I was never athletic, I was never artistic and I was never musical. The moment when the penny dropped for me, I was up on Wiradjuri Country and I was observing this flock of, of swallows flying in between the limbs of a tree and between each other. They didn't seem to be, you know, feeding or breeding, they were just dancing. And it was in that moment that I decided to become a dancer.
We carry in our bodies ancestral memory of Country. Whenever I go back, I hear the birds again, or I go and put my feet in the Murrumbidgee River. I have this memory. But it's a memory that's longer and more ancient than my own life. And it's something that all First Nations people that I speak with have.
‘Giraaru galing ganhaagirri’ has a kind of poetry to it. It has alliteration that I love and it means ‘the wind will bring rain’. Sometimes when I know a storm has come down through Wiradjuri Country, crossed over the Murray River down to Naarm, down to Kulin Country, I’ll go and stand outside in that storm and let the water pour over me. It’s a way of connecting with my Country, especially during the lockdown, in this visceral, corporeal, real way. Not only is there this recognition that there are these cycles in Country, but you carry them with you in memory.
— Joel Bray, 2021