I have no idea where to start with this. You know when you have an experience and you feel that you and your life will never be the same again, but you can’t articulate how.

That’s where I am.

I left Uluru and our wellness team over a week ago. I have been waiting for the words to come. They are there, but haven’t come through properly yet.

Our last morning together was powerful. Quidong in the gorge at Uluru followed by our last breakfast together. That feeling when you don’t want to leave … the place or the people.

Ken rose to express some final words of gratitude. By the end of it I don’t think there was a dry eye around the table; mine were definitely wet, as were my cheeks, my neck and my t-shirt lol.

Uluru is a sacred place. Her energy is palpable, and she is unexpected. Photographs do not show you all of the grooves, holes, caves, gorges, quiet places. In fact, photographs delude you into thinking the rock was just placed there. And her changing colors – only presence and your own eyes do this justice. Such a magick there, a healing and stilling magick.

And we were so blessed to spend so much time there, bathing in the majesty of something truly otherworldly, with people impacted as much as I was.

What a charmed life I lead. And how blessed am I that last year was so yuck I needed to take a year to rediscover who I was and explore our world. I’ve been to some incredible places, and I’ve met some beautifully incredible people, and caught up with amazing friends.

Peace. Blessings. Gratitude.


Uluru. No words. Needs to be experienced by the heart. No words, no photographs, no videos will do it justice.

Walking today and three spots really drew my attention.

1. Sacred Women’s Spot. A request for no photographs to be taken in that area. I lay my hands on the rock. Instantly a vibration, a deep murmuring was felt through my hands. The rock was cold; it’s pulse was strong. An Aboriginal woman appeared to me. Bare chested, large, round face, red skirt, grey hair, laughing eyes. Beautiful in ritual and authenticity. I came back here to write.

2. Men’s Cooking Space. A low cave entrance, fire darkness across its roof. A young Aboriginal boy, possibly fifteen or sixteen, curly black hair, observing us all with a smile. He carried a spear. His face was painted. He, too, wore red.

3. Kantju Gorge. Still. Very still. Quiet. Reverent. Austere. Peaceful. I came back here to write. My new friend was there already. I offered her a sound session with the forks. I felt called to use them in this space. She said that she saw young Aboriginal children playing. The forks silenced the tourists. Power.

Three short pieces (not very good; words do no justice to the moments).


A mother’s heartbeat

pulsing through my outstretched fingers.

Life force:

Breathing for me

Breathing as me

feeling the power.

Release –

Coughs echo and bound through my chest,

releasing all that has been caught,

feeling all that can be felt –




Sacred women’s space.


A lowly cave entrance



by two trees

reaching away

to beckon all within.

Mysteries to share

and secrets to tell

the ancient winds divulge all.

Close your eyes.

Still your heart.

Listen …

The winds carry ancient songs

calls of love

and calls of worship

for all that lies here

today, yesterday, tomorrow.

All time is one.

As your foot treads,

so does another’s,


in unison,



Darkness …

of the mind, the soul, the cave.

Deep breaths …

transcending the core,

and lighting the way.

Flickers of sun

glance off fire marked walls,

hands are held,

hearts beat as one:

Ceremony. Ritual. Celebration.

Toes sink into red sand

covering nails and sticking to beds.

Dark eyes smile.

Cool earth, cool walls, cool rock.

Sacred space.

Sacred lives.

Sacred dreams.