My fascination with animism began many years ago when I was living in Nepal. During that time, I stumbled across a book in a dusty corner of a Kathmandu bookstore, The Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram. Little did I know then that this book would open my mind to a way of thinking about the world that I had come across before but never really taken a deeper dive into. Abram’s exploration of how humans perceive the natural world as an interconnected, living entity deeply resonated with me. The idea that the world is full of spirit, with each stone, tree, and animal carrying its own consciousness, seemed to mirror the teachings of many indigenous cultures, including the Torajans.

As soon as I arrived in Toraja, I could feel the presence of death everywhere. Banners lined the streets for upcoming funerals, and coffin huts stood along the roadside, waiting to carry the dead to their final resting places. In the highlands of Toraja, the boundary between the living and the dead is not a fixed line. It moves fluidly, shaped by the rhythms of nature and the enduring presence of ancestors. Here, animism is a living force that weaves through daily life, binding people to their land and their lineage. In Torajan culture, death is an ongoing relationship maintained through ritual and an abiding respect for the unseen world.

When I arrived in Toraja, I was eager to speak to someone who strictly adhered to the Aluk To Dolo tradition. This ancient animistic belief system, rooted in the worship of natural spirits and ancestral guidance, is gradually fading in the face of modern influences, particularly Christianity. The Torajan culture, rooted in its animist belief system known as Aluk To Dolo (“The Way of the Ancestors”), has undergone significant transformations over time, particularly with the influence of external religions and colonial powers. It’s a wild blend of unique faiths and traditions, where animistic practices like Aluk To Dolo intertwine with Christianity and Islam, creating rituals that honour ancestors while incorporating prayers and blessings from newer religions.

During my time in Toraja, I had the privilege of meeting a Toporenge, a revered ritual leader responsible for maintaining the sacred practices of Aluk To Dolo. His home was perched on the mountainside, and after presenting an offering of tobacco and beetle nuts, I was welcomed into his home, a structure 300 years old, never renovated, and steeped in history and tradition. The floors creaked beneath our feet, held together by the spirits of ancestors, and the air was thick with the presence of the past.

Inside the house, I met the Toh Makula—four family members who had died but still rested in a state between life and the afterlife, awaiting their final rituals. Among them was the Toporenge’s grandfather, a Toh Makula who had been in the house for 20 years. The Toporenge’s father and uncle were also resting in their coffins. His mother, who died just two months prior, was laid on the wooden floor in a cool, dark room, where the air could circulate through the floorboards, aiding in the natural drying process during the wet phase of her transition. The family spoke with deep reverence about the importance of adhering to traditional rituals, which they believe maintain harmony between the living and the dead. In their worldview, death is a deep, spiritual connection to the cosmos and ancestry, carried forward through ritual and tradition.

I sat sipping on coffee with the Toporenge, his wife, and their two sons, who had been declared as infants to follow the Aluk To Dolo religion, untouched by the wave of Christianity that now dominates much of Toraja. They spoke about the traditions and the importance of strict adherence to certain rituals in ceremonies essential to maintaining harmony between the living and the departed.

Despite the dominant presence of Christianity and Islam in the region, with around 86% of Torajans identifying as Christian and 8% practising Islam, elements of Aluk To Dolo remain deeply ingrained in their culture, particularly in death rituals. This intersection of faiths is not unusual in Toraja. I witnessed firsthand how many Christians still incorporate animistic practices into their ceremonies, especially those surrounding death and the afterlife. I was invited to a funeral where prayers and blessings from both Christian and animistic traditions were woven seamlessly together in the same ceremony. The Christian priest would offer a prayer, followed by a ritual where the family made offerings of food and sacrifices to the ancestors. It was a striking example of how spirituality can be fluid, adapting to new beliefs without erasing the old.

For the Torajans, Aluk To Dolo is a way of life that shapes their relationship to nature, death, and the cosmos. It influences everything—from how they build their homes to how they engage in rituals surrounding life’s transitions. The respect for the natural world is integral to this belief system. It’s a belief that the spirits of the dead walk among the living, guiding and protecting them, and that all things in nature—mountains, rivers, trees—are alive with spirit. To me, this is a powerful reminder that spirituality is interwoven with both life and death, from the smallest pebble to the grandest mountain or the vast expanse of a rice field, reaching across to both the living and the dead.

A local Toporenge, standing alongside his wife and two sons, with their 300-year-old home in the background.