How can our children grow from these buried, unprocessed stories? TES Highlight with Dhinawan Baker @scienceandnonduality

Uploaded August 2025 | Updated September 2026, 3 weeks ago

Our grandmothers carried the weight of massacres, of colonial violence—stories too heavy to speak. And we have to ask: How can our children grow from these buried, unprocessed stories?

In The Eternal Song, Dhinawan Baker, from the Gamillaroi Bigambul, names the silent inheritance so many carry—the unspoken grief, the trauma woven into memory, the ache that lives on in the next generation.

This film invites us to sit with these truths, to honor the courage of those who held so much, and to ask what it means to finally give these stories air, so something new can grow.

🎥 Watch the film now at TheEternalSong.org or via the link in bio.

#TheEternalSong #DhinawanBaker #AncestralGrief #TruthTelling #HealingGenerations #IndigenousWisdom #TES2025 #RightRelationship #documentary #independentfilm

How can our children grow from these buried, unprocessed stories? TES Highlight with Dhinawan Baker

If we dont look at our demons, our demons will raise AI

when you are born a poor woman, you become a feminist

The most ridiculous document in history is the DSM

Welcome to the Liberation Psychology Course

they would murder women and children with the back of their guns in order to save bullets

$Underneath the urgency to change, there is often self hatred In one of the most piercing moments of our recent gathering, Francis Weller speaks about the urgency so many people feel to “change,” to “fix themselves,” to become someone more lovable or acceptable. He names what lies beneath this urgency: self-hatred masquerading as self-improvement. A quiet, desperate belief that who we are right now is not enough. Francis reminds us that this pressure to transform—to become better, cleaner, more disciplined, more spiritual—is often rooted not in longing, but in shame. It is a survival inheritance from cultures that taught us love must be earned and belonging must be proven. Underneath the hustle to change is a simple, devastating fear: If I don’t fix myself, I won’t be loved. He offers another way. A way that does not demand transformation as penance, but invites belonging as foundation. He speaks of soul work that begins with tenderness toward our own wounded places—a willingness to sit beside what hurts without rushing to correct it. Transformation, he says, comes not from self-hatred, but from intimacy with our own depths. In a time of collapse, fracture, and urgency, Francis’s words land like cool water: Before we change, we must soften. Before we repair, we must welcome ourselves home.$

Its not your mind that is sick, it is your spirit.