Christopher Golde

Date:            1st October 2000                                  Location:     Northern Territory, Australia

 

 

        As the dust settled Sir Nigel Stansen opened the door of his rented four-wheel drive vehicle and stepped stiffly to the dusty red soil.

              ‘This was indeed the red center,’ he thought.

              Pain shot through his legs as he took a few steps towards the office door of the reservation. It had been over three hundred kilometers and five hours drive since he had left Alice Springs, and the road had jolted his sixty-six-year-old body to breaking point. Not a trip he intended to do regularly. On this occasion it was necessary, Albert Armstrong, a tribal leader, and Aboriginal anthropologist, would not come to him and events that had transpired over the last year demanded more answers; it was here he hoped he could find some.

              Albert Armstrong was an eighty-year-old aboriginal elder who had never left the desert, or his tribe but had contributed to Australian Aboriginal cultural science in a most profound way. So few Australian Aboriginals had documented their own ancestral heritage, Albert was among those few.

              The office door swung open before Sir Nigel had reached it, a large dark woman stepped to a small staircase and yelled, simultaneously swiping her hands across her face to disperse a cloud of flies.

              " Wadda ya want?”

              Sir Nigel continued his approach, unaffected in his stride by the charging woman; he needed shade and a soft seat.

              "Dear lady, I am here to see Mr. Albert Armstrong, but first I would prefer to get out of this blistering sun, thank you."

              "OK den, is Albert expectin ya?”

              Sir Nigel mounted the steps to the office, passing the large lady and continued on up and into the room. Inside the sparse but neat office, there was a bench seat. A fan alongside it rotated rhythmically, spreading air sparingly about the modest room. Sir Nigel collapsed on to the seat and gasped in the blast from the fan. The large Aboriginal lady opened the screen door and followed in behind him.

              “Wanna drink?”

              "That would be splendid thank you dear," he said, excited by the thought of what any fluid would do for his thirst at that moment.

              The woman turned and went to a large old fridge on the other side of the room. He heard the clink of a glass, the slamming of the fridge door, and a short 'pisp' noise.  She returned to him, a small bottle of beer held in her extended arm. Beer was not usually a drink he would entertain, but under the circumstances, it looked fabulous.

              “Thank you, dear." 

              He grasped the bottle, its cold exterior already having a pleasantly chilling effect on his senses. He put the bottle to his lips and swallowed in long gulps until at last, he broke free.

              “Ahhh! I needed that!"

  The black woman looked on unperturbed by his reaction. ‘Probably a very normal reaction around here,’ he guessed.

              "Now, I am here to see Mr Armstrong and yes, he is expecting me. I spoke to him on the telephone from Alice Springs yesterday. "

              “Awwrite, I'll go lookin ford im."

              At that, the large woman left.

              Albert Armstrong sat in his small weatherboard hut; the interior was meagre but adequate. The unusual thing about Albert’s residence was his bookshelves, not just one shelf, but enough to impress any city lawyer.

              Albert's wealth was in his personal library and his still agile mind. The flywire door swung back with a sharp creaking hinge noise and in entered the large woman from the office, followed by a tall grey-haired man in elegant, but an efficient bush dress.

              “Dis is im.”

              The black woman directed her stare towards Albert and then slumped into one of the lounge chairs to the centre of the room. The tall grey-haired man took two big strides forward, his large hand outstretched.

              "Mr Armstrong, so happy to meet you, thank you for your time."

              Albert stood awkwardly and also extended his arm towards the hand of Sir Nigel.

              "Nigel Stansen, Mr Armstrong," the tall man introduced himself.

              The old aboriginal grinned, the puffy cracked features evidence of his years in the desert.

              "Sir, I believe," said the elder, as he held firmly the tall man’s hand.

              "Thank you, and yes it is, but I would be happy if you would just call me Nigel."

              "Thank you, Sir Nigel and you should call me Albert."

              The tall man accepted the compliment of title graciously and quickly took in the old man’s small but organized cabin.

              "Please, have a seat," the old man said, gesturing to an old chair by his desk.

              "Thank you," said Sir Nigel, accepting the invitation and moving to the seat. He then brushed it down with his hand, though no dirt was evident, and lowered himself carefully as if he thought a sudden movement would cause it to collapse under his weight. The Aboriginal elder then turned to the large lady as she sat sprawled on the lounge.

              "Thank you, Minnie, we would enjoy a beer next time you’re coming down."

              The large woman showed no expression, but could not refuse her elder and dragged her body from the lounge, shuffling out the door without a reply.

              "Now Sir Nigel, what can I do for you that is so important you would travel to the end of the earth to see me?"

              The tall grey-haired man gathered his thoughts, the heat draining his every resource. The humming electric fan was the only sound to be heard, its breath offering intermittent refreshment from the stifling temperature of the room.

              "Mr Armstrong, I'm sorry, Albert, our organization has been involved, as you are possibly aware, in research aimed at discovering the origins of man, and in turn, either to confirm or disprove prophecies that have developed throughout mankind's history, since it's known beginnings."

              Sir Nigel paused to wipe his brow, as he struggled to maintain his concentration.

              "This research has led us through Africa, Great Britain, Asia, and America, but many of the earliest unanswered questions have led us to the ancestors of your people."

              He continued without a pause.

              " As well as being a most respected elder among Australian Aboriginal tribes, your research is world renown and in our opinion, unique."

              Sir Nigel then paused, as if unsure how to proceed, his earnest stare breaking from the old man and looking, as if for support, at the bookshelves that lined the walls behind the elder.

              "Sir Nigel, perhaps I can help you," said the old aboriginal, standing slowly and walking to his bookcase. Before he reached the case, he continued.

              “I don't believe it is only the beginnings you seek, perhaps," the old man paused, looking along the top row of books, “perhaps, it is more the end you are interested in, rather than the beginning."

              Sir Nigel flustered and perspired more profusely. The elder continued.

              "I don't mean to presume your intentions, but with respect, I have observed your organizations research and investigations over the last five years. I can only conclude that you are on the trail of prophecy for the sake of determining validity, rather than to study the dreaming and its origins."

              The elder paused and drew a book from the shelf he was inspecting. Turning, he walked back to his seat, his eyes met Sir Nigel's. A long hard existence had battered his features, but his eyes were as white and bright as his spirit. Sir Nigel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, under the intense stare of the old man.

              "You are an astute observer Albert, and you have put me on the spot, but yes, we do need some clarifications of some of your cultural beliefs."

              The elder settled back to his seat, his eyes returned to the book in his hands.  Sir Nigel continued.

              "There are some remarkable aspects of the Australian Aboriginal 'dreamings' that we would like to understand. Of all the worlds ancient cultures, your ‘dreamings’ have not been corrupted or altered for more than ten thousand years. Not only have they been the most consistent, but we also believe, they are probably the most broadly accepted communal precognitive experiences that have ever been passed down from generation to generation, and tribe to tribe, in the known history of mankind. What is even more amazing is that some of your tribes have been completely isolated from each other until recent centuries, they speak more than eighty known dialects, so vastly different they may as well be different languages: and yet, the same ritualistic beliefs are essentially common to them all. Unfortunately, you’re ancestral 'dreaming', is perhaps the least known religious culture in the modern world, and unlike western and eastern cultures, there is little recorded history."

              "Our 'dreaming’, Sir Nigel," Albert said, his eyes still looking intensely through the book he was holding, "begins at birth. Our existence, to a large degree, is dependent on a permanent psychic condition. We do not exist primarily in the conscious mind, as time and space are only conditions we participate in as a course of our survival. Our people, do not have visions to be as such recorded for future reference, we share in them as a community. Our elders are not like European or Asian prophets. Our connection to the spirit world is as common to each and every one of our people, as the telephone is to the white man."

              "It is just amazing,” said Nigel rapturously, “we have come to realize during our research that primitive man had a much more profound link to the universe than his modern-day inheritor,"

              Sir Nigel was obviously excited by the elder Aboriginals openness to the subject.

 

              "Yes," Albert continued, "and you are looking for this link I suspect, to confirm what you already believe you know.”

              There was a pause and the Elder looked into the face of the scientist.

              “Or perhaps you seek to use such knowledge for your own manipulative purposes."

              "Well,” stammered Sir Nigel, “I wouldn’t call our purposes manipulative…I suppose what you are saying is true to some extent."

              “Unfortunately Sir Nigel, the modern white man has lost the ability to communicate with any world beyond his own, even though he still possesses the capability. A physical comparison would be the human appendices; although we do not use them anymore we still do have them, we inherited them from our primitive predecessors."

              Albert Armstrong flicked through the pages of his book.

              “However,” continued the elder, “I have spent most of my life recording the 'dreamings' of my people, so that our heritage would not be lost altogether, along with our dignity in this white man’s world."

              He paused momentarily from the pages and looked to the eyes of the tall grey white man.

              “What is it you seek?"

              Sir Nigel was not so sure his intentions were not already obvious to the elder, but he decided he must determine quickly how much this old man had to offer or would offer him.

              "Throughout history, there have been men and women who have written about apocalyptic events that will determine the future of civilization.  Some have called it ‘Judgement Day’, many have prophesized doom, others salvation. Your ancestors spoke among the tribes of such events, and although, often separated by thousands of miles of desert, and hampered in communications by hundreds of distinctively different languages, there was a common belief in the coming of 'The Serpent', and his power to determine mankind’s future."

              Sir Nigel waited for the elder’s response. After what seemed like minutes of concentration the old man laughed lightly.

              "Ah yes, of course, 'The Rainbow Serpent'."

              Again he paused before continuing.

              "Most of our tribes believed that one day a great warrior would be borne to earth on the breath of the 'Rainbow Serpent'. The serpent would then bestow authority on the warrior to command the land and all that walked the land. This serpent would rise from the sea, and all the snakes on the land would rise on their tails in unison, swarming among the people of the land and biting those that had not respected the earth, the air or the water. Those that did not perish would be commanded to by the great warrior, and from the tribes, he would choose a bride.  He would divide the land equally for all to live in harmony, and each of his children would be sent to rule each tribe. Those that had not perished to the snakes would after death, rise to join the serpent, their spirits eventually gave back to the warriors in each tribe, to give them added strength."

              Albert Armstrong placed his book open on the table in front of Sir Nigel, an Aboriginal drawing on a rock wall being the feature of the open page.

              "This, Sir Nigel, is my ancestor's early graphic interpretation of this 'dreaming'. This is 'The Rainbow Serpent’, the white figure at the front is the 'Great Warrior', and his bride is the smaller black figure beneath him."

              Sir Nigel inspected the drawings totally fascinated; he had researched many years on primitive man, yet this drawing had escaped him.

              "Amazing...I have never seen..."

              "No, you wouldn't have," interjected the elder, "this is my own picture, and this drawing guard secret burial grounds of our ancient ancestors; its existence is not common knowledge."

              "Incredible," Sir Nigel's said softly to himself, his professional curiosity aroused.

              "What date would you estimate the drawing of this painting Albert," he continued enthusiastically, inspecting the page closely?

              "We have not dated this particular painting for reasons of Aboriginal law, but I would estimate about ten thousand years, or even more."

              The elder pulled back the picture, Sir Nigel's stare still locked hypnotically to the painting.

              "How would you relate this ancient 'dreaming', to the reality of today’s world?"

              The old aboriginal closed the book slowly.

              "Are you asking me if I would discredit the belief of my ancestors? Or are you asking me if the serpent will bring to us a great white warrior, to change the destinies of all those that are loyal to our land?”

              Sir Nigel was taken aback by the elder’s questions and paused momentarily. He moved uncomfortably in his seat and again looked around the room as if looking for answers in the books             

              “Well, I guess my, uh, question is, I suppose when will, or has, the Serpent, or the Warrior, arrived among us?”

              Sir Nigel felt most uncomfortable about putting such a question, as it may seem to reflect cynicism, but to ask Albert a question of his faith seemed almost insulting.

              The elder stood again and walked to a small window that looked out over the small desert community. Red dust swirled in short willies among the reservation shanties. A lone dog sniffed a small black boy, who turned and skipped along the empty street, pushing a small wheel skilfully with his feet as he ran. Everything Albert believed in was here, the red soil, the blue sky, the burning sun, and the undying spirit of his people.

              “The truthful answer to your question Sir Nigel is that I believe the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ has always drifted the skies of Australia. The ‘dreaming’, was a connection to this spirit and our people have waited patiently for more than fifty millennia. One day the ‘Great White Warrior’ would come, and those that would deserve would inherit the lands under his guidance.”

              The elder turned to Sir Nigel from the window.

              “Does that answer your question, Sir?”

              Sir Nigel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

              “Yes, Albert but…. are the visions of your people more specific?”

              “Do you mean when and where? Is that what you are asking?”

              Sir Nigel felt not only the humidity of the room but also the heat of the stare from Albert Armstrong.

              “Err…yes, to be blunt and frank, yes, yes, that is my question! Is there a belief in a specific time for the ‘Rainbow Serpent’ to come?”

              The old man looked back out the window.

              “Why would you and your people want to know when and where, if it was not your intention to meddle? What is the exact intention of your organization? Why have they spent so much money and time to chase a prophecy, Sir Nigel?”

              Sir Nigel’s back stiffened and he leapt to his feet almost charging towards the elder’s desk.

              “With respect sir, I resent the insinuation! Our investigations are purely academic and scientific, and what is more, we have the support of many churches and governments”

              “And they, of course, have never interfered in our history,” Albert interjected sarcastically.

              “We seek not to destroy but to discover,” Sir Nigel blurted out.

              His protests had little effect on the old Aboriginal. He began to laugh softly under his breath as he turned, a broad smile showing bright white rows of tarnished teeth to match his bright white eyes.

              “Sir Nigel you are so defensive, it would alarm me if I cared what your intent might be, but you see, I don’t!”

              Sir Nigel’s glare turned to puzzlement

              “But….”

              “Sir Nigel,” the elder continued, walking towards him from the window,” come outside.”

              Both men walked outside, the tall grey-haired man following the small round figure of the Elder Aboriginal.

              “Sir Nigel, what do you see all around you?”

              Sir Nigel stopped and turned, the bright sun burned his greying scalp; the dusty ground between his teeth as it was whipped up by little eddies of scorching breeze, his lungs gasped to find comfort from the overwhelming radiated heat of the middle Australian desert.

              “Why nothing but this infernal desert and your reservation.”

              Albert stared at him still smiling.

              “The Australian desert Sir Nigel is vaster than most of Europe, and yet, the rest of the world is overpopulated and fighting each other for space to live. Out here we have more than enough land to cater for half the world’s population.”

              “But it is useless land,” Sir Nigel stammered, the heat sizzling his brain.

              “My people have lived out here for more than fifty thousand years; they did not find it useless.”

              “Yes, but look how they lived, and anyway, what does this have to do with ‘The Serpent’?”

              Sir Nigel now showed signs of absolute frustration.

              “It has everything to do with ‘The Serpent’ Sir Nigel. European man could do little with this land where only the black man could survive, and we survived as we wanted to. We survived because of our beliefs, and our connection to the ‘Rainbow Serpent’. Do you not think that if our belief in ‘The Serpent’ is true and the warrior does come, do you not think Sir Nigel, that he would possess the power to conquer this land if he wished?”

              Sir Nigel was silent, and the older man walked back to the shelter of his house. The tall grey man, as if momentarily suspended, suddenly turned and followed him into the relative cool of the shelter.

              “Yes, Albert, Yes, I suppose you are right, it would be possible if these powers exist.”

              “Then how would you, or your organization, ever stop such a power, if that indeed was your intention?”

              Sir Nigel said nothing in reply but returned to his seat. Then Albert Armstrong surprised him.

              “Therefore, I have no hesitation in telling you that the ‘White Warrior’ is already among us, and soon will deliver his offspring to the tribes. As for the snakes, they too are coming. It will not be long now before our people have their long-awaited redemption.”

              Sir Nigel stared at the elder in bewilderment, his mouth remaining open, no words coming forth for at least ten minutes.

              “You are sure of this,” he uttered at last?

              “Of course! You asked me, I have told you!”

              “Then who is the warrior? Where is he?”

              Albert was sharp in his reply; the meeting was coming to an end.

              ”I will not tell you who, I am sure you have some suspicions already, but soon enough, you will find out for sure. Now it is time for me to attend to my daily duties Sir Nigel, and I believe you have all the information that I can help you with.”

              The elder walked to the door, while the still astonished Sir Nigel got to his feet and followed. The old aboriginal escorted him to his vehicle and no more was spoken of the subject. As the tall grey-haired man started the engine of the four-wheel-drive he wound down the window.

              “Albert, one last question if you don’t mind? Why is the saviour of your people a white man and not a black man?”        

              “Sir Nigel, there could be two possibilities to consider for that answer, one of those could be that the forefathers of our people occasionally saw white travellers and considered them as possibly Gods, and the other is that the visions merely told it as it would be.”

              “Thank you, Albert, you have been everything I expected and more keep up the good work.”

              As the four-wheel-drive bumped off down the red dust road, Albert Armstrong smiled to himself and turned back to his house. Minnie was stomping towards him a beer in each hand.

              “Thank you, Minnie, you can have the other one yourself, our visitor has left to continue his quest.”

              Minnie looked at him blankly, having no idea what he was on about, and caring even less.

 

“There are also seven kings.

Five have fallen, one is and the other has not yet come.

And when he comes, he must continue a short time.”

John: Revelation 17.10     New Testament

            Chapter thirty eight
                   The Elder