A tribute to a very magical soul.

Let me tell you all a story about a man who took me on a magical journey across the universe and back.

He was like an urban legend. A friend of a friend had spotted him on the beach at Australia’s most easterly point some 20 years ago. The story went that this man lived in a pristine national park by the coast, tucked away from society’s menacing claws. His backyard was a beautiful and untamed beach where zebra fishes swam in rock pools, where utter stillness can be felt deep within yourself despite the coastal winds blowing your hair onto your face and the healing waters of a nearby ti tree river was always available.

They said he hailed from South America, Chile, to be exact. He was on a run from the dictatorship that drove many a Chileans over the seas to start new lives.

Somehow, someway, he landed in Australia and he made the land and people around him know of his presence.

They said he was a notorious festival goer. He managed to get on stage with hundreds of reggae bands, playing maracas, singing, dancing and of course, smiling at the crowd, screaming “Wake Up, Australia” and every so often “Jah Rasta” and “Chile”.

He said he knew of a place called ‘The Rainbow Temple’. He could take us there, the only thing was he did not know how to drive and he vaguely remembered the directions. But yet again, somehow, someway he got us there.

There it was, a triple storey temple, true enough painted with the colours of the rainbow, beamed at us, behind it, a lush sub tropical forest. And a mad crazy dog barking its head of at the entrance, ready to attack. But there was music,there was laughter, vegetarian pizzas and twinkling stars above us all.

He said he knew of a land that we could all go live simple and grow sustainable gardens. Up high in the rugged mountains of Kalang, just behind Bellingen, where the river flows and the land fertile. He set us up a camp site, put up a flag using a worn out Bob Marley sarong. And there we sat around the camp fire, singing songs and imagining our dreamland. While he busily chanted some words under his breath and planted the seeds of the pumpkin we had for dinner.

He let us set up a gypsy camp in his backyard in the national park where he lived. With a few chops of a machete, there was a nice little patch amidst the overgrown jungle. There we put up a tarp tied between the trees and a couple of small tents. “Festival” he would occasionally scream. We celebrated somebody’s birthday and showed off the secluded beach to some city-folk friends.

“I lived in the Daintree forest. I can take you there and show you all the places I know” he told us. So off we went on a long journey to the tropics, along the east coast of Australia. Somehow, someway, we camped at free spots, swam in the much needed cooling waterholes in the jungles and discovered what carob looked like. We gobbled all the mangoes we could find along the roads to the point where all our stomachs were fermenting from over eating these fruits. We met Japanese tourists who cleansed us with their clear quartz crystal while standing in the tropical waters of Cairns, watching a full solar eclipse just after sunrise. 

He told us his ambitious idea of a Hand Revolution, where people go back to basics and use their bare hands in gardening. No big machineries needed in making farms, just small garden plots. No industrial equipments in building houses, just a few tools and many helping hands should get the job done.

Over cups of coffees in a dimly lit old caravan kitchen, there were countless stories about his childhood while living with this grandmother in the south of Chile. He mesmerised us with his travel adventures in places I most likely would never end up in. He shared stories about the births of his children, the gypsy style life they lived, fatherhood and of course tales of living in an intentional community.

So many stories, so many adventures all full of laughter and misunderstandings. The memories never fade.

For what seemed like an endless road, for now we reach a halt. One bright morning, he grew his wings and flew back home. Back to his ancestors where they await for his return; ready to hear of the adventures he had.

I give many thanks for the magical journey with this man and look forward to the next chapter.