If you live in Australia, you probably know Goanna’s hit, Solid Rock. It’s a classic and a favourite of mine. The thing is, whenever I stand on a rock platform which I do, regularly, the song comes into my head.
“You're standin' on solid rock,
Standin' on sacred ground
Livin' on borrowed time,
And the winds of change
Are blowin' down the line
Right down the line”
Though I will inevitably have an earworm for an entire day, it is a potent reminder. The song speaks about colonisation and genocide, a bold move in 1980s Australia and a reminder too, that I am a stranger here. It is as they say an absolute banger. As I stood on yet another rock platform last week, humming the tune, I started thinking about why it is that I love rocks.
I’ll preface my love of rocks by declaring that I am not a geology whizz, far from it. From school geography, I remember the three geological classifications: igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic. That concludes my geology know-how. Much of my nature knowledge is unscientific, leaning more towards the aesthetic and inspirational end of the spectrum.
I would, however, like to bring more balance to my time in nature and tip the scales slightly in the direction of knowledge. I want to improve my ecological knowledge and to be able to recognise and name the plants, trees, creatures and rocks around me. I realise that understanding ecological identities and interactions is a crucial part of conservation. In her seminal book Braiding Sweet Grass, writer, botanist and ecologist Robin Wall-Kimmer wrote about the importance of names. She says, “when we learn their names and their gifts, it opens the door to reciprocity”. By naming the world around us, we assign identity, kinship and understanding.
Irish writer Manchán Magan has collected hundreds if not thousands of words relating to the landscape from Gaeltachts (Irish-speaking regions). He speaks about the relationship between language and land. As an oral culture, like the many thousands of Indigenous languages worldwide, Gaeilge (Irish) uses stories, myths, legends and words that describe the land. Native language, ecology and culture are interconnected through stories. Like sedimentary rocks, knowledge is accumulated and compressed into stories, preserved for future generations.
The impact of colonialism on Indigenous language, culture and landscapes can not be underestimated. The loss of languages unique to specific ecologies and places is tragic. Unearthing lost language, recording it and ensuring the language of the land is known is imperative. While we work with the imperial taxonomy and other colonial classification systems, we must also seek to decolonise our landscapes. We must recover language and knowledge and give it back to the land and its people.
Though it might sound strange, rocks are not inanimate to me. They are as alive to me as a flower in bloom or a bird in flight. They are like great repositories of information, libraries of time itself.
Though it might sound strange, rocks are not inanimate to me. They are as alive to me as a flower in bloom or a bird in flight. They are like great repositories of information, libraries of time itself. It also may seem strange to speak of energy and the land. Like meeting a person for the first time, there is sometimes an instantaneous connection, or at other times a sense of disharmony or disconnect. Best described, I suppose, as instinct. The signals we receive lead us to joy and prevent danger, an exchange of imperceivable data that we constantly interpret. This instinctual response to a flower or a wild animal seems obvious. A connection to rocks, however, may seem less probable.
In many cultures, rocks were seen as animate, and still are, here in Australia and worldwide. Rocks have been shaped and adorned with paintings and stories, holding value and place in rituals and ceremonies. In my other home, Ireland, rocks have held a sacred place in the land since ancient times as tombs and portals, etched with symbols and used to build structures which remain intact to this day. Culture aside, the scientific evolution and movement of geology across time, the fossils hidden within and the history of rocks predating humans are utterly mind-boggling.
The cultural and historical significance of rocks is reassuring. I find it difficult to put words to that energy I mentioned earlier. Geological forms lack that instantly perceptible animate quality we recognise in other living beings. Rocks move slowly, shaped by weather and by us, holding patterns and shapes. They are mysterious and visually unquantifiable, hiding stories within, producing priceless gems, fossils, fuel and resources, and even flavour for our food.
Somehow the magnificent coastal sandstone that I love so dearly here on Dharawal country feels connected to this idea of deep time, profound knowledge, resistance and resilience
When I stand on or near rocks, I feel the reverence I might otherwise have for an old building with grand, significant architecture. A feeling akin to being in a church, solid, sacred and full of meaning. Rapid changes in form and shape occur across the seasons around rocks, but they remain still, solid, timeless almost. They represent permanence, consolation in a world of constant flux.
Somehow the magnificent coastal sandstone that I love so dearly here on Dharawal country feels connected to this idea of deep time, profound knowledge, resistance and resilience. Meanwhile, an carraigeacha liatha na héireann (the grey rocks of Ireland) remind me, call me, to remember my own stories and words, my teanga dhúchais (native tongue).
I'll leave you with an extract from Seamus Heaney’s Squarings, about the experience of visiting a famous rock formation known as the Giant’s Causeway in County Antrim, Ireland.
‘XXXIX’ from ‘Squarings’ by Seamus Heaney:
When you sat, far-eyed and cold, in the basalt throne
Of “the wishing chair” at Giant’s Causeway,
The small of your back made very solid sense.
Like a papoose at sap-time strapped to a maple tree,
You gathered force out of the world-tree’s hardness.
If you stretched your hand forth, things might turn to stone.
But you were only goose-fleshed skin and bone,
The rocks and wonder of the world were only
Lava crystallized, salts of the earth
The wishing chair gave a savour to, its kelp
And ozone freshening your outlook
Beyond the range you thought you’d settled for.
Thank you for reading my Natures Notes letter. If you would like to continue to read my letters you can subscribe below.
Natures notes is proudly written on and inspired by Dharawal Country.
I recognise the Dharawal & Wodi Wodi custodians and ancestors who have an enduring connection to land, water and skies. I give thanks for reciprocity and acknowledge that this Always Was and Always Will be Aboriginal Land.