The Secrets of my Desert Pilgrimage: Vision Quest in Central Australia
If you’d rather listen to the podcast episode, you can do so HERE.
I’m not quite sure how to put it, but there’s something about the roar of wind through valleys and dry desert plains. At times the whisper of a butterfly, at others, the relentless howl of an ancient power.
What am I seeking out here in the desert?
Why am I really here?
The call to adventure has beckoned, and yes, indeed I’ve answered. But there’s something illusive that no matter how much I try to place my finger on it, to have it strike through with lightning clarity, it’s out of reach. That’s the thing about initiation business, it’s often nebulous. We can’t know what’s really at play til after the fact.
Some of the dot points are obvious.
Ritual spaciousness. To acknowledge this last season of my life and all that’s been. To allow myself to process grief. To be dreamt up by the desert in holy and mysterious ways. To prepare myself for our approaching Grampians Vision Quest, by being in such close proximity to the VQ portal when the time rolls around. But I do suspect, and I can even say “know”, that something else is waiting for me out in the desert.
Uluru is the obvious drawcard out here in Central Australia, and what a mighty power indeed. After a 24 hour drive up north from Victoria, I arrived mid-morning on the third day and settled into the Uluru base-walk, a 10km stroll around the entire proximity of this natural megalith. As marvellous as it was, by the end of the walk, it felt like I’d come straight out of the oven. Well and truly cooked, and you might even say slightly overdone. Not quite heat shock, but certainly shocked by the heat.
I was physically humbled, bending a knee to the harsh desert weather and admitting my overzealous ambition. After hydration, nutrition, shade and rest, I awoke the following day much more considerate of the dry desert heat.
A theme was emerging; becoming apparent, and I found myself tilting my ears to learn from the wind. I hear ancient voices. Through the canyon. The needle-like foliage of desert oak. Way out on the ridgeline, swaying and rustling. Sometimes my perception bends in a way that I catch a glimpse of the currents, moving through the air. The wind is speaking to me; it’s inviting me to pay attention. There’s something it wants to teach me. It feels like an old friend, and at times, a terrifying force.
I rest in silence overlooking the red domes of Kata Tjuta. The rolling lick of desert wind coaxes out a familiar feeling; a homecoming. And at the same time, a yearning that feels ancient, a painful ache that emanates from within my body.
What is this yearning? Some metaphysical, elemental longing to return to some aspect of what I once was? When I was once wind? My body shivers. Tingles in my face, down my arms, torso and legs. Peace washes over me when I come to the remembrance - I am the wind. I sit out here and rest into that silent remembering.
A desert man, at one with the dry heat... alas, I am not. At least not in any way I could live out my days, no matter how esoteric I want to philosophize about this ever-present now moment, or ancient-times as wind spirit. I am, however, a man drawn toward novelty. This desert has called, and yes, I have answered.
It’s a lonely road at times. I do my best to stay true to the path. There is no other way. Watarrka, better known as the stunning sandstone landscape of Kings Canyon, continues to ripen me and prepare me for my formal Vision Quest. The scorching sun continues to humble me, and the wind continues to speak. I’ve been walking the road of wilderness initiation for a long time now.
While the peak transcendental moments, and the high and mighty “eureka” moments were plentiful in the beginning, I’ve come to learn that this journey is moreso about an ongoing conversation; with self, with nature, with creator. The revelations can arise from those sacred wellsprings at any moment, however the disclosures are often more subtle.
The time comes to settle into my Vision Fast.
I’m nestled beside the Hugh Riverbed, which merges with the Finke River, the oldest river system in the world. I think how wonderful it might be for my Quest site to be on the riverbank, overlooking the evening dance of the swallows, shaded by big gum trees, even some patches of friendly looking grass; a nurturing locale compared to the rest of the dry landscape. It was to my dismay when I stepped into the dreaming wheel to divine my site and felt a pulse in my body when standing in the northern section of that wheel - toward the dry desert dunes. I ignored that at first, sticking to the original “plan”. However when setting off with my pack, that invisible silver thread course corrected my body, and begrudgingly, I found myself walking toward the exposed red sand and dry spinifex of the exposed desert.
Despite what our mind thinks, how much can we trust the direction and guidance of a greater force steering us along the path?
I perch on top of my hill, staff in hand, bandana covering my face, peering through the wind. A bedouin, a desert-dweller, a desert man, at one with the dry heat... it’s all I can be in the ever-present now moment. Language starts to form around my questions - What am I still seeking? Why am I out here?
Two aspects emerge, one of the other mystical / spiritual, the other, psychological / soul.
Being interested in the exploration and expansion of consciousness has led me toward novel environments and experiences, journeying the inner and outer worlds. I’ve come to know that wild and natural places, in the silence and stillness of nature, are particularly conducive to thinning the veil of perception, allowing the mechanisms of consciousness to become more permeable and hence increasing the potential for mystical encounters with the divine; increasing the potential for supernatural and paranormal phenomena to be experienced.
In a dominant socio-cultural paradigm void of mystical initiation rites, I find these to be invaluable along the path of new earth leadership, for the birthing of sacred vision and renewed ways of being in the world. It forms part of why I’m out here in the desert.
In terms of the psychology and soul, there’s no doubt that I’m within a large seasonal arc of my life where I’m seeking to expand my toolkit when it comes to the frameworks, systems, structures, knowledge, skills, and with continued experience and acquisition, anchoring much of that in as embodied wisdom, so that I have a greater capacity and capabilities to be of better assistance to my people. I once read that one of the reasons that some of the Native American chiefs were so well respected, is that they’d died and rebirthed through initiatory rites, time and time again, all for the good of their people. It’s a notion that I once paid more attention to along my own path; a notion that I find myself revisiting out here, as I die unto myself yet again, out here in the desert.
The calling of the soul, with the drive of the ego, finding convergence and helping form the greater vision for one’s life.
The question of worthiness arises. Do I feel worthy? Am I enough? Self-worth. Self-esteem. Part of me recognizes the timeless acknowledgment that we’re inherently worthy and enough. Yes, I am worthy. Yes, I am enough. And yet, my faithful pot-stirrer sitting on my shoulder, the Devil’s Advocate, says otherwise.
I acknowledge the feeling of “not-enoughness” that arises from a knowing that there’s more potential to explore; to activate. More power to reclaim. I honour that part of me that continues to seek and feels driven by a powerful force to awaken more of that power, potential, vision, mission, purpose. The wind never simmers down to a bare whisper and remain stills for all of time; it continues to move, at times ferociously, moving great dunes and mountains; perpetual potential.
The idea of worthiness continues to stir me. Worthy of what? Worthy of love, recognition, fame, fortune, abundance? What it steers me towards is the hierarchical notion that the better you can help solve other’s problems and provide pathways forward, the more valuable you’re perceived to be. And to increase the potential often requires the acquisition of skills, systems, knowledge, experience, and also, experience getting results. The triangulation of experience, competence, and confidence, better leading to the outcomes desired.
The logical equation that comes to me is:
skills = service = value = worth = worthiness of status and abundance = greater opportunity to affect change = greater resources to pursue soul creativity = greater abundance. I’m reminded of the insight that Gene Key 14 elucidates, which for me personally is “My Life’s Work, What I’m Here To Do.” The Shadow of Compromise, the Gift of Competence, the Siddhi of Bounteousness.
I watch two huge birds of prey ride the thermal currents on the plains in front of me, and think about the marriage of internal validation: of one’s own character, virtues, values, vision, worth, and the external validation that reaffirms the pursuit of the former. The birds rise up together in a circular vortex before careening off toward the horizon. I watch them disappear, as the clarity of language upon my questions descends upon me like a light silk blanket.
Many themes come as I perch atop my desert hill, fasting in the heat and wind.
Tears spilled into red sand, time and time again, as I grieve my dog Titan, who I recently put-down. He was only a young pup, a black German Shepherd with a tiny tuft of white hair on his chest. My best buddy during our three years together. I see him running around the dunes. I feel him lay down beside me. I stroke the soft fur on his head and back. I fall to my knees and proclaim my grief to the desert and how much I miss him. I ask for forgiveness. I ask for mercy. The sorrow rises and falls. He comes to visit me several times over, in the form of a Willy Wagtail, black and white, shaking his tail in the tree branch out yonder.
I revisit elements of family, such as the short and precious time that my children are children, before they’re not. I revisit my parents getting older. I feel the red sleeping bag that keeps me warm at night, and recall just how much of the camping gear I have that I’ve inherited from my old man, from our time camping together when I was a kid. Thirty years later and here I am, once again nestled into the same red sleeping bag from my childhood. I have a long dialogue with the little boy within, nurturing and comforting, and exclaiming just how proud and amazed we are of walking this path. I let my yearnings and my longings stir me.
Just as Rumi says in his poem, Love Dogs, “The longing you express is the return message. The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the names of. Give your life to be one of them.”
There’s overwhelming boredom and restlessness.
It’s gruelling at times. The days are long as long, and the nights are slow as slow. And yet in the persistence, the clarity and the vision for the next season of my life continues to take shape. Make no mistake. The desert is harsh.
Fierce winds whip my tarp into a frenzy for hours on end. The sun scorches the terracotta-red sand. The flies are relentless. I’m not sure of their intent swarming every facial orifice, but I presume if it’s not to lay eggs in some warm moist cavity, it’s to consume me in one way or another. A bandana and head-net become my religious attire. My time Questing has been demanding, stretching me in uncomfortable ways. And yet despite the extreme conditions, the land is punctuated by absolute beauty.
Desert paper daisys have been in bloom; white and yellow patches amongst the spinifex. I watch butterflies, and a yellow one in particular, dance delicately above the sand. Acacia and desert-oak scatter the landscape, providing pockets of shade, and while the birdlife is seemingly sparse, the land is dotted by galahs, ringneck parrots, ravens, shrike-thrushes, soaring birds of prey, major mitchell cockatoos and rainbow bee-eaters and masked woodswallows (all three of which I’d never seen before), and both the willy wagtails and magpies, which herald in the dawn chorus.
The sound of a boobook owl carries across the desert plains at night, the sky vibrant in stars. I watch the sunrise and sunset, mesmerized by the blend of pastel tones. In the eve, Venus makes the announcement that more stars are on the way, and I watch the two pointers followed by the Southern Cross, and constellation Scorpio, continue the show.
The emanation of the desert is completely different as the sun begins to set and the twilight glow begins. The land softens. I soften. The respite from the intense heat brings a sigh of relief and peace. The colour palette is magnificent.
I’ve been been ripened out here.
Like sun to a piece of fruit, although not in a way that’s deteriorating or decomposing. There’s another sense to it. To be sure, I can shower my body, wash my clothes and shake out my pack, but the sandy grit of red desert dunes is etched into me in some other way. The howling winds across plains and through valley have had their way with me; it’s a unique song that these desert winds sing. At times I hear melodic female voices chanting, kids laughing and playing, yet no one’s around. At least not in any “human” sense. Old old voices on the wind.
The train passes through on the Ghan railway line, once or twice a day. It provides some much needed entertainment throughout the excruciatingly long desert days. I feel my circadian biology reset, and my nervous system entraining itself to the rhythms of this land. I doze off several times through the long nights, and yet always find myself awake and alert, shortly before the magpies start softly gurgling in the dark early mornings, slowly singing the light back to the land.
Day 4 comes, and my sights turn toward the south-east. Back to family. The desert has made its mark on me; some ways known, and in ways still a mystery. I keep my mystical encounters with desert spirits, and the spirit of the wind, close to my chest. It's a good thing to let these experiences settle; to temper ones desire to share too much too soon. And I know it’s paradoxical to how and what I’m sharing here, but to be sure, there’s a lot of gold that I’m protecting.
The mystical encounters that we have can be so profound, so deeply intimate, that it can be hard to know what to do with that. We're part of a dominant socio-cultural paradigm that makes little room for spiritual connection and mystical encounters with the divine. And if those experiences are had, we're lacking the structure; systems; frameworks, to help us foster the growth and integration of these experiences in grounded and practical ways. I think about the gatherings and programs that I’m offering within this convergence of shamanism, awakening, healing, ceremony, initiation, nature awareness skills, wilderness immersion, time on the mountain.
Programs like The Pilgrimage: Shamanic Wilderness Expeditions and Vision Quest: The Wilderness Vigil are certainly conducive to catalyzing states of spiritual rehydration, psycho-spiritual deepening, and mystical encounters with nature; with the divine. It’s this type of connection, these types of experiences that can help to rehydrate us and deepen our intimacy with the sacred.
The sacred within the sacred, but also, the sacred that’s not necessarily relegated to the peak transcendental mystical encounter with the divine. I’m talking about the sacred and holy in the absolute ordinariness of daily life. Seeing the sacred in the mundane. And finding ways to bridge the gap, to put language and to create from that sacred place, in a way that’s useful to ordinary village life.
I’ve come to realize that one of the big challenges for hyper-creatives with high degrees of competency in much of what they do, is tempering the vast pursuit of creative options available to them, and trading breadth for depth, lest you spread yourself too thin and negate the potential for greatness in more selective callings. An aphorism I’ve had in my back pocket for a little while now is that “it's likely you won't achieve anything great if you try to be great at all things.”
Time is finite. They'll always be a trade-off. If you're naturally competent at many things you'll likely have to sacrifice many choices to achieve greatness in a designated area of focus. This is why periodisation is important. Whatever it is that you’re doing, whatever it is that you’re sacrificing, doesn't have to be forever, rather, your area of focus for just right now. Sacrifice will always be a part of the equation, and as far as Quest goes, it's etched into the foundations. Sacrificing the comforts of modernity for an intimate encounter with the wild. We pour our libations, make our offerings, hold steadfast and trust the call that there's something deep and meaningful waiting for us out there.
And so it is, after two weeks of this monumental Personal Pilgrimage and Vision Quest in the Central Australian desert, my sights are set on the integration and actualization of the Sacred Visions that have been gifted to me.
One perspective that I find myself returning to is that life is a game of mastery, and most people live mediocre lives because the path of mastery is difficult. Pain is inevitable on the path. And so a question arises: What would you rather choose?
The pain and challenge from exploring your greater potential, or the pain and the challenge from wallowing in your own stagnation and complacency?
I was skimming through an old journal from ten years ago, reflecting on my path, right before leaving for this recent pilgrimage to the Central Aus desert, and I found this passage which I wrote to myself.
"If you’re uninspired and don’t know where to look, get around people that are passionate about things. Get around people who are expanders. Get around better environments and let something hit you. Follow your curiosity and let the spark of creativity ignite something inside you. Find what lights you up and follow that."
This is the thing: If you have a vision, if you have a dream, goals, projects, purpose, mission, direction…
Most things worth having are simply a matter of discipline and time. Stay the course. A lot of people don't have the discipline and can't comprehend committing to something over the long term, sometimes for years on end, to inch closer toward that dream. As we all know, time is going to pass anyway, so clarify the vision, implement the appropriate structure and systems on a daily basis, be consistent, and I would go so far to say be relentless about your execution.
People silently -and not so silently- complain, all the time, about the results that they haven't got, when they haven’t even done half of the work to get there. Most people don’t live exceptional lives, and the truth is, if you want an exceptional life, you must be willing to be the exception and do the things that most people are not willing to do. Sharpening your sword against adversity is how the exceptional are forged.
The struggles, setbacks, discomforts, difficulties and discipline are necessary parts of the journey. You need to be willing to go against the grain and endure risks and challenges. You need to be willing to make sacrifices that not everyone is prepared to make. True greatness demands perseverance through the unseen struggles and storms of life.
I’ll tell you what, it’s been a journey, and right now, I’m ready for home.
