In 1974 the remains of Mungo Man were found on the shores of
the former Lake Mungo in western New South Wales. His bones were transported to
places far away for the purposes of science. It was these bones that proved
conclusively that humans had lived in Australia for at least 50,000 years.
After four decades, and after much lobbying from Aboriginal
people from the Lake Mungo region, Mungo man was returned to his resting place
by the lake in 2017. An elderly
Aboriginal woman commented:
“He needs to go home. His soul’s
just wandering around lost. It’s not good for him. It’s not good for us. It’s
not good for anyone. He needs to go home so his soul can rest.”
When I heard these words it was as if I was appreciating the wisdom of the ancient hosts of our land in a way I never had before. Tears flowed as the profound message in those simple words echoed deep down in my soul. We all need to go home. And the elderly woman was talking about a man 50,000 years old as if she knew him. She cared about Mungo Man’s soul. No matter how long ago he lived. She and other members of her community have a responsibility to take care of their ancestors and their land. And a man or woman and their land should not be separated.
I went to Lake Mungo recently – an extraordinary place. The
public can’t visit the final resting place of Mungo Man, but you can visit the
extraordinary wall of sand dunes that run along the edge of where Lake Mungo
once glistened in the sun. The Visitors Centre refers to local Aboriginal
groups having cared for the land around Lake Mungo for 50,000 years. Note, not lived in, but cared for the land. Their
very existence in the land of their ancestors assumes they are its custodians. Another
simple, powerful message.
There is something deeply primal about the notion of home.
It strikes at the very core of what it means to be alive, to be human. It
evokes feelings of warmth, safety, and contentment. Home is a place where you
feel comfortable and know intrinsically how to behave. No pretence is needed
because at home you are your natural self, and for many it is a place they
return to again and again – in both the literal and metaphorical sense – for
sustenance.
For some others this may be precisely why they leave home
for they crave something other than safety and comfort. Or their experience of
home was so dreadful that they leave never to return. Oscar Wilde wrote that
‘no man is an adult until they leave home.’
In many cultures it is a mark of respect earned if you have left your
homeland and lived much of your life in foreign shores. It conveys a certain worldliness
somehow, a strength that you have struck out on your own and succeeded without
the support of your family, relatives or culture – the immigrant. And though an
immigrant at the end of their life might long to return to their homeland or
have their ashes scattered in the fields or rivers of home it rarely happens.
In the modern world a great many people leave their home never to return.
So what of their souls? Is the soul of one born in Wales and
buried in Australia doomed to wander for eternity? If the Mungo elder is
correct then that would be the case, and we all therefore suffer. Could there
be a different set of rules than those that govern the belief systems of
Aboriginal Australians? Is that the case for those who choose to leave their
place of birth, and are happy to remain away, and who come to some spiritual
reconciliation with a different place of their own choosing; a place they came
to as a foreigner but came to regard as their home; their spiritual home? Can
you in effect choose where your soul calls home?
The Aboriginal belief that one should be buried in the land
of your birth works for a culture and time where most people would not have
strayed far from their ancestral home. Though there may be some deep primal
appeal attached to this notion, it can’t be a matter of absolute fact. It is
culture and context specific.
It is interesting though to contemplate what home means for
each one of us. Is it a house? A suburb or town? A land or country? Or is it
being with a certain person, or being in a certain state of mind? Does
listening to a particular piece of music make you feel at home? The
possibilities are many. Is the state of feeling at home literal and physical or
more metaphorical and symbolic where in fact the physical location has no
bearing at all on the notion of feeling at
home?
For my own part it has been all of these things at different
times. In terms of physical location I
can variously claim to feel at home in a particular suburb where I have lived
much of my life, or more widely the whole city of Adelaide, or more widely
still the land of Australia. I do honestly feel at home in locations where I
have previously lived or visited frequently – Holland, or Cambodia. And
mysteriously, or perhaps even mystically, some places seem to take hold of your
soul for no obvious reason. Israel worked like this for me. I felt a strange
and strong affinity with Israel from the moment I arrived there. And there are
other times when it is only in the company of my partner that I feel truly at
home.
So is home where the heart is? It turns out the heart can be
at home at any number of places, but perhaps not simultaneously. Perhaps home
is simply where you are at any given moment that you’re feeling good about
yourself and your place in the world.
To return to Mungo Man, or any other deceased being that has
been interred, it seems obvious that they should just be left in peace, and it
seems quite feasible that a disturbed body may trigger the wandering of a
consequently restless soul.
More photos HERE
More photos HERE
