Yaamagay ngiinda, nganyundi gunganbu, darruyay yilaaming Jagunda. Here you are, my friend, a warm welcome to you on Gumbaynggirr Country. Ngiyaa yaam gawbarri buyuumba Ganaygala Here we gather at this headland named Ganaygal, the ancient place of our special Ganay, our digging stick of the ‘never-break’ tree… Yaam ngaya janggalay nginumbala, daalbirrwida I am so pleased to be with you in this safe place. Now that you’re here, allow yourself to begin to feel at ease, giingana, waan bamburramba, Soften your face, Bunmigurra burruum, Drop your shoulders, Muugawa miil bularri, Close your eyes, bring your attention to your ears, Ngarraanga ngaalgandu, Yagarra nganyundi gilagungagundi bijaarr, follow my Ancestor tongue, yagarra… This tongue, as old as the instructions of the sun, language of the first sunrise. Ngayanbunyjinbigundi ngaawa This tongue, ordained with rays of gold and river water, conjured up and commanded to the mouths of rivers and Ancestors, Ngaarluwa, gayila… this tongue, this ancestral language is your guide, it will move you into the many realms within Country, into its layers and dimensions, its cycles and ceremonies, into its memories and eternal stories. This is the language of the Ancestors, the Spirits of Country, and it will keep your spirit safe. Yagarra nganyundi gayigam, muyagam Follow my voice, my breath Yagarra nganyundi gayigam, gurriji muyagam, muyawa guga… take three deep breaths Nguujuwa, mayalbiyanggana.. be silent, be still, baamgalamba, clear your mind… Ngaalgan gagaarliya, We yearn for Country, and Country yearns for us, let us find each other in the before time. Do you see that in the dark over there? Mayalay junuy, a small watery stirring, two spirals looming, swirling next to each other in opposite directions… it is the swirling and the swelling of the two Goanna sisters’ ocean tides, the Wirriiga women… Here they come, here to take us back to when it was just our Ancestors in this place… It is a bright moonlit night yuulgarr … the skin of the moon’s hips stretches wide, brimming, jagiin.gulam Giidanygundi, the ocean’s surface shimmers silver and pearl. It is a blue moon, a cycle of two full moons, Giidany jagiin.gulam bularriand two tides in one night, ngaluurl bularri… Giidany, the moon, casts a soft beam of light upon your face, yarrila waan.da, feel the cool caress, the faint glow spread across your skin, Gulaamdu, coating you in silver and pearl. In the near distance above a silhouetted island in the form of a cross laid flat, the Seven Sisters pulsate, Janagan, glimmering above, shuffling and swaying, Janagan galaawirr-badi yiiliwiyay. Two of the seven, the Goanna sisters, swirl side by side. Under this moon, not too far from here, the Ancestors are baiting the stone fish traps with cunji and fish heads. Of the fish, yamarr, the buluunggal, jurruwiny, gaayi, and yaalgirr will spill and sink into these traps with the tides, ripe for the plucking and the feasting… The Ancestors, they fill their bellies with fish and laughter until they are full and pleased, miilarr. They rest a while by the fire, until the possum skin drums and the clapsticks are produced, and the singing and the storytelling spring forth in legendary oration and dance, stamping, shuffling and swaying silhouettes, mirroring the constellations in the sky And just out there, gliding by the cross-shaped island, are pods of Gurruuja, whale, in the deep dark, singing ancient songlines as they migrate north. Ngarraanga ngaalgandu… listen carefully. The whales, they sing of Country and a time and dimension even deeper than where we are now, of the Country that was swallowed up by the ocean… they sing of the mountains and the valleys down below. They sing of the canyons and the dwelling places of our Ancestors, of the forests and the hearths of the campfires. They sing of our great fish trap feasts, of the rivers that once flowed there to the east, of our ceremony, burial and birthing places. They sing. They carry and travel, continuing and sharing the songs for us. Here we sit together tonight, at the helm of the headland, eyes glazed with pearl, listening to the stretching echoes of Gurruuja, faint aromas of fish and mussel in eucalypt and smoke on the gentle breeze, maanyung miibinyju maani. We are a people of infinite depths and dimensions… and this is a special portal for you. You can come to this place whenever you need to. Country is always here, is always yearning for you, is always waiting for your return. Gaarlawa ngiinda…