Eight Kilometres 
of the Sacred Run
 
While it is easier to trace the intellectual and emotional roots of my
attraction to nonviolence, in recent years I have become increasingly aware
of why it attracts me spiritually as well.  It is because nonviolence has
helped me to recreate the spiritual dimension of my life.  This re-creation
was necessary because, for me, the religious practices of the church which I
experienced as a teenager were quite meaningless.  However, in banishing
these religious practices from my life - a process that seemed appropriate
given my concern for a variety of 'secular' political and economic problems -
I also rejected the notion that my life entailed a spiritual dimension. 
Consequently, reclaiming my spiritual self is a long and often arduous
process but nonviolence is now central to it.  And this applies whether I am
engaging in acts of resistance or practicing other facets of nonviolence.
 
For me, a nonviolent action is a sacred act.  Thus, whether I am treading
water in the Yarra River waiting quietly for a rainforest timber ship to run
our blockade, or participating in a tax resistance action at the tax office
in Melbourne, the act itself is one which is full of spiritual significance
for me.  Particularly in those moments of quiet contemplation which I try to
create for myself just before any action - such as during the gathering
circle before the action or when the timber ship is bearing down on those of
us who are in the river - I focus my attention on what I am doing and why. 
In this way, I am able to get in touch with the spiritual meaning of my act
of resistance: it is a time when I rededicate myself to the struggle to
create a just, peaceful and ecologically sustainable world.  It is partly
because I believe that any nonviolent action is a sacred act that I believe
that HOW a nonviolent action is conducted is fundamentally important.
 
One nonviolent action in which I participated recently - and which had an
explicitly spiritual dimension - was the 'Sacred Run'.  The Sacred Run
started in 1977 after a large gathering of Native American elders issued a
statement which drew attention to the delicate balance that exists between
humans and their environment and which expressed concern at the threat to
this balance.  The elders asked that this message be taken to all the peoples
of the Earth. Because running is part of the Native American way of life -
and is considered to be a way of connecting with the Earth through one's
body, mind and spirit - it was decided to take this message by running.  The
Sacred Run, therefore, is a multi-cultural, spiritual relay which is designed
to spread the message that all life is sacred 'and to prepare the direction
for the seventh generation'.
 
After running through America, Europe and Japan in previous years, in 1993 -
the International Year of Indigenous Peoples - the Sacred Run arrived in
Australia.  The runners - who included Native Americans, Aboriginal
Australians, Europeans, Japanese and non-Aboriginal Australians - left Sydney
on 17 September in order to run 8,000 kilometres.  The runners were hosted by
Aboriginal people along much of the route and participated in cultural events
during most evenings.
 
After travelling into the Northern Territory and through Central Australia,
the Sacred Run arrived in Melbourne on 23 October.  About 500 people attended
the festival, organised by Friends of the Earth, during which we were
entertained by members of the Wurundjeri tribe (whose land includes the area
on which the city of Melbourne is built) and the visiting Native Americans.
 
The following day, along with Brendan Condon and others from the Australian
Nonviolence Network, I joined about sixty people in the morning circle. 
During this gathering, cedar was burned, the significance of the Sacred Run
was explained and five women were honoured for running 4,000 of the 6,400
kilometres run so far in Australia.  It was a delightful gathering.  Finally,
once the circle had finished, those of us who wanted to run were invited to
register.
 
I had not realised that each runner ran alone.  That meant that each one of
us was solely responsible for our section of the Sacred Run.  Should we not
complete it, the run itself would not be complete.  The team of four runners
from Melbourne was asked to ensure that we completed our combined section. 
We then drove to our section, dropped the first runner off and carefully
measured his nominated distance.  Then we dropped the second runner and
measured his distance.  I had chosen to run eight kilometres and was dropped
third.  Brendan ran last.
 
These days, I usually run three mornings a week just after first light.
Running is another time when I am conscious of my spiritual self.  I enjoy
the cold (or sometimes warm) morning air, the frost (or dried leaves) on the
grass, the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds. I feel part of the
Earth and draw its energy for the struggle ahead. I check how I am feeling. 
Sometimes I contemplate the day's events, work on a particular problem or
just enjoy the exhilaration of the run.  But on the Sacred Run, my task was
specific: to pray for all living species - 'every plant, tree and flower...
the four leggeds, the winged ones, and the insects' - and to 'give thanks to
the Great Spirit for all that is given us'.
 
My section of the run was along a hilly section of country highway.  It was
much warmer than my usual runs and there was more traffic.  I was conscious
of the rough ground, a couple of my old injuries and my responsibility to
finish.  I took it easy so that I could enjoy the run and settled on a rhythm
which was supposed to allow me to contemplate the meaning of my
participation.  It was hard, in the circumstances, to focus my thoughts as I
would have liked.  Perhaps if I had been a part of the run every day, I would
have developed the discipline and detachment necessary to do so.  As it was,
I was too preoccupied by the details associated with running safely in a
different environment to focus my thinking.
 
I have been on some special runs: those of physical achievement, those in
which I solved an important problem, or those in which I realised something
about myself.  But, despite the distractions mentioned above, the Sacred Run
was very special because it was a nonviolent action in itself.  And this
action, both because of the philosophy which inspires it and the nature of
its relay design, served to remind me, yet again, that the notion that all
life is sacred and connected is not 'some vague nonviolent principle'.  It is
a way of life that has long been actively practiced by many cultures around
the world.
Robert J. Burrowes