Ode to Napanangka Mrs P.

I was cleaning houses on the sacred land of the NSW Central Coast, barefoot as usual, ruminating over questions of ethics and philosophy as one is free to do with the luxury of time and space, when the voice of God came booming through loud and clear.

Go to the Aboriginal people. The waters are coming. You need to prepare.

At the time I was cleaning floor to ceiling windows with views over the waters that sparkled out to the horizon, occasionally delighted by breaching whales. In this deep state of meditation, I was often filled with images and messages from the ancient past always sharply juxtaposed with the reality of colonisation from my humble perspective as a servant, the Elite Domystique, housekeeper to the rich and famous, where I had up close and personal access to the finest art collections in the country.

I was particularly drawn to Aboriginal art and artifacts. To receive the stories I would place my hands over them. Through my bare feet I could tune into the land; stories of birth, death and rebirth from the beginning of time.

That was back in 2012. Three years earlier I had been approached to tender for the role of Head of Art & Culture for the region whilst the local council was preparing for significant transformation; an area I have considerable experience in given I spent a quarter of a century in commercial television creating programmes that defined the dominant culture until my own #metoo moment put an end to that career. Twenty years later that story opened the movement in Australia given I was the only woman to take substantial action at the time of the event to find remedy which has not yet happened.

With an empirical understanding of the issues that affect everyday people spiralling as domestic violence, suicide, addictions, homelessness, poverty, mental, spiritual, emotional and physical health issues and all the ways discrimination manifests in disadvantage in society I hung up my apron in 2014 and set off on walkabout searching for a softer, kinder, fairer more caring world.

My dear friend, Ananara Grace, shared a message late one night. “Bridget, you have an important film to make.”

During Satsang one Sunday morning the same message came to me through another spiritual confidante.

“There’s only two stories of the age. You will be taken where you are needed. Prepare to leave on Saturday. We cover you in our blessings and protection” said Sanvie.

I left on Sunday and roamed for a couple of years until I eventually I found myself at Gugamai Aboriginal Sacred Wombyn’s Lore Camp outside Byron Bay on Nyangbul country.

And there she was. Totally luminous. Radiating love, life, strength, wisdom and survival surrounded by women who adored her. Ancient mother, senior lore woman and wisdom keeper, visionary, artist and ngangkari Mrs P.

Hundreds of women had come from around Australia and the world over the next two years to share wisdom, guidance, support and clarity to navigate this extremely tumultuous period, the end of an epoch known as the time of the sixth sun, in preparation for what was coming in 2020, a story I was yet to learn the depths of.

With great anticipation I cooked my specialty, a healing chicken soup from a recipe passed down from my Babushka and our matriarchal lineage as an offering to the women.

I didn’t know anyone and felt shy but the voice of God was bigger than my own fears and gave me a great big shove.

“Hey sista, welcome.” She introduced herself as Jingki. In the years ahead I came to know her as an ancient celestial song woman and spiritual navigator from the West. “What brings you here?”.

“I’m here to introduce myself and my family, pay my respects to the ancestors and learn the story of the land. I’m a filmmaker.” I replied.

She laughed. “I wake up this morning sis and first thing I say to myself is where is the filmmaker. Too deadly”. I shook my head and laughed in acknowledgement and gratitude of the confirmation. Miracles happen when we are moving in the anointing of the holy spirit.

It was a warm and reassuring welcome which I offer only as a meagre excuse for what happened next.

After many hours of storytelling and laughter, I had relaxed and picked up the camera to start taking photos. Mrs P. was sitting with a group of women painting in another area of the camp. The light was magnificent around her at that moment and without thinking I started to film this sacred process that I had felt so strongly in the lounge rooms of the rich and famous when I touched the paintings.

Mrs P. put her hand on her stomach. She spoke in language and all I heard was “Stop” which is exactly what my heart did. Hunwi, who I met a month or two earlier at a guerilla filmmaking workshop in the hinterland of Byron, gently explained Granny feels sick in the stomach.

“She doesn’t know who you are or why you’ve come.”

How could I have been so stupid as to not introduce myself to the elder, the senior lore woman.

The world fell silent, even the birds stopped singing. The women continued painting not even looking up.

“My name is Bridget. I come in the spirit of love.” That’s all I said to her.

Hunwi explained Granny would communicate with my ancestors and I should just sit down and wait.

I don’t know how long it was. It might have been hours, maybe minutes. Who knows! It felt like years until finally Mrs P. broke the silence by gesturing with her hand. Not quite understanding I said “Do you want me to paint?”.

“Film” she said.

That footage never turned out; totally pixilated, something I found often over the years ahead as I moved around her from time to time being absorbing the essence of her message of the new way dreaming; softer, kinder, fairer more caring world.

In January this year I tried to get back to the desert to film her story as promised and secure necessary permissions but the way did not emerge.

Six months later my heart broke when I heard the news our beloved elder Mrs P. had departed this mortal realm.

Mrs P. changed me. I was truly blessed to know her.

I did have the opportunity to paint with her which is one of many wonderful memories I cherish. I also reminisce about sitting with her in her room at Mutitjulu at Uluru curious about the photo of Jesus Christ of Nazareth that she kept on her bedside table along with her Holy Bible she read daily.

She served Jesus and was committed to the message he came to deliver; to defend the poor, the marginalised, the weak, the oppressed, those who were suffering, to free us all from slavery, to care for all of God’s creation; the people, the creatures, the waters, the land.

Jesus called us to our highest role as peace-makers, to restore sacred balance and live our lives helping our neighbours. Granny knew as individuals we are weak but together as the Body of Christ we can achieve great change united as God’s Army, a message I have heard repeatedly from many elders and senior lore & wisdom keepers ever since.

Although I never got to make the film I was sent to make every time I look over Uluru I will see her beautiful face smiling down encouraging me to share her legacy and message of the great healing available through Jesus Christ activating through campfires and celebrations around the country with the story of the new dreaming from this ancient land.

What is the New Way Dreaming? Simply it’s the greatest love story ever told; the law of the land and the narrow path to God’s Kingdom.

Thank you Granny for stitching me in between the land and the sky in this land we all call home.

You have inspired me greatly in so many ways. You activated my mission to create heaven on earth in accordance with God’s design. You were a true universal mother and I love you.

Mrs. P lived and was loved everywhere from Nimbin, where she dressed in the colours of the rainbow, to Uluru activating the path for the Rainbow Tribe. In her heart her dreaming for her New Way Village was Umitja.

That’s the abbreviated version of why I was called all those years ago.

To meet her. To know her. To hear her. To share her message and love for Jesus Christ who lives in our hearts. As we rise in his holy name know he meets us in the air. Do not be afraid he reassured us over and over. All we have to do is believe.

To know Granny was to know God. Thank you Jesus. Through you the victory is ours.

The beginning….new way dreaming…softer, kinder, fairer more caring world.

Alleluia.
All Glory to God.