Sleep is something that I don’t do enough of, but I still manage to function reasonably well, though some would disagree.
I wake dreaming about things I need to do, or should do, so here are a few words that have come at this early hour if you feel inclined to read them.
Tasmania continues to change, to twist and turn, to duck and weave, to morph into something that has yet to be seen.
The catalyst has been John Gay and Paul Lennon’s dream chemical factory, a medium to liquidate millions of tonnes of native forest annually from places untouched.
It’s a defiling of the mother, if you like.
It was supposed to be business as usual, a mere formality, and this forest guzzling dinosaur would be up and running and the forest industry would be nailed to the wall, as the perfect poster for Tasmania in the new millennium.
Something went wrong, as the 19th century “cast in stone” paradigm, clashed with a world that changes so randomly, that tuned, dynamic flexibility is the only mode to survive.
Men that have grown in a world far removed from reality, steer this blunder toward the abyss, but around them, tired environmentalists struggle to awaken those whose blinkered slumber still dominate our planet.
Over the last few months, the community, so beautifully galvanised over the last five years, has begun to fragment.
It’s the reason I have organised a cruise on the magnificent Tamar River.
It is a perfect chance to celebrate and affirm the bond of all things good, to nurture the soul and heal wounds of battle.
I now have enough on board to fund the trip, but would love to see a few more come aboard.
It’s a great time to be on the environmental train, a time when organisations are awash with money, when overseas trips abound, and green groups have never enjoyed higher popularity.
Gone are Bob Brown’s days when flying bullets and overt violence were the norm.
On the ground, environmentally, what has changed?
Well, nothing really.
Clearfell forestry is carried out relentlessly in Tasmania, at a rate that has never been higher, toxic chemicals, it seems, wash over our citizens at the behest of government, and “the cleanest air on the planet”, is regularly like an East Tamar Highway fog, from the desecration of countless tonnes of iconic native forest, smothered by an eruption of napalm.
Through all this torment of the planet and its creatures, community divides over the best way to stop the barbarity, while politicians from all arenas, and business scramble to affirm their “top dog” status and secure their outrageously overpaid positions.
Once “grass roots” groups, now comfortably aboard the money train, enjoy the fruit, just like politicians of old, while those still hammering away on the ground, feel disengaged and isolated, as they become the new grass root groupies.
Within these groups, struggle is rife, as they to come to terms with direction, over diversion.
It has become its own bureaucracy and adds yet more layers, sadly and unfortunately required, as community concerns are never addressed by our alleged leaders, and equity is based on rules devised to maintain control of the population, rather than engagement of people.
Personally, I feel it’s sad, but meant to be.
Humanity, like water, will always find the lowest point, and it seems that despite the carnage from the colossal train smash, the loco’s throttle is still set wide open.
Tasmania could be a fantastic model for the future of our planet, with a strong sense of community, that lives despite government inspired division and oppression, and the tireless race for trinkets amid new found wealth.
In Tasmania we have countless niche markets available, rich soils and relative abundance of water amid a diverse and magnificent landscape, but will we be able to make it work, or will perversion, lust and greed, be the gravity that dictates our path to the lowest point?
Only one thing is sure….the show, as it always does, will roll on toward an inevitable conclusion.
How the acts unfold, for better or worse, is in our hands.