The Sound of Petroleum

The Sound of Petroleum

A distant drone. The sound of the Earth’s black gold. Ruira is the name the Uwa indigenous people call it, which means the blood of the Earth.


How this blood drives our lives. How addicted we have become to this thick black liquid. We are clothed in petroleum, we eat it, we wash in it, we are moved by it, breath it in and use it every day in more ways than we are aware. Have we become homo petroleums?


Like a black dragon, we awakened it from its sleep in a cave deep underground, now it has been stirred it reminds us that we woke it from its slumber with its continual roar.


How far must we run to escape the constant sound of its presence? Once sucked up out of the depths of the Earth it groans, buzzes, whirs, revs and calls to us in every note and tone.


A plane overhead shatters the intense silence of a remote desert, an outboard motor sounds its way through the deep jungle, the song of the birds, insects, frogs and howler monkeys quietened, replaced by the sound of petroleum.


The lapping of ocean waves on a white sandy beach replaced by the obnoxious sound of a jetski and its lone rider oblivious of the disturbance caused.


Hiking in the mountains, away from (un)civilisation, no stores, no people, no traffic, the awe of majestic mountain peaks. The long awaited silence I so crave. As I sink into deep listening open to natures melody, soothed by nature’s song, my moment of reverence is shattered.


A sightseeing helicopter flies overhead. People with money to burn also wish to see Nature’s beauty, to look down on the mountain tops, look over the lakes and forest. They are unaware of the smell of the forest floor, how small one feels looking up at the mountain peaks as they loom over you, the sound of the land and those who make this place their home.


Ancient beings who have stood still for over a thousand years and have witnessed much. For them the peace and quiet replaced by the regular drone of petroleum. The sound of the human is here.