Makara’S Mission

By Ruth Sharkey

Pop Sharman, an ascended master, incarnates in Australia during the twentieth century.
His life, and that of his family, involves the integration of complex ideas weaving a tapestry with many meanings and spiritual concepts; encompassing religion, esoteric knowledge, astrology, myths, ecology, angelic kingdom and natural healing. Controversial subjects include the Vietnam war, political intrigue, industrial deception, medical malpractice, chemical danger to all life on our planet and much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781504375405

Ruth Sharkey

Ruth Sharkey, is an internationally renowned, natural therapist, author, teacher, and artist, with deep seated spiritual and philosophical beliefs. She lives with her husband Dennis in Tasmania, Australia. The couple have four adult children, ten grandchildren and six great grandchildren. For more information on Ruth’s work visit www.sharkeys.com.au

Book preview

Other Titles by Ruth Sharkey

Herbs That Will Help

Food Additives – What Not to Buy

The Mysterious Powers in Man & Plants

Basic Aroma, Colour, Gem and Crystal Healing

Medical Drugs & Their Side Effects

Natural Conception – Mother Nature’s Help for Infertile Couples

Healing the Bodies

Rebels with a Cause – Living with A.D.D.

Safe Nourishment

Natural Conception – Mother Nature’s Help for Infertile Couples. 2nd Edition

Fertile Fathers

Ruth Sharkey’s Guide to Natural Conception

Makara’s

MISSION

The name Makara has many esoteric meanings, not least of these being He who has the right to bear the fish on his banner.

RUTH SHARKEY

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Copyright © 2017 Ruth Sharkey.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

The cover design created and painted by Ruth Sharkey; depicts the beautiful Jacaranda tree prominent in many scenes, while the caduceus, the original christian fish and the prominent M on the seven pointed star embrace many aspects within the story.

For more information on Ruth’s books and art, visit www.sharkeys.com.au

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7539-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7541-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-7540-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017935174

Balboa Press rev. date: 02/27/2017

Contents

1 Fish

2 HOME

3 Loss

4 Makara

5 Balance

6 Learning

7 Threats

8 Revelations

9 Options

10 Planning

11 Greetings

12 Communication

13 Christmas

14 Conception

15 Departures

16 Canberra

17 Insights

18 Publicity

19 Crossroads

20 Easter

21 Transformation

22 Retribution

Afterword

Author Biography

For as many as there are, who seek the truth, there are just as many, if not more, who would prefer it to be kept hidden.

This my first novel, would not have been created without the ongoing love and support of my patient husband Dennis, and our caring family.

1

FISH

For as long as he could remember, Pop Sharman’s existence revolved around the origin of mankind, space, astrology, ancient religions, and the natural kingdoms. He was determined to pursue and expose the lies encapsulated in traditional beliefs. Although well past his allocated three-score plus ten years, he was still an avid student of all knowledge, which he believed must be shared. With a willing audience, he could reminisce and talk for hours on any subject known to man. When not tending his garden, he would collect wild herbs to create medicine for the large number of people who came for help.

Where the creek forked and joined the larger stream, a huge river gum stood. Like him, the tree was old and weathered, but it gave companionship, support for a tired back, welcome relief from the relentless heat of the Queensland sun, and a place to commune with the Creator.

Thinking aloud, he thanked his friend and queried the number of years they’d spent together on this plane, and he wondered how many more summers they would share. The sun was still high, and with home a mere half hour away, he decided to grab a little shut-eye.

A tangible stillness permeated the cool air, filling his lungs, reviving the mind, and relieving the tired body. In this meditative state, he sensed an aura of anticipation tingling through the surrounding bush.

Out of respect for their visitor, the cicadas were hushed and the rainbow lorikeets stopped their incessant squabbling and snuggled closer into the motley tree trunk. Even the butterflies settled to enjoy the peace and quiet this man brought to the area.

Pop knew all forms of animal, planet, and mineral were living evidence of the eternal God. He maintained the form may change but the inner energy was indestructible. Perhaps what people said about him was true. Maybe he did connect with the nature kingdom, and maybe the nature kingdom felt his love and responded in kind.

If the trees could talk, they could tell many fascinating stories about this man, but as mute sentinels, they kept his secrets locked up in their hearts.

A passing breeze paused to play in the upper canopy, and a solitary leaf was released. At first hesitant to leave, the blade swayed then slowly spiralled down to the dry creek bed far below.

How like that little leaf we are, he said to the tree. For a short time, we are quite happy to be part of the whole, young and full of hope, then one fateful day something unexpected happens and we break away. Tis true we often just drift downward as we follow our destiny, fading into oblivion like all those who have gone and leaving nothing but inspiration for those who follow.

To a lesser man, this would be a depressing thought, but to him, it was a fact of life. To just be a part of the eternal unfolding pattern was an honour.

The intoxicating vibrations channelled the mind into other realms, shuffling memories of distant times and places he’d explored with his beloved Mary. Fourteen years had passed since she left the physical plane, but they still shared the quiet moments.

Lydia tried to fill the void, but she too had been gone five years. Although his way of life hadn’t changed in content, it now lacked context. Lydia’s energy was the spark that ignited the passion in their work. The fire surrounding new discoveries seemed dimmer without her physical input and presence.

They both had a profound faith in the ancient science of astrology, numerology, reincarnation, and past lives and spent hours in meditation seeking answers from higher beings. They also experimented with different herbs, trying new ways to blend plants to increase the medicinal action, often with extraordinary results.

Some people researched their family trees, but Lydia preferred to study the leaders of past ages. She was sure Moses had been the leader of the Aryan age, followed by Adam for the age of Taurus. The same Adam supposedly created in the Garden of Eden, although Mithras, the Minoan leader, was said to be the great teacher born in the age of Taurus. Mithraism involved the bull, and she believed the crescent shape of the horns became the crescent moon endemic to Islam.

Mithras was also associated with the sun gods Helios and Apollo. His birthdate was celebrated near the winter solstice, on the twenty-fifth of December. The Church took this and allocated the date to Jesus to maintain the myth of the sun, or son of God. The cave temple situated on Vatican Hill, previously dedicated to Mithras, went on to become the seat of the Catholic Church.

The couple contemplated the story of Adam and Eve and concluded they were the male/female twin souls who were the leaders for the age of Gemini. Eve was beside Adam, not coming from one of Adam’s ribs as the Bible would have us believe. Like many so-called truths, the real facts were lost in translation or, as so often happened, deliberately misconstrued to appease the various sects or enforce a particular dogma. Even today, different denominations of Christians translate the Bible to suit themselves.

Lydia knew Jesus was the Piscean leader by the continual reference to fish by his followers. But like Islam, those who created the credo for the new Christianity took what they wanted from previous religions. To enforce control, the church hierarchy further developed and perpetuated a liturgy of lies, tyranny, murder, and other unspeakable crimes that had no basis in the righteous teachings of Jesus.

Being on the planet during the transition of the Piscean to the new Aquarian age thrilled Lydia. Questions of where, how, and who would rise from the ranks of humanity really excited her.

Crack. Twang. The call of the whipbird and the splashing of water broke through the layers of thought, jarring the mind out of Aquarian depths into the watery realms of the present age. Someone was approaching, and judging by the noise, there were several people.

The drought had turned the free-flowing creek into a series of individual mud holes linked only by a slow trickle of water. Another month with no rain and there would be nothing to encourage the insects, which were the first in the food chain for the birds and many other creatures.

Listening to insects playing their intricate instrument, he imagined the baton of the unseen Creator forming the incredibly harmonious, if slightly offbeat, hypnotic chorus that sounded like a Tibetan mantra complete with temple bells.

The collective sounds lulled him back into the dreamtime, causing the whipbird to give out another distinctive whip. Crack. At last, the bird managed to alert him to the fact his sanctuary was about to be invaded. No need to strain the ears. It was obvious some children were making their noisy way upstream. Without moving a muscle, the old man tuned in, trying to ascertain what had them so excited on such a hot day.

Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the cloud hiding the sun. Maybe this would herald the cooler days. With no need to hurry back to his empty cottage, he resettled comfortably against the tree.

The boys smashed everything that blocked their progress. A half-dead she-oak tree hanging precariously from the creek bank soon shared the same suffocating fate as other trees already half submerged in the thick grey mud. They made such a racket sloshing along that it was difficult to hear their conversation.

Pop shifted his weight to check the position of the sun and stretch the legs to avert leg cramps in readiness for the trek along the dusty track. Enjoying the fresh new energy revitalizing the bush, and still quietly confident the newcomers were unaware of his presence, he took a swig from his trusty water bottle.

It wasn’t hard to ascertain who they were. One voice he knew was from his eldest son’s boy, the young Mako. There were not many children living this far up the valley, so the others would be his school friends. They and their parents were well known to him, as the children often played together.

Even though his son and his family lived in the same area, he didn’t see much of them. He told himself his son’s life as a busy politician didn’t leave time for visiting and it wasn’t fair to intrude on the precious time he had with his wife and children.

The truth was his son kept his family at a distance for fear of any ridicule he may attract from being aligned with his father. He thought his father was a self-opinionated, homespun guru nutcase. Whatever the reason, the result meant they didn’t spend much time together.

The majority of people from the valley considered the old man a bit weird but harmless. A few considered him odd and referred to him as the silly old bugger, the nutty git-gnomie, or worse, that spooky quack and forbade their children from talking to him.

For all his years, Pop was a strong, agile man brimming with health and vitality, with no outward sign of the number of years spent doing hard physical work. His habit of carrying a small spade caused the wisecracks about his resemblance to a garden gnome.

Even those he considered friends would have a bit of a laugh at his expense, but for all that, they respected him—and not only for his knowledge of herbs. They knew people wouldn’t come up from the coast to seek his help if he weren’t doing some good. Besides, he’d helped most of the locals directly or indirectly at some time or other.

Most visitors only wanted a little advice or guidance, which they often received without knowing. He would enquire about the whole family while searching for the underlying cause of the patient’s problem. The herbs he blended helped the physical healing, but the subtle counseling uncovered and removed the cause.

How a man who shunned the outside world, had such an in-depth understanding of the problems confronting modern society, was beyond their comprehension.

Odd too how no one quizzed or took the time to ascertain where he obtained his knowledge. He was what he was, and that was that.

At certain times of the year he’d be seen walking along the creek edge collecting plants then he’d vanish for weeks on end. When asked why he would want useless weeds, he would smile and say. Weeds are simply plants that no one has as yet found a use for, but they all have a part to play in God’s plan. As such they deserve the same respect one gives to the most delicate rose.

Being the subject of ridicule never bothered him, but today he remained hidden in case he unwittingly embarrassed the boy, as some children could be unkind to those their parents didn’t approve of.

The boys were so intent on creating dams and chasing yabbies that they weren’t aware of him, but he’d picked up on the subtle change in their banter. The excitement and fun was now a contentious argument and heated debate with one who would not conform to the majority. Pop cautiously peered around the tree to confirm his suspicions. As expected it was the smallest boy being a killjoy.

Why do you always want to do something different? You always end up going gah-gah and stupid!

Who cares if the dumb yabby is out of the water? One of the boys was kicking at something in the mud.

Look at the big sookie! Boo hoo! Another pointed and laughed.

You look like you’re gonna cry!

The small crayfish gasping for air was too much for the sensitive child. He must stop them poking the poor creature as it tried to crawl on broken legs.

You’re so weird! The attack was getting personal. Even your name is dopey!

Who ever heard of a name like Mako? My father said it means a fish.

Maybe he’s part fish that’s why he’s bawling.

You are a dumb fish; that’s why you won’t come fishing! This comment brought loud hoots of laughter.

We always knew there was something fishy about you, one continued to taunt. Catching yabbies no longer interested them. This game was more fun.

Cackling like a bunch of kookaburras, they pushed him aside to clamber out of the dirty waterhole, still making jokes and laughing, they wandered down the road each to his own home, leaving Mako ankle- deep in mud holding the half- dead crayfish.

Although out of earshot, the departing children still enjoyed jokes at their friend’s expense.

Squinting to release hot tears, their solitary audience found solace knowing they were oblivious to the acute pain they’d caused. Past experiences and long- forgotten similar instances sprang to mind making it difficult to rationalize his emotions. He knew it was better to allow the pain to emerge rather than suppress or deny its existence, but it was not easy. The unjust accusations endured in his youth still had a negative effect; he knew exactly how young Mako felt.

He shrugged off the visions, forcing the mind back to the current situation. Dwelling on the past was not helping, and maybe these hurtful events would stop the boy from making the same family mistakes. In his heart he wondered if his own experiences were enough to evoke the wisdom needed to find a positive angle.

Mako continued along the stony edge of the creek, careful not to stir up the mud or harm any other creatures while searching for yabbies that may be hurt. Using his toes, he gently shifted the stones to release the water his friends had spent the afternoon building up. It was fun making dams, but he didn’t understand why his friends were cruel to insects and things. Fish need clean water to live; his mates didn’t have to stomp and grope at everything, making the water all mucky.

He shuddered to think how Ben and Johnny laughed as the poor thing gasped and wriggled. How would they like it if they were suddenly thrown out of their home and left to die in thick mud?

It was neat watching little whirlpools swirl as the water seeped into his footprints. As the water stilled, the little black boatmen returned to chase after smaller bugs that also skimmed across the surface. Although proud to have stopped the damage, he was upset because as usual he’d ruined the game and turned the others against him.

Surprised to hear his Pop’s voice, he placed the yabbie in a clear pool and scrambled up the bank, pausing only to be sure he hadn’t imagined Pop calling. It was true! He was over by the old gum tree!

Poppa! No second bidding needed. The telepathic message was received loud and clear. Overcome by jumbled emotions he started running. In his rush, blinded by tears, he stumbled over twigs and his own feet. He’d felt so alone. Now he wasn’t … No one cared … but now … the only one who always understood was here.

As the boy fell into his arms, the smile lines deepened on the old weather-beaten face. Born of like minds and souls their bond went way beyond the blood relationship. Theirs was a deeper knowing.

No words were needed. Neither cared about him being a sook or a crybaby. He sobbed until the untapped well of pure emotion ran dry. When the breath returned the questions began:

Why am I so different?

Why am I always ruining the games?

We used to play ok.

Why do I always muck it up?

Why do I want to change things?

"I AM WEIRD, aren’t I?"

Is it true my name means fish?

Why is my name a fish?

When did you come?

Why do the kids want to hurt and kill things?

How come I didn’t see you before?

The questions were spilling out so fast the boy’s breath came out in little laboured gasps, emphasizing the frustration and hurt.

Pop stroked the boy’s head until the tears and questions subsided. It broke his heart to hear the pain behind the tears. How old are you now son?

Seven. His mother often said how lucky he was to have such a wise and special grandfather, yet he had to ask how old he was. Hadn’t heard anything he’d just said? He started to cry again, but more to himself. It was clear no one really understood, not even his beloved Poppa.

Pop used the last of his water to soak his handkerchief and wipe away the tears that formed tracks through the dust and mud from the days play. The love in his grandfather’s touch soothed and calmed the boy.

Why am I so different? The heartfelt plea was too much.

Yes Mako, I believe you are old enough to learn.

The way his poppa said his name made him feel much better. Maybe he did understand.

Seven is a special magic age. Looking into the wet yet alert eyes, he added, And you are very special boy.

At last he would get answers. Now he’d find out how he got such a funny name - and if it really did mean fish. He took the outstretched hand as they set off home.

Seven, the old man repeated after a short pause, checking he had the boy’s undivided attention. That is a very important age. His knowledge must be passed on, but how best to put it in a story? He and his wife had hoped their firstborn would continue their work. They had such high hopes. The lad was a born leader, with a natural feel for the public life. Instead he changed his name and conformed to a strict party line, destroying any hope of his facilitating independent reform.

Yes indeed. He must stick to the present. The fidgety feet making patterns in the dust as they walked was a sure sign the child was bored. Seven is the age when children begin to learn about the world, especially how other seven-year-old boys and girls in far-off lands study their faith.

This was not what Mako wanted to know but he was too polite to say so.

It is the age boys learn how different cultures worship their god, or gods, as the case may be

This reminded the boy of Sunday school where he had learnt about Jesus, but no one seemed to know much about God. He asked the teacher, but she just kept saying Jesus was the son of God. He got the idea she didn’t know anything about God. He should have asked Poppa in the first place. In that moment, he resolved never to go back, as the teacher clearly knew nothing.

Seven in some cultures, is the age when young boys just like you and your friends are sent away to study the philosophies and religion they are born into.

Mako had forgotten about the others. Being sent away could be a good idea, but it also made him feel sort of strange. Do they all go together? He kicked at the small stone he was moving along with them. Or do they go alone? The road was hard and he wished he had shoes on, but he had been planning to wade in the creek. Do they go to the same place or to different places?

They all go together. That is, all the boys that are seven at the same time go together. When they get to their new home, the group is given their own special teacher, who they call their master.

Mako slipped around in front of his grandfather to watch his face, as this often changed when he told stories. His voice sounded different too, as if like he was foreign. Watching him change made it easier to follow. The boys, the new voice was saying, wear saffron.

Before he could ask, the answer came. Saffron is the golden yellow of their robes. They wear this to show they are training to hopefully - if they are obedient and study hard - to one day become Buddhist monks.

Expecting questions, he paused, but as there were none, he continued. Buddhism is one of the oldest religions in the world. The devotees of Buddha learn about love, peace, and many other beautiful traditions. Through the Buddhist monks, these special customs have been passed down to each generation for thousands of years.

This time there was a question. What else do the boys have to do to become monks?

The old eyes twinkled with humour, expecting a reaction to the answer. They have their head shaved, and every morning they get up very early, long before the sun comes up and go out into the streets to beg people to put something in their empty food bowls.

The boy had definitely lost any interest he may have had in Buddhism. Do any other people send their boys away when they turn seven? Washing and combing his hair was a chore, but he didn’t fancy being bald either. The appetite was one would expect in a growing boy, so it didn’t take too long to work out he could become rather hungry if or when the food bowl stayed empty.

Smiling, the old man carried on. He was telling a story, and he would finish it. Siddhartha was the name of the very first Buddha.

Mako could not contain himself. Did he leave his family when he was seven, shave his head, wear a saffron robe, and beg people to give him food? As an afterthought he added, That’s a weird name. What does it mean?

Siddhartha translates to he who has accomplished his purpose.

He shuddered recounting how the idea of sending John the Baptist to prepare the way did nothing to help Jesus or prevent the evil ones from murdering the innocents. In silence, he pondered how the most exalted souls often had their greatness hidden from them. Rama who lived 2,000 years before Jesus, never gave any hint of knowing he was an avatar of the supreme. The old man kept walking sifting through his private world of dreams and memories.

The boy still had many questions, but right now he enjoyed being quiet. Pop’s stories were much more interesting than the way they taught at school. He should be the teacher.

For the first time in his young life, he was aware of the different colours in the sky as he watched the dark blue above faded into a light aqua as it went down to the horizon. Of course, he had seen the sky before, but he hadn’t noticed the different shades of blue.

The trees were different too, no longer just dusty and green. Some weren’t green at all; they were yellow and brown, even orange and pink. The leaves had lots of colour, the deeper he looked the more he saw. Some quivered when the wind blew, as if they wanted to talk to him. Some plants had so many different colours he lost count. He was so engrossed in the newfound kaleidoscope that he didn’t see the pleasure his companion was getting from watching. He was about to share the new-found wonders, but the nod and knowing smile told him the old man already knew. His Pop was the greatest. He knew everything.

Neither spoke until they got to Mako’s house, at the front gate, the boy asked, Can you tell me more about boys from other lands another day?

Pop smiled to see the boy pick up and pocket the small white pebble his nimble feet had shuffled all the way home. Will you ever run out of questions? He asked as he turned to walk away.

Questions with honest answers were his stock-in-trade, yet the fact remained he was nearing the end of this incarnation in which he’d failed again to expose two thousand years of lies. The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls provided inspiration for thinking persons, and creative writers had shaken the foundations of Rome by revealing Mary Magdalene as the wife of Jesus. But there was so much more work to done before honest men gained access to the truth he knew to be locked away in the archives under the Vatican.

In spite of the frustration, he must resign himself to wait until he could return again. Without a champion to continue the battle, the church was free to carry on controlling the masses, presenting and preaching their dogma of fabricated myths. The time he and Mary shared, was again cut short by the evil ones. It was sad to say that as long the old enemies incarnated along with them, the fight would go on ad infinitum.

Mako’s plan was find something to eat and then tell his mother and sister about the seven-year-old Buddhists, their saffron robes, and the new colours in the trees. What a day. Even though his friends upset him, it didn’t matter, for Pop taught more exciting things.

He reached for the doorknob but leapt back as the door jerked inwards. There you are. Where have you been? Why didn’t you come home with your friends? They came past nearly an hour ago? His mother grabbed his arm and dragged him inside.

She never raised her voice. Besides, the clock said 4 o’clock. He wasn’t late. Why did she need to go looking for him? It scared him to see her so freaked out. Something must have happened to make her go so pale and jumpy.

His father told him to be the man of the house when he was away, and therefore take care of his mother and sister, but how could he if he didn’t know what was happening.

Being quiet and seeing all the different colours with Pop left him feeling a bit dopey - and now this … Poppa and I were talking.

Without answering, she jerked the door open. Oh no! He’s not still here is he? Halfway across the verandah, she called over her shoulder. Where is he? Oh dear God, did I shut the door on him?

Confused and dumbfounded, Mako stared. She liked Pop. They spent hours in the garden talking about plants, watching the birds, or pruning the roses. Yet here she was behaving as if she didn’t want to see him. Even with a headache, she didn’t go crazy. When his dad went interstate, she got upset but never yelled. His tummy squirmed like a cane toad stuck up a drainpipe.

What’s wrong, Mum? Where’s Trish? The question hardly left his lips before his sister and their two small cousins surrounded him, jumping up and down, giggling and squealing with delight, and waving what looked like a kitten. At such close range to it, he couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was. He could only see the poor thing wriggling like mad as it was shoved right up under his nose. What a day. His head and stomach spun in opposite directions: first the upset with his friends, then the special time with Pop, and now a mad house. No wonder their mother had freaked out. His head was about to explode, and still the girls kept screeching like trapped cockatoos.

Forced back to the wall, he tried to calm them, as they were out of control. In a vain attempt to escape, the hapless creature, by some miracle, freed itself from their clutches and bolted for the open door, closely followed by the noisy entourage.

Watching the chaos, he felt weak and floppy. How could he tell them about the wonders he’d seen or the quiet time? The house was a shambles. He wished he’d gone home with Pop.

His unanswered question was left hanging as the exasperated woman ran after the girls, calling - or more like begging - to leave the poor creature alone. Their house was always quiet, especially when their dad was away. Today it was like open day at a preschool. He wanted to run away or hide, and at the same time scream at them to shut up, but it would be a waste of breath, as he wouldn’t be able to make himself heard. Instead, he shut the door, putting a barrier between them as he collected his senses.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him to make a Vegemite and avocado sandwich.

Back inside with the recaptured escapee, Trish tried again to present the animal. If she noticed he was quieter than usual she didn’t comment. Instead she let out another excited squeal as the terrified kitten jumped free in yet another valiant but futile attempt at freedom. If they’d been like this all day it was no wonder his mother was frazzled.

Trish shouted Daddy said it’s okay to keep it! She was overly excited. He knew if she didn’t calm down soon, she would start crying. Their mother said because they were twins, they would know how the other was feeling. Of course he was happy for her - being allowed a kitten was great - but how come she hadn’t noticed he had something to share? Disappointed, he realized she seldom noticed stuff that he did.

Trish had tried every way to get their father to allow her to have a real kitten. Her bedroom walls were covered in cat pictures, as were her school books. Everywhere she went, she took her toy cat, her whole room was full of cat ornaments. Pop made her shadow boxes to hang on the wall when she ran out of room on her dressing table. Mum said there wasn’t even room for her hairbrush on there.

Buying Christmas and birthday presents for her was easy; anything to do with cats was sure to delight. Looking at the tiny ball of fluff being stroked and brushed so lovingly for the hundredth time, he wondered how the small animal would cope with so much loving.

With a lull in the chaos, he asked Why are Anna and Margot here? No one told him they were coming; besides, they hardly ever visited on the weekend. Knowing from past experience it would be a miracle if their father let her have one, he added Did Aunty Maree bring the kitten?

No, Auntie Pet brought it for us to share. She giggled. Isn’t it just beautiful? She looked hot and sweaty and she held the kitten way too tight. She knew better than to do that. Though he wanted to take it from her, he felt it was better to try talking to make her relax her grip.

Odd. He hadn’t seen the old Patrol when he came in. Where is she?

She’s gone home, she replied as he was about to check if the visitor was still there. She came this arvo while you were out. The vet gave it to her because she wouldn’t let him put it to sleep. Isn’t she kind? After pausing to catch her breath, she added, She’s wonderful.

Why were the younger girls there? Their mother was his auntie Maree, and her car wasn’t there either. Perhaps Auntie Pet brought the girls. No point trying to get any sense from Trish; the kitten was free again.

Auntie Pet, whose real name is Petula, was truly special. She was called Auntie Pet partly because she always caring for some sort of animal, but also when they were little, they couldn’t say Petula.

Her husband John was their father’s brother. The couple didn’t have children, but they kept possums in the house - at least Auntie Pet did. Wild birds flew right into her kitchen looking for food, and Uncle John pretended to complain, but he was actually okay with it.

Their father called her Aunt Peculiar, and he said if she had children, she’d put them in a possum house and fed them bananas. To him, she was more than a bit strange, and he shook his head and laughed at her bright clothes, but Mako liked the way her long dresses and scarves floated like big butterfly wings.

Their mother said big hats were a good idea, as they prevented skin cancer from the sun. If Pet wanted to wear pretty dresses, she could. After all, Daddy should know ours is a free country. Reprimanding was unnecessary, as they knew she also thought Pet was a bit weird. But she insisted on saying, If you can’t say something nice about a person, you should keep quiet.

Uncle John worked as a national parks and wildlife officer, so he often found orphaned animals to take home for Pet to love. He tried to set them free when they were able to care for themselves, but most chose to stay where they were housed and regularly fed. Uncle John gave in and made permanent houses. He complained it wasn’t natural, but he did it anyway to please Pet. There were always many exciting things happening at their house.

Trish finally settled down enough to explain their cousins were there. Because Auntie Maree’s been hurt. She’s in the spare room. Dad’s in there too with mum. We’re not allowed to go in. Waving an arm towards her cousins, she added. I have to keep Anna and Margot out by playing with them.

Dad was home too! One more surprise and he would explode. Even on Saturday, their father never got home before six thirty. He would eat dinner while watching the seven o’clock news.

Anna, the elder of the little girls, volunteered her knowledge. Our daddy hit Mummy till she fell down. Apparently, this behaviour was normal to them.

Nothing was ever said to the twins, but they knew their father disapproved of his sister’s marriage. Uncle Jake never came with Maree and the girls, so the twins really didn’t know him. Mako was horrified. At school, he’d seen the older boys fight, but never adults. Dad said men should never hit women, no matter what. He didn’t know what to think, but he was glad his father was home to sort it all out. No wonder his mother didn’t want Pop there.

The front doorbell rang, but before he got to it, his mother was saying. Thank you for coming back. Did you get her car? It would a big help if you could take over and see to the children while we sort out this awful mess.

Mako stepped back to admit John and Pet. There was no G’day Matey from his uncle - instead just an indiscernible mutter to his mother. However, the children did receive a reassuring wink as he walked stern- faced into the bedroom where his sister and elder brother were waiting. That wink made Mako feel everything would be ok.

Auntie Pet went straight to the children. Oh my goodness, what are you doing to that kitten? Don’t you know all little babies need to be fed and in bed by this time? She scooped up the little ball of fur, wrapping it in a layer from her voluminous skirt, and she settled it against her chest. Mako couldn’t help smiling. If his mother had done that, it would have looked weird. With Pet, it look normal.

Come along now. Where’s the cloth I bought you? Put it the laundry basket. Mako, be a dear and find some old newspaper to make kitty a toilet? She gave the directions while they all bustled around trying to help.

Cats are not toys. If you want a pet, you have to look after it. In her zany way, she’d taken control and brought her own special brand of order to the chaos. Come along, ladies, he called to the girls. Let’s get this place tidied up. What shall we have for dinner?

No disagreement there. In one voice, they yelled for her specialty omelette. She was a vegetarian and could cook the lightest, fluffiest omelette in the whole world.

With the little ones fed, showered, and dispatched with Trish for the night, Mako was also sent to bed early to allow the adults to discuss the current problem over dinner. Normally he would have objected, but tonight he was pleased to be alone. The quiet gave his brain a chance to sort the day’s events.

He thought about his parents, his aunts, and uncles and how fortunate he was to have his own bed, as well as a kitchen with plenty to eat. It felt good to know Auntie Maree and the girls were safe in his house. Tomorrow it would be all sorted out.

He dozed off planning how he would grow up and work to help lost or hurt people, as well as hurt animals. He would ask Pop to tell him more about the love and peace taught by the Buddhist monks.

A strange stillness filled the room as he fell asleep. Through the wall, he could hear Trish reading the girls a story, but other sounds drifted away. The light was off, yet bright rays of light danced around the room. Then came the same stillness he experienced earlier, except now the colours moved like a slow merry-go-round. No sound, just movement and a special feeling of peace.

2

HOME

Maree considered herself a reliant, capable no-nonsense sort of person, ready to help others, never one to need help herself. Her marriage problems were exactly that! The current situation - a fool needing help - did sweet nothing for her self-esteem. Talking to her brothers about private aspects of her life did not sit well.

Although not really up to it she wanted to break the news to their father. How to do that presented more problems. They’d lost touch since her marriage and she wasn’t sure how the news would affect him. What if God forbid, he had a stroke or something? A shock could kill him at his age. Going in person allowed her to gauge how much to say, thus removing the latter fear.

The old car shook and rattled along the back road. God how often do vehicles use this? she muttered, negotiating yet another pothole, the rough terrain being a small part of the reason she wrestled with the steering wheel. Jake bruised her body, but John’s words played on her mind: Now you’ll have to come down a peg or two and learn to eat humble pie. So what exactly did he mean?

The blows were healing, but being emotionally fragile, the comment hadn’t helped. In fact, it fair made her blood boil. Where did he get the idea she needed bringing down a peg or two. Little pipsqueak! Who the blazes did he think he was? They’d hardly spoken in two years, yet here he was lording it over her. She knew he could be tactless, but that smart alec remark wasn’t called for.

She was angry too for refusing extra painkillers from Beth. The renewed ache coupled with the unfamiliar road, sharp bends, loose gravel, bald tires, and hitting the brakes too hard all led to an inevitable side skid.

Metal was scraping on metal when the left side took the impact with the guardrail, stretching her taut nerves closer to breaking point.

I must calm down and watch the road! John will keep. Trembling, and acutely aware she’d not seen another car since leaving Marc’s house, she took in the terrain. If I went off the road up here, it could be hours or days before we’d be found. Lucky no one came around that bend; they couldn’t miss us. Craning her neck to see down into the thick bush, she wondered if anyone had ever gone over the edge. A car could go down there never to be found.

She didn’t need to be told major changes must be made. Priority one was getting her head together to map out some sort of future for herself and the girls.

Readjusting the wobbly rear-view mirror for the umpteenth time, she checked on the girls. Exhausted after playing on the trampoline all morning, they’d closed their eyes soon after being buckled in. Blissfully unaware of how close they’d come to plunging into a ravine, both slept on.

With new resolve, she moved the car out of the loose gravel to resume their journey. Careful driving took precedence for a while, but it was no use - no matter how hard she tried, the events of the past two days kept whirling around the brain, with John’s words overriding everything.

Brushing aside a stray hair, she winced as the touch magnified the pain. How does Petula put up with him? The vision of her sister-in-law with the kitten suckling warm milk off her fingers sprang to mind. She’s a hare-brained dill, but her hearts in the right place. The two women had little in common, and there was never any discord between them. Until last night, she had no arguments with John either. Probably why his lack of tact caught her off guard.

If his marriage were on the rocks, I wouldn’t tell Pet to go eat humble pie. Patronizing sod.

John’s comment became the catalyst for exposing her pent-up trauma, highlighting the disgust she felt for Jake - and herself, for allowing the whole situation to develop in the first place. If nothing else, the past five years of pure hell had taught her to suppress emotional weakness. A more perceptive person would see anger was her way to control the tears.

The twins came to mind. They’re great kids. Marc and Beth could be proud of them. Good ol’ gentle Beth takes everything in her stride. I bet she has had a few tough times with Marc. She could imagine big brother being a bit overbearing if things didn’t go his way.

He was so annoyed with Trish over the ruckus they’d kicked up that he insisted Pet take the kitten away. Probably had no intention of letting her keep it but couldn’t come up with a reason. Parting with the little pet broke the poor kid’s heart, whereas her girls took it all in stride. They weren’t showing any ill effects from leaving their father either. Of course, it was early days, but neither girl had shown any inclination to go home.

Using her own counsel, she went on talking to herself. So much for keeping the family together. Judging by how happy they are without their dad, maybe I could have left sooner. You tell yourself it’s better for the children to have a father and mother, yet they are quite relaxed without him. Who dreamed up the idea of family unity anyway? Probably some do-gooder, some misguided soul who needed to justify the brutality she received On reflection, she added, I really must stop talking to myself; it’s the first sign of madness.

She cringed as the mirror moved again to show the image of a blotchy mottled face in place of her normally flawless complexion. The soft hair looked like dead straw covering panda eyes. The distraction meant the brakes got another workout as the road unexpectedly veered to the left.

Her father never tried to dictate how any of them should live their lives, but she felt his disapproval. She wondered if anything would be different if her father had spoken up. No, I’d probably marry him anyway. Visions of her wedding day were quickly pushed into the forbidden recess of the mind, lest happier memories allow emotions to escape.

With car and mind back on the track, she continued her dialogue, silently this time. No use crying over spilt milk. My main job is to make amends to the girls; I alone am ultimately responsible for their terrible start in life."

Finance came next on her list of priorities. After seeing her father, she would have to get some sort of job. Jake never worked any more than he had to, so couldn’t hold down a job, but never having enough money taught her to manage on nothing.

Jake kept yelling incoherent nonsense as she grabbed the girls’ things. Then loud and clear, along with his fists, came the words that removed any misconceptions she held over financial assistance. He’d knelt and shoved his face hard into hers, explaining directly that her leaving meant she wouldn’t get a brass razoo. Any kind of child maintenance could be crossed off the list. His taunts of taking the girls to Western Australia gave her the incentive to leave. No matter what it took, she would support herself and her daughters, just to show him what he’d lost.

At the previous night’s dinner, Marc went on and on about accommodation. Did he think I intended to live with them? When he insisted all delinquent fathers would be forced to support their children, she felt like laughing.

The family’s initial help, encouragement, and support would be gratefully accepted. All future improvements in her status would came from her efforts alone. She would find work; there was no other solution. Never again would she be a liability or nuisance to her brothers or their wives.

Marc tried explaining the little he knew about the various government agencies, stressing how solo mothers got priority in public housing, hinting they got more than their share of all charitable funding. He almost choked over the word solo, making it sound like a nasty contagious disease.

She thought the term only referred to women who had babies without being married, not those who left their partners voluntarily, and she agreed it could help till she got established. No way would they take handouts. John then put in his two bob’s worth, leaving her feeling upset and humiliated.

Marc didn’t know the full procedure, and stopped short of offering to go with her, instead suggesting Beth would help find out what was available. Knowing he wouldn’t be seen dead in queue, the women arranged to go on Thursday.

His public profile must be perfect to enter state politics. Queuing for financial assistance was not a good look for an aspiring young politician. John found the concept hilarious, and dared Marc to do it for a laugh, just to watch the media scramble, but conceded the other party would have a field day.

Jake often threatened to make life interesting for her big brother. Maybe it was an idle threat, but he was jealous and vindictive enough to cause trouble. He knew any embarrassment or unsavoury publicity would produce negative ramifications in Marc’s career.

Slower driving helped to rationalize the facts. Maybe John hadn’t meant to be unkind. When he left, he did hug her and say, You know we are put here with specific people to learn particular lessons. How could he be so cutting then wise and caring.

Her father’s front gate loomed up wide open, ready to receive visitors. Pausing to change gear, she smiled at the huge spotted thistle growing through the wooden railings. Clearly the gate never was never shut. The driveway, being half the width of the road, prevented any turning, reinforcing singular forward motion. Strengthening her resolve to relay only the basic facts, she accepted there was no turning back.

Strange how this place reminded her of the house where she and the boys grew up in the Blue Mountains. Life was so much simpler then. No matter how busy, her father took time to listen and make their world a safe place. She’d so wanted to create the same with Jake.

One particular incident came to mind; as a twelve year old, due to bullying, she wagged school. Instead of being angry, her father explained the whole planet was one big school. Life was all about learning, every waking moment while we were at school and at night when we got back home. He said we all started at kindergarten, learning the basics, and as we reached higher grades, the lessons grew harder. If we passed our tests, we chose harder lessons until we reach the real university, called life. He emphasized all learning was up to the free will of the student. No one could be pushed beyond his or her capabilities.