Imprint of Uluru

 

 

 

Imprint of Uluru

 

Uluru is ancient wonder;

Uluru is desert wildflowers blooming at the end of August;

Uluru is feeling cold in a beanie and thermals at 10:00am, hot in a singlet top and sunhat at midday;

Uluru is no more beautiful than her cousin Kata Tjuta;

 

Uluru is 573 photographs;

Uluru is a busload of disappointed tourists staring at the “Climb is closed today” sign;

Uluru is bush plums and cave paintings;

Uluru is unexpected gorges of greenery;

Uluru is silvery spinifex and small yellow flowers;

Uluru is a cross-legged seat off the track and a 20 minute sketch;

Uluru is trying to hold the camera steady as a fly crawls under sunglasses across my closed eyelid;

Uluru is a decision to respect, made years ago;

Uluru is a knowledgeable, funny guide and a majestic, calm base walk;

Uluru is two guys reading the signs “Please don’t climb” and deciding what to do;

Uluru is tears cried in the cultural centre reading letters written by previous visitors;

 

Uluru is people climbing like ants up a steep slope;

Uluru is a gaggle of tourists at sunrise and sunset;

 

Uluru is the Anangu people;

Uluru is a hundred hues of purple brown blue ochre russet lavender pink apricot gold;

Uluru is grey sandstone and iron oxide rusting;

Uluru is 348 metres high;

Uluru is majesty;

Uluru is the desert watching;

Uluru is silence;

Uluru is birds singing;

Uluru is the colours of the desert;

Uluru is spiritual heartland;

Uluru is.

 

Uluru is.

 

Uluru is.

 

A Moveable Feast

Another housesit begins today.

I am often asked whether I like housesitting.   In the last year I have spent many hours of numerous weekends packing and unpacking, as well as cleaning a whole house or apartment from top to bottom in one sitting.  I have been confused by the arrangement of utensils, crockery and cutlery in different kitchens, I have been baffled by the location -  or the lack - of irons, saucepans, brooms and vacuum cleaners.  I have housesat for periods of six weeks, five weeks, four weeks, three weeks, and two weeks; I have lived in houses, units and apartments; I have discovered buses, trains and walking routes in Bardon, Auchenflower, Woolloongabba, Highgate Hill, and West End.  I have watered plants, taken dogs for walks, cuddled cats, fed worms, collected eggs from chickens; I have carried 15 or 20 keys on my keyring at once.  I have struggled to develop and maintain routines; I have been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I appear to need to take with me each time.

Housesitting has its challenges. But the answer is yes, I like it.    The day I decided to move permanently out of my own unit in Highgate Hill was the day of my first housesit, a winter morning when I woke to sunlight streaming across the bed, and the Bible verse in my (sometimes) daily reading:  "In my Father's house are many rooms." (John 14:2)  I had a sense of hope.  I knew that this verse was not originally referring to the present existence, but I felt God's encouragement nevertheless: "If you choose to move out, I will provide for you".  And the last year has confirmed this; I have many more rooms than I need!  I am blessed by an abundance of offers, and in the in-between weeks I am able to live with my sister and brother-in-law, a gift of being with family which brings me joy.  When I am with them we share meals, cups of tea, fireside warmth, and veranda sunlight, and the daily commute includes a 50 minute train ride.  When I am housesitting I catch up with friends in my local community, live more independently, get my exercise by walking to work, and enjoy new views, new places to sit, new ways to see.  A year ago I could not have imagined I would be living this life, but life is full of unexpected surprises, and the abundance of more than we can imagine!  I am grateful.

Packing awaits.
   

Ramadan - reflections

It's been more than a month since I - since we - completed Ramadan this year.  It seems like a dream, years ago.  It was a month of waking early - at 4:45am - to my breakfasts fixed the night before of  smoothies, wraps, cheese, ham, boiled eggs, dates, nuts - whatever protein and carbohydrates I could find.  It was a month when, despite wanting to rise above the ordinary, I thought much more often of food, hunger and sleep - the first level on Maslow's hierarchy of needs.  It was a month when the happiest moment of many of my days was the moment I broke my fast and the sweetness of a date, the texture of chewing, flooded my senses.  It was a month when I was tired, when I got sick, when I had headaches, when I often didn't want to be kind to anyone.

So much for spirituality.

And yet.  And yet in the moment when I started crying on the afternoon train home because I realised I had forgotten my small ziplock bag of dates and nuts, could not eat at the designated time to break the fast, 5:19pm, and must wait another hour before I would be home - in that moment I realised how much I had been given,  how at least I knew where my next meal was coming from, and through my tears was able to find gratitude and prayer.  

And yet.  

And yet I began to read the Qu'ran, and began to understand and to love the new Muslim friends I made, to hear their compassion, their love for, their desire for God, and to find commonalities in our journeys.  

And yet I was able to go to a mosque, and was surprised - and changed -  to come face to face with a very real sense of the One True God as I prayed there. 

And yet I was able to wake every morning and read, and write, and to establish a pattern for the mornings.  

And yet I was able to walk at lunchtimes and pray for the poor, for those who, unlike me, were truly hungry.

And yet I was able to find joy in the simple taste of a date.

And yet I learned:  so much of how we do life is about attitude; that if I'm hungry and I choose it I am no longer a slave to my body and its desires, and that I can therefore choose how I respond - I don't have to be grumpy.  And so much of happiness is about expectation:  If I am without food when I think I have a right to eat now I am frustrated and upset; if I am without food because I choose it my blood sugar levels may be low; I may burst into tears unexpectedly, but I am, actually, ok.

And for these experiences, and a new awareness of these truths, I am grateful.  

As I am for good breakfasts!

The Red Centre - a week-long trip into beauty.