An Easter Song
by Ian Drummond
Sit and sing you
Jana sat and wrote these words far from the mountain that inspired them.
More than a sentimental mood or shallow nostalgia, the mountain transformed into her.
Far from the trail, calling out to Father, church bells ring the morning, now silent.
©Ian Drummond, Easter 2022.
Ian Drummond with his partner Sarita, are current caretakers (gekos) at Namgyalgar Retreat Centre in the Glass House Mountains which is nestled among the extraordinary landforms that rise up from then coastal plains on Kabi Kabi/Jinibara country, in South East Queensland. It is here I invited writers to come for an intimate four day mindful writer’s retreat over Easter.
People arrived on the Thursday afternoon for a delish welcome dinner from local chef Ella. We kicked off our retreat early Good Friday morning with a Tibetan sang ceremony — an incense and smoke offering to the local spirits and guardians, led by Ian. Breakfast was followed by our first morning workshop. With the afternoons free to write, we met again for pre-dinner readings. Early Easter Saturday morning, Ian led us on a walk on the Trachyte Track around the base of Mt Tibrogargan.
In local Indigenous mythology, Tibrogargan is the father mountain. Nearby Mt Beerwah is his wife. Their son Coonowrin, on ignoring his father’s orders to rescue his mother and her children from the rising tide, received a beating which left him permanently deformed. From different view points you can see Coonowrin’s crooked form. The whole family cried tears which still flow in numerous rivulets from the hinterland down to the sea.
Along the track we witnessed the many moods and faces of Tibrogargan as we passed through different eco systems, bent down to admire wild orchids, native grasses, colourful funghi and looked up to marvel at line drawings made by grubs on the svelte trunks of tall scribbly gums. Returning to our starting point near a perfectly placed ring of sandstone rocks, I asked our group and Ian, to sit down and write.
Back at Namgyalgar I invited the writers to read what they had written — a list, random thoughts, a scene from their book. I hope to publish some of them in the following pages. Ian didn’t read, he was already off doing one of his geko chores. He told me he wrote a poem, so I asked him to submit it for our magazine. I hope you enjoyed it. You can give a few claps below if you did.