Windows...

Tiarna Jade Riches

(Photography by myself)

“Wilderness is a place to rediscover our own wildness”

Peter Cock, from Monash University, validly wrote the above statement in his work called “Soulfulness from Place” (pg 6). I see this slightly differently however. I have always been fascinated by windows, and have found my own freedom and “wildness” by observing. In my mind, windows symbolize curiosity and knowledge. Curiosity is a major personality trait of mine, and knowledge is what I want to spend my life obtaining. Windows, in this sense reminds me of myself.

My bedroom window is my sanctuary. As one would find peace in nature- I find my peace simply observing it. From my window I can see the trees, the vines, and the vast sky stretched out above. Some nights, when life becomes a little too stressed, or chaotic, I sit at my window in silence, observing the calmness or pure nature. The gentle winds caress the leaves, while the cloudy sky encompasses the moon, and pours a soft and soothing light onto the world.

I taste the early morning dew; the crisp fresh air beckoning me outside with its purity. I smell the dawning new day and the new air from the nature in front of me. As I take in these senses, I can see that each tree and each leaf has its own unique shade of green, purple, and yellow. As the seasons change, I notice my own special secret garden change colour. This changes the way I feel also- in winter, I see a somewhat sad and mysterious atmosphere out my window. However, in spring, the view seems more cheerful and bright. All of these atmospheric feelings have strong emotional impacts on me, and all of them are beautiful. Peter Cock explains this in his work Soulfulness from Place, by writing that “Spirituality is also available through observation of what is happening with the rest of nature” (pg 4).


The feeling I get most from gazing out of my window is hope, mystery, and the excitement of the unknown. Also, being a believer in reincarnation, the view reminds me of some familiar scenery from what could be a past life of mine.

Living in the same room for thirteen years, I have a strong connection with that view from my window, and I have learnt to feel the energies of nature even though I am not standing in it, but through admiring and observing.

***

The window nearest to my desk at work is somewhat different to my window at home. First of all, the window does not open- which makes me feel claustrophobic and caged. The view through this window is harsh and modern- which is, I suppose, beautiful to some. I, however, have never been one to enjoy that much modernism.

There are buildings and shops outside the window at work, sitting across the busy, yet sadly lifeless road. I can see two trees, but they are embedded in concrete, trapped and strangled, next to the passing cars and tarred black ground.

The view from my window is cold and blank. All I can seem to think about is the waste of paper from the amount of printing being done, and the claustrophobic air conditioning around me. There is no pleasant smell besides the green tea which constantly sits in front of me. There is no taste besides the sickly aftertaste from licking envelopes. The atmosphere from this window makes me feel dismal, and I often resort to closing the blinds to focus on other things.

This window is the first window I have been so disappointed in gazing out of. I can usually find beauty in any window- my world is a window through my eyes. Somehow though, this view strikes me as somewhat offensive. I do not agree with the almost complete absence of natural energy, because it is not good for the soul and discouraging in a place where one should be inspired to work. As Jan Lundberg, author of Culture Change, validly states in one of her articles, “When we attempt to cut ourselves off from nature we engage nature in an unusual, deadly way” (5:1). Also, Peter Cock agrees with this by stating that “These pressures [modern technology, etc] all come together to deprive us of soul from place” (pg2).

I must say though, sometimes, I can see the distant mountains beyond the buildings out of that window, and it lets me hope, and smile in anticipation of seeing nature more closely when I get home.

I must say, I much prefer my secret garden window at home, to the almost lifeless window at my work. However, even in the most polluted of sceneries, there are still tiny pieces of nature- you just have to focus on them and be happy that nature’s energies will always be around you, no matter where you are.

Cock, P. 2008, Soulfulness from Place, Social & Sacred Ecology, http://socialsacredecology.org/system/files/SoulFromPlace.pdf

Lundberg, J. June 2004, Separation from Nature Impossible despite Rising Social Alienation, Culture Change, http://www.culturechange.org/e-letter-separation.html

Worlds Apart

Laura Ennis

I live in a small single story wooden house, sitting on what used to be a dry creek bed at the foot of a small hill. I have called this place my home for all of my life and just like in William Wordsworth's poem, I carry a memory of it with me wherever I go. The garden is spacious, and the house is comfy. Situated behind my home are the leafy hills of Taylor Range; the annexed bushland that forms part of a large Army barracks. My neighbours are beautiful people. One of them used to work for Brisbane Forest Park, looking after orphaned possums, sugar gliders and wallabies underneath her house. She has a frog pond which is filled with Striped Marsh Frogs. In summer when it rains and dusk has past, I fall asleep listening to their soft croaking. Rosellas and galas flitter about in the Grevillia tree outside our kitchen window every morning. Possums constantly devour all my carefully thought out herb gardens (they tend to favour parsley and strawberries). In the afternoons I listen to crickets and cicadas and sometimes I spy a Blue-Tongue Lizard by our back door. For me, it is like Mircea Eliade says “No modern man, however irreligious, is entirely insensible to the charms of nature” (The Sacred and the Profane, 1959, page 151) In the far corner of our property there grows a large Tallow Wood tree that is frequented by crows. It straddles the four gardens that meet there. One of our neighbours wanted to chop it down (because of falling branches) and my mother did everything in her power to stop them. It was a personal move to Biocentrism over Anthropocentrism (as Thomas Berry notes in The Dream of the Earth, 1988, page 165) because for her, the tree was definitely more important than the roof. While talking to an elderly gentleman who used to live in our street, she discovered that this tree is well over one hundred and twenty years old; a relic from the old Tallow Wood forest that once stood here. It is now protected under an order from our local council.

I should now mention that while this place has been my home for all of my memory, it is not where I have always lived.

For a short while I lived in a very old city, one that straddles the river Vltava in the Czech Republic: known as Prague or Praha. Instead of a house, I lived on the top floor of a six storey building at the very centre of the city, and used a rickety old soviet elevator to get from floor to floor. The place stank of cigarettes and there was no colour anywhere, only dull beige, brown and grey. People here live in concrete leviathans known as "the projects". From my bedroom window I could see nothing but rooftops, spires and the skeleton of an old tree. Without knowing it I began to miss open spaces and windows full of greenery, it seemed to me a place without a soul. I was surrounded by people all the time; my dorm mates, the people who worked in the building, the people in the street below, the people in the windows across from mine, the drunk tourists shouting at each other from opposite ends of the street at three in the morning….We were all boxed in together and unable to get away. Peter Cock notes that the removal from nature in a society with a rapid throughput of “things, people and places” contributes greatly to estrangement. “Alienation from people is strongly connected to alienation from nature,” and I think I felt this way (“Towards a village based city” in Fundamental questions paper, no. 11, 1991 page 43 and “Values for sustainability” in Fundamental questions paper, no. 5, 1991 page 3). Eventually summer arrived and the skeletal tree outside exploded into green, and once, I spied a flock of pigeons and my heart fluttered as I watched them dip and soar! One time, we climbed onto the roof, and from there the view was spectacular. The city spread out all around us, like some kind of thousand year old organism growing new brick limbs and loosing old stone ones. A visual chronology of eight hundred years worth of architecture unfolded around us. I realised that while the story of this place was not so brilliantly illustrated in the simple flora and fauna surrounding us (as it had been in my home) it was instead present in the collective memories of the people who dwelled here and the buildings they had left behind. My point is; the sacrosanct can be found in urban settings, and while a lack of nature can be alienating; cities and urban environments can inspire awe and reverence (one might suppose this is why buildings as well as natural places are Heritage Listed). When compared to my home, the city felt soulless, but when looked upon with fresh eyes I could understand the venerated nature of industrialised and urban spaces. I saw Prague's Genius loci.

All the same, I still prefer my little wooden house at the foot of the leafy hills.

Religion and Environment

Hello and welcome to the course blog for Religion and Environment: The Spirit of Nature, held at The University of Queensland, St Lucia, Semester 1, 2008. This course explores two main areas - the responses of mainstream and other contemporary religions to the environmental crisis and the spiritual and religious responses of individuals to the natural world. If you have any queries or need any information at all, please get in touch with me, Dr Sylvie Shaw, Email: sylvie.shaw@uq.edu.au.