Interconnectedness & Aboriginal Ways of Knowing
I sit atop a cliff’s edge overlooking Bogey Hole. Directly above me, the sky is a wild blue. Below me, the deep turquoise water is alive; a moving entity and an extreme force. In the distance, small rain clouds form, their reflection in the water moving in synchrony with the clouds. They dance to the same rhythm. The rain that would soon hit my skin is there to nourish the land and to nourish me. I wait for the cool drops to find me; I don’t think about the time that is passing, because in this moment, its essence can’t be relevant. I practice Dadirri, I move with the clouds, and I transcend.
I transcend 8,000 miles away. I now sit atop a rock deep into the Sierra Nevada mountain range. In front of me, I see the land that raised me- strikingly beautiful and comfortingly familiar. The mountains are a force, but they are a force that I’ve reckoned with before. Their strength parallels that of the Australian ocean. I feel the same cooling sensation, except this time, it’s big white flakes. They land softly on my skin. I smile because I know this snow like I know my sisters. This snow is my family. The crisp water of Lake Tahoe is worlds away from the waters of Bogey Hole, yet they share the same deep turquoise. I get the feeling they share a deep knowledge.
In Aboriginal ways of knowing, everything is intimately connected. Trees, birds, water, and people all stand on the same pedestal. There’s no hierarchy between humans, animals, and the land, because they are one in the same. Every entity is seen as alive and necessary. The world is seen in stories, and stories can be told through the land or the people.
Trees are sacred in many Indigenous cultures. In Different Ways of Knowing: Trees Are Our Families Too, Milroy displays their importance beautifully: “The tree is the symbol of life itself. Trees actively support our life on earth, through all its cycles and in all its dimensions, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.”
Humans and land are so closely connected, that they can feel each other in a realm that can be seen as “more than human.” Storyteller and wise elder, Bill Neidje, often spoke on this idea that anything you do to the land, you are ultimately doing to yourself. If someone kills a tree, you are going to feel that in your body at some point, because your body is in that tree. Understanding this aspect of Aboriginal thought was crucial for me to grasp concepts like Dadirri fully.
Dadirri stuck with me in an irreversible way. It can be described as inner deep listening and still awareness, paralleling mindfulness is most ways. Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr- Baumann recognizes Dadirri as “the deep spring that is inside us.” In Aboriginal ways of knowing, the people and the land move in unison, so listening to one another is essential in maintaining balance. Miriam says “We are river people. We cannot hurry the river. We have to move with its current and understand its ways.” To practice Dadirri, is to sit with the earth, listen to the earth, and become the earth.
Through practicing dadirri, I’ve come to two realizations: there is always an oppurtunity to connect deeper with the earth and that westernized pace of life I’ve been living is unattainable. There’s this idea that there’s always more to achieve. The faster we work, the more beneficial those achievements will be. Productivity and material gain from that productivity often becomes a mask for happiness. I think it’s easy to get caught in those notions, but I’ve found that it’s possible to set them free. Seeing the way Aboriginal stories flow through time has inspired me to view the concept of time in a whole new light.
There’s a lot to be said about living in unison with nature’s natural course, growing with the grass and circulating with the tides. Time is a construction that can be viewed as endless and nonlinear. In Aboriginal ways of knowing, stories are past, present, and future. They never die.
The constant race towards a “successful” life, the constant staring at screens, the constant need to satisfy the institutions around us, it’s not healthy nor natural. It’s easy to feel trapped in the linear time scale, but there is something freeing about recognizing that it is in fact, a societal construction. This is obviously a privileged take, because there are some things in life we simply have to do to survive, no matter if it’s part of a made up system or not. But taking this perspective once in a while can be helpful in releasing some of that pent up stress. Through practicing Dadirri and listening more to the earth around me, I’ve seen my physical health and mental clarity increase.
It simply comes down to listening. We could avoid so much conflict if people took the time to listen. We talked about something in class that I’ll never forget: if you listen to the energy running through your body, that will enable you to listen to the energy running through the outside world. The rivers, the wind patterns, the energy of those who surround you. Our bodies are our subconscious minds, and not something that should be neglected. If people are able to be in tune internally, they’ll inevitably be more in touch with with the people around them. Being in touch and having empathy for one another is the first step to recognizing systems of oppression.
Storytelling links closely to that idea. I think giving ear to First Nation voices is the most important step in the decolonizing process. In Speaking Truth to Power: Indigenous Storytelling as an Act of Resistance, Indigenous concepts “recognize words as alive inside us.” Aboriginal storytelling in its many forms, is an archive of thousands of years of life. Aboriginal people are the longest surviving ancient culture on the planet. The land and the people that have lived on the land, hold knowledge that needs to be heard.
Indigenous concepts have taught me that stories can be told through the trees and the wind. They can be told through the voices of elders. They don’t have to be attached to linear time, because they are alive, everchanging, and immortal. They are both a powerful form of resistance and a cohesive entity that brings all beings together. As a storyteller and an aspiring journalist myself, these realizations have been pretty special.
Through my interactions with Aboriginal literature here in Australia, I began to feel this yearning to know more about the Indigenous people that first inhabited the land that I’m from. I grew up with no more than a surface level understanding of the Indigenous people of Lake Tahoe. It was a failure in my education system that I’m just now grasping the significance of. So recently, I’ve been trying to understand and connect with the stories of the Washeshu Peoples.
I’ve always known that Lake Tahoe was a very spiritual place, so learning about the Indigenous history there was eye opening. It gave me some clarity in explaining this specific energy I’ve always felt on the land that raised me. The creation story goes like this: the Washishu people were brought to Lake Tahoe by Gewe (the Coyote). Nentasu (the Goddess) told Gewe that this is where they were meant to be. She told all the plants, animals, and medicines to grow strong so they would be able to nourish the people. She then made a pact with the Washishu people that if these beings were to sustain them, they had the utmost responsibility to care for them right back. Mutual nourishment.
The Washeshu people “see every aspect of the environment as sentient beings that are deserving of respect and cooperation if humans are to survive.” All living and nonliving things are viewed as sacred and connected to one another. This concept reminded me of the significance of berries in the epilogue of Returning the Gift. Robin Kimmerer explained the symbiotic relationship between the berries and the people. The berries provide delightful sweetness to “birds and bears and boys alike,” and in return, the people spread their seeds to new lands and give them the resources to blossom. This idea seems so simple, so attainable. It’s almost like it should be a core value instilled in all humans… The land we live on gives us air to breath, water to drink, and the resources we need to survive. So why do people continue to neglect the land and irrevocably wound the land? Indigenous peoples have been practicing sustainable ways of living for thousands of years, but have been neglected & deafened, just like the land.
The concept of “returning the gift” is something I’m going to consciously put into practice in my daily life. I had a major realization about the government during my interactions with Indigenous literature. I always had the preconceived belief that laws are something that humans define. I’d never seen the law as anything other than societal constructions until I read Irene Watson’s piece on ‘Raw Law’. Raw Law, also First Nation’s Law, sees nature and natural resources such as rocks, trees, and rivers as essential political beings. The notion of sovereignty doesn’t exist because everyone is in charge of themselves. When you’re in charge of yourself, it makes it easier to respect all other beings, knowing they’re also in charge of themselves. The people and the land are deeply interconnected and hold a mutual respect for eachother. In turn, there’s this collective consciousness that creates the law. So the “laws” that people adhere to aren’t concrete and made by a bunch of white men in the 1800’s. They are ever changing and made as a result of a symbiotic relationship between the people and the land.
As a white person from the US, I can’t fully understand Aboriginal ways of knowing and living, nor will I ever. What I can do though, is listen to the stories and listen to the land. I can question the systems around me. I can do everything in my power to decolonize my actions and ways of thinking. I can sustain those who sustain me. I can practice Dadirri and find my silent still awareness.
Five months ago, I would have never expected to see how deep my connection with the land of Australia would be. I’ve seen beautiful land and experienced the ocean and all its beauty. Learning about Aboriginal ways of knowing through literature changed how I viewed every place I traveled to. The spiritual presence of the Aboriginal communities throughout this country is powerful and undeniable.
I look out at the ocean and see an entity that is no longer foreign, An entity that is moving and breathing, sustaining life outside and inside it.
I’m 8,000 miles away from the mountains that raised me, yet I feel their presence. Always with the ocean. Always with me.
