Tabitha Lean reading ‘kerup’

at the base of the ancient karrang sheltered by its majestic canopy, flames danced and gyrated extinguishing into thin trails of smoke, dispersed to nothingness in the cool air. we sat around on logs rubbing our hands together, warmed by friction and flames. 

i love the sky on nights like that – sky so black it was blue, smattering of sparkling stars sprinkled like glitter on velvet … astronomical delights.  all around were noises of the night – insects buzzed and clicked, the odd scampering of furry feet, bird calls, owl coos … a symphony of nocturnal activity only audible when humans hush.  

leempeen leaned in one ngarrat poking at the ashes the other waving across the camp, a little conspiratorial in her whisper …

“she is sacred, bubup-ngan”, she started, barely a blink, eyes flitting furtively about.

“who, leempeen?” i leaned close watching embers caught on air’s drift and circled off burning into nothingness against the darkness. 

“she carries life and blood and all our songs. she is giver of life and an infinite well of love,” leempeen prodded at the pit with a stick raking up ash sending more embers like fire flies buzzing into the night air. “that ancient one, she nurtures – and she brings both beauty and destruction – who you know that can do that?”

more silence, only broken by the crackling of splintering embers.  leempeen chewed on something inside her cheek, her lips twisted and turned as she mulled it about her mouth.  just as i went to speak  she glanced up, i could see the flames dancing in her dark brown eyes,  amber shards produced by the light diluting the depths, she smiled in a way that declared her gummy mouth, spattering of yellowed teeth against crimson lips.

“when i leave this place,” she swept her arm across the camp, “the blood in my veins returns to her… she’ll carry my song along the ripples the wind carves into her, her heartbeat nurtures our women and daughters, and she gathers up the light as she steers us on the journey before us. that ol’ girl she have memory, she knows you, she knows us … she has the power, she holds life and harnesses all the energy from this here mirring,”

“who this, leempeen? who this so powerful one?” i asked leaning in, wanting the secrets of my old leempeen’s mind: stories and wisdoms passed down through the eons, from times of infinite darkness to the coming of eternal light.

“ayyy patience … she has lessons for you bubup-ngan,” she groaned out low not looking at me. “what you see in her … you will see reflected, she’ll cast your image upon her surface and who you are in that heart of yours will show. she can’t lie though, she’ll only show what’s truly you.”

i nodded as if i understood, desperate to understand. leempeen was a quiet woman with a considered tongue, all her yarns had purpose.

we both looked up as the leaves above us carried the spirits of the night winds – she knowingly bowed her head low, nodding her appreciation for the messages the leaves shook out for her. “she teaches you that what is soft can be most powerful … and persistence bubup-ngan, persistence can break any barrier.”

i wasn’t sure what the message of this earthly teacher was, but i held leempeen’s words in my chest, each beat of my heart building a wall, brick by brick around the wisdom, to keep it whole and safe, tucked into my inner most conscience. i knew whatever lessons i must learn i was being given something to honour, to cherish, to protect and guard as the old people had since the day our creator spirits trailed their great creation journey across the landscape of this mirring.

she spoke softly, “change … change is …”

i spoke quick, “change is coming leempeen?”

she growled under her breath and exhaled, impatient at my interruption. i knew better. i bowed my head in silent apology. there were seconds of silence that felt like days of big pauses – she was reminding me to wait, to not ask for that which was not mine. answers would come as they presented, nothing was forced, everything arrived at its own pace, in its own time – respect the rhythm of the earth’s turn, i knew the rules.

“change … is always … it always comes and it always goes … but … my wise bubup-ngan, listen in close here, weereeng open …she, this powerful one, she changes direction for no marr … no marr.”

i nodded, sat back, fingers steepled under my chin, i understood. i knew who this powerful woman was. i knew the story leempeen had gifted me, who she wanted me to protect, to guard, to love and to respect.

leempeen smiled, she knew I understood she was pleased, i could tell. we sat together both knowing shared wisdoms, the beauty of our mirring before us, the forest illuminated by our camp, warmed by fire.

leempeen reached for the large black billy deftly with a long stick. she scooped up the handle and placed it among the flames, without even looking up she spoke,

“if she changes for no marr, why, bubup-ngan, are you losing yourself to keep another?”

Glossary: Language of the Gunditjmara

bubup-ngan: my baby

kerup: water

karrang: gum tree

leempeen: Aunty

marr: man

mirring: country

ngarrat: hand

weereeng: ears

Tabitha Lean is a Gunditjmara woman, born and raised on Kaurna country. As a First Nations woman, she is blessed to have her mother's stories and the blood of all the women before her coursing through her veins. It is in their honour that she centres their unique knowledges, and privileges their voices and stories in all her work.