On this trip I was hoping to gain more of an understanding into Aboriginal cultural heritage and history beyond the text books, teachers notes and glass display cases. I know the facts, but there’s something missing from this cultural pie and I’ve never really felt brave enough to figure out what.
I want to know why…
I have only ever worked alongside one lady who identified herself as an Aboriginal in 17 years of employment. I feel ashamed and embarrassed of my country when Carole reflects on horrors of the past, which, as she pointed out, isn’t really in the too far away past. I’m uncomfortable, uninformed, unknowledge, un everything, when working on or with Aboriginal based programs. On February 13th I wanted to sob and hug random people on the Perth foreshore as we watched the Prime misters speech, but didn’t. I feel so unconnected to my own country, always just visiting.
Basically, I just didn’t get it.
Like all good light globe moments, all the questions that I didn’t even know I had were answered in a flash as I awoke from an exhausted doze after spending 3 days hiking in Purnululu National Park (Bundle Bungles).
There is nothing to get.
But,
There is something to experience. Pleasure. Pain and all the bits between.
A sound. A feeling. A smell. An interaction. A taste. A nothing.
A sensation on your face as a mixture of warm and cold air rushes through the gorge, a sight that makes you drop to your knees in awe. A prickling of the hairs on your neck as you gaze out in stunned horror at the sea of mines along our Northern coastline whilst reading the shinny new signs telling you that it’s all so so good, but you still leave feeling that ultimately, it’s all so so bad. Shedding tears in a car park after experiencing an old jail in Roeburn that felt like the ‘prisoners’ were still chained to the wall. Feeling welcomed in some places and distinctly intrusive in others, despite there being nothing but you the ocean and bush. Being surprised, and then shocked at my surprise, at how tranquil a small remote community is and has been for some time. Complete with a thriving school, art gallery, community garden, and a shared undercover area. Not a whiff of government body in site…I resisted the urge to ask where the library was (actually I didn’t, but Carole was there to usher me back to the car). Looking at stars wedged between 200m gorge walls and feeling a mixture of weakness, powerlessness and insignificance but equally being peaceful, and at home, as though this is the way it’s meant to be. Realizing that there is more than just gold in ‘them hills, our land is full of stories, some painful and some powerful, all of them more valuable than a nugget of gold.
Wondering what the errie feeling at Cossack is, then finding a tiny report in the bottom case in the bottom corner tallying offences committed by white, Asian and Aboriginal people and understanding that someplaces will always be graveyards, no matter what is built on top of them.
Was that a black swan flying past with a beer in it’s hands or have I had too many cold and flu tablets?!?!?
Hey Em, was just thinking of you after we ate banana cake – new recipe very good, will bake it for you on your return.
Love your musings and revelations. I went to Cossack many years ago and remember the stillness and sense of abandonment. Eerie.
Good to see some more entries on the blog – we all miss your emails and crave a bit of Emily verbiage.
Cheers,
Jo
Hi Jo,
I’ve been meaning to tell you that I still have your book. SOrt of. There is a story, but the short end of it is. I haven’t read it, and I know exactly where it is. Sort of, well it’s at my sisters house, she is super organised and will be able to locate it before you can say…dam that gap in my Cave Bear collection.
I think our cake bussiness would boom up here, there are loads of road side places selling absolut rubish… fancy working up north for 6 months every year???