Unexpected insights around the fire

In the heart of Canberra, an unexpected encounter with an Aboriginal woman becomes a profound lesson in culture, time, and human connection, challenging commonly-held perceptions of leadership and safety.

Unfortunately, I had been involved in an investigation into a serious incident and arrived back home after a 10-hour flight. I unpacked my bags, repacked them with clean clothes, spent two hours at home, and then boarded a flight from Austria to Australia with my wife. After four flights, travelling halfway around the world, we arrived in Canberra on Saturday afternoon and drove straight to our hotel to get some much-needed sleep. 

The following day we had regained some of our energy and shaken off most of the jet lag. By mid-morning, we were joined by our friend Rob Long, who escorted us to visit some significant locations in Australia’s capital city. As always, with social psychology in mind, we visited several museums, an art gallery, and an exhibition at the Australian National Archives, observing and understanding different cultures, myths, and symbols while taking in all the significance of the semiotics around us. 

Still feeling a bit jet lagged, we decided to call it a day and agreed to travel back to the hotel to have coffee with a friend and prepare for the week ahead. On our way, we happened to drive past the “Tent Embassy” (a symbol of Aboriginal protest against the government’s approach to Indigenous issues), where we noticed an Aboriginal lady stoking a fire, dressed in a traditional coat. You might recall one of my previous articles about meeting an Aboriginal Elder named Kevin. Well, this was the same fireplace where I had met Kevin some six years before. After some discussion and knowing how Kevin had inspired us during the previous visit, we unanimously decided to stop and have a chat with the lady at the fire. 

Our decision turned out to be a good one, with so much learning lying ahead. On approaching the lady at the fire, Rob, Aneta, and I introduced ourselves, and she immediately invited us to sit down, after which she started to tell her story. She refrained from giving us her name, saying that we would tell her later what her name was. I found her response rather strange but accepted that this could be part of her culture. She trusted us and opened up about why she was there, where she had been, and who she was. 

She gave me some feathers tied together and spoke about what they symbolised for her. She then handed Aneta a knotted and twisted dried vine wrapped in red cloth and told us this was the rainbow serpent. She handed Rob a knotted stick nested in another curved piece of wood. “This is a Palm Island egg,” she said. This was all a ritual – myths, but ones she followed and trusted implicitly. 

We listened as she talked about these three symbols and how each of them had a story. Near the fire was a round container housing the ashes of her recently deceased child. The fire crackled, and a fresh young eucalyptus branch burning in the fire began to push water from where it had been cut. “They are the tears of my mother,” she said. Her language was rhythmic, like a song; her rich, poetic, symbolic speech was captivating. 

She said there was a reason why we had arrived at her fireplace and that we had been sent to hear her story. There was a dead bird by the fire, that looked like it had died recently. She told us how important the bird was for the Dreamtime. Everything she said was lyrical and poetic – every sentence punctuated by rich symbols and myths. She danced about the fire and told us she had medicine for us, and then off she walked. About 100m away from us, she started pulling on and stripping branches of the assorted trees that lined the area. 

We remained at the fireplace, waiting for some time for her to return, but she seemed to have gone into a trance, singing and standing under the trees. We were not sure whether she would return, so after quite some time we decided to leave, as we were mindful that we had to meet our friend at the hotel. When she saw us standing up to leave, she called for us to stay. She returned to the fireplace and said, “That’s right, leave. You’re always too busy for time,” and added: “That’s how it always is for you.” It reminded us of how she was fully in the moment, not at all bothered by the time of day. 

So, we sat back down, and she explained to us how the fresh branches would cause a lot of smoke and that we should be covered in it. We watched as she pushed the branches into the fire between the larger burning logs, and we were soon shrouded in smoke. She invited us to stand up and follow the smoke as it swirled and moved around the fireplace, supported by the gentle breeze. As we did this, moving slowly around the fire, she was speaking in tongues and then said, “There is no living in your law, but life in my lore”.  

She then stood in a pose and told us that, like so many people in today’s world, our minds were preoccupied with time; our lives managed by schedules and watches. She said, “Life is time, don’t you know that?” This reminded me of my previous article on the caves in Slovenia, where I discussed the Greeks’ Chronos Time and Kairos Time. 

She spoke poetically, semiotically, and mythically about her years in her Territory and about her tribe – people she missed and places she had travelled. She once again referred to the death of her daughter and continued telling us her stories. 

By then, we had lost all track of time and were submerged in Kairos Time – what philosophers refer to as “deep time”, or the moments one uses to engage with others.

She told us that we had received the message we had come looking for, and ended by asking us to gift her a name. Rob mentioned “Knowledge”, and I said “Medicine Lady”, so her name became “Medicine Lady with Knowledge”. She finally cracked a smile and thanked us for her new name as we left her and her fireplace. As we walked to the car, she waved and wished us well. 

Such a remarkable experience embodied feelings that are difficult to describe. Although there were many similarities, this meeting was different from those we had experienced with other Aboriginal persons on our travels to Australia and Canada. At times, we did not understand the meaning of some of the rituals and myths of “Medicine Lady with Knowledge”, but it once again highlighted the importance of listening to others, keeping quiet, and letting them tell their story. It also reminded us of the importance of being in the moment, suspending agendas and power, and just simply being with others. 

You might ask what all of this has to do with risk and safety, but it has huge significance and relevance to embodied leadership and the understanding of different cultures within organisations, through engagement with others and listening to their stories. Our experience was no different from a multinational workplace where people of different cultures and backgrounds may work side by side, day in and day out, believing in different traditions, rituals, and myths. When we let go of our view of the world, we can learn to understand the culture of others. When we get rid of all this propositional stuff that seeks to control culture by definition, we can learn just how much myth, ritual, symbol, and belief are embodied in all culture. Yes, that includes company culture, managerial culture, and organisational culture. 

“Medicine Lady with Knowledge” – in telling her stories about the three objects that she gave us to hold – was sharing her myth: objects that she carried with her day in and day out on her travels. Her dances, her various poses, these all had significance to her and she believed in them. This is no different from the person who goes into a church, lights a candle, and makes a sign of the cross, believing that their prayers will be answered. These rituals, as well as those of “Medicine Lady with Knowledge”, are acts of faith, passed down from generation to generation. 

I am by no means disagreeing with any of these rituals. I am trying to point out that we need to understand that significant rituals and myths exist in all cultures, as well as subcultures. By letting people tell their stories – even if we might not always agree with their rituals or myths – we can at least understand where they are coming from and why we need to respect them. 

By the way (although this is a topic for another article), this is somehow no different from risk and safety in the workplace, where we also have rituals and myths, as well as faith. For example, completing a checklist, risk assessment, or permit to work – going through the steps, ticking the boxes, and various persons signing the documents as completed – are all rituals. If done correctly, they definitely have a purpose in preparing for the work, making sure risks are identified and equipment is safe. 

It is a myth, however, to believe that if all the paperwork is completed, those doing the work will always safely conduct their tasks and activities. Here, we have faith that the preparation for the tasks will prevent someone from being injured. Sadly, though, we all know that this is not always the case – as evidenced by the serious injury for which I was part of the investigation team before travelling to Australia. 

With all this in mind, by engaging and listening with intent we can better understand others and their respective cultures, leadership, and embodied beings to demythologise beliefs and strip away issues that inhibit effective relationships, social connection, and ethical practice. This is what being with others is all about, whether at the workplace or in our private lives. This is what contributes to improved company culture.