bila is the Wiradjuri word for river. bilabang is our word for a pool of water, the same word that has been anglicised into billabong, but bilabang is also the word for our galaxy, our home, which you might know as the 'milky way'. the sun has gone beyond today's sky, and now is the time for night and resting. lay down here, stretch out long and lovely. let those eyes go heavy, soft, and close. become all comfort beneath these kind leaves and loving night. turn your palms towards the sky, and with eyes closed, watch the moon rise from the space between your fingers. that moon will rise and rise into the night. the night that welcomes you now. a sky that has always loved you. an ancient sky full of ancient knowledges. full of stars that sing and sing and sing. reflected in this ever expanding pool of water. as your moon rises to join the others in our skies, the stars begin to dance and shift, to become feet and ankles, leg and hip, arms outstretching. the stars revealing the face of one that you have loved, who has loved you always. a face made of twilight glow and care. go now where that softly stepping star lady leads, along a great moonlit river, slowly moving along with the current. together, you collect the seeds, the grains, the flame, the water. the promises of care held in bud and frond and blossom. in a sky basket, she collects all things needed to make home. go with her, learn respect in good ways, learn the ways to look and see country in all you do. learn the ways to be in service of the place that is home. home to kin of bird, butterfly, grass, star, and you. budyaan, budyabudya, buguwiny, miima feel with your mouth a joy as you speak all the languages of care. as you learn the true words of Country. those seeds you collected will create a forest from which more water will rise. the song of this river surrounded by the melody of this bush and the language of all who have lived here as always, in this forest planted for kin and for the children who will walk here after a million more sunrises. below the dancing grasses are the tender blades. below the stems are the small sweet shoots lower still the soil the sand the loam the roots, all this must be cared for. tend with fire, carry the seeds, guide the water. love this Country as your kin. love this Country as your mother. there are baskets to be woven with these grasses. feel each soft grass dip in and under your touch, as a heartbeat, as a breath of the land, tend your basket with those fingers full of knowing, each loop to the pace of your breath, in and out. breathe in and out, in and out. your breath flows out to the skies of this place, and each breath you inhale was brought to you on a breeze carried in the hand of a star, formed in the gum trees gifted by the Ancestors. listen, Country has all you need, and you are learning how to commune with the land and all who call it home. that star lady now leads you by the hand, towards the wide yellowing river, dissolving into horizon. a night sky strung out with a million tiny shells. hold one to your ear and you hear the whispers of a dark quiet of a long ago, told with a song in the throat, low and comforting, spiraling down carried upon smoke. it will be a place familiar and safe, like a dream remembered. this is a place where you are home, and this river has known you since you were bub. everything you do is because of bila care and everything you do, should be to care for bila and all rivers. caring for Country takes patience. move gently with your basket amongst the seeds long planted, this place of always care step through light and ash, hear the soft brush sounds of leaves overhead, the last call of a bird into vanishing day. feel the currents wash over your toes, smooth and gentle, telling you of all those whispered stories from beyond the bend, from the mountain snow melt, from the rains on far horizons. feel the current take away all that you have carried through this day. feel yourself become one with the river, with the stars above. there is campfire here to keep you warm. feel the glow spread from toes, moving gentle up legs, soft through belly, a spreading warmth through chest and arms, calms your brow. hear the low crackle of embers in the dimming fire. the sound of river and of river homelands. the sweet babble of running water lapping against the banks, and hear the distant whisper of stars. the smell of eucalypt heavy with healing in the evening air, sweet smoke from the campfire. the clear smell of fresh river air. below your body, the earth is warm and soft. prepare just right for you right now. feel the heartbeat that comes from this land. that heartbeat that has been with Country, since always, since forever, since the first sunrise. feel this Country in all the ways it knows you. feel the ways it has cared for you, supported you, held you all day long, and continues this care now, again, in tonight. a river will show you the way. the stars will show you the way. the bush that stands all around, that continues always, with the flow of always rivers. go gentle, drift upon this ever slow current. bila guidance sinking into those singing stars. go gentle and flow out with the river, to meet that ever expanding sky. a river that becomes that becomes that becomes bilabang. a star sky galaxy made of all this loving country.