always felt that the dappled sunlight through the trees on the ferns on bush walks, the vastness of the view of the coastline and the outstretched horizon from the Sublime point lookout, and the ever beating waves on the sand at Austinmer beach, these places have significance deep in my identity. As a Christian woman, this connection to the Earth informs my connection to God and a spirituality beyond the physical.

However, as a Christian woman, and as a Non-Indigenous person, I acknowledge the history of wrongdoings by people of all groups including those who have committed crimes against Indigenous Peoples in the name of God and that I have benefitted from this history.

Today as I write from Melbourne, Naarm, I acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation as the original and traditional custodians of the land on which my home now stands, by God’s gracious providence. I pay my respects to the elders and all Aboriginal people of the past and commit to serving you with love and respect now and in the future.

I acknowledge my gratitude that we share this land today,

my sorrow for the costs of that sharing,

and my hope that we can move towards a place of justice and partnership together.

My town has a special kind of magic about it. Some people might call it nostalgia or a time capsule of memories viewed only through my rose-tinted glasses.

However, I am certain that it is the bending earth and swelling sea, the glistening gums and the laughing kookaburras that hold the glimmer in each movement.

The sand sparkles differently there.

The waves glisten differently there.

The dew drops shine differently there.

The sun shines differently there.

It is a magical place. One that I remember to have fairy gardens and secret passageways. There were gemstones and sea shells, mother of pearl and daughters of the West Wind.

There were snail villages and butterfly cities. Rock pools with starfish and rippling mosaic. Secret tracks to secret beaches. Hidden lookouts to view the stretching horizon.

These things are still there, and they will always be there for me when I return. They are my roots. They tether me to the earth and what lies beyond it.

Angel faces and magical places.