Riding the Black Cockatoo by John Danalis. How a story becomes a journey

I sit and I wait for the words to find me.  Realising they are me.  I have just finished reading Riding the Black Cockatoo by John Danalis, and I don’t know where to begin.  Beautiful, enriching, soul effecting, amazing, informative, but what I consider a book that was MEANT to land in my lap, have the pages turned by my hand and my heart uplifted and changed. 

I grew up amongst the earth, where nature and change of seasons, wildlife, and the flow affect of the soil, the moon, water, spirit and nurturing engulfed my existence.  Not aware until recently that this way of living is in my soul and how I greeted most days of my childhood, unaware of how the earth revolves and supports the beginning and ending of each movement.

So the book.  Firstly, the title kept arising to me in different ways, Melanie who knows all about books and authors mentioned this author and following him on Twitter and had shared another of John Danalis books with her daughter.  My Mum had heard the name on Radio National, my friend who has been doing her teaching placement in Bonya, an Aboriginal community near Alice Springs, highlighted my lack of understanding, yet desire to learn more about Aboriginal heritage.

BUT this all really began because of my younger cousin Jack, who is wise and knowledgeable and has begun his own exploration into race and where we come from, where racism takes us and how knowledge and understanding can free us.  So after hearing about this book, and gooogling its title and author I thought it a great place for him, and I guess for me to begin our adventure into the Australian past and present, Aboriginality and self discovery really.  He is 11 and upon purchasing the book, and beginning it I realise this book may be a little too much for him to grasp, so have held off giving him his copy, sort of need to equip myself with a bit of knowledge myself.

So I begin the book.  The line that was my hook (and I am thinking it will be for most people!!) is “Well I grew up with an Aboriginal skull on my mantelpiece”

From here on in I am a slave to the story and can’t put the book down, being filled with tingles and moments of seeing my own story.  A not so important part maybe but the part that I grew much of self from is on page 19 the description of the mantelpiece takes place.  Moving me greatly and how much we shelve the past and all the “important” things in our lives, photos, china, silver, all the “good” stuff, the important precious stuff.

Mary (who is actually a male) is a skull that has lived in the Danalis household, present and presented to the world.  Unaware of its power to change a family it journeys it way back to its homeland (country) to eventually be laid to rest.  Along the way John discovers his own connection to country and the importance of “who you are” rather than “what you are”.  I found this amazing and heart-warming, at times also I felt heartbreak and pain for him as he discovered the journey is not always as cut and dry as we think.

But through his journey a connection is made, and a release and understanding of history and future combine to open the mind, forgive the past and make way for a future of cultures and race coming together.

The book has reaffirmed to me that life presents us with many signs to guide us in the direction we are meant to go.   I write.  In writing I realise I keep going to the theme of birds.  Birds with broken wings, birds with freedom, caged birds, and spirits trapped in birds, shedding of feathers.  Recently I posed a writing challenge to myself and Melanie image “feathers, shell, charm”.  I have an empty bird cage in my bedroom.  I hold onto a memory of a lost bluebird charm that I lost as a child, my first gift from a great grandmother who I only know through stories and my father’s memory.  I just purchased two cds one Kasey Chambers new album called “Little Bird” and another by Passenger called “Flight of the Crow”, my 2 year old nephew seeks out little birds in the sky, I find feathers on randomly on the footpaths in the Northern suburbs of Melbourne.  And now this book has flown its way into my life.  Birds reappear many times within the pages.  This book is full of many signs.

The eagle; he’s my bird; he welcomes me when I return to my country. “There see him, he always here to greet me?” Jida pulled off the road and drove down a little layby which ran to a creek.  We got out and stretched, but this was more than a rest stop for Jida, he was home.

Without giving too much away this book goes without saying, should be read and embraced and if doesn’t open the hearts to at least thinking about there they themselves come from, they have missed the essence of the book.  This is a book about returning what belongs to the owners of the land, BUT more importantly it is about spirit and how spirits can combine:

The Wirinun formed us, black and white, into a line and brushed us over one by one with the smoking branch of green eucalypt sapling.  Despite the smoke, the leaves felt cool, their oily freshness resisting total ignition.  He explained the importance of fire and how it lay at the root if Aboriginal Law an culture. “Fire is our gateway to the Dreamtime. This smoke is the healer; come breathe it.”

Thanks John, for impacting my life, opening my mind, affecting my spirit and having the courage to write such a beautiful and important story.  Riding the Black Cockatoo will now stay with me forever as I fly forward into a life now with a new sense of who we are, where we are and embracing the importance of returning to our country.