Katie Goes...

The thing about serendipity is that it follows you wherever you go~ and sometimes seeks you out! I was sitting at my favourite coffee shop (on Abbot Kinney) in Venice, and started a conversation with the guy next to me. I asked him how he could write and not be distracted (he was writing a screenplay), and he said it was about his life. Then he asked me my name, then looked slightly astounded. He turned his computer, and there was one of his characters just introduced: Katy. *Of course, the spelling is Way off, but that was pretty cool. Welcome back to Los Angeles...

I was up with the sun this morning and watched the moon disappear into the brightening blue sky. It made me cry, but then I remembered it was only on a journey to the other side of the world and would come back again tonight. I've been recently contemplating relationships between men and women, and have been challenged in my coming to understand not only Aboriginal culture, but my own as well. Uncle Bob and his beautiful wife Barbara joined me outside and we spoke of dreams. Two stories were recalled that have grounded me in peace and awe. In the ancient times women held the highest law and were the most powerful beings- holding sacred lore, which they kept in a dilly-bag. They came to a pool of the Rainbow Serpent, a place which is so sacred that no one must disturb it, and to swim in it would be unthinkable. The women, so drunk on their power, disregarded the law and were laughing and splashing, and cleaning themselves. The Rainbow Serpent saw this and made them blind an...

It was like being on Mars as the moon rose over the ridge. Twilight transported me to the story, "The Little Prince", and I felt as if a snake was going to come talk to me any second. Wild horses were galloping all around us, and we made our camp in between the criss-cross of camel tracks. For the first time, maybe in my life, I welcomed the dark (although it was like dark with training wheels because of the brightness of the moon). Two girls went with me to the watering hole at the dam near our campsite and there, barely discernible in the dusk, were a small herd of cattle. They heard us coming and bolted, moving up the slope faster than I thought possible for such big beasts, then we heard a huge splash as one of the horses jumped into the water. They took off as soon as the breeze picked up... we were not good trackers as we came in up wind of the beautiful creatures. Stars competed for the moon's brightness and the glow of our fire as Uncle Bob told stories from Count...

The silence of the desert is punctuated alternately by crickets and wild dogs in the distance. The moon almost reflects on the red dirt and the gum trees are transformed into silver fountains. The simplicity of fully being present in the moment is sharply contrasted with the gross injustice surrounding this most sacred centre of Australia. Should I make a list? 1. there is no money for housing at Mutujulu (the Aboriginal community here), but the Park service just built a 2o million (that's right- twenty million) dollar "viewing" platform for tourists. 2. the children of Mutujulu are not "allowed" to have a pool, because of expense and water... um, but at Yulara (the tourist resorts on the "other" side of the rock) every hotel and campground has a pool. 3. the only store in Mutujulu is run by non-indigenous people and the prices are exorbitant. I could take up pages and pages to list what is unfair, unjust, violent and how much the government ...

I have a vision of a global youth Indigenous leadership program, and the professional Indigenous mentoring network that will support it. The core values of the project are healing historical trauma through shared experience and community capacity building through service. It is well documented that First Nations people across the globe face daunting challenges. Some of these are violence, alcoholism, no health care, and despair, but I propose that each negative is symptomatic of historical trauma, and can be transformed into a positive through community capacity building and shared experience. Shared experience is a major tenet of grief healing, and can be a powerful tool in healing historical trauma. Imagine young people, from Indigenous communities around the globe, coming together to learn new skills and talk story with kids from other First Nations. Next imagine each participant going back into a different community to manage or assist in service projects. Possible areas of ...

My body is exhausted from all the travel and cramped sleeping, but my spirit is incredibly expanded. Just when I think I've reached a surfeit, a whole new way of thought becomes available. I keep wanting to capture it, to write it down, to prove it's happening, but that's exactly what I need to let go of, in a way. The idea of "control" is what fractures most any good intention. Control of people, control of the land, control of environment, money... it's a "dominator" pattern versus "partnership". I'm heading back down to Tumbi Umbi tomorrow, and on Sept. 7, am speaking to a group of university students who sit on an Aboriginal advisory panel. The guts of my program are about personal transformation- on all sides, and the work recently is how to convey that. I was lucky enough to go to the opening of the Melbourne Indigenous "Message Sticks" film festival. It was incredible! I was staying with my friend, who I met...

I have not been able to write, because there is so much to say. I thought I had good empathy and my mind was open, but the education I got at Garma had little to do with the structured festival. The journey began at the Darwin airport, where I camped out the night before flying to a tiny airport called "Gove". My travel tiredness was whisked away as we sailed into the clouds of the Northern Territories and over the red and brown dirt below. I met a lovely girl called Trudie on the plane, who works with Aboriginal Law, and on the bus to the festival grounds I met another rock star named Louise, who teaches in Melbourne. One thing that surprised me straight off was how many whitefellas there were. It turns out that the Garma festival is owned by one white man, even though there is ostensibly a board of directors (with, believe it or not, not much black representation). It was like splitting into two people then, one for my experience as a white person, and one to observe a...