Going on Pilgrimage - Moya Byrne mfic

When you go on pilgrimage there are three essentials: a sanctuary for goal, companions, and the means of getting there. We did not go by horseback and we did not tramp all the way. Instead we were under the able direction of Gatherings, a not-for-profit group that leads pilgrimages. Our means of transport was a thirteen seater bus with a carrier, and Brian who, with the assistance of David, drove the bus all the way. For this kind of pilgrimage it was important to experience the distance and terrain of the journey. The thirteen seater bus proved to be able to deliver that. And what was the goal, the sanctuary? It was Uluru, and the whole experience of being at the Centre of Australia.

The companions met each other the weekend before at Mt Eliza near Melbourne. These nine persons began as strangers but became a community of pilgrims. Essential in this regard was a leader and that was Eileen, ably supported by her husband, Brian. We shared together our hopes and learnt about the plans for the journey. For me the trip would take thirteen days and it would conclude when I left Alice Springs to return to Brisbane by plane.

Our journey on the first day led us through the Western District of Victoria, lush from the recent rains. Our “inn” was the caravan park at Bordertown where I shared a cabin with Joan Mooney and Faith. Next day was all the way to Port Augusta and here the terrain of the Centre seemed to begin. Before we left that day we visited the Baxter Detention Centre, now changed to an army base. We stopped on the road outside where we could see the camp to pray in reparation for the wrongs visited upon these innocent people, and we noted the three fences of razor wire, and the desolate view.

The next stopover was Woomera. Again we had to think about how this innocent desert area, cared for over millennia by the first Australians, had been the scene for testing instruments of destruction. Because the population of the town is no longer sufficient for two schools the Catholic one has been turned into a camp for visiting groups. We stayed there and it was sad to see the evidence of a vibrant Catholic community that must have existed once, and was now reduced. The town was a thriving centre, but now it has been turned over to the defence forces and its numbers have dwindled.

As we journeyed along the terrain became dryer. Little shrubs surrounded the salt lakes we passed. We stopped to take photos of Lake Hart whose surface is white salt. A little lizard ran away from my feet as I walked towards the lake. I thought about the life of this desert that I was unable to recognise but which undoubtedly was there.

Coober Pedy’s caravan park provided our next “inn”. As we drew near we saw conical shaped mounds giving the area the aspect of a moonscape. These were the leftovers from excavations for opals. During our stay we discovered the beautiful underground church built by miners. We went out to see the Remarkables, a mountain area sacred to the aborigines. Here there were no mounds because the aboriginal guardians of the area insist that any mining activity restores the original appearance. We admired the opals on display and marvelled at the beauty hidden under this dry earth. We wondered at the persistence of miners who continue to pursue the hope of a find in the strata of the area. We had two days at Coober Pedy, a rest from the long hours in the bus of the days before.

Mt Ebenezer is the Roadhouse where we took our next stop. By now we were in Northern Territory, and the plants had begun to change. Gone were the very sandy stretches and gibber plains of the desert and in their place were small clumps of grass and little bushes. I was fascinated by the desert oaks that start with the appearance of a little Christmas tree until they find the water table with their roots, and then the tree grows big branches and gets the shape of an ordinary tree. To see a forest of these little trees makes a pretend fir forest. They give evidence of water under such a desolate landscape and of the life that is there though hidden from the eyes of strangers. Later at Uluru we were to hear about the thousand year old wisdom of the first Australians in living in this land. Meanwhile at Mt Ebenezer we were introduced into the art traditions of the people who live in the settlement.

It took only two hours for us to reach the country of Uluru and Kata Tjuta, and there we stayed at the Ayers Rock Voyager caravan park, some 25 miles from the Rock itself. Its majestic height shone red in the brilliant sunlight. We had reached our sanctuary, and had experienced the desert of its surroundings. The Mala walk was conducted by a ranger who was able to explain for us the significance of Uluru in aboriginal life. We did not attempt to climb the rock as this is not appropriate for a sacred site. Instead we walked around it, some 10 kilometres, and read the stories attributed to each part. The foliage changed as we passed each side of the rock on account of the effect of sun or shade on the plants. On that sunny day we were glad of the shady part and of the three places where drinking water was provided. Next day we saw the dawn on Uluru and another day the sunset, each light making the colour change.

Uluru is majestic. How wonderful that as the rest of the mountain range was eroded this monolith has remained to delight firstly the aborigine and now everyone who journeys to experience it! But for me Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) was more appealing. Its rounded shapes and mysterious passages within spoke of ancient secrets. This time I was not able to finish the long walk but just walked into its first valley to contemplate the barren rocks and tough vegetation. That evening we were near Uluru as the sun set and Kata Tjuta stood out, tiny on the horizon as the setting sun made it a blue silhouette. It might not be as famous as Uluru but to a Franciscan it spoke of possibility and mystery.

The aboriginal land of Uluru and Kata Tjuta was the goal of our pilgrimage, the true centre of our land. Next we were to develop our appreciation of life in this apparently desolate area. At Alice Springs we visited the Desert Park where we were educated in the fauna and flora of the region – its dry region and river region where were demonstrated how birds and other animals live in this part. Aboriginal guides told stories of how they have lived through thousands of years, making artefacts and finding food from the country. As we listened we began to appreciate creativity of the natural order as well as the human. When we visited the Araluen Centre we were to view paintings done by aboriginal artists that attempt to capture the traditions and life wisdom that have sustained these inhabitants of the Centre.

Visiting Campfire in the Heart, a retreat centre on the outskirts of Alice Springs, gave us an opportunity to reflect on our experiences. As we sat round the campfire at sunset, we shared what we had discovered. The Centre of our land contains life in abundance, but it requires the searching of a lived experience to discover this life. Our aboriginal mentors had generously helped us in this quest.

Next day was the feast of St Francis, and I was invited to the local Franciscan convent for the evening meal. There I discovered that there are many Secular Franciscans in Alice Springs as well as the four Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. It occurred to me that St Francis would have loved the apparent poverty and abundant life of the desert. It reflects the providence of God where, in the simplicity of the life that the aboriginal people have followed for so many years, there is enough. Coming back to my Franciscan roots provided a fitting conclusion to my pilgrimage. The sanctuary had been visited, though there was much left to ponder. The journey had been completed thanks to our bus drivers and guides. Our companions, now formed into a little community, were farewelled and thanked for their sharing. As the plane climbed over the MacDonnell Range the harsh and stark beauty of the Centre was revealed again, but I had a better appreciation of its abundant life.

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