When I was presenting at a Mind, Body, Spirit Festival in Sydney some years ago, an imposing Aboriginal healer named Burnum Burnum, his great beard lapping over a blue frock coat, grabbed me as we were leaving the platform together.
“You’re one of mine, mate, so I’m going to show you something.”
He drew me to a corner away from the crowd. “Put out your hand.” When I complied, he quickly placed two dart-like objects in my palm. “Do you know what these are?”
“These are your bones.” Actually, one was a piece of sharpened walrus bone, and the other was fashioned from mulga wood.
The Aboriginal elder’s eyes flashed like fire opals. “Then you know they can be used to kill or to heal. That’s the nature of power. The more of it that’s with us, the more we have to choose — every bloody day — how we are going to use it.”