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Message FREEDOM

~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With Wolves"Be wild; that is how to clear theriver. The river does not flow inpolluted, we manage that. Theriver does not dry up, we blockit. If we want to allow it itsfreedom, we have to allow ourideational lives to be let loose,to stream, letting anything come,initially censoring nothing. Thatis creative life. It is made up ofdivine paradox. To create onemust be willing to be stonestupid, to sit upon a throne ontop of a jackass and spill rubiesfrom one's mouth. Then the riverwill flow, then we can stand inthe stream of it raining down."

My decision to leave corporate life and travel full-time around Australia wasn’t just a geographic shift, it was an ideological unblocking. I chose to step awayfrom a system that was slowly damming the river. I was burnt out. Not because I was weak, butbecause I was strong for too long in a system whereproductivity overshadowed my presence. It left nospace for the streaming, wandering and wonderingthat I enjoy so much. On the road, that’s changing. My rhythm is slower.My feet are dirtier. The children are louder and freer. And in this setting, I am unmasking.I am beginning to sit “on a throne on top of ajackass,” letting go of the polished, acceptableversion of myself, and letting new truths bediscovered and spill out. Through photos, throughwriting and through the quiet.Reflections

There are steeds upon many a Western plainThat have never bowed to a bit or rein, That have never tightened a trace or chain. They feed in the blue grass, fearless, free As the curbless wind on the bit-less sea, And the life they lead is a song to me. For I know there are those in the world to-day Who are just such rebels at heart as they, Running uncurbed in the brumby way. Men that have never been bridle-bound, Bitted or girthed to the servile round, Men of the wide world's stamping ground. Who have wheeled to the Dawn: have kept lone guard When the soft Bush nights crept golden-starred; Rebels that never the world shall yard. There is room on this earth for the toilers too, And some must draw where their grandsires drew, And some must lope on the trails anew. But as long as the girth and the harness scar, As long as there's land unfenced and far, The wild mob feeds under moon and star.The Brumbies~ William Olgilve

Undara Lave Tubes, QLD

I used to think freedom was about escape. My mum wouldoften think I was running away. From the pressure. Fromresponsibility. From a life I had tried to build that didn’tquite fit. But I wasn’t running away. I was running to. Not toa place, but to a part of myself I hadn’t seen in many years.That girl who made things. The one who noticed. The onewho knew how to be still.But out here, I’ve learned freedom isn’t clean. It doesn’t comewithout consequence. It’s messy. Sometimes lonely. And attimes heavy with choice. Choice is freedom but it’s alsoweight. That’s the paradox. Freedom is not the absence ofweight but rather the permission to carry only what matters.Choice is freedom. But freedom isn’t always light.This life we have chosen on the road involves risk. We areletting go of certainty. At the moment there is no fallback. Ihave no fixed address.There are days where I crave the convenience of notchoosing. Of being told what to do, where to go, who to be. But one thing I have learned is that freedom isn’t about ease.It’s about presence. And presence demands choice. EverydayIt’s a privilege. And a burden. A wild kind of liberation. Butit’s mine. And I chose it.Reflections

www.erinabbottphotography.com@erinkateabbott