Scott Wilson shares Gooniyandi thangarndi (language) in a story inspired by Gooniyandi Riwi (Country) and his grandmother Margaret, named after the Margaret River that runs through Gooniyandi Country. She spent most of her life by the ocean and fishing in the sea. It shares a journey of someone living away from Country, but knowing that Country lives within us.
Scott Wilson is a proud Gooniyandi and Gajerrong man from the Kimberley, Western Australia. Scott is now the co-creator and writer of the first Aboriginal Superhero Universe, called the Indigiverse and a new Green Energy company called, Gevolve Solutions.
Chapters
Scott Wilson shares Gooniyandi thangarndi (language) in a story inspired by Gooniyandi Riwi (Country) and his grandmother Margaret, named after the Margaret River that runs through Gooniyandi Country. She spent most of her life by the ocean and fishing in the sea. It shares a journey of someone living away from Country, but knowing that Country lives within us.
Scott Wilson is a proud Gooniyandi and Gajerrong man from the Kimberley, Western Australia. Scott is now the co-creator and writer of the first Aboriginal Superhero Universe, called the Indigiverse and a new Green Energy company called, Gevolve Solutions.
What is Dreamy?
A collection of mindful audio stories from the First Storytellers – Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. These stories bring an age-old practice of oral storytelling into the digital space, helping people slow down and connect to Country.
Scott Wilson:
Yaningi Nhoowoo. It's time. Ngamoo Nhingi Yaningi. From before and still here now. Yarrangi Yoowoolloo, Ngaanggi Yoowoolloo. Our peoples. Your peoples. Yarrrangi Riwi, Ngaanggi Riwi. Our Country, your Country. She is still. she is quiet.
Scott Wilson:
Our Elders share, Country waits in silence, trying to figure you out, like an Elder joining the dots. Country sits in tranquillity, hoping it is you. Nhiyi Goony -Ngiyidi. She waits for us.
Scott Wilson:
Biyidi Goony -Nginyji. They wait for you. Come with me. Let's go to them.
Scott Wilson:
Breathe with me. Ngayirr – ja. Breathe in. Breathe out. Too go to them, we must go within. Ngayirr – ja. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Scott Wilson:
Follow the air, follow it within, follow it out, follow it out, and follow it within.
Scott Wilson:
Like wind through hollow trees, it carries life. There's life in your breath. Give your breath to Country. It is meant to be shared, shared since the beginning of time. An old breath, through an old soul, your soul, your people's breath.
Scott Wilson:
She knows you. You can hear her voice. When you breathe, listen. It is Country. She is breathing.
Scott Wilson:
Hear the wind as you breathe. Breathe and you will hear the wind. Hear the wind that is you breathing. Follow it within. Yaningi Nhoowoo. It is time.
Scott Wilson:
We are here. It has worked. Do you know where we are? We are no longer where you closed your eyes. Your eyes are no longer needed here.
Scott Wilson:
Just your Man.ga and Griyi. Ears and spirit. Don't be afraid. You are protected by Country. Laying by the warmth of a bloodwood fire. Her embers crackle and pop. While her flames waltz like two Elders in love. Standing guard are mangrove trees.
Scott Wilson:
Hear them sway, swaying to the saltwater breeze. Their shadows dance around the moonlight, curling across your riverbed skin. They are your Ancestors, they dance for you, they call you home. Can you feel that? The breeze on your skin. Mirra, Walaji, Woora. On your head, cheek, and nose. She has found you.
Scott Wilson:
She remembers you. She is a part of you. No more synthetic winds from metal fans. It's their breath, your breath. Remember?
Scott Wilson:
Your Country, she breathes on you, breathing life, breathing for you. She wants to carry you home. She carries a sound, the Thirrwi, she has come, the hill kangaroo. From your Country, her short and soft fur shining in the moonlight, she graciously approaches from behind white sand dunes. She is gentle, benevolent mother.
Scott Wilson:
She has come to carry you home. Surrender your body as you shrink. Shrinking smaller and smaller. Shrinking into Ganyji, a seed. Shrinking and sinking into a mother's pouch to grow. You are safe, like generations of life have laid safe. Surrounded by layers of warmth upon layers of history. Wrapped in nature's womb. Clinging to the comfort of her pouch as country moves around you.
Scott Wilson:
You are being carried, like the generations of your peoples were carried. Barefoot across sand, bright white. Leaving tracks stepped through soft blood red. Around boab cathedrals, spinifex seas and Elder gum trees. Up rolling rock hills, down animal bush tracks, through dusty old valleys, beside falling branches and limestone cracks. You sink deeper into mother's pouch, Boorloomani’s moo, moving restlessly in the night. Stirring friendly bull dust as it dances across starry skies. There is a rumble, a tumble and grumble. Father clouds are rolling in. Night birds share messages of night rain.
Scott Wilson:
Even the silent Doowoomboo, owl calls. Serenading your journey with guidance as you move towards Galooroo. Splash, the water is warm. Grinybali, Grinybali. Season changing. Girlinggoowa-Nhingi. From cold Kiwi to Barrangga, warmer Riwi. Grinybali comes with the twilight rain, don't worry, Galooroo will show you the way.
Scott Wilson:
She is our Dreaming Serpent, she has been waiting for you. She carries Grinybali. She is the river, rolling away from rain clouds. Like Girngali, the wind strolls across Country. She snakes us the way through.
Scott Wilson:
Thirrwi and Galooroo, side by side, working together, leading you, wrapped and warm, back to your Country. Galooroo Willa, Willa Galooroo. Goodbye our water being. The river has run dry. We are almost there. Thirrwi bounces across pebbles and stones. Pita Pata of Barrabarra. Barrabarra-Ja Walyarra.
Scott Wilson:
Rain falling on sand. Thirrwi can smell it in the air. Not just Barrabarra, but Wayandi. Not just rain, but fire. They have left it for you. Crackling and popping on the riverbed.
Scott Wilson:
It is getting louder, and so is the rain. Yellows and reds bleed into the way home. Creeping around tree trunks and scrub bushes. Coming closer and faster, as the rumbling clouds start to drizzle on river sand. Wise owls and old wind. You are finally here, on Riwi, on country. It sees you, recognises you like an old friend. The Thirrwi places you on her by the fire to sleep.
Scott Wilson:
You sleep on her. Your riverbed, Margaret, that is her name.