Observations from Uluru | In the Presence of Red Giants

From a distance, it looked as though it were a giant red dune. The closer we drove, the more clear it became it was, in fact, one solid slab of earth. Craters in the rock face were a curious formation; human-made or from earth’s natural evolution, it was impossible to tell.

Red earth clung to boots and coated the skin around our ankles. The dirt shifted beneath each forward step and sounded similar to the crunching of snow. The occasional patch of soft sand threw my balance, but I was grateful to feel the earth changing beneath me. This terrain is as alive as the thickest forests except more robust from the intensity of the sun.

We walked with our backs to the great ball of fire in the sky but the light reflected off the hot sand and scorched our faces anyway. The weather was tame compared to the sweltering 40s (+100°F) of peak summer high season, but the heat still nagged at the back of our necks and calves. We stopped to drink water from our depleted containers, never being enough to cool us off. If anything, it made us even more desperate to escape our places baking under the sun.

It was difficult to wrap my head around the sheer size of Uluru. When something so massive owns the earth, you almost don’t question where you are in relation to it.

I was most impressed with how frequently the appearance changed. Not only the color under the soon-to-be setting sun, but the distinct shapes, textures, and crevices. Black streaks where water once, or perhaps still does, flow freely. Caves at the base of Uluru covered in drawings and art from the people of a distant past. Kangaroo grass grew between splinters of rock still clinging to the steep face. Some small trees grew in the same crevices. I could only imagine the strength it would take for the roots to curl into rock.

At one point, the sun disappeared behind the towering land mass. The coolness of the shade clung to the sweat on my skin and provided instantaneous relief from the heat I imagined I would never escape. There was a new stillness I hadn’t felt anywhere else on our walk. I set down my belongings and rooted myself in the rich red soil. With another inhale, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the life thriving around me.

I’m not sure how long It was before the next travellers emerged from the desert. I could hear the echoes of their footsteps long before they arrived. The voices reverberated between the walls of the alcove and split in two before falling on my ears. It wasn’t their presence that pulled me from my meditation—it made me want to remain still even longer. The thing about the desert is the ants are larger than in the city which means their bite is significantly more painful.

I chose to walk the last few kilometers alone. I wanted to remember what it felt like to close my eyes and stand quietly in one place, the only sign of life being the sound of the wind in the tall grass or the noise it makes as it whips past the curve of the steep rock face. To be alone in a landscape such as this—knowing there’s a world so far away from here constantly moving in chaotic motions—makes you cherish the opportunity to remain so perfectly still.

Time passes differently here. It lasts lifetimes and eons beyond our comprehension. Any answers you’re on a quest for can be found in the shade of sacred spaces like Uluru. The question is: Are you listening?