River Places

'Place is what takes me out of myself, out of the limited scope of human activity ... A sense of place is a way of embracing humanity among all of its neighbors. It is an entry into the larger world' (Robert Michael Pyle interviewed in Pearson, 1996).

This comment from Robert Michael Pyle underlines the intertwining themes of this blog, that there is something larger, such as the complex interworkings of the ecosystem and something other - our neighbours be they animal, plant or river. This assumption threads an animistic perception of the cosmos with what ecophilosopher David Abram calls a 'sensorial empathy' with the living earth.

By this he means the engagement with all our senses, a heightened awareness of nature through taste, touch, smell, hearing and feeling which brings us into a deep empathetic moment, one that, through the body's responsiveness to the natural world, can stimulate or awaken a sense of responsibility for the earth.

I watched today as joggers, locked into their electronica, zipped past the jewelled blue wrens singing in the day, and perhaps too were oblivious to a magical happening taking place beneath the bushes along the riverbank.

The Brush Turkey has built a huge mound of earth and leaves, a nestling place for eggs. Father Turkey, resplendent with his bright yellow wattle and bright red headdress, was carefully watching over this ecological incubator. His mound is about 2 metres round and almost a metre high. Very grand. The decaying foliage generates heat and keeps the eggs a constant temperature of around 33C. Add more dirt and leaves when it gets cold. Slough them off when it gets warmer. Father Turkey has prime responsibility of this site and needs to keep predators at bay.

Being witness to such wondrous events links me more deeply to the movements of this river-place. Each day there is more to see and more to learn. David Abram (1995:314) suggests such places offer 'vital sources of nourishment'. Separated from such places, we not only lose access to those 'vital sources of nourishment' but also perhaps we lose a sense of who we are. Who we are as nature as well as human is paved over within a high density urban habitat, swelling traffic and an increasingly internalised and indoor lifestyle.

The other evening, at a different river place, I watched joggers and exercisers encased behind glass at the local gym. No one was out running along the river bank or walking their dogs. No one was simply out for an evening stroll. It was a warm still night and the river was glorious as the urban lights twinkled their reflection on the water.

References
Abram David, 1995, 'The Ecology of Magic,' in Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes & Alan D. Kanner, eds., Ecopsychology. Restoring the Earth. Healing the Mind, San Francisco, Sierra Club.
Abram David, 1998, 'Trust Your Senses,' Resurgence, 187, Mar./Apr., 13-15.
Abram David, 2004, 'Earth Stories.' Resurgence, 222, http://www.resurgence.org/resurgence/issues/abram222.htm
Pearson Michael, 1996, 'Robert Michael Pyle,' In John Elder, ed., American Nature Writers, Volume 2, 733-39, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons.

Grey Foggy Valley

Over the past week a pall of smokey haze has hung over the river valley. There is continual smell of smoke in the air and the images of the river are also swathed in this haze. This leads me to contemplate issues of pollution, responsibility and something that has become apparent in Brisbane's spectrum of weather, a lack of wind.

The river is consistently glassy and so smooth that the river bank vegetation flourishes, mirrored in the water's flatness. Each day it's beautiful, a beauty that is breathtaking. In this dazzling riverscape the absense of wind is hardly noticed. But when pollution hovers above and within the valley, the absense of wind is apparent.

Breath. Breeze. Zephyr. Wind. Blustery. Stormy. Gale.

The weather pundits say that the pollution will blow away when the wind comes - but away where? Attitudes like this abnegate responsibility. Instead of relying on the wind to blow the pollution away, why not limit or halt the source of pollution in the first place? A 'wait for the wind' perspective is another example of the 'out of sight, out of mind' attitude towards environmental degradation.

The word for wind in many cultures is directly related to the word for breath and spirit. In-spir-ation. Re-spir-ation. It's also evident in the spiritual beliefs of children. In a study of children from diverse religious backgrounds by Robert Coles (1990) found that many hold an animistic perception, that nature is alive and has feelings. They also believe that nature has a religious dimension and several describe their experiences of ‘the spirit’ or ‘the voice of God’ or ‘Allah’ as floating on the wind.

The connections are sublime: human-nature-spirit, wrapped as one.

References:
Coles R, 1990 The Spiritual Life of Children. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co.

Nature Connecting: Breathing the Land

Sensing the land. The textures. The colours. The patterns in the mud. The mist rising from the water. The crunch of dry leaves under foot. The haunting sound of the raven. Finding meaning in the symbolic terrain. Nature connecting teaches us to be sensitive to the landscape and responsive to it. To develop a relational way of seeing and being. To remember that the oxygen we breathe in has been breathed out by the trees, and our breaths flow together. We are tied to the natural world.

Over the years I've talked to a number of people about their intimate relationship with nature. I am interested in the links between their nature experiences and their desire to protect the planet. I remember once talking to a science teacher and biologist, Jane, then in her early 30s, recalled the time when she suddenly realised the direct and simultaneous ‘breathing relationship' with a grove of trees, her life changed irrevocably.

Jane admitted that although she ‘had known about this connection for years and had even taught it in school’, she had never fully realised its deeper significance. It was an empowering experience not only spiritually but in terms of her environmental activism. She says that not long after ‘being breathed by the huge trees in the Melbourne's Exhibition Gardens', Jane travelled to Northern Territory and became heavily involved in the anti-uranium blockade. She says she loved to observe the way the protesters from the cities down south would fall slowly into the rhythms of the land and be captivated and taken over by them.

Jane’s sudden recognition of herself as interconnected with all lifeforms is an example of what ecopsychologist Sarah Conn (1990:164) refers to as the ‘self-world connection’. Conn contends that responsibility to help the world begins with such an experience of awareness. She argues there is a relationship between feeling responsive in nature and being responsible for it; it begins with practice.

'Practice in directly sensing the world - hearing, touching, smelling, and tasting as well as seeing - enhances the human-Earth connection, thereby increasing the likelihood of involvement in social and environmental issues. Tapping into the emotional connection with the world, feelings of love and joy in its beauty on the one hand and feelings of concern about what's happening in and to it - despair, anger, fear - on the other, can provide an important source of energy as well as motivation for involvement' (Conn, 1990:164).

According to Conn, feelings of love and beauty, coupled by feelings of fear, anger, trauma, lay the groundwork for involvement in environmental care. Likewise, Kirk Brown (1997:59) recommends that ‘bringing people into natural beauty’ is essential for encouraging activism. He quotes the psychologist James Hillman (1993) as saying that ‘if we are cut off from the ability to respond to beauty in a vigorous way, we have little desire to fight for its preservation’.

Nature connecting is love in action. Sensuous love. Active love. Love grown out of intimate knowledge – getting your hands dirty, gutting a fish, planting the river, going on pilgrimage, walking the dog, praying for earth healing, crying your heart out, loving the place where you live. Earth carers act out of desire - their heart's desire.

References
Brown K, 1997, 'From the Inside Out: Building a Sustainable Environmental
Movement,' The Trumpeter, 14, 2, Spring, 57-60.
Conn SA, 1990, 'The Relationship between Global Responsibility and PersonalEmpowerment,' New England Journal of Public Policy, 6, 1, 163-177.
Hillman J 1993, 'The Practice of Beauty,' Resurgence, 157, 34-37.

A Fiesta of Birds

It was almost incredible. I couldn't stop smiling. A chase between the Brahminy Kite, Ravens and Currawongs. They swooped low across the river, up and down, then coasted along the river bank, into the treetops, around and back again as if dancing. Close they came. Sometimes it looked as if the Kite was chasing the smaller birds; sometimes it looked the other way around. The currawong sang as it flew. Was the Kite on guard and protecting its homeplace from marauding flyers? Or was it a question of territory? Either way it was an honour to see such a rare site. It was awesome, beautiful, and a privilege just to stand and watch.

My friend Amy Lenzo who produces the Beauty Dialogues blog wrote recently about a phenonomen called Stendhalism. This is the feeling of awe in the presence of beauty. She writes:

'It was named for the French poet Stendhal because purportedly he was so dazed he could barely walk while admiring the beauty of Santa Croce (apparently he wrote eloquently on the subject in his book Naples and Florence: A Journey from Milan to Reggio).

'Much of our language around beauty references this beguiling aspect of her nature... she's 'dazzling', 'stunning'; we're 'mesmerized', 'astounded', 'dazed' and 'amazed' when we look into the open center of her mystery...

'Sometimes I think this sense of awe, or internal 'opening' as I experience it, is close to the very essence of beauty, of what makes something beautiful. But what is it that triggers a blow-out of the senses and an inability to contain that much pleasure, that much beauty?'

The river valley spreads its beauty along the watery flow snaking its way from mountain to sea. I gasped with joy at the beauty of the birds' dance, the majesty of the Kite, the glorious song of the currawong, the speed of the raven and more. All around the river the other birds seemed indifferent to the action above. Butcherbirds. Wille Wagtails. Tiny birds flitting through the undergrowth. And more.

Earlier as I stepped into this wonderland I saw a smallish turquoise jewell in the trees. A kingfisher. My first on this river. It was a day of discovery and a real feast of colour. And there was still more to come.

King parrots dashed past the branches showing off their bright red and green feathers. Higher overhead a flock of cockatoos shrieked laughingly as if relishing the day; I relished it too. I looked up continually there was so much to see. Pink and grey galahs settled onto their high treetop homesteads, bobbing in and out of their tree hollow nesting places. Grey teal ducks swam on the glassy water. Even the wind was quiet.

Then the tranquility of the place was shattered by two jet skis mashing the mirrored liquid into waves that spread across the river. Brrrgggmmmm Brrrrrrggggmmm Brrrrggggmmmmm....

And then they were gone.

Sacred Elemental Ecology

The river is flowing, flowing and growing down to the sea,
The river is flowing, flowing and growing down to the sea,
Mother carry me, your child I will always be.
Mother carry me, your child I will always be.

I learnt this chant many years ago. The flow of the song, the flow of the words when sung with others, over and over, is a powerful symbol or metaphor for the flow of life, the flow of knowledge, the flow of ecological and ecospiritual wisdom.

There is a wisdom inherent in the elements, water, fire, earth, air, that guides the spirit of the planet. This lush spirit flows in the movement of the ecosystem, the planetary turns and the tidal exchange of fresh and salt water. At the moment and globally, these spiritual and elemental dimensions seem out of balance: there's terrible floods in UK, widespread forest fires in the Mediterranean, while in Australia there were huge floods a couple of weeks ago in Victoria which broke the drought, but the drought is still raging in the heart of Brisbane's river city.

Humanity also seems out of balance. Australia has become a more stratified and snobbish society says social observer Hugh Mackay. And it's also a less nature-engaged population in part due to the techno-managerial imperative and a faster paced life which has resulted in a community somewhat disconnected from their place in the natural order of things. But we're also dis-located/dis-placed through the unthinking destruction of habitat.

In New South Wales a positive human-ecological note. A recent survey of environmental attitudes (2007) showed that most people are concerned about, and value the natural environment, with 90 percent citing water as an issue of great concern, with global warming not far behind. But this leads to a paradox - whose needs are paramount: human's or nature's? There is a dialectic at work here, between the reciprocal relationship with the natural world where nature is viewed as having intrinsic value (an end in itself), and the anthropocentric viewpoint with nature being seen in utilitarian (human use) terms.

Anthropocentism focuses on environmental quality as far as human needs are concerned. In contrast, biocentrism or ecocentrism takes account of the quality of the ecosystem and ecosystem 'services'. But generally in this society, there is a desperate lack of awareness about the needs of nature, about the ecological patterning within the land (earth), air, water and fire.

For many industrial-directed folk, the earth is valued for its economic usefulness to humans despite the talk on sustainabiity and the triple bottom line. And as global warming rears up like a firey dragon, the earth is becoming increasingly valued for its ecological utility - as a source of carbon credits which can be traded in the global marketplace. But such a view leaves the spiritual and religious values of nature out in the cold.

But not out of the hearts of nature carers. The wonderful nature writer and philosopher Kathleen Dean Moore (2006) takes up this issue of the significance of religious and spiritual nature connections in an article about the values of old growth forests. She writes that these magnificient groves of ancient trees 'speak with an uncommon power of the imagining and feeling part of the human mind. They have the power to make a person fall silent with wonder and gratitude, to deepen a person's connections to the wellsprings of life and death and mystery' (2006:1120).

Wonder. Gratitude. Existence. Mystery.

A similarly evocative idea was raised earlier by Neils Elers Koch (1997) from the Danish Forest and Landscape Research Institute, who says that:

'The forest has always - and probably in all cultures - been a source of many intangible values such as religious feelings, spiritual values, peace, etc. In many cultures the forest is a symbol of the mother, or the forest is considered as an archetype. The forest as an archetype means that symbolically it reflects the basic structure of the unconscious, the undefinable, essence of life and existence ... If foresters do not respect these values they may reduce the quality of life and create large conflicts with local society.'

Like forests, the Brisbane River, as well as other riverine systems, can be seen in such instrumental terms as providing peace, tranqulity, beauty and joy. There is a gentle beauty about the flow of the local river, with its rise and fall in tune with the ocean. It's beautiful now but along the trail you can see the memory of the once magnificent old growth forest that stood here - huge tree stumps of rainforest that shaded the river and provided habitat for myriad creatures. An image taken in 1866 held in the State Library of Queensland shows a gigantic spreading fig tree along the river. An ant-like sized person stands beside the flying butresses and is dwarfed by the tree's mammoth size.

Kathleen Dean Moore says that forests of such cathedral-like trees invite 'a sense of wonder - radical amazement at life on this majestic scale' (2006:1121). That sense of amazement and majesty still lingers even if the trees have long disappeared. Could they come back? Well yes, if we replant them and nurture their growth, habitat and beauty.

Connecting to the ancient forests, the river valley, the urban wilderness, brings benefits in terms of human health and wellbeing. Being in the outdoors, on land or with water, can positively affect physical health in terms of exercise. It can also lead to spiritual renewal, a reduction in stress, a gaining of insight as well as personal transformation. These aspects are well documented in research. Of particular interest is the work of Frances Kuo and others from the University of Illiinois on the reduction of some illhealth symptoms such as ADD and ADHD in children (Kuo & Taylor, 2004) and obesity in children and adults.

In terms of social health, the provision of natural spaces in inner city environments can also have a positive effect on the reduction of crime and enhancement of community safety. This work from Kathy Wolf from the University of Washington is worth investigating by local councils and NGOs here. Greening the city would be more quickly enhanced if the social as well as the economic benefits of tree planting in urban areas, shopping centres and car parks were publicised.

The therapeutic benefits of being in nature, connecting to the delicate and often subtle rhythms of the natural world are at the heart of ecopsychology and earth-based therapies like hortitherapy, pet therapy, and environmental psychology. There is a documented link between the health and wellbeing of the human community, and the health and wellbeing of ecological systems. It's only natural.

Going riverwalking and working with the local Bushcare group both help to repair the human soul and the earth's.

References
Department of Environment and Climate Change, NSW, 2007, Who Cares about the Environment in 2006, http://www.environment.nsw.gov.au/whocares/whocares2006.htm
Koch NE, 1997, Forest, Quality of Life and Livelihoods, 5, 25, XI World Forestry Congress, Antalya, Turkey, October 1997.
Kuo FE and AF Taylor, 2004, A Potential Natural Treatment for Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder: Evidence From a National Study, American Journal of Public Health, 94, 9, 1580-1586.
Moore KD, 2006, In the Shadow of the Cedars: the Spiritual Values of Old Growth Forests, Conservation Biology, 21, 4, 1120-1123.

Bandicoot

The bandicoot lay dead on the middle of the trail. What killed it? I tried to surmise whether it had been knocked by a car, or attacked by a feral cat but it lay peacefully on the path and there seemed to be no visible signs of attack. I buried it in the bushes.

The bandicoot is a nocturnal animal and this was the first one I'd seen. I'd been wondering where the small marsupials were. I'd seen the occasional ringtail possum running across the electricity wires at dusk and spied their nests in the tree branches, sometimes with a small prehensile tail hanging down from the compactly woven possum-house. And I'd fed the visiting brushtail in the back garden. Walking along the river I often expected to see wallabies bouncing along the bushy riverbank but I had not imagined to see a bandicoot.

A local ornithologist came walking by, binoculars around his neck. I asked what birds he'd seen. 'Just the usual,' he said. So I told him about the bandicoot and his reply was, 'Well, every bandicoot has its day.'

The University of Queensland is doing research on these charming creatures still managing to eke out an existence in the pockets of fragmented bushland in Brisbane's suburbs. It's called: 'Life in the suburbs: the ecology of the northern brown bandicoot in suburban Brisbane.' The research is being conducted by: Sean Fitzgibbon and Anne Goldizen. In the website of the Behavioural Ecology Research Group, they say:

'The northern brown bandicoot (Isoodon macrourus) is a small marsupial that is able to survive in suburban areas, where patches of bushland occupy only a tiny fraction of the landscape. Bandicoots reside in these patches during the day, but often venture by night into people's backyards and adjacent parklands to forage. They are very secretive, and often the only sign of their presence is the conical holes they leave in the soil surface as they dig for insects and plant matter.

In the hostile suburban environment, bandicoots face an array of threats unlike those in extensive natural bushland, eg. domestic cats and dogs, human activity (esp. cars) and a severe lack of suitable daytime habitat. So what is it about bandicoots that allows them to persist in suburbia, when so many of our native mammals become locally extinct?

This project focuses on a few suburban bandicoot populations on Brisbane's southside, and is aimed at understanding how bandicoots survive (and seem to thrive) in these areas. Mark-recapture programs have been established to look at reproductive output and timing, as well as population density and demography. Radio-telemetry will also be used to study the movements of individuals, so that home ranges and activity patterns can be estimated. This results of this project will assist the conservation of more specialised mammal species that would normally become extinct in the face of urbanisation.'

For me, the sight of the bandicoot was both a gift and a reminder. The gift is the knowledge that small marsupials live along the river. The reminder is the knowledge that we need to take care of small native animals, to keep the bush, to save the trees, to stop the destructive development.

Sustainable urban development is possible. Retaining the bushland and creating sustainable housing is possible. People living side by side with bush and small mammals is possible. It requires commitment, care and understanding. And it requires seeing and connecting meaningfully with nature.

I have discovered that there is a difference in the way people see the natural enviroment. Some people see nature in the foreground; they see the flowers emerging, they hear the plovers overhead, they witness the magnificent sunset over the hills, and they smell the ground after rain. (What rain?) While for others, nature is in the background, or does not seem to be there at all.

People who drive to work comment that the only thing they see is traffic, asphalt, cars, jams, and they find it difficult to describe what natural elements they would see if they had to walk to work. They don't seem to notice the cerulean blue sky. Or the trees along the roadway, the glimmering river water, or the weedy plants pushing up through the cracks in the concrete. It's hard to imagine that nature is invisible.

The death of the gentle bandicoot is a reminder to take care, to question, to protest unsustainable development, to join with others in rejoicing the bounty of the natural world and pay homage to the shy creatures of the bush.

In Search of Rain

Each day as I wake and look out at the sky and see its bright blueness and its clarity I wonder from whence cometh the rain. While parts of the country are still water-logged after heavy downpours and floods, here we cherish each drop, recycle the grey water onto the garden, bathe in less than a small bucket, and think about and pray for rain. Sometimes there are sights of grey skies, perhaps a hint of being overcast, but nothing or very little of the watery drop transpires.

The image of this tiny new branch with its luscious crimson and copper leaves emerged from the small eucalypt after the last rainfall a couple of weeks ago. It flushed the river and brought life-giving oxygen to the water. The river needs another bath.

Worshiping water, the water that flows in the river, through the ocean, in our bodies, through the blood, sweat, tears, urine and amniotic fluid, connects us to the lifeblood of the planet, to the element of 'Divine Water' (Arvigo & Epstein, 2003), to the gushing salty liquid that rises and falls on the tides of the river.

Rosita Arvigo and Nadine Epstein have written a generous homage to the Divine Water through their book called Spiritual Bathing: Healing Rituals and Traditions from Around the World (2003). Water is worshipped by many cultures still, and through the book gods and goddesses swim through mythologies, creation stories, religious histories, and is woven through rituals that revere the liquid bliss.

In the book they explore the spiritual significance of water rituals through ancient and modern religious practices, from Egyptian to Mayan, from Judaism to Islam, from Scandinavia to Africa. Cleansing rituals, rituals of purification, for protection or prosperity; water-based practices for scrying, healing and contemplation.

The spirit of water bubbles through the beautiful images, with the authors commenting: 'A spiritual bath usually combines water, prayer and ritual - and sometimes includes plants - to wash away the negative effects of ....[and here they list a stream of emotions such as 'anger, fear, grief and trauma, and a broken heart'](2003:3).

The earth, like the human, needs a spiritual bath, and the ground needs to be watered with 'aspersions' (meaning 'To scatter and sprinkle with water', 2003:2).

If you would like to make a comment, please click on 'Comments' below.

References:
Arvigo R & Epstein N, 2003, Spiritual Bathing: Healing Rituals and Traditions from Around the World, Berkeley & Toronto, Celestial Arts.

River Flowing, Sea Moving, Explain

This post is inspired by the video that goes with the Sarah Blasko's magical song
'explain' from the album
'What the Sea wants, the Sea will have'. It shows nature in trouble while the animals and birds watch on. Sometimes I think that writing a blog in the midst of such an ecological imperative adds to my sense of bewilderment at why, as Blasko sings, 'there is a heavy cloud hanging over us'.

It rained all night again. The water. Flowing. Down. Running. Along.

When I was small I used to love going swimming in the rain in the bay, being totally immersed in a mix of fresh and salt waters, and feeling at once the warmer and cooler water as the sea's water often seemed warmer than the rain.

And going riverswimming as a child, the water, warmish on the surface, but deeper down, the cold grabs you - tugging at your toes as you wonder what creatures are lying in wait in the muddy bottom.

Riverswimming these days in the Brisbane River seems to be non-existent at least in the inner city area. People I've spoken to say they would not consider it. The river is too polluted. Too dirty. And yet in the mid 1800s the river was a haven for bathing and shark proofed bathing pools were erected along the river which lasted for 70 years.

A friend who has lived on the river most of his adult life tells me that many Brisbane residents view the river in a utilitarian way - the view, the ferry, a place to row - or as an inconvenience when they have to cross the river with insufficient bridges and often hideous traffic.

Can the river have an instrinisic value of its own? A value not connected wih human use? When we (humans) think of water as a resource, of the river as just a view, or a ferry ride, what happens to the river? When we pay for water use, and the authorities increase the amount we pay, does that make us more ecologically sensitive, or aqua-logically sensitive?

Al Gore's film An Inconvenient Truth changed the green - and blue - consciousness in Australia. Instead of the media questioning global warming, the launch of the film, coupled with the effect of the drought especially in inland rural areas, shifted the focus to water resources, to water scarcity, and now to desalination plants. Use less water. Harness the rain. Swim in the river. Treat it with sacredness. Watch the 'environmental flows' and bring a balance not only to water resource use, but to the ecosystem as a whole and create a condition where the river has an intrinsic right to its own water. Celebrate the river.

The International Union for the Conservation of Nature defines environmental flows as: 'the water regime provided within a river, wetland or coastal zone to maintain ecosystems and their benefits where there are competing water uses and where flows are regulated'. A water regime?

In September this year, in Brisbane, there will be a whole conference devoted to 'Environmental Flows' aimed at managing water and conserving ecosystem health. The conference is part of the great Brisbane River Festival devoted to the celebration of this sacred waterway that snakes through the city.

Water Running Out

On the Water Conserve portal I found this highly disturbing post from Dr Glenn Barry. He cites the United Nations' Millennium Project as saying the world's water is running out as there are 'no more rivers to take water from'. This is also the outcome as displayed by the hydrological cycle, flowing from sea to sky, from fresh to salt. The water is held within this cycle; it moves from rain to sleet and snow; it runs through rivers to oceans and back to rain, sleet and snow. Looking at the river in Brisbane it's hard to fathom that the flow could ever cease. In the bigger picture the river is playing its vital role in sustaining the viabilty and vitality of ecosystem services.

I remember being in Yirrkala in Northeast Arnhemland a few years ago and going to watch a class at the local community school about the water cycle. The Yolngu children were first taught by the non-Aboriginal teacher in English, and in a western scientific paradigm about the watery interconnections. Then we climbed into the school bus and went to visit an elder couple who taught the children the manikay or sacred songs about the flourishing of weather and the movement of waters. This is an example of the 'both ways' education in operation; it is an inspirational approach that parallels the practical psycho-philosophical worldview that pervades this north Australian community.

Sitting on the beach the women, teachers at the school, shared their knowledge about how the exchange of salt and fresh water through the movement of the tides acts as a life-affirming and vital metaphor for living and sharing in this community. The metaphor of 'ganma' sits within the flowing waters as a foundational principle. It refers to the swirling of river and ocean flows that meet and merge in the tidal lagoon.

In metaphorical terms, ganma refers to the interlinking of western and indigenous knowledge systems where the interflowing sea water represents western knowledge, and the outerflowing river-land water represents indigenous knowledge. The waters move, flow over, overflow together, enjoined as one. This concept represents a deeper understanding, a deeper truth, where the place of interconnecting waters is likened to the place of interconnecting peoples, to the flowing together of people with country.

In outlining the significance of ganma Hughes (2000) writes: 'Ganma is an Indigenous form of dialectical praxis for working both-ways, with Indigenous and Western cultures. Ganma does two things. It takes elements of Western culture and makes them Aboriginal, and it provides a pattern for interaction and dialogue that respects the integrity of both cultures.'

Both ways is the guiding principle for what could be. It links. It brings together. It acts. It reconciles. It flows as one.

If you would like to add a comment, please click on 'Comments' below.

References:
Hughes I, 2000, Ganma: Indigenous Knowledge for Reconciliation and Community Action, Action Research E-Reports, 14, http://www.fhs.usyd.edu.au/arow/arer/014.htm

Riverpsychology

The river has a subtle way of moving into the heart. I miss it if I can't riverwalk. It is a place for reflection and quiet contemplation about the world. But in focusing this blog around the river I wonder if it is possible to shift more into the global political, social and spiritual arena as the media is filled with the suffering and pain of people and land in pockets actoss the globe. Palestine. Sudan. Iraq. There is a human and an ecological toll.

For example, during the week (June 16) the Secretary-General of the U.N. Ban Ki-moon said that in part, global warming has aggravated the conflict in Dafur, Sudan. He points to the severe drought that has plagued the region and suggests that water shortage have provoked the fighting. 'Almost invariably, we discuss Darfur in a convenient military and political shorthand — an ethnic conflict pitting Arab militias against black rebels and farmers...Look to its roots, though, and you discover a more complex dynamic.'

Contemplating these big issues as well as possible solutions seem daunting, fraught, and yet, brave peacemakers are continually working to heal and encourage peace. On a recent visit to Brisbane the inspirational peacebuilder Satish Kumar asked what would happen if, instead of a Department of Defence and the Armed Forces, there was a Department or Ministry of Peace.

These thoughts travel with me as I muse along the river.

The rivertrail is a good place for reflection - to take time to merge with the ebb and flow of this tidal river, to watch the mangrove roots rise through the mud, to listen to the tiny olive SilverEyes chirp through the upper eucalypt branches, to breathe the musty-dusty earth and to find an internal placidity among these elements. Being connected to the river, as the light drizzle barely wets the ground, affects the physical (exercise), emotional (sense of wellbeing), and spiritual (heart) and shows me there is a correlation between being part of the river system, connecting with the watery ecology, and the way I feel.

This interconnectivity between human and ecosytem is the core of the field of ecopsychology. Ecopsychology promotes an intimate and dynamic connection between healing the mind and healing and protecting the earth.

Ecopsychology combines psychology and ecology and advances that there is an interconnection between personal crisis, societal crisis and the planetary crisis. As separate discourses, psychology focuses on suffering as an individual problem while ecopsychology sees it as a collective problem as well. The challenge, hopes clinical psychologist Sarah Conn (1995:171), is to find ways to deal with the personal issues so they are no longer seen as individual problems but ‘as microcosms of the larger whole, of what is happening in the world’. As the person works to heal themselves and rediscover joy in the world, they are also learning to contribute to the healing of the earth.

Peter Cock (1996) terms this process of encountering nature and aspects of our own natures as ‘being and becoming in nature’. ‘Being through nature’ can come about by sitting quietly in the outdoors and just ‘be-ing’. These quiet reflective moments open up a path of communication to the wider world where people can get in touch with their inner nature, through a process of becoming responsive to elements in the natural world, and being responsible for caring for self and others (human and other-than-human)

‘Becoming through nature’ assumes that the earth has something to teach us about ourselves and our relationship with it. Cock (1996:3) describes the process as one of observing and taking note of how we feel in nature, seeing ‘attributes of ourselves highlighted in the characteristics of plants, animals and elements, such as the hardness of rocks, the slipperiness of fish, the piercing eye of an eagle, the persistence of a wombat’. These metaphors then become messages for personal reflection and self-transformation.

However, there is no guarantee that this self-transformative process will lead directly or indirectly to environmental action, although the person may gain a deeper awareness about themselves and a deeper understanding of the connection that binds them to the natural world. John Davis (1998:95) maintains that either outcome is relevant as the experience itself, if practised ‘regularly over a long period of time is a potent spiritual practice’. For Davis, the process of ‘being and becoming in nature’ takes on the mantle of ritual.

Riverwalking is a ritual. Today I meet a Black Faced Cuckoo Shrike, a family of unknown largish birds I can't identify even from the bird book (they could be curlews). Later I spy a tree filled with more than a dozen resting Ibis. They look like giant white fruit and this charming sight nourishes my spirit.

If you would like to make a comment, click on 'Comments' below.

References:
Cock PH, 1996, 'Ecological Practice for Nature Carers: Work in Progress', Paper presented to the Social Ecology Colloquium: Sense of Place: Depth Perspectives on Australian Landscapes and Environmental Values, University of Western Sydney, Hawkesbury, Dec. 1996.
Conn SA, 1995, 'When the Earth Hurts, Who Responds?' in T Roszak, ME Gomes & AD Kanner, Eds, Ecopsychology. Restoring the Earth. Healing the Mind. San Francisco: Sierra Club.
Davis J, 1998, 'The Transpersonal Dimensions of Ecopsychology: Nature, Nonduality, and Spiritual Practice',The Humanist Psychologist, 26, 1-3, 69-100.

Winter Solstice

A cold breeze flies up the river valley. But this is Brisbane where the chill factor is relative. It's not really cold. But it is windy. For most of the time since I have been here the wind has been almost absent. A ruffle here, a flash there but the wind has not whipped up waves on the river, not until now and then perhaps they are only in my imagination, or in the wash of a passing boat. A couple of south-west windy days has knocked down trees, blown leaves off trees, and given the impression that this is winter. A rainless winter.

Last night on the radio I heard a discussion about Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, that is suffered by people in dark long winters. It causes them depression and a feeling reminiscent of the sense of dark. That's why in England for instance the coming of the sun is worshipped. At Stonehenge 20,000 people brought in the dawn with ritual and revelling. The long darks nights will make way for the summer, growth and harvest.

Ecopsychologist Susan Brelin-Becchio uses the framework of the ever-revolving changing seasons as a metaphor and lesson for life. Through her seasonal-psychological-ecological process, she shows how the earth and its life-giving/death-bringing processes deliver a pattern for personal enrichment which is bound in the soil, in the movement of the tides and breath of the wind. She calls her practice Deep Elemental Ecology and states that: 'All the Seasons are reflective of our own inner world.' (2003).

In terms of the solstice for the southern hemisphere, Brelin-Becchio continues: 'Winter is the time to reflect more deeply on these inner roots, taking a moment to consider where the instability lies, and how to strengthen and balance these foundational patterns in order for them to be able to support an outward movement and vision come Spring and Summer. Time perhaps to re-educate old, long-held belief patterns and to prepare to embrace the newness of Spring with buoyancy, enthusiasm, and innocence.'

This is the reflection for the turning seasons, the ebb and flow of shade and light, a reconsideration and reframing of the long held beliefs, in this society at least, that we are distant from nature. And yet the day-night nuances of the winter solstice, and the suffering, especially of those in the northern hemisphere who endure the wintery wonderland, show that our bodies respond to the seasons, both as metaphors and literally when they are affected by the well-named seasonal affective disorder or 'sad'. The Solstices are celebrated through the body as if the body wakes up with the light, stretches into spring, delights in the turning wheel of birth, growth, mid-life, death and rebirth, and all the while dancing with joyful thanks.

The river today shone with winter glory. The sky was radiant. SAD was a long way away. And the river is waiting for rain.

If you would like to make a comment, click on 'Comments' below.

Reference:
Brelin-Becchio S, 2003, Deep Elemental Ecology, Gatherings, 8, August, http://www.ecopsychology.org/journal/gatherings8/html/mirror/mirror_tp.html

Aquaphilia

Aquaphilia is a condition of loving waterways, rivers, oceans, bays, lakes, springs, rain, snow and ice. It flows through our lives like a dazzling current. Aquaphilia emerges out of an immersion in waterscapes and their surroundings, so much so that we are transformed. The result is a deep respect and reverence for the life giving properties of water. Water is precious but all over the world waterways, both salt and fresh, are under threat from urban development, industrialisation, pollution, overfishing and global warming. But likewise, across the globe, there are watercarers working to protect and preserve these sacred environments.

In the past two weeks the environment has played centre stage at the G8 meeting in Germany. Sir Bob Geldof called it 'a total farce'. The major government leaders seemed to bury their heads in the sand, not seeing the urgent need to take the environment seriously, well not until or at least the year 2050.

Their lack of action flew in the face of a UN report 'Global Outlook for Ice and Snow' released last week which heralded the enormous impact that melting ice and snow will have on millions of people and environments worldwide. The report noted that 'glaciers from the Himalayas to the Alps are in retreat, permafrost from Alaska to Siberia is warming and snowfalls are becoming unreliable in many regions' (Doyle, 2007).

While the G8 nations have been at their talkfest, another important environment event was taking place in the American Senate Environment and Public Works Committee: An Examination of the Views of Religious Organizations Regarding Global Warming. One of the speakers giving evidence was the Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church. Before becoming a priest she was an oceanographer, and she began her testimony merging her scientific background with her faith:

'As one who has been formed both through a deep faith and as a scientist I believe science has revealed to us without equivocation that climate change and global warming are real, and caused in significant part by human activities. They are a threat not only to God’s good creation but to all of humanity. This acknowledgment of global warming, and the Church’s commitment to ameliorating it, is a part of the ongoing discovery of God’s revelation to humanity and a call to a fuller understanding of the scriptural imperative of loving our neighbor'.

Loving our neighbour. The ocean. The river. The creatures of the water. In the animistic world of visionary and indigenous cultures, neighbours can be both human and 'other than human' - rivers, trees, rocks, birds, animals. This is illustrated beautifully in the words of the Inuit elder Nalungiaq interviewed in the 1930s by Danish ethnographer Knut Rasmussen (cited by Rothenberg, 1996:139):

'In the very earliest time, when both people and animals lived on the earth, a person could become an animal if she wanted,
or an animal could be a human being. There was no difference. All spoke the same language.'

Can we still learn to speak the language of animals, or hear the guuurrrggle of the river, the plushshshshsh of the ocean wave, or attune to the sounds of the earth? Dave Foreman (1991:4-5) passionate activist from the Rewilding Institute and founder of Earth First! in the US, says 'Yes' and declares his animism:

'We must break out of society’s freeze on our passions, we must become animals again. … Damn it, I am an animal. A living being of flesh and blood, storm and fury. The oceans of the Earth course through my veins, the winds of the sky fill my lungs, the very bedrock of the planet makes my bones.'

Perhaps the biophilia hypothesis of E. O Wilson (1986) shares, to some extent, this animistic view. Wilson explains that as humans, we have an innate affinity with with the natural world; it's hardwired, part of our genetic makeup. This love of life compels us to embrace a conservation ethic. It is only natural. We are nature and we need the otherness of nature for human survival. Physically we need nature for food and shelter, but emotionally and spiritually, connecting with nature, with the river, with sacred places, can boost emotional and spiritual wellbeing and quality of life (Ogunseitan, 2005).

If you would like to make a comment, please click 'Comments' below.

References:
Doyle A, 2007, Melting Ice, Snow To Hit Livelihoods Worldwide, UN Says, Environmental News Network, June 4, http://www.enn.com/today.html?id=12883
Foreman D, 1991, Confessions of An Eco-Warrior, New York, Harmony Books.
Ogunseitan OA, 2005, Topophilia and the Quality of Life, Environmental Health Perspectives, 113, 2, 143-148, http://repositories.cdlib.org/postprints/623
Rothenberg D, Ed, 1996, Wild Ideas, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press.
Wilson EO, 1986, Biophilia, Cambridge, Harvard University Press.

The Raven Tree

Not long ago, as I trotted along the riverside track, I heard a loud cawing of ravens. Not one long call but one, and another, and another, and another. A chorus of raven calls coming from just one tree. Over a dozen ravens were perched high in one eucalypt and although there were other tall trees nearby, more and more ravens kept flying into this one tree beacon. It sounded like the tree itself was singing.

But it was the sound of one call overlapping with another and another, multiplied by many birds, that created an unusual multilayered tone, at least for this environment. It was as if the birds were chanting a long drawn out 'OM'. A spiritual chant across the Brisbane River from birds known for their magic and role in mythology and fairy tale.

Ravens chanting 'OM' reminds me of a wondrous experience recounted by the Gestalt psychologist John Swanson (1997). Every year John spends time alone in wild nature on a kind of personal vision quest. One morning, as he sat on a pile of logs on the river, meditating and chanting his own version of 'OM', he was joined in his ceremony by one of the local residents. It is such a special story that I will quote John Swanson here in full:

'Wednesday morning: As I hop out to my place on the logs, the sunlight is already showing on the treetops behind me. I begin as I often do with a combination of praying, gently "ohming," and singing "thank you for this day." As the sun begins to break the horizon, I settle more deeply into the serenity of gentle ohming. The soothing sounds of my chanting reverberate within and without.

When the sun is half way up, I look to my left and sitting on the same log, about twelve feet to my left, is an otter!

I fall silent, being careful not to make any sudden gestures. I sit very still, containing my excitement about what will happen next. He -- if he is a "he" -- stays there only briefly before slithering off the log. Breaking my own guidelines which call for silence, I resume my gentle ohming chant. A few moments later, his head pops up in front of me and slightly to the right; close enough so that if I bent over and leaned out I could have touched him. Eyeball to eyeball, we look into each other's eyes for a few long seconds. Then, the otter opens its mouth, and in a raspy low moan out comes the sound, "ohm." As soon as he finishes this startlingly good otter version, he drops out of sight again. In the silence that follows, I feel astonished, exhilarated and blessed.

I resume ohming, which now resonates with special feeling for my surprise visitor. This time around I sing not only "Thank you for this day" but also "Thank you for this otter." A short while later, I notice a nose sticking out from between two logs just two or three feet to my left and slightly behind me. My otter friend has joined the ceremony. I continue to ohm and once again he responds with his own ohm sound. I am sharing my sunrise ceremony with an otter! After awhile he disappears beneath the water.

Soon after his departure, I express my gratitude for this wonderful event and start to leave. Two steps into leaving, a loud moan startles me as I step onto a log. Recoiling with dread that I might have squashed him under the log, I bend over, scanning the surface of the water for some sign of him, saying, "I'm sorry. Are you OK?" Immediately, the otter appears and swims around and right up to my right foot which he would be touching if it weren't higher up on the log. Looking right into my eyes, he "ohms again." I "ohm" back. Again, we are eyeball to eyeball. I find myself talking to him, "Isn't this a wonderful home" and "I am writing a book that I hope will help save this place and others like it for us all." After this brief encounter, he once again submerges. I pause a moment to see if he will re-emerge, and when he doesn't, I return to my campsite.'

John Swanson's book is called Communing with Nature: A Guidebook for Enhancing your Relationship with the Living Earth. Corvallis, OR, Illahee Press, 2001.

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Reference:
Swanson JL, 1997, Prescribing Nature: Exploring the Subjective Frontiers of Nature, http://ecopsychology.athabascau.ca/0398/swanson.htm

'This is my church'

It's early Sunday morning and I head for the river where the bushland group is working on removing noxious and invasive weeds and bushes from the riverbank. These plants are out of place along the waterway but are beautiful in their own right and their own place. As we chop and spray, the woman I am working with today says how much she enjoys taking care the river. Here she connects with the spirit of the river and says, 'This is my church'.

I define spirituality as the process of creating relationship with what we hold to be sacred, in this case, the river and its surroundings. It is perceived as safeguarding something precious, that needs to be protected, loved and enjoyed. The American River Network says that people care for the river as it 'presents an opportunity to live out our values' (2000:1). In their publication 'River Voices', they say people get involved in river and watershed care: 'To connect with nature. To make a lasting difference in the world. To meet other, like-minded people. To get out of the house. ... the simple opportunity to get together with neighbors and work towards the common good provides a rare feeling of community.'

Similar findings emerged in a study conducted in Queensland's catchment areas by Margaret Gooch (2003). She found that the issues of belonging and identity are bound up in a person's decision to volunteer and become responsible for special places. Gooch found that people develop a strong affinity with land and waterway in part because they already have a strong connection to the area, and also, because their involvement in land and rivercare brings and reinforces a sense of attachment to the places they look after.

Other research from the field of ecopsychology shows that while people are out taking care of nature, they are also enhancing their sense of health and wellbeing. Habitat restoration worker and ecopsychologist Elan Shapiro (1995) outlines that when individuals are involved in land restoration work, they not only feel a sense of wellbeing through connecting with like-minded others, they also feel restored by their connection with nature. She says that being involved in 'environmental restoration work can spontaneously engender deep and lasting changes in people, including a sense of dignity and belonging, a tolerance for diversity, and a sustainable ecological sensibility' (225). So while they are taking care of nature, nature is taking care of them. It is a reciprocal and sacred process, and according to Shapiro, volunteers 'often fall in love' with the places they care for (226).

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References:
American River Network, 2000, Volunteers, River Voices, 11, 1, http://www2.rivernetwork.org/library/rv2000v11n1.pdf
Gooch Margaret, 2003, Voices of the Volunteers: An Exploration of the Influences that Volunteer Experiences have on the Resilience and Sustainability of Catchment Groups In Central Queensland, online PhD thesis, Griffith University, Qld.
http://www4.gu.edu.au:8080/adt-root/uploads/approved/adt-QGU20040804.150007/public/02Whole.pdf
Shapiro Elan, 1995, Restoring Habitats, Communities and Souls, in Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes & Allen D. Kanner, Eds, Ecopsychology. Restoring the Earth. Healing the Mind, San Francisco, Sierra Club.

Seeking Place, Finding Home: Blue Soul of the Planet

Arriving in a new city, my desire is to get to know place and connect with local sacred and special places. Here in Brisbane it is the river, a wide tired tidal river that brings identity to this place known also as the River City.

The river is wide and flowing - a rowers' and walkers' delight. Rowers' and kayakers' voices rise up the steep slopes from the water as I walk along the narrow track, getting to know the river, its qualities, its colours, the way it looks blue or brown depending on the time of day and weather. Red wrens scatter through the undergrowth; currawongs call across the wide expanse. It's a quiet pleasant morning until I find an injured possum hiding in the bushes along the track.

Luckily there are locals about who can help and know what to do. These are the same folk who look after this patch of river. The bushland river keepers. I've joined this band of volunteers who love this place. Today we're clearing weeds but as we scrabble under the native Hibiscus cutting out one of the nasty voracious weeds, its tiny thorns cut our arms to shreds and our blood drips onto the dry dry earth. There's a severe drought here, so severe that the trees are finding it hard to cope. Some trees have lost all their leaves due to stress of no rain; others look like they might die of thirst. Their leaves droop patiently waiting for rain. It comes sporadically, drizzling, no heavy downpour to give the river a real drink.

Pedro Arrojo, the inspirational Spanish economist calls water 'the blue soul of the planet'. The river is the soul of this place. The people who care for it support the river's soul to continue flowing from the mountain to the sea.

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