Uluru

In Yulara we walk to a lookout. A gaggle of tourist loiter. They are comparing tripods and cameras. Looks good. You can trigger it with a remote control. No need to touch the camera.

 

We join in. Where are you from? What tours are you doing today? Have you done the camel ride or the helicopter ride?

 

Everybody takes multiple photos of the rock. Always changing colour. Shadows always changing. The sky always changing. It is alive. Looking at the rock I feel like an Aussie. It’s my rock.

 

The air is still and light and vanishes into the clear blue sky above us. Everywhere I go the air contains flies. They miraculously appear out of nothing, spy me and aim for the moisture in my nose, eyes or mouth.

The environment is all powerful. It surrounds us and dominates us. Butterflies, birds, ants and the heat.

 

Walking around the rock the guide points out all the scared sites. Don’t go there. 

 

Urban myth that a tourist looked at Uluru and said: If we had this rock in India, we could decorate it properly. Paint it. Put some statues and a chair lift on it. Make it look good.

 

Uluru. Us tourist celebrate Uluru sensuously and aesthetically. We eat and drink to excess. We take photos or paint pictures.  

 

I wish somebody would tell me the story behind the rock. Why it is sacred?

 

According to what I can find out:

 

The aborigines living near the rock are Anangu.  Been there for 60,000 years.

 

The caves and fissures were all formed during the dreamtime. Each area of the rock was formed by a different spirit.

 

The rock is living and breathing. Different areas have different customs, rituals for different reasons.

 

This morning all us tourists taking photos of the rock also saw the rock as alive. As living and breathing. None of us tourists knew any dream time story behind the rock.