There is this thing called the dream time.

It’s about a time long ago

It’s about the spirits and land that still survive

And will not die

Despite the best efforts of my people.

There is this thing called the dream time

That I know I cant fully understand

But I do understand that it gives meaning

And connection

And unites past and present and future all as one

And gives promise and gives hope

To the things that must be done.

And I do understand that this land was never ceded

And I do understand that we have a debt to those preceded

And I also understand that there’s this different kind of dream time

That’s also a little bit the same

That can be shared by all of people

And it’s a dreaming f the future

And it’s a thinking of the past

And its refusing to close ones’ eyes in the present

Choosing not to let them disguise

The atrocities

And tragedies

The injustice of today

That taint our common story

And physics damns them to repeat

Upon its current trajectory

Unless we stand up in its way.

It’s the kind of dreaming that commands

we find courage in one voice to say

That we have started a new dreaming

Where we’re all wide awake

And our eyes are open

And our hearts are ready

To take a beating but never break

And we’re ready to stand with courage

As so many have done before

And we’re ready to stand with courage

And say, as one, “No More”

And we’re ready to stand with courage

And to fight against silence and fear

And we’re ready to stand with courage

For a simple tiny truth

That will bring this city down.

Can you imagine?

To say that simple tiny truth

And watch the cracks spread across the bitimun

Watch the windows in the CBD fall

With, I imagine, the most remarkable of shatterings

As pop champagane cork explodes

And one by one like dominos

Sky scrapers fall to their knees

And the coal trains veer off course.
It’s only tiny

This little truth.

It’s barely even a whisper

But it tickles at my throat

And in fingertips

And in that space between your rib cage and your spine

Where there’s an itch

But no scratch

Where there’s an ache

But no way to touch or bandaid

In that annoying little space

Just there somewhere inside

That’s where I hear the whispering

That little voice that will not die

because it too comes from the dreaming

a dreaming of whats different

the dreaming of roads with no street signs

No red lights

Or competition

A dreaming of a world where a stranger will take your hand

And fences are made redundant

And work is a way to help another

Not machine designed to smother

The cogs that make it tick and turn

And the bodies that fuel that incessant

Fur-nace that will get us nowhere in the future,

Just one small dirty step forward

Like lemmings, off the ledge

Of the only god damn man made black hole

That this whole powerful universe has ever fucking seen.

But I don’t believe in fate

Or karma or serendipity

I don’t believe we’re born to fail

And that anything is necessarily


Or too hard or too great, I only believe in one simply, tiny truth

That can put a stop to the production lines of hell

That turn people into shadows

That I thought were born in Dante’s inferno

And we were meant for some horrific life after this

Until now, on more deep reflection

I think perhaps he was just starting our the window

Commenting on this abiss

And that, that is what causes the stirring

In that place,

You know, the one within

Where there is that scratch you cannot itch

And its in that space that I hear the whisper

That says, don’t let them win

It says one tiny, simple truth

It says its time to start a new dreaming

Where we scream we are connected

Where we yell we are all people

And where we wear a stethoscope

If our ears have become deafened over the years

And we put stethoscope on the hearts of fellow strangers

Because I believe

That as people

Who have souls

And molecules

(they’re all  the same)

That when I cry and when I grief

If I placed a stethoscope upon your chest

And listened hard

Perhaps I would hear a little voice

Echoing me.

There is no amount of Prozac

That will dull the screams of a humanity

That’s had its limbs amputated

From one another.

And that is what we we do every day

When we turn a blind eye to the suffering of a brother

Or fail to see the most obvious of connections

Because its too hard

Or, more likely, in this prudish western world

Because we get self-conscious

That it will be awkward

That it will stop conversation at the dinner party

And the suits will stare and glare

And tap their glasses with indignant teaspoons

And that’s the worst, right

To disrupt this perfect life

It’s just a simple little truth

Nothing radical

Nothing strange

Out to gain

Or worth writing in leather bound volumes.

But it is a truth that makes us powerful

And that makes them afraid

It is the only truth

That beats money and beats greed

The only truth that will let us rebuild this place

That we’ve worked so hard to decimate
And people are whispering about the dreaming

But now it’s time to yell

Because it’s about fucking time

That this broken system finally fell.

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