We had just finished a tour of the contemporary art museum in the central Sydney when an all too common torrential downpour of rain came through the city. We had planned to meet on a grassy lawn outside the building but after a few soaking moments and some really close lightning strikes, we calmly waited beneath the train stations large roof for our guide to come.
Our guide was an aboriginal women, who knew the Sydney landscape well. However, she knew not the streets nor the shops but the colors and blueprints in the natural life scattered throughout the city. Reminding me of the teachers and mentors I had across the ocean, she embodied a very dominant character when speaking of her laws and cultural ways.
Firmly leading the group through an interesting journey she identified the ancient world beneath the modern infrastructure. The plants, the rocks, the wind, the skin, the voice; they all told stories. The rain that came through was a later explained to us to be a great interaction of colors that represented something more but the details of which, I cannot recall.
A world of color and a blueprint of patterns is what I remember most of her time with our group. How the shape of our hand mirrors the tree and the color of our skin is important beyond just an indicator of nationality.
New understandings come from simple listening and awareness.