7/4/01- 18/4/01

Saturday 7/4/01. Said goodbye to Helen many times. She wanted me to go as she knows I
regain my balance on the road. Woke Dan up who is in Melbourne for a couple of days for “look-
sees” before returning to Sydney on monday. Tuesday & wednesday last week he was in Hong Kong
doing a store catalogue. Ben was in bed too locked in battle with his demons. I told him I loved him
& that I’d be back in two weeks. If only anything I said had the capacity to give him a fraction of the
help that he was able to give me when I got back from my trip with Paranoia (see story ‘2/10/00’) &
he put his arm over my shoulders & told me that he loved me. I am not sure he heard me or that he
knows when he is awake or in a lucid dream. Bought the Age at Eaglemont Village from Kate (c/o)
who is minding children in one of her part time jobs & thinking of becoming a social worker. Bought
turkish bread at Coles. Hit the road. First stop was at Charlton at Lou’s Café where I read the paper. I
ordered a mug of coffee & a hamburger with the lot & Maria said where are you going this time – its
our ritual. I’m writing in Danyo reserve 5k’s short of Murrayville. I’m probably heading for Lake
Gairdner. Its 7.45pm. As I was entering the reserve from the highway (Ouyen – Adelaide) I passed a
large campervan with an elderly couple sitting out front. Thats a first, Ive always had the reserve to
myself previously. Ive lost count of how many times Ive been here; it feels like home. The books Ive
brought besides the bible, saint book & bird book are the ‘Penguin Dictionary of Philosophy’,
‘Foreign Bodies’ by Alphonso Lingis, & ‘the vision machine’ by Paul Virilio. The last two are from
Danius who has a habit of lending me books in pristine condition which by the time Ive read them are
mangled with page corners bent & spines split but on which I am able to give him one sentence
opinions. The Virilio is a discovery. Ive already read his ‘pure war’ & ‘the aesthetics of
disappearance’. I am inclined to agree with him : we are changing ourselves into technology (esp
speed) & our subjectivity is in the process of disappearing as we transfer our sensory capabilities to
machinery. I mention these titles because I play the role of literary mentor to several people but
especially Kym who is probably far too busy learning chinese (19/4/01. I can understand why some
chinese scholars say writing is older than language. Because their writing consists of pictograms
(unlike the representation of sounds as in the west) it amounts to saying that gesture, making marks,
signing - i.e. the body, precede vocalization) to be the slightest bit interested in any of the titles I list.
I’m losing interest in the saints & am only going to include ones on which the entries are very short
or I’ll write abstracts or maybe leave them out altogether. There are two of them for today. St.
Hegesippus who died around 180 was a native of Jerusalem. He became converted to Christianity &
spent 20 years in Rome during the pontificates of St. Anicetus & St. Soter. He is called the “Father of
Church History” because he traced the succession of the popes from St. Peter down to his own time
& recorded apostolic teachings. His five books which contained certain unwritten traditions of the
jews were still in existence in eastern libraries in the 17th century but have been almost completely
lost since then. The other saint today is Blessed Herman Joseph (c. 1150 – 1241) who started having
visions at the age of 7, entered a monastery at 12, & left a number of writings which caused him to be
highly esteemed as a mystic throughout germany. Its 8.15 & Collingwood are playing Fremantle at
Colonial Stadium : time to switch on the radio.

Sunday 8/4/01. 10.05 am. I lay in bed a long time feeling miserable & wondering if it was
worth getting up. The reason I decided to head for Lake Gairdner or the Gawler Ranges was because
the overwhelming landscapes there dont leave room for memory. When youre walking in remote
country you have to pay attention to time & compass otherwise you might not get back. But I wonder
if it will be enough on this occasion. Ive been through some of the struggle Ben is gripped by & I
know there is no guarantee of success. Yet to survive is to reach a shore denied to others. Most
survivors agree. Whats more they agree that they have had to do it by themselves; or with help only
from god some say. Ben is determined to manage without drugs. He is right if he succeeds. Todays
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saint is St. Julie Billiart (virgin 1751 – 1816) & I will put some detail in about her because she is the
founder of the order of nuns called the Sisters of Notre Dame. They have two convents in Victoria :
one in Sale & the other in Box Hill in Melbourne. When my mum & me & my sister Rasa came to
Sale in 1950 we were at first housed in the convent. (19/4/01. Father stayed back in Bathurst for a
few months as he had work there). From the passage across the hall from our room on the 2nd or 3rd
floor I could look through a small window into the chapel where a newly arrived young hungarian
priest used to sing the masses. To have the masses sung was a huge novelty to the nuns most of whom
were quite old & I could tell that they were in love with him. Later we lived across the road in an old
leaky house that has since been pulled down to be replaced by the garage that is there now. My mum
taught german, latin, & french at the convent but she also had to take on sewing because she was
underpaid by the nuns. For quite a while we used to walk across the road to the convent where we
were served a main meal in a room next to the kitchen area. Once a week it consisted of tripe & I still
shudder at the memory. There was an italian gardener/janitor who had been there since before the 1st
world war but couldnt speak english. A very nice nun who corresponded with the other Notre Dame
convents around the world gave me stamps that led to a terrific collection which would probably be
worth a fortune by now except that I gave it away to someone when we came to Melbourne. Another,
but cranky, nun taught me piano. I was supposed to practice daily but instead I used to duck around
behind the high corrugated tin fence of the convent grounds & practice marbles till I became one of
the best players at St. Pats college on the other side of town where I went to school accompanied by
my dog Margis. I used to watch him through the classroom window waiting for me in the street
outside occasionally creeping up behind an old lady passing by to bite her on the ankle. I think
someone had him put down. So back to St. Julie Billiart. She took a vow of chastity at 14. When the
family farm was lost she had to hire out & work for others. When she was 23 an attempt was made on
her fathers life & the shock caused her to become paralysed from fright so that she remained a
helpless bed-ridden cripple for the next 30 years. But her spirit was not broken & she continued her
mystical life. During the six years of the French revolution (1789 –1795) she was always in danger of
death & had to be secretly moved to Compiegne, Amiens, Bethancourt & finally back to Amiens.
Mass & communion were possible only when some hunted priest was in the neighbourhood. Through
all this she continued to direct her charity work aimed at poor orphans & later girls in general. In
1803 her work was put on a permanent basis with the founding of the ‘Institute of the Sisters of Notre
Dame’. In the following year the crippled St. Julie, then 53, was urged by a priest to take one single
step for the love of the sacred heart of jesus & she found herself suddenly & completely cured of her
paralysis. In all she founded about 10 convents. She often travelled by cart or on foot walking 28
miles on one occasion. She knew god would provide & once she left the sister superior of a newly
founded convent with a starting capital of one franc. There are Notre Dame convents around the
world & many of the students receive their education free of charge. My sister Rasa was one of them
& my piano lessons were also free. I dont think I paid fees in any of the schools I attended in the
catholic system …. 4.45. I am in a spot near Worlds End station, 20ks short of Burra. The first
sighting of the Lofty Ranges from the Morgan /Burra rd. in the afternoon or evening sun never fails
to give me a lift. Back at Pinaroo I checked the message bank on the mobile. There was one from
Kate (yesterday 2pm) saying she had talked to Ben on the phone & he was O.K. She offered a deal
that if I looked after myself she’d look after herself. Thats blackmail & I have to agree. Ive used the
same tactic. Returning to the primordial struggle that Ben is in & that Ive survived (though changed);
I think your chances depend mainly on those around you. I wouldnt have come through it if it wasnt
for the endurance & steadiness of Helen. She describes herself as a plodder, the old grey mare that
just keeps on & on; nothing fancy, just one foot at a time in front of the other. She has done that with
honesty & responsibility for a lifetime. After nursing me to health she had to do it all over again when
our eldest Luke / Michael succumbed to the same demons. Thats when she stopped believing in god.
Then she took on a carers role with Vi in her old age. Now that another of the kids is forced to
attempt to survive the same struggle she says that if she met god in the street she would spit in his
face. I dont blame her, its the womans lot. I dont have the same problems with god as I dont even
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know who he might be (see story ‘27/11/00 – 7/12/00’) but should I meet anyone who is familiar with
his ways, especially with what he wills (thy will be done …. etc. etc.), I’ll do the same. Meantime H,
who would normally have come travelling with me as it is the school holidays is staying home to
ensure that Ben doesnt forget to eat or sleep. Her task (chosen or given?) seems to be to ensure that
no one connected with her is abandoned.

Monday 9/4/01. 8.30 am. A few more memories of the convent. The love of the nuns for the
singing priest hung in the large expanse of air above the pews like a vapour; its intensity made the
plaster & brick walls resonate with a faint hum; & it even penetrated them to warp the space outside
where I stood high up peering in through a small window in the top back wall of the chapel. I feel a
trace of it to this day. Another memory is of a very beautiful young nun who seemed out of place in
the sombre, hushed setting of the convent but it was hinted that she was exceptionally devout, even a
bit holy, perhaps a future candidate for sainthood. My guess is that she will have left the convent soon
afterwards for I detected, in the direct way that children do, an illicit glow about her. I now suppose
that many of the nuns were in love with her & that some loved her. Another memory is of my 2nd
piano teacher, the cranky one. When I would absentmindedly rest my hands in my lap she would
roughly snatch them out admonishing me for being rude. Curiously it is the first time Ive dredged out
that memory now that its meaning has become apparent. At the time it was no more than another
example of her tetchiness. On this note I introduce the saints for the day : St Mary of Cleophas (1st
century). This Mary was the wife of Cleophas (Alphaeus) who, according to Hegesippus, was a
brother of St. Joseph (the spouse of our Lady) – which would make St. Mary Cleophas a sister-in-law
of the Blessed Virgin. The Bible tells us that she was the mother of the Apostle St. James the Less,
and that she was one of the “three Marys” who followed our Lord from Galilee and stood at the foot
of the Cross. And St. Acacius (Bishop Confessor 5th cent.) He was the Bishop of Amida in
Mesopotamia at a time when the Romans were warring against the Persians there. The lot of 7,000
Persian prisoners so touched the sympathies of St. Acacius that he had the Church’s sacred vessels
melted down and sold for their ransom – an act which so greatly impressed the Persian king Bahram
V, that he is said to have stopped the persecution of his Christian subjects. Reflection : “A new
commandment I give you, that you love one another : that as I have loved you, you also love one
another. By this will men know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13,
34-35) …. 4.30 pm. I wanted to take a photo of the Wildongolichee Hotel at Hallet & of a ‘Danger’
sign riddled with bullets near here but my camera is on the blink – one less thing to carry in the day
pack on walks. I am at Port Germein. Rang home & talked to Ben who says he is polishing up opals.
He meant the jar of matrix opal I brought back years ago when it was thought to be worthless. He
sounded OK. Helen was out & I said Id ring her at 5.30. Earlier at Wirrabara I had a couple of pies &
a coffee at the best bakery in the country according to me and H. Wrote a letter to Kate of Eaglemont
to explain how my run in with Aust. Post provided a basis for my paranoia on my wild 3 day trip in
sept./oct. last year. She gets all my handouts but I dont get a chance to explain anything as we only
exchange a few words between customers at the newsagency. I hope Ben gets a chance to travel the
countryside some day as I do. There is something very reassuring about the bush. The sun rises every
morning greeted by the birds you expect in that locality. At ‘Worlds End’ its magpies followed by
crows. You go to bed at sunset. If it rains you can’t do much other that read a book or write. Pubs are
out for me : after developing a large pain in the side at the start of the month Ive cut right back on
alcohol. At night in bed I look out at the stars through the window of the van.

Tuesday 10/4/01. Lets play a game, do a thought experiment. Imagine that god is a vase. The
vase is one of those classical ones that the ancients used to transport olive oil or store wine. It has a
curved handle on either side & bulges in the middle before narrowing to a waist, then widening to a
solid base. The girth is circled by a simple pattern. These kind of vases or urns were quite common &
I saw a couple recently at the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibition at the Melbourne gallery. But the one we
are imagining is an only one because thats the main attribute of god. There are no other vases (or
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anything else for that matter.) Then it shatters into shards & fragments because it can no longer
contain its loneliness. (Veteran performance artist, Frank Lovece, tells me his first film short was
called ‘The Broken Vase’). Now suppose that each piece, some no more than specks others big
enough for a bit of pattern to be discernable, is or represents or becomes a human being, one of us.
All human beings are fragments of the broken vase. The idea is not novel, mystics over the ages have
suggested versions of it. Those of us who discerned a bit of the divine pattern on ourselves could join
up with other matching ones till we formed a line or a part of a square or oblong & we could marvel
at out beauty & importance. “The Divine Pattern” we might sing. We might even look down on the
myriad shards, which because they came from the hard clay of the handles or the base are too tiny &
fragmented to be arranged into the simplest pattern or pair. & of course there are pieces that are
dangerously jagged & pointy so that they shouldnt be even in the vicinity of others no matter that the
base & handles were the most important part of the original. We could imagine, for the sake of the
thought experiment at least, that most of the fragments not just the patterned ones had some notion of
their divine origin. It may be that they could sense a common polarity in their elemental structures, or
a radiation frequency dated them all to the moment of the original disintegration. & suppose that over
the ages the combined efforts of the greatest minds among us with the help of libraries, universities,
laboratories finally manage to trace out the shape of the original vase. The prospect then arises, given
adequate leadership (popes & such) even if only in the distant future, of reassembling the vase. Now
here is the point of the thought experiment : would god, if he had any say in it, want to be
reassembled?
Its 6.10pm & I’m about 35ks from the homestead on Oakden Hills Station. (for details see
story ‘14/8/41’). There were four people at the homestead when I arrived. Andrew MacTaggart, the
owner (under a truck), his son James & two danish backpackers in the workshop. The backpackers
were probably here because they were broke. They had been told of the station by a danish exchange
student who was here jackarooing a year ago. A bit of hard work wouldnt do them any harm but I
suspect the MacTaggarts are softies. If it rains & I get bogged Andrew promised to come & get me. I
arranged with James to leave a note at the house so he knows when I’ve gone & told him in which of
two spots (about 10ks apart) he could find me if there is no note in a weeks time. Once again I’ve
been given a map of the property so I shouldnt get lost. As I left, Andrew who like most station
people is a jack-of-all-trades, was about to prepare a meal for the four of them (Penny his wife is
away). I’m off to watch the sunset over Island Lagoon.

Wednesday 11/4/01. I had intended to cut back on the saints ( I left out St. Fulbert of
Chartres yesterday) but I must put in todays, St. Leo 1, The Great, for its political & historical
significance. At a critical time in the Church’s history, when the Western Empire was disintegrating
and the Eastern Church was profoundly disturbed by dogmatic controversies and speculations, God
raised to the throne of St. Peter in 440 a far-sighted and wise Pontiff, St. Leo I ; he was to become
one of the three Popes whom we honour with the title of “The Great”. (St. Gregory I in the 6th century
and St. Nicholas I in the 9th are the only other two.) In order to maintain the purity of the Church’s
doctrine, he took sharp measures against the subtle infiltration of heresies into Italy and Spain, and in
the East condemned Monophysitism or Eutychianism. In his famous dogmatic letter (tomos) to St.
Flavian, Archbishop of Constantinople, he clearly set forth the Church’s doctrine that Christ is one
person but possesses two distinct natures, the divine and the human : an early example of an infallible
Papal pronouncement. At the Fourth Oecumenical Council of Chalcedon in 451, some 600 Eastern
Bishops, assembled under the presidency of the Papal legates, officially acclaimed this great
document as the Church’s true teaching : “Peter has spoken by Leo.” St. Leo also reformed Church
discipline and maintained the primacy of Rome in connection with the organization of the Church in
Gaul, where the Archbishop of Arles held a privileged position as Papal vicar for that country. Here
St. Hilary of Arles had gradually exceeded his powers and had to be restrained. The Emperor issued
an edict in this connection in 445, in which he seconded the Pope’s procedure and solemnly
recognized his primacy. Into St. Leo’s reign also fell the calamitous barbarian incursions of Attila,
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“the Scourge of God”, from the north in 452, and of Genseric from Africa in 455. The Pope, by his
great moral authority, was able to dissuade the former from marching upon Rome in consideration of
an annual tribute, but the latter plundered the city for two weeks and carried off many inhabitants into
slavery before heeding St. Leo’s intercessions. Still, a general massacre and the complete destruction
of the city were averted. St. Leo died in 461. The profound writings of this great Pope have furnished
numerous lessons for the Breviary. Reflection : “Thy Cross, O Lord, is the source of all blessings, the
cause of all graces : by it the faithful find strength in weakness, glory in shame, life in death.” (St.
Leo). Its 9.00am & I’m putting a few pieces of fruit in the pack, glasses, sunglasses, compass, patches
for blisters etc. & heading out onto the glittering salt surface of Island Lagoon in the direction of the
‘island’… 5.10pm. I walked in a straight line on a bearing of 340º for what I estimate to be 17ks to be
at the island at 12.30. Took slightly longer on the way back as I took the 140º bearing instead of the
160º. That was because I wanted to make sure to reach the eastern shore north of the short bit of
derelict fence that juts into the lake as it was the only way I had of recognising the spot where my car
was parked opposite over the shore dune. Thats how you navigate on an ocean, always aiming to be
on one side of the spot you want to get to so you know in which direction to follow a shoreline. Now
as I write I notice my compass has stopped working. The axle of the needle has come out of its
housing. I should be delighted as Ive been in a lot of situations where I would have been a goner if it
had happened then. There is always some new way of getting into strife. I have another much older
compass which I’ll check tonight against the southern cross for accuracy. Anyway as the island
loomed up ahead, looking very close but still 40 minutes walking away (it is a feature of the islands
on the salt lakes to look much closer than they are) I was getting arthritic pains in the lower back
which happens if I walk on a very even surface (footpaths, sea-shore) & on checking in the pack I
discovered I hadnt brought the Naprosin. On the way back my dicky right knee was complaining. But
by the time I was nearing home base everything had cleared up – I was getting into a rhythm. When I
got to the island I climbed to the top where you can see two other islands, one to the north & the other
to the east which is the very high conical shaped one you see from the Port Augusta/Woomera road I
think. You can see the shoreline right around the lagoon which is a surprise as when youre at surface
level it looks endless in some directions. Also on the top there was a small mound or cairn holding up
a shiny aluminium post with a plastic sign with these words engraved on it by machine : “We Frank
& Marj Warr of Woomera first climbed this island on the 27th October 1984 and we last climbed it on
27th April 1997.” Fuck that! Here I am doing a round walk of 7 hours to see an island that 9 months
ago in the setting sun on an evening of crimson cloud looked like a staging post for the next world
only to find that Frank & Marj have been buzzing in & out on their trail bikes putting up a personal
sign as if they own the place. So I broke off the ugly plastic & then pulled out the post itself which I
hid in some stumpy scrub under a disused wedge tail eagles nest. In the Flinders Ranges there are
cairns topping just about every hill of any size so you wouldnt make the mistake of thinking youre
the first one there but at least their builders had the decency not to put their own names on them. I
suppose its the technology thats new. Signs are proliferating & you even get huge ones with pictures
on them of what youre going to see when you get there. Frank & Marj have tipped me over – next
trip I’ll be carrying a spraycan.

Thursday 12/4/01. Here is another political saint : St. Julius I (Pope Confessor ?-352). St.
Julius, a Roman by birth, ruled the Church for 15 years after his election in 337 and is chiefly
remembered for the firm and judicious way in which he handled the Arian controversy concerning St.
Athanasius. The latter, who had been exiled to Treves by the Arians in 335, had been permitted by
Constantine II to return to Alexandria in Egypt in 337, but was unable to occupy his See and had to
appeal to the Pope against the heretical usurper. The Roman Synod of 340, at which St. Julius
presided, fully vindicated St. Athanasius and other Bishops similarly deposed by the Arians, and the
momentous Papal Letter which reported this decision to the Eastern Bishops is justly famous in the
annals of the Church for its consummate wisdom and clarity. A general council held in Sardica
(today’s Sofia) in 342 fully regulated the future procedures in cases involving the orthodoxy of
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Bishops and the intervention of Rome. Incidentally, the years which St. Athanasius spent in the
Eternal City served to make Egyptian monasticism better known there and the lives of the holy desert
hermits to be reproduced also in the West. Reflection : “We ought to be like lilies in the midst of
thorns, which, however they be pricked and pierced, never lose their sweet and gentle fragrance.” (St.
Bernard). (When Borges was teaching at a university in U.S.A. one of his students wrote the
following line in a poem : “She was so chaste that lilies were her roses.”)
Antonin Artaud has saintly status in Frank Loveces circle of friends. Artaud despised
the kind of writer who tried to tease meaning out of the flux of life with lucid expression. It was,
Artaud thought, an imposition of order on what should remain in tumult. His own life was an
expression of the chaos which was forever destroying & renewing him. He spent 9 of the last 11
years of his life in an asylum. I am an admirer of Artauds position & of his deep intuition of the
forces that precede language. His main contribution was to the way we perceive the role of theatre &
the performing arts. He believed that the pre-eminent role language had usurped in the theatre had to
be rolled back. (20/4/01. He wasnt a Shakespear fan!) Theatre should concern itself with display,
whirling action,cruelty, overwhelming sounds & impenetrable silences, rhythmic movement,
pageantry, ritual, body, totem. Though they may well be the well-springs of what it means to be
human not many of us can leave ourselves as open to these forces as Artaud did & survive. It seems
to me only the gods live naturally in the primeval whirlpool. As she was urging me to go on this trip
Helen suggested I write in order to exorcise my agitation. I exorcise pain by making it still, turning it
into nouns. Artaud would have despised me. In my defence I would point out that I do not believe
that language is categorically separated from the body. It separates itself only by degrees & is not
fully representational (a term used by Artaud) except in the languages of science. Certainly the
spoken word cannot be separated from the texture of the voice, the emphasis given, the conviction
with which it is said, the kind of eye contact made, the underlying gestures & body postures. It is like
that because words are first learnt by being rehearsed & these qualities (& others we are not aware of)
may well be their main content. The assertion of scientists that language resides in the left side of the
brain, a conclusion they arrive at from the fact that damage to the left side prevents speech while if its
to the right speech remains should be taken with the greatest of scepticism. In my experience
scientists are the least likely to be able to notice if the qualities listed above are retained. I think it is
quite possible that they would be listening to only shells of words (in the right brain damaged person)
& think they were hearing language. In our society no group of people are more dead to the qualities
valued by Artaud than scientists, unless it be engineers & technocrats.
I am in a constant cloud of hundreds of bush flies. They are quite small & keep getting into
my nose, mouth, corners of eyes & earholes. I ate quite a few for tea as a dozen had drowned in my
2- minute noodles, more in my coffee, & were getting into me mouth with every bite of food. Its
almost impossible to write so I’ll be brief. Its 6.00pm. I left for a walk northwards along a fence line
at 10.00 & got back walking along the shore of Island Lagoon at 4.30. Was excited to observe half a
dozen Bourkes Parrot (Neophema bourkii) which I havent seen before. Stood on a bullant nest while I
was watching one from very close. Its not often that I come across a new bird these days. Later
walked along a pad that I think was made by camels. There were plenty of fresh droppings. Will have
to ask James MacTaggart about that. Also have put a rusty old dog trap that was hanging in a tree
where I’m parked into the car to take home. It can still be set so I can show people how they work.
There are a dozen flies on my hand as I’m writing : must smell good. Time to quit.

Friday 13/4/01. Today is the day the prophet, who believed he was sent by the god of moses,
was crucified. Under the pretext of preserving his memory a great empire was built : The Holy
Roman Empire. The relics of the empire, the church hierarchies, are in turn crumbling away … I have
to include todays saint for the names alone. St. Hermenegild (Prince Martyr ?-585). Hermenegild was
a son of the Arian Visigoth King Leovigild in Spain, and of Theodosia, a Catholic Princess, but the
court being entirely Arian, he was raised in heresy. In 576, however, he married the Frankish Princess
Ingundis, the Catholic daughter of Sigebert and Brunhilde, and after taking instruction from Leander,
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the saintly Archbishop of Seville, he became a convert to the true faith. Meanwhile, his mother
having died, his father had married Goswintha, a fanatical Arian, who proceeded to actively persecute
her daughter-in-law for her hated religion, and Hermenegild and Ingundis thought it best to retire to
Andalusia. But the King became greatly enraged when he discovered that his son had become a
Catholic and ordered him back to Toledo. Hermenegild not only refused, but allied himself with the
Greeks and, supported by the persecuted Catholic factions, rose in arms against his father. The latter
succeeded in buying off the Byzantines and took Seville after a two-year siege. The young Prince was
captured, stripped of his royal privileges and banned to Valencia, while his wife fled to Africa with
their son. On Easter Eve of 585, according to St. Gregory the Great, King Leovigild sent an Arian
Bishop to bring his son Communion and promised forgiveness if he accepted it. But Hermenegild
refused to give up his faith and so was beheaded on Easter Day. Reflection : “I value the crown as
nothing; I am ready to lose sceptre and life too, rather than abandon the divine truth.” (St.
Hermenegild). … 12.30. I had to leave my camping spot because of the flies. You bring back
hundreds of them from every walk & others find their own way so that each day the numbers build up
for they hang around the car overnight. I drove along a fence line eastwards because I thought I’d
have a look at Lake Beviss but when the track looked as if it might get sandy I turned around as I
didnt want to risk the embarrassment of having to be pulled out in a part of the property I hadnt asked
permission to be on. Then I walked around some small lakes (dry of course) off the main track back
towards the homestead but have now come back to park in the shade of a beaut tree on the track to
Lake Beviss. I was hoping to have a respite from the flies but they are assembling quickly & some
are march flies with a sharp bite (on go the long pants). The property like the entire district is very
dry & unrecognisable to the parklike appearance it had last august …. I’ve just been sprung by James
MacTaggart doing the rounds of the paddocks searching for sheep. He tells me that there are cattle on
the property which explains the pad I saw yesterday. He says its the driest he has seen the place in 14
years & they are getting ground down though in good years its one of the best properties in the north
east. They have a special problem with kangaroos which come onto the property in extra numbers
because they observe best practice by keeping it understocked. The bureaucracy that issues permits
for how many roos you can shoot can’t cope with that. We talked for over an hour & he was a mine of
information on whats happening from here to Tibooburra & even Wanarring as he contracts
(shearing, crutching) through that country 4 months a year & is on a number of government boards
for allocating funds. He shares a habit with me. When he gets back home with his gear he can’t relax
until everything is unpacked & in place. Oakden Hill has to be just about the tidiest homestead &
yards Ive seen. Everything is kept in working order, much like our place in Ivanhoe. Us tidy people
are all the same. His wife works in Port Augusta which seems to be par for the course around here so
I was glad to hear that Connie Manning of Mahanewo, the neighbouring station, was back home with
her husband Paul this year from her teaching job there. Thats what he was hoping for when I was on
their place last year but with the dry conditions I thought it may not have eventuated. Oh yes, James
says he has never been on the island & I didnt tell him about Frank & Marj … I have stopped for the
night 10ks south along the shore at the spot I was at in august last year.

Saturday 14/4/01. One of the songs that greeted the sun this morning was the ventriloqual call
of the desert bellbird (oreoica gutturalis). Its 8.40 by my watch (8.10 S.A. time), Ive had breakfast &
the coffee is cooling, flies are not yet too numerous. Time for the saint. To make it proactive I’ll
indicate the bits that I’m leaving out with 3 dots & you can use your imagination to fill them in. Here
goes : St. Justin Martyr (The Philosopher c. 100-167) was born in Samaria. His pagan parents
belonged to the colony of Greeks which had been established there by the Emperor Titus … various
pagan philosophers but … as he was walking along the seashore one day near Alexandria, Egypt …
since the soul, he was told, could never arrive at a conception of God by means of human knowledge
alone … he saw something inexplicably fine in their features … travelling about Asia Minor …
attired in his distinctive philosophers cloak … house on Viminal Hill soon became a kind of …
heretic Marcion … treatises which St. Jerome prized highly … to the Emperors Antoninus Pius and
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Marcus Aurelius … his famous “Dialogue with the Jew Tryphon” … should not be further molested
… St. Justin returned East to Ephesus, and there he one day encountered the great rabbi Tryphon, the
best known Israelite of his day and a famous philosopher … quoted the Prophets … Old Law … New
… had to admit that according to the prophets the time for the coming of the Messiah must have
already passed … Way of Life … answer to an enquiry from the pagan philosopher Diognetus, a
former tutor of Marcus Aurelius … beheaded at the age of 67 … Patron of Catholic philosophy …
Saint Ephrem are the only Church Fathers who were not Priests, Bishops or Popes. Thats it, now for
something more serious.
I am told that some people who are totally blind follow a moving object on a screen with head
& eye movements but report that they see nothing. I dont find this to be surprising as we know
already that we become aware of only a small portion of our sensory input & also that all kinds of
internal systems that regulate the functioning of organs are controlled by our brain & nervous system
without reaching awareness. What is worth being intrigued by is the possibility of other such
discoveries for there is no way of knowing how much of our nervous system is occupied with
attending to matters outside our awareness (or of which we are only dimly aware, or sometimes, or
only in special circumstances). Take for example a school of fish. I’ve seen schools consisting of
thousands of individuals move as one, changing direction instantaneously. You can observe the same
thing with huge flocks of starlings doing aerobatics in perfect unison. I suggest that even if these
animals had awareness (& they probably do to the extent that they feel pain, can be agitated, lead
individual lives (etc.) though not like us to the extent of being disappointed that they are not
immortal) they are not aware at those times of their connection to the other members of the school or
flock. That connection is too intimate, the changes in direction too quick for awareness to play a part.
Now here is something else to consider. Since I’ve been a kid I’ve knocked up hearing people say,
sometimes reputable scientists, that the brain is not being used to its full capacity or even that it is
barely used, that its potential is hugely greater than current utilization. I dont know how they arrive at
these statements but I would guess that they monitor electrical activity & find that in most parts
where the brain is otherwise indistinguishable from the rest there is hardly any. Other parts that look
no different veritably sparkle. The conclusion that large parts of the brain are barely used seems to me
to run counter to everything we know about the evolution of biological phenomena. Unlike the
appendix, or wisdom teeth, no one has ever suggested a remotely reasonable scenario why it could
be. It seems conceited & unreasonable to say that because we dont know what is happening that
nothing is. There may be all kinds of things that do not register as electricity. There may be things
happening of a kind that are new to us. Things are pretty complicated in there. The conclusion I
would draw is not that most of the brain is unused but that most of what its used for is unknown &
outside our awareness. But here is a suggestion. It has been evident to me for some time that we are
one creature. I know it directly. Is it possible that in the part of the brain where we cannot detect
activity (which may be most of it) it is devoted to monitoring our connection with each other – the
creature (entity) mankind? For it may be that the aspects that separate us from each other, that mark
our individuality, are the only ones amenable to study (that show up as electrical or chemical activity)
because they are on our scale. The way we are united may be as difficult to grasp as it would be for a
cell in my body to understand me. Its a thought! It is obvious to me that if I hurt someone else I hurt
myself & if they feel pain I feel some of it too, no matter how far I travel. If they hurt themselves
they hurt me. I know that if I am well others benefit & vice-versa. Someone said to me recently that
nothing matters as long as you enjoy yourself. Yes, but I can’t enjoy myself if you are in pain just as
when I am in good company I find it almost impossible not to enjoy myself. This is the knowledge
that comes from direct experience. It is not arguable.
Left at 11 was back at 3.30. Walked the southern curve of the lagoon along shore & backing
dune then back over the ‘ice’. Besides the kangaroos (I havent seen any sheep), emus & foxes I saw
several bunnies, the first so far. I have an idea those guys are gunna win out over the dreaded virus.
Also came across a couple of spots where aboriginal stone implements were plentiful. Put an
arrowhead in my pocket; it would have taken quite a bit of work to shape. When you come to these
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sites you always wonder why here? & usually you find that its the proximity of fresh water but I saw
no signs of it & the depressions behind the dune didnt look like likely places for it to collect even in
good seasons. Forgot to mention that the new fencing on this property is very flimsy. It consists of 4
strands of plain wire held by posts that are very far apart & is only about 3 foot high. After we
finished talking yesterday James MacTaggart rode his trail bike straight at & over the one I was
parked next to. You wouldnt see a better stunt in a circus.

Sunday 15/4/01. Easter sunday. St. Benedict Joseph Labre (Confessor 1748 – 1783). Benedict
… Boulogne, France … Parish Priest … Carthusian … La Trappe … Cistercians … Rome …
Christendom … Spain, France, Germany, Switzerland … Italy … New Testament … Breviary …
Imitation … Christ … Assissi …Franciscans … Rome … Colosseum … God’s … Forty Hours
Devotion … Lady … Holy Week … Santa Maria … Monti … Easter Mass … St. Benedict Joseph
Labre … April … God … Imitation … Christ… 8.40am. First there is the I am, then the division into
extension and movement, then comes time (am I rehashing Schopenhauer or are we both rehashing
someone else?) …. 3.15. Language came last, the crown jewel, what makes us human but also what
makes science possible which will probably transform us if it doesnt destroy us. Its my weapon as a
writer. I left at 9.00 & was back at 2.30. I wanted to walk out as into a sea. I walked on a bearing of
260º marvelling at the vein like patterns made by ridging in the salt crust. I thought I am the earth
admiring myself. After two hours I reached the opposite shore where I walked about for an hour
before heading back. While on the other side I came across the largest collection of worked stone I’ve
seen. Must have been a ‘factory’ for scrapers & spear heads. At times I could hear the distant sound
of a trail bike which was a real surprise. I wondered if it was Paul Manning looking for sheep as I
think that part of the lagoon borders on Mahanewo. Last night once the sun had properly set & the
stars were brilliant in a black sky I loafed about near the van which stood with doors, tail gate,
windows, everything open, staring at the night sky for hours. Satellites threaded their way through the
milky way; there were some shooting stars. Every now & then I’d jump up as high as I could with my
arms stretched out wide as if I was trying to scoop up as many stars as I could. I was performing a
ritual. Then I was doing it more & more in quick succession because in the 3rd quarter Collingwood
kicked 6 goals in 9 minutes. After the game finished at 9.30 I went to bed thinking that soon Ben
would be watching the replay in Melbourne which would probably keep him in front of the telly till
after midnight. Thats what I was hoping. I dont know if I slept at all. I was trying to find a way of
explaining simply how words, at their birth, before they are laid down as verbs & nouns (21/4/01. H.
says I burble on too much about language. That means I am failing to explain clearly, or to
understand, or its just boring) in our neural networks (the hard disk) are bundles of instructions
synchronising or giving shape to us as part of the large creature that is humanity. I gave up. Instead
here are a few disconnected observations. Should at christmas an eskimo and an amazonian be
talking over the phone about snow they would be sharing hardly anything by using the word except
they would both agree that the white flakes they see slowly drifting down outside the window on the
telly in the movie ‘White Christmas’ is snow even though it really is bits of fluff or paper. So just by
sharing the word they have forged a minimal degree of agreement, made a small mutual alignment, a
contract to call those bits of fluff – snow. Here is another. When I asked Andrew MacTaggart for
directions to the spot I was at 10ks north of here he described what I call a ‘station track’ as a ‘good
road’. By doing that he was really saying that I would make it in my Nissan Urvan which I had
explained had hardly any traction as the engine was in the front & the working wheels were in the
back with no weight over them. As it turned out there was a short sandy patch which if it had been a
bit softer could have caused me problems. But I knew that by using the term ‘good road’ he had also
made an ‘unspoken’ contract with me to pull me out if I got bogged. Language is that complicated!
When I travel in the inland I’ve long ago given up asking people about road conditions because their
answers make no sense. If he & me were to use the same words in exactly the same way we would
have had to have travelled the same roads – in which case we would have been the same person. All
words are agreements, contracts, alignments, a dancing together, a discharging of instructions. What
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varies is the degree of synchronization. When its almost perfect we store them as basic verbs & when
its total they become the simple nouns, & finally the solid objects. What is stored are not the ‘words’
but the dancing & the names of the dances. It all happened long ago.

Monday 16/4/01. St. Mary Bernard Soubirous (Virgin 1844-1879). Sister Mary Bernard
Soubirous … Bernadette … January … Lourdes … French Pyrenees … Francois … Louis Soubirous
… Bernadette … First Communion … Thursday, February … Bernadette … Marie … Jeane …
Grotto … Massabielle … Gave … Lady … Lady … Marie … Jeane … Lady … Lady … Our Lady
… Bernadette … February … Penance! Penance! Penance! … February … Priests … Immaculate
Conception … March … June … Bernadette … First Communion … Grotto … Mayor … Lourdes …
Bernadette … Lady … Bernadette … Bishop … Tarbes … Commission … Lourdes … Bishop …
July … Bernadette … Nevers … Grotto … Mary … Bernadette … God’s … September … December
… Bishops … Tarbes … Nevers … Grotto … April … White Lady … Bernadette … Benedict …
Pius. 8.30am. There is dew on the car. Last night I lay in bed with all the windows & car doors &
sliding door & tail gate open; it was almost like sleeping outdoors. Sometime in the middle of the
night (later I saw that the southern cross was overhead) I became aware of how still it was. It was
warm. Then I heard what sounded like the faint roar of a distant ocean. It got louder, it was coming
my way. It was extraordinary. I realized that out here it couldnt be anything other than wind, perhaps
an approaching front. I knew the moment it reached me by the faintest of breezes, fingers of air that
fluttered in & out of the car stroking me with soothing coolness. I lay soaking it up listening as to a
distant ghostly symphony for I now discerned that the pitch & volume were constantly changing.
Then it was gone, the breezes had stopped. Afterwards after getting out to inspect the sky & a leak
(when I got back into bed I realized I had brought in numerous tiny ants on whose nest I must have
been standing in the dark & which had climbed up my legs without me noticing but I couldnt be
bothered shaking out the sleeping bag so I put up with their tiny feet & biting) I kept thinking how
amazing it was that at the age of almost 60 I was still privileged to experience novel events. & it
wasnt as if it was a one off. It happens on every trip & to a lesser extent even in Melbourne. Yet when
I am in the city I notice a bleakness in the expressions on many faces as if they were crushed by
boredom. I see plump ladies buying fistfuls of trashy magazines & I suspect that a good fraction of
my neighbours spend most of their spare time staring rigidly at the telly. It is as if there is a secret
door which is quite easy to open, finding it is the problem. & I dont know how to point it out. I
continue writing … 3.15. I’m back at Port Germein, on the way home. Earlier at Port Augusta I
checked my message bank. There were two long reports from Kate both left yesterday evening within
a couple of hours of each other. They were mainly about the continuing crisis at home & had the
effect of preparing me for the domestic realities. She seems to think that when I’m on my travels I
spend my walks thinking about what is going on there. The opposite is the case. At home I’m too
intensely involved with problems that can’t be solved but when I’m away I leave them behind
completely because I’m overcome by the surroundings. Shes shifted into a house she shares with a
girlfriend near Lygon St. She says that when shes in permanent full time employment which she
thinks is soon she & Joe will buy a block of land at some place like Daylsford. Am looking forward
to catching up with her. Then rang Helen who sounded considerably calmer than Kate. Shes repainted
the bedroom from the black which I used to find very peaceful as it didnt glow in the dark the way
white walls do. I didnt dare ask what colour but she reckons it looks good. I hope its good for our
love life. …I had to leave this morning even though I still have a full weeks supply of food because I
had arranged with the MacTaggarts that if I overstayed a week they would come searching. Didnt
want Jamie to do a round trip of over 70ks tomorrow to check on me. Met his wife on the way out &
talked to her as she sat in the ute with a sheepdog in the back. She was heading off to meet him at a
stock watering point. When he is away contracting she lives with her folks in Port Augusta & works
full time nursing but when hes home shes here too. Because she is a casual she strings together
several days of work at a time & is back at Oakden Hills in the intervals. I forgot to ask her name. I
said I’d be back to take further advantage of their generosity in a better year. On the way out I noticed
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that two rows of cypresses opposite the main homestead & a couple of single ones in the yard have
been trimmed into the shapes of cubes.

Tuesday 17/4/01. Easter is over. I am thinking about the great prophet from nazareth. He
came from a tradition of holy men whose habit was to converse with god. Forgetting that the all
powerful one had no need of a language & being alone didnt have the opportunity to learn one they
implored him in hebrew (with the exception of Job, some say). They sustained themselves with
memories of seas being parted, manna raining from heaven, a mighty hand writing in the sky. All
their talk & righteousness did not prevent the emperor Titus from destroying Jerusalem or the 6
million from being murdered. The nazarene was the second last in that tradition for there was still
muhammad to come, who however, conversed with the one god in arabic. You could leave it there …
but I can’t. I remember the nazarenes greatest prophecy : that when all else was gone his words
would remain. & here I am 2000 years later writing about them & on the dashboard of the van I have
a copy of the bible to ward off thieves. I dont know what it means …. We know things because we’re
made of them. So one day I’ll go & lie down in the shade of a scrubby tree on some dry grass & sand
with a pool of muddy water nearby …. Plucked feathers from a frogmouth which must have been
killed not long before dawn as it hadnt begun to stiffen. They are defenceless against cars because
they get blinded by the headlights…. That was somewhere near the turnoff to Waikerie which I
managed to miss & just made it into Barmera before running out of petrol ($45, the most I’ve ever
paid to fill up). Stopped by the “beautiful Barmera Lake” for a bite to eat …. Back in Victoria. Rang
H. from Murrayville. She didnt sound well, she had a cold. Ben had stayed up during the night & had
a bad morning too. The dog next door barked all night. I said I’d be back in the arvo & suggested we
go out for tea …. Have stopped at a stock dam about 30ks south of Walpeup on the road to
Patchewollock.

Wednesday 18/4/01. Had a restless night. A sense of suffering filled the confined space of the
van like a fog. Took a Somac pill for the oesophagitis when I got up. When I’m on the road I only
take one in the evening but I’m preparing for Melbourne. Read the daily saint : Bl. Mary of the
Incarnation (Widow 1566-1618). It read like a collection of clichés. Maybe its the mood I’m in.
Nevertheless there are bird calls all round & a variety of parrots & honeyeaters are flying in to drink
at the dam. I am coming home renewed, a tea-totaller, & the pain in my side is almost gone. I have a
job of typing for H. Its 7.55, time for the road. … saw a dead barn owl near Birchip. … read the Age
over a mug of coffee at Lou’s in Charlton (is that your diary? Maria asked) …. home.

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