This story is continued from the previous blog ...
Szuson and I didn't see each other on the overnight trip but, as we got out at the Alice Springs station, she asked me where I was staying. I had booked nothing, trusting in providence, so agreed to go to the hostel she'd booked into. It didn't feel right, somehow, so I went in search of different accommodation the next morning.
I was drawn to a hostel in the main street and walked past it several times. Each time I got a feeling of rightness, a warmth, as I approached. I booked in, still feeling uncertain about why I was in Alice Springs, in this hostel and even why I had been prompted to come to Australia at all. I was given my key, went to my room and froze. On the shelf was a huge, white coffee mug with one word in bold red writing - Philip! It was even spelt, unusually, with one "l" as my name is. I opened the top drawer and there was a new, unopened, tin of boot wax.
I cracked up laughing, knowing that I didn't know why I was here but knowing I was in the right place. I finally relaxed.
The next day I joined a group of young people on a guided trip round Uluru and Kata Tjuta* . From the moment I saw Uluru, my right eye started streaming and it stopped abruptly as we left the area, three days later. Sitting in the noisy bus - loud music and constant chatter - I was presented with many visions as the red, dusty desert flew past my window. It was as if I was remembering a time, long ago, when I was an Aborigine and we hunted kangaroo in groups. We'd call to the spirit of kangaroo and we'd be guided to an animal that had volunteered to feed us. It was apparent, in these dreamy/visiony things I was having, we could all talk to each other in our minds over very long distances. In fact, distance was irrelevant - we could (and did) do it sitting next to each other or hundreds of miles apart. There was also the mystifying - then terrifying - spectacle of strange white people coming to our land and the land cried to us in pain.
Back in Alice again, I didn't know what to do so I hired a car and drove west - "go west, young man," the advertisement said! I stopped often, walking up most (maybe all) of the gorges on the route and, at one point, I sat on a mountain ledge and felt like I was talking to a circling eagle and to the spirit of rain. Black clouds formed and I just made it back to the car as the heavens bucketed down for half an hour. I later discovered that it had not rained there for the last six years.
At the end of the road was a resort that didn't feel right so I drove back towards Alice and slept beside my car on the side of the road. Later I was told that was lunacy on account of the poisonous snakes and spiders that abounded. Not knowing what I don't know is sometimes a good thing.
The next day I went east of Alice and, late afternoon, I ended up at Ross River, a very rustic, very basic, very Australian, tourist place. It felt right and, as I booked in, I asked about horse riding - I hadn't been on a horse for a long time and, seeing them in the yards, yearned to be back in the saddle again. As it happened, their monthly, two-day horse and camel trek was just starting. The receptionist dashed out to stop them from leaving without me while I threw my luggage into my room and changed into my boots and akubra.
Only two of us went on horses while the others (a party of ten Germans) went on camels. The other horse rider, Grub, worked at Ross River and, after racing each other over the rough and dusty terrain for over half an hour (so exhilarating!) we walked the horses to give them a rest.
The camel riders were miles away and, in that wide space, I asked Grub, half jokingly, if I could get a job working there. He said a barman had been given the sack the previous night and if I spoke to the manager, I was sure to get a job. I told him that I had never worked in a bar, at a tourist resort or in any kind of accommodation or waiting job. That, he said with a smile, would be no obstacle - ask and the job would be mine. My soul expanded as the landscape did and the two days went by too quickly - riding under the wide blue sky and sleeping under the star-lit heavens was awesome.
When we got back to the main buildings, I asked about a job and Grub was right - I started my first bar job a few hours later. And, in that isloated pub in the middle of Australia, is where the Aboriginal people came to me ... which I'll explain in the next blog.
I was drawn to a hostel in the main street and walked past it several times. Each time I got a feeling of rightness, a warmth, as I approached. I booked in, still feeling uncertain about why I was in Alice Springs, in this hostel and even why I had been prompted to come to Australia at all. I was given my key, went to my room and froze. On the shelf was a huge, white coffee mug with one word in bold red writing - Philip! It was even spelt, unusually, with one "l" as my name is. I opened the top drawer and there was a new, unopened, tin of boot wax.
I cracked up laughing, knowing that I didn't know why I was here but knowing I was in the right place. I finally relaxed.
The next day I joined a group of young people on a guided trip round Uluru and Kata Tjuta* . From the moment I saw Uluru, my right eye started streaming and it stopped abruptly as we left the area, three days later. Sitting in the noisy bus - loud music and constant chatter - I was presented with many visions as the red, dusty desert flew past my window. It was as if I was remembering a time, long ago, when I was an Aborigine and we hunted kangaroo in groups. We'd call to the spirit of kangaroo and we'd be guided to an animal that had volunteered to feed us. It was apparent, in these dreamy/visiony things I was having, we could all talk to each other in our minds over very long distances. In fact, distance was irrelevant - we could (and did) do it sitting next to each other or hundreds of miles apart. There was also the mystifying - then terrifying - spectacle of strange white people coming to our land and the land cried to us in pain.
Back in Alice again, I didn't know what to do so I hired a car and drove west - "go west, young man," the advertisement said! I stopped often, walking up most (maybe all) of the gorges on the route and, at one point, I sat on a mountain ledge and felt like I was talking to a circling eagle and to the spirit of rain. Black clouds formed and I just made it back to the car as the heavens bucketed down for half an hour. I later discovered that it had not rained there for the last six years.
At the end of the road was a resort that didn't feel right so I drove back towards Alice and slept beside my car on the side of the road. Later I was told that was lunacy on account of the poisonous snakes and spiders that abounded. Not knowing what I don't know is sometimes a good thing.
The next day I went east of Alice and, late afternoon, I ended up at Ross River, a very rustic, very basic, very Australian, tourist place. It felt right and, as I booked in, I asked about horse riding - I hadn't been on a horse for a long time and, seeing them in the yards, yearned to be back in the saddle again. As it happened, their monthly, two-day horse and camel trek was just starting. The receptionist dashed out to stop them from leaving without me while I threw my luggage into my room and changed into my boots and akubra.
Only two of us went on horses while the others (a party of ten Germans) went on camels. The other horse rider, Grub, worked at Ross River and, after racing each other over the rough and dusty terrain for over half an hour (so exhilarating!) we walked the horses to give them a rest.
The camel riders were miles away and, in that wide space, I asked Grub, half jokingly, if I could get a job working there. He said a barman had been given the sack the previous night and if I spoke to the manager, I was sure to get a job. I told him that I had never worked in a bar, at a tourist resort or in any kind of accommodation or waiting job. That, he said with a smile, would be no obstacle - ask and the job would be mine. My soul expanded as the landscape did and the two days went by too quickly - riding under the wide blue sky and sleeping under the star-lit heavens was awesome.
When we got back to the main buildings, I asked about a job and Grub was right - I started my first bar job a few hours later. And, in that isloated pub in the middle of Australia, is where the Aboriginal people came to me ... which I'll explain in the next blog.
*Uluru is Ayers Rock and Kata Tjuta is The Olgas.
In the meantime, enjoy a little more of Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...
"Did you feel that?" asked Amanda quietly.
"Yes I did," whispered Toby.
It seemed as if the mysterious and gentle zephyr had touched them as one rather than each of them individually. They both felt this, somehow, but might have found it hard to explain it to others … even to themselves. They knew what had happened and the shared experience - though brief and simple - touched them deeply, though they knew not why. Their hands sought each other out and, as their fingers intertwined, it seemed that the massive room and corridor in which they were standing filled itself with a presence - warm and caring, somehow - and they felt a deep safety, a quiet unconcern, for what was about to unfold. All their uncertainties, fears and questions were enfolded in this presence, this sense of deep and ancient caring and they needed to do nothing but smile and wait for further guidance from within.
Toby put his arm around Amanda's shoulders and she leaned into him with a sigh.
"So, what are you two doing? Snogging?" asked Dottie in a loud and commanding voice as she strode down the corridor. Amanda and Toby separated, looking shocked and embarrassed, confirming Dottie's suspicions.
A Head Job
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.16 a.m.
Arthur, Arthur, came a sound, a whisper on a breeze, that slipped quietly through his dreams. Arthur, Arthur slid through gently, serenely and on those words he sat, gliding down a grassy slope in the warm afternoon sun, guided by a grace that was not his own. He was content to be led on a word that felt familiar, down a hill he'd never seen but knew intimately. As he glided on, one Arthur behind the other, he realised he could lie back if he chose. Sitting up pleased him as he could see the flitting swallows above, the parting grass before him and the sun glinting on the sea far below. He approached the sea and it seemed to come no nearer.
As he looked up he fancied he could see - or was it feel? - a thudding in the clouds behind him.
He became happily drowsy and lay back on the two Arthurs with no sensation of their touch. Looking up he saw not sky but a face; a face he knew well, he supposed. The face was close, blurred, and its lips were moving, saying something - saying, "Arthur, Arthur," the very words he was lying on, sliding on. His eyes saw the face but didn't look at it - he looked through it, wondering - how could that be there, not the sky.
The thudding in the sky seemed to be closing in. It was definitely a feeling now.
The face moved back and the mouth - a familiar mouth, somehow - was still moving, saying Arthur and other words. He could see the eyes now and, like the mouth, looked sad happy … mmm, sad happy? Yes, that's what they looked like. The face still filled his sky as he slipped gently down the grassy slope towards the sea. There was a light now, behind the face, shining through hair and around the edges. There might be, perhaps, other sounds, human sounds and the birds had stopped chirping.
In the meantime, enjoy a little more of Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...
"Did you feel that?" asked Amanda quietly.
"Yes I did," whispered Toby.
It seemed as if the mysterious and gentle zephyr had touched them as one rather than each of them individually. They both felt this, somehow, but might have found it hard to explain it to others … even to themselves. They knew what had happened and the shared experience - though brief and simple - touched them deeply, though they knew not why. Their hands sought each other out and, as their fingers intertwined, it seemed that the massive room and corridor in which they were standing filled itself with a presence - warm and caring, somehow - and they felt a deep safety, a quiet unconcern, for what was about to unfold. All their uncertainties, fears and questions were enfolded in this presence, this sense of deep and ancient caring and they needed to do nothing but smile and wait for further guidance from within.
Toby put his arm around Amanda's shoulders and she leaned into him with a sigh.
"So, what are you two doing? Snogging?" asked Dottie in a loud and commanding voice as she strode down the corridor. Amanda and Toby separated, looking shocked and embarrassed, confirming Dottie's suspicions.
A Head Job
Wednesday, 14th March 2012, 8.16 a.m.
Arthur, Arthur, came a sound, a whisper on a breeze, that slipped quietly through his dreams. Arthur, Arthur slid through gently, serenely and on those words he sat, gliding down a grassy slope in the warm afternoon sun, guided by a grace that was not his own. He was content to be led on a word that felt familiar, down a hill he'd never seen but knew intimately. As he glided on, one Arthur behind the other, he realised he could lie back if he chose. Sitting up pleased him as he could see the flitting swallows above, the parting grass before him and the sun glinting on the sea far below. He approached the sea and it seemed to come no nearer.
As he looked up he fancied he could see - or was it feel? - a thudding in the clouds behind him.
He became happily drowsy and lay back on the two Arthurs with no sensation of their touch. Looking up he saw not sky but a face; a face he knew well, he supposed. The face was close, blurred, and its lips were moving, saying something - saying, "Arthur, Arthur," the very words he was lying on, sliding on. His eyes saw the face but didn't look at it - he looked through it, wondering - how could that be there, not the sky.
The thudding in the sky seemed to be closing in. It was definitely a feeling now.
The face moved back and the mouth - a familiar mouth, somehow - was still moving, saying Arthur and other words. He could see the eyes now and, like the mouth, looked sad happy … mmm, sad happy? Yes, that's what they looked like. The face still filled his sky as he slipped gently down the grassy slope towards the sea. There was a light now, behind the face, shining through hair and around the edges. There might be, perhaps, other sounds, human sounds and the birds had stopped chirping.
The face moved closer and seemed comforting; warmly comforting and he was pleased it was there. His forehead was touched gently, caressingly, and he smiled.
And then the smell of the grass gave way to the scent of roses … mmm, not quite roses, but a scent he knew well, a scent he longed would remain. The scent, whatever it was, revived old chipped memories, fragments of events unconnected, parts of a life that felt familiar, parts of several lives, perhaps - child-times, adult-times, baby-times, teenage-times, all scattered about as confetti in the gentle breeze of his mind. This scent, so familiar, brought with it smiles, disappointment, sweetness, loss, fear, calm, hurrying, boredom and exquisite peace as after love-making.
As he looked at her emerging face he realised he wasn't seeing it as he usually saw faces, saw bodies, saw things. There was no distinct nose or mouth or eyes, no individual pieces, different from other pieces. It was like an unfolding picture in lights but not individual, twinkling lights … it was a picture in light, one light, bright and subtle. He imagined he was looking at a patch of water on a still lake, into which a small pebble had been dropped, a hundred yards away. The surface of the water before him might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. The light, her light, might be moving. It might not be moving. He was not sure. He knew her light to be different from the background light and the light of other beings but he wasn't sure how he was distinguishing these differences.
In the gentle light he sensed a concern, a worry about the container, the capsule, labelled as Arthur. Ah, yes, his small capsule - that was what she feared for. He understood her fears and was, at the same time, bemused for he knew there was nothing to fear, to worry over. The small capsules, with all their different labels, were not what was really there.
He looked in and saw … no, not saw … knew his capsule was open - perhaps for the first time - and a larger essence had been released to encompass … well, everything, really. There were no boundaries, no limits, and it just sort-of flowed into other essences, slightly separate but not.
The capsule he'd known so well seemed to be closed and, inside, it held all its fears and concerns. He was touched and the formless light of his essence enfolded her capsule and she burst into tears - a flood of tears so long held back and now released with the relief of an ancient knowing that cleansed face and soul.
"Arthur, you're back, you're awake!" came her voice through the mist of his gentle perplexity. Unused to such a way of seeing things … of knowing things … he relaxed, unconcerned, and enjoyed the small blissful waves of light as they caressed him.
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