Indigenous wisdom is characterised by an emphasis on relationality, the view of the land as a teacher, and deep listening.

The emphasises on relationally stems from a deeply felt sense of the profound interdependence of all life. Land, water, animals, ancestors, and people are woven together in a web of relationships. The concept of “all my relations,” or "we are all related" known in Lakota as Mitákuye Oyás’i?, expresses this interconnectedness and the ethical responsibility it carries.

Another important aspect is the view of land as a teacher. Rather than viewing nature as separate or inert, Indigenous knowledge systems often see the land as alive, conscious, and pedagogical. The Earth is not just where we live—it teaches us how to live.

But for truly following the guidance the the earth offer, Indigenous ways of knowing often prioritise listening—not just to people, but to winds, waters, stars, and the unseen. This deep listening contrasts sharply with Western paradigms that prioritise analysis, extraction, and intervention.To listen, in Indigenous wisdom, is not passive. It is an embodied, intentional practice: listening to the wind, to ancestors, to silence, to the cries of rivers, to the pulse of drums, to the quiet messages of plants, stones, and stars. This form of listening is deeply relational—it affirms that we are not separate from nature but are in continuous dialogue with it. It also implies silence, a silent human mind, receptive to the messages and the relation to the more then human world. Take the example of plants: as Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us in Braiding Sweetgrass, plants are not only alive but aware; they are teachers, companions, and generous beings who participate in an ongoing exchange of gifts.

In her book Kimmerer merges scientific knowledge with Indigenous ways of knowing. She writes of “the grammar of animacy,” pointing out that in many Indigenous languages, elements of the natural world are referred to as beings rather than things. She urges readers to stop referring to trees, rivers, and animals as “it,” and to begin seeing them as relatives, as “who.” Language, in this sense, shapes perception—and perception shapes relationship. If we see the world as dead matter, we treat it accordingly. If we see it as living kin, our orientation shifts toward care and listening.

Many Indigenous cultures encode these insights through stories, songs, rituals, and communal practices. Knowledge is carried in the body, in the land, and in language. Oral traditions, ceremonies, and ecological stewardship are all interwoven. From the Maori concept of "kaitiakitanga" (guardianship of the land), to the Andean "ayni" (sacred reciprocity), to the Diné (Navajo) teaching of hózhó (balance and harmony), to the Indaba, a traditional South African meeting or conference, often focused on indigenous knowledge and wisdom, these ways of knowing challenge dominant paradigms of extraction and control.

In our search for a more holistic, just, and regenerative world, Indigenous knowledge systems offer both ancient and emergent guidance. Such guidance is not abstract. Indigenous knowledge systems, often marginalised or co-opted by colonial forces, hold some of the most relevant insights for today’s crises. Whether in response to climate change, social injustice, or spiritual alienation, this wisdom offers not a return to the past, but a return to relationship—a profound reconnection to the Earth as teacher, kin, and guide.

In recent years, we are beginning to see profound conversations take shape—dialogues that center Black and Indigenous voices in healing, land connection, and the reclaiming of sacred relationships with the Earth.

One powerful example of such a conversation is found in the journey and artistic-spiritual project known as Three Black Men: A Journey into the Magical Otherwise.

Three Black Men: Listening Beyond Borders

Three Black Men: A Journey into the Magical Otherwise was a two year project, that could be described as a sacred offering—a ceremonial arc that invites the viewer into a multi-sensory exploration of identity, ancestry, trauma, and planetary belonging. The project followed three Black thinkers, healers, and cultural visionaries—Menakem, Akomolafe, and Bishop—as they travel the transatlantic slave route in reverse: from Los Angeles to Salvador da Bahia in Brazil, and then to Accra, Ghana.

What emerged was not a linear story, but a layered experience—a weaving of spirit, history, body, and land. Each location becomes a portal for deep listening, a stage for ritual, and a mirror for healing.

In Los Angeles, the journey begins with community gatherings and intimate discussions around what it means to be Black, male, and alive in a world shaped by colonial violence. This is not an academic exercise. It is an embodied, visceral process of feeling into ancestral grief, repressed memories, and cultural wisdom that has been hidden but not lost.

In Salvador da Bahia—home to vibrant Afro-Brazilian traditions and Quilombo communities descended from enslaved Africans—the men immerse themselves in drumming, dance, and orisha-centered ceremonies. These are not cultural spectacles but acts of remembrance and reanimation. They are what Yoruba cosmology calls ase—the power to make things happen through sacred utterance and practice.

Finally, in Ghana, the journey becomes ancestral pilgrimage. The group visits the Cape Coast slave dungeons, sites of immense historical trauma, and offers libations to the land and spirits. They bathe in sacred waterfalls and speak with local spiritual leaders. There is a sense that time is not linear here; the present moment is layered with echoes of the past and whispers of the future. This is not merely about reckoning with slavery—it is about reweaving relationship to the land, to body, to community, and to what Bayo Akomolafe calls the “Magical Otherwise.”

Land is Ceremony

One of the most moving elements of the Three Black Men journey is how land itself becomes a living participant in the process. Each place they visit is not just a backdrop, but a teacher. The Earth is not an object to be studied—it is a relative to be approached with greetings, with humility and care, a reminder that the human is but one part of a vast web of life.

For Resmaa Menakem, a somatic therapist and founder of the concept of “Somatic Abolitionism,” the journey is also about how trauma lives in the body—and how healing cannot happen without reconnecting body to place. As he explains, the long legacy of racialized trauma is not only historical but cellular. It sits in the nervous system, the muscles, the breath. Healing involves shaking, moving, crying, singing—doing what our ancestors knew how to do in times of grief and celebration alike.

This emphasis on embodiment is echoed by many Indigenous traditions, where dance, drumming, and ritual movement are central to both healing and celebration. There is no strict separation between the physical, emotional, and spiritual realms. The Earth speaks through the body, and the body speaks back to the Earth.

Ritual as Resistance and Renewal

Orland Bishop, a spiritual mentor and founder of the ShadeTree Multicultural Foundation, brings a quiet power to the journey. He sees ritual not as an escape from the world, but as a portal into deeper responsibility and stewardship. “When you touch the Earth with prayer,” he has said, “you plant new memory.”

This notion—that through conscious engagement we can reshape cultural and ecological memory—is at the heart of Indigenous wisdom. It also challenges modern notions of activism, which often rely on confrontation and debate. For many Indigenous leaders and elders, real transformation begins in ceremony, in community, in the unseen realms where intentions are seeded and nurtured.

Three Black Men is deeply ceremonial in this sense. The project includes fire circles, ancestral altars, offerings to water, and silent moments of deep listening. These are not performative acts but sacred technologies

Listening Forward

Indigenous wisdom is not a romanticised past to be admired from a distance—it is a living, breathing presence that challenges us to slow down, pay attention, and reimagine our place on this planet. Listening to the voices of the Earth means more than sustainability—it means humility. It means recognising that the Earth doesn’t need us to save it; we need to learn how to belong to it.

In a world hungry for transformation, Indigenous knowledge offers not answers, but pathways—rooted in respect, nurtured by ceremony, and led by listening.

“The land is the real teacher. All we need as students is mindfulness.” – Robin Wall Kimmerer