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  • Another glorious, heavily oppressive, wet-season day for those southerners still here,
    hiding away within air-conditioned rooms.
    Before air-conditioners this was referred to as the Troppo season and Suicide season.
    The mob from down south had usually gone back for Christmas, to their families.
    A lot still do, despite the air-conditioning.
    Darwin is a bit of a ghost town over the Christmas period.
    Good thing is, we don't have to play 'spot the local'.
    A lot easier to catch up with the locals, friends and family, on the footpaths of town.

    But us mob, our family, doesn't have air-conditioning. We were born here in the sub-tropics. Except for Mum. Dad is from closer to the equator. And we are energy aware. Aware it costs a lot! We use Dads' free version. Sleep outside, open the windows, or when driving, wind the windows down!

    I was back home at the folks place for some R&R. After Christmas, '96 or '97.

    I'm home alone, with the dogs. The folks are overseas with sister Jen.
    Well, they're at Mandorah. Across the harbour. Dad calls that overseas!

    I've just started reading a new book. The dogs, Ali and Jedda, outside on the veranda, listen to me read.
    But it's hot. And humid. And they're old. They fall asleep.

    Engrossed in reading I was suddenly aware of a presence. I look up and see a bloke stepping toward the front door, arm outstretched, ready to knock. He sees me seeing him and doesn't knock.

    "G'day mate."
    I don't know this bloke, dressed casually but neatly, carrying a folder.
    He introduces himself as a collector for a worthwhile charity organisation.
    But my first question was, "How did you get past the dogs?" I told him no one has ever got past them even when they are asleep! Until him. Gosh, they must be getting old!
    They were looking at us now, as we were talking, not bothered to have barked upon awakening, the intruder was already in, and I was talking to him. Down go the heads, eyes watching as dog eyes do.

    I'm interested in the cause that this bloke represents. And we conclude that business.

    But something had struck me about his aura the moment I saw him beyond the door.
    I sensed some deep internal agitation beyond the professional exterior.

    I offered him some water. I'd noticed he wasn't carrying any, and sweating quite profusely.
    While he was having that grateful drink I said to him, "You need to talk eh! Do you want to rest for a bit and tell me your story? It's the hottest part of the day mate! Have a rest. You'll just cook yourself out there, and you're not carrying water."
    I didn't want to interrupt his job duties, but he welcomed the invitation.
    More water and biscuits at the veranda table.

    His English is very good. One could tell that he was a higher-educated person, through the way he related.

    He told of being recently arrived, as a refugee. He was living in Adelaide. He scored this job, and his job delivers him here, to the Top End, in the middle of the wet.

    He continues on about the horrendous atrocities he has experienced. He described in brutal detail how he found his brother dead, dumped on the footpath, after tortuous interrogation by his homelands' authorities. The other persecutions and extreme brutal torture of family members. Prisoners of conscience where they were born.

    We sat for an hour. Me listening and feeling. I'm strongly clairsentient. I can feel him, his love, his distraught, his anguish, his anger, his need to express. There were elements of seeking revenge that were exposed during his relating. He also desperately wants to get other family members out, as well as a lot of other things. He is emotional yet composed enough.

    I was very quiet. Calm. Only a few gentle questions to clarify something he'd said. Towards the end, I'm quietly and sincerely expressing my sympathy and condolences. Wishing that he can find new paths for growth now that he is here. And we share a little conversation.

    I ask if he likes to read. He says yes. I go to get him a book that I'd recently finished reading.
    The author actually says to give it to someone else when you're finished.
    I tell this bloke that it is perhaps a long and heavy read for some, but if he'd like to start with the last chapters, he may find them helpful. I dog-ear the section for him.

    It was a David Icke text. I think from memory it was, 'and the truth shall set you free'.
    Either way, I quietly said to this bloke, "the message in the last chapters is more important.
    It's basically about not seeking revenge but empowering love. I hope you can find that helpful."
    He thanked me as he received the book, and a bottle of water to take.

    The dogs have since long gone.

    I never saw him again. His name is Adman. I hope he is good.

    I'll never forget Adman.

    A brother coming into my life with courage to share his story. He taught me a lot.

    Picture: Electronic graphic, "Collecting shells".
    [When I experience stories where family are separated for whatever reasons or circumstances, Mother and Baby connectivity images generally come to mind. This picture is a Mother and Baby story. Can't remember exactly when I did this one. Around 2003/4.]
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