My mom was an environmental activist in Australia in the late

Hear, O listeners, the tender and powerful words of Robin McLeavy: “My mom was an environmental activist in Australia in the late ’60s and ’70s, and I guess I’ve inherited that awareness from her.” This is not merely a statement of personal heritage, but a testimony to the eternal chain by which wisdom passes from one generation to the next. In it we hear the voice of a daughter who has received a sacred flame from her mother, a flame that burned in defense of the Earth when the world first began to awaken to its wounds.

The meaning of this teaching is radiant. An environmental activist of the late ’60s and ’70s stood in an age when industries rose unchecked, when rivers were poisoned, when forests fell to axes with little thought for tomorrow. Yet in that time, courageous souls lifted their voices, crying out for the land, the waters, and the air. They planted the first seeds of a global awakening. From such a mother flows not only blood, but awareness, the deep recognition that we are children of the Earth, bound to her fate. To inherit such awareness is to inherit both burden and blessing—the burden of responsibility, and the blessing of vision.

Consider, as an example, the story of the Franklin Dam protests in Tasmania in the early 1980s, the fruit of movements planted in those earlier decades. The government sought to flood a wild river to feed the hunger for electricity. Yet the people rose—students, mothers, elders, activists—linking arms to save what was sacred. They were mocked, arrested, and beaten down. But their voices grew, their cause spread across the land, and at last, the river was spared. This triumph was not born in a single moment but in the legacy of those early activists of the ’60s and ’70s, who lit the fire in their children and taught them to guard the Earth as a treasure beyond price.

McLeavy’s words remind us that the struggles of one generation are not lost, but flow onward like rivers into the future. The awareness of a mother becomes the conviction of a daughter; the courage of the past becomes the strength of the present. Every act of protest, every speech, every march upon the soil becomes part of an inheritance more valuable than gold. For wealth fades, but awareness endures, passing silently from hand to hand, from heart to heart, until it transforms the destiny of nations.

Mark this well, O listener: the inheritance of awareness is not passive, like coins passed in a chest, but living and active, like a torch that must be carried forward. If one generation drops it, the flame dies; but if each generation holds it aloft, it lights the path for the next. Thus McLeavy’s acknowledgment is more than gratitude to her mother—it is a vow to continue the work, to let the flame burn brightly in her own life, so that others may see and follow.

Let this be the lesson: honor the legacies you inherit, especially those born of courage and compassion. If your parents, or your elders, or those before you fought for justice, for the Earth, for the dignity of humankind, then take their awareness into your own heart. Do not let their sacrifices be forgotten. Instead, let them shape your choices, your voice, your actions in the world. For to inherit awareness is not simply to know—it is to act.

Therefore, O child of tomorrow, let your awareness become deed. Plant trees where others have felled them. Walk gently where others have trod heavily. Speak boldly where silence reigns. And when your own time passes, leave not only possessions to your children, but a living flame of awareness, so that they too may rise and defend what is sacred.

In this way, the words of Robin McLeavy become not only a personal reflection but a universal commandment: that the awareness of one generation must be carried by the next, until the Earth itself rejoices in the faithfulness of her children. Awareness is the inheritance; stewardship is the destiny.