The One With The Blue Pen

It was always a dream of mine to drive across the vast continent of Australia. Most people wait the majority of their lives to do this. It’s kind of a right of passage for retired Australians - they call themselves grey nomads. But I’d promised myself in the latter years of my life - once I left that debilitating corporate career - I wasn’t going to wait until retirement to do the things I dreamed of doing. For me, life was now. I remembered tomorrow was never promised to me and so, why wait?

When I arrived back in Australia last year, it was time to get some wheels. It had been almost eight years since I owned my last car. I traded in my car when I became a city girl, and not too long after that, I started my journey as a backpacking vagabond. But I was in a new era now, and this era warranted wheels. So, I jumped onto Facebook Marketplace - one of my favourite places to shop for used goods - and found Xander, the 2005 Nissan Xtrail who would be my companion for the coming months. She was a bit rusty but large enough for me to sleep in the back and a 4-wheel drive so we could go off-roading together. My vision was to deck her out with all the necessary amenities one might need to go camping in nature and see where the wind took us. She became my home. Once I installed the bed base (also a Facebook marketplace purchase), created window shades, bought the stove and storage containers, and laid the mattress down, she contained everything I needed at that point in my life. We were ready to go anywhere.

The first days of my great Australian road trip started in Canberra with my dear friend Ana. Her parents hosted me in their suburban home, surrounded by a flourishing food forest with flowering fruits and nourishing vegetables. The figs were in season and accompanied us on some incredible hikes around Australia's capital.

I'd not spent too much time in the Australian Capital Territory (ACT) before and therefore never reflected on its beauty, but Ana knew the places I would love. She took me on hikes through the Australian wilderness, including up to the ancient rock formations at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve, sacred to the First Nations Ngunnawal people. We went on nudie nature swims in the Murrumbidgee River, watched kangaroos rest beneath the shade of native trees, and captured photos of some of Australia's colourful rare native birds. We visited the National Gallery of Australia, admiring the indigenous artistry of Emily Kam Kngwarray and then celebrated Ana's birthday at a local vegetarian restaurant with friends who visited from Sydney. I slept one last night in a bed beneath walls before adventuring into Kosciuszko National Park for my first night of wild camping. I left Canberra feeling loved, fed and nourished. Sitting at the table for our last dinner, with my best friend and her Russian/Uzbek parents, reminded me of why I love to travel. There is so much connection to be found in places beyond what we know.

The next leg of the road trip felt more like an initiation. In many cultures around the world, when a young person comes of age it often involves a ritual of spending time alone in the wilderness, learning survival skills and receiving teachings from elders about cultural heritage. Aboriginal Australian culture has the tradition of the walkabout, where young indigenous Australians embark on a journey across Country to learn about their ancestral lands.

My upbringing was a little different - the typical coming of age involved excessive consumption of alcohol until one blacks out and experiences their first hangover. I didn't exactly walk away from that experience with any knowledge at all, aside from the fact that vodka shots are a terrible idea.

So there I was, twenty-ish years later, experiencing that feeling of being at one with the wilderness, albeit with a modern twist. I couldn't have asked for more than the safety of Xander the Xtrail and the chance to at least feel what it might have been like had I experienced such a connection to the land from a young age. I kept remembering a beautiful movie I watched called Satellite Boy about a young aboriginal boy who took a journey across Country. His uncle told him "You look after Country, Country look after you." That mantra stayed with me as I communed with the land I chose to spend the night on.

Communed - what a beautiful word. The Oxford Dictionary defines it as ‘to share one's intimate thoughts or feelings, especially on a spiritual level.’ The word derives from the Middle English word, common. It reminds me of what familiarity feels like. We have this in common, and therefore you are familiar. That is what it felt like to be on that land, after the fear of being alone subsided. Indeed there was a strong initial fear and hesitation. I almost quit the idea of solo camping and drove to the nearest AirBnB. But after being consoled on the phone by my partner - a man who is no stranger to life in the wilderness - I decided to surrender to the experience. It was one of those all too familiar crossroads where you’re at the junction of the comfort zone. Turn back into the known, or go forward into the unknown. That, my friends, is where evolution occurs. And so, I walked forward, slowly, carefully, turning my head to see the comfort zone move further and further away from me. I sat in stillness there amongst the wild grass, listening to the winds. Was I truly alone? Are we ever, truly, alone?

"You look after Country, Country look after you." The words repeated in my mind. They soothed me until I fell into the arms of the land, held like an ancestral mother. There was something sacred with me that afternoon. Something I could have only met had I surrendered to the experience. The initiation was occurring. Perhaps it was, in some way, the coming of age I never got to have.

The next morning I drove from Mt Kosciuszko National Park towards the country town of Wagga Wagga. I never intended to take that route but a friend who joined us for Ana’s birthday in Canberra the weekend before had told me about a talented medium who was based there. Her name was Jacy and she was the living image of joy. With her bright pink hair and aqua-blue eyeshadow, her presence immediately enhanced my mood. She invited me into her studio, a dimly lit room decorated with crystals, plants and esoteric reading materials. A deck of tarot cards lay on the table between her and me.

“Your guides are here,” she said. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

I let out a mildly nervous, yet joyous laugh. She was right. I knew that I had been guided to her space by forces outside of this earthly plain.

“You have many of them,” she said. “They are excited about your journey here.”

Sitting in that room felt like being in a space between worlds. I could feel the presence of others. It was the feeling of being at a dinner party, yet the attention was on me and the dialogue I was having with Jacy.

She spoke of photographs and books, journeys across countries and finding a sense of home in two places. She reminded me of my path and my innate ability to transform what is unseen into what is seen. While most psychic/spirit language can often feel cryptic, it is not so difficult to put two and two together and decipher the messages coming through. As she spoke, I deciphered. Held by an angelic presence, I re-awakened to the knowing that I was exactly where I was meant to be at that moment in my life.

I camped that evening in a beautiful spot on the river outside of Wagga Wagga before journeying on through the Hay Plains, one of the flattest and most expansive areas in Australia. I’d never driven through such vast, treeless landscapes and wide-open spaces. It reminded me of the true Australian outback. I caught a glimpse of some rare wild emus grazing in the hot sun, hesitantly overtook a few road trains and stopped for some Aussie tucker in the historic town of Hay. It felt like my great Australian adventure had truly begun.

The next evening, I was looking for another riverside camping spot to rest. I wanted to be beneath the trees. The region was experiencing a heat wave and temperatures had reached 38°C (100°F) that day.

Google Maps had directed me to a campsite on the Murrumbidgee River - the same river I had been following since Canberra. It was serene and still, with barely any campers in sight. I drove to the edge of the river where I found a secluded piece of flat ground beneath the shade of gum trees. There was something both eerie and tranquil about the spot I had chosen. The river was as still as a photograph. There was no wind in the air, just a heavy vapour of humidity lingering around me. I questioned my choice of campsite. Was I too isolated? I’d seen one camper about fifty metres away but they weren’t in my paracentral view. However, knowing they were there eased my worries a little. It’s just one night, I thought.

I took advantage of the last hours of daylight, unfolded my mattress and got the bed ready. While preparing the bed, I heard the distant sound of native birds and decided to get my camera to see if I could snap some photographs of the birds at dusk. I walked about ten metres to the water’s edge before stopping to admire the backdrop of riverside shrubs and trees. They reflected in the still water creating a vivid mirror image. While admiring the beauty, I noticed a beautiful White-faced Heron, poised and still, as if it were posing for my photograph. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there by the water’s edge admiring the bird. Perhaps minutes. But by the time I turned and walked back to my car to continue to make the bed, something stopped me in my tracks.

There, on top of my bed, sat a blue ballpoint pen. It stood out in contrast to the large grey Dune mattress. Nothing lay on the bed except that blue pen. The strange thing was I’d never seen this pen before. I was not travelling with a pen like this. It couldn’t have fallen from anywhere. It was not there when I left to admire the Heron. Yet, there sat the blue pen, so delicately placed atop the mattress as if put there by someone.

I was startled, initially. I turned my head and scanned the area. I thought, perhaps, someone walked by and placed the pen there. But as I looked around me, all I could see were the trees and the river. No one was there…

With hindsight, I see that pen as a glorious gift from Spirit. That day will always be a day when the veils were thin and I was able to connect with the unseen. I received a beautiful reminder about my soul’s journey that day, and the ones who guide me along the way. What that pen represented - and still represents - to me is my soul contract to be a writer; to, as Jacy shared, describe what the colour blue looks like to people who have never seen the colour blue. That day is a day I will always remember.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I would ever share this story. Those of us brought up in modern Western culture may see a story like this as mystic hogwash and disregard its truth. It saddens me that we have become so severed from our connection to Spirit that anything mystical risks being labelled as spooky or impossible. Heck, I even got a little spooked that day. But the truth is, Spirit is all around us. Our ancestors live both within and around us, guiding us every day. Perhaps, if we opened our minds and hearts to this, we wouldn’t feel so separate from the unseen. Perhaps, we would remember we are never alone.

I spent that evening in the historic town of Hay, bracing for the 40°C (104°F) heatwave to come. I drove along the vast plains from Hay to Balranald and then continued on to Victoria before heading towards Adelaide, my final destination.

My journey across Country, or my great initiation, was complete… for now. It taught me about connection to Land and connection to Spirit. It reminded me that these two elements are essential to a life of deep meaning and unification. I thank these great lands for all that they offer us. I thank the spirits for walking with us. And I thank you, for reading this story and allowing it to live on through you.

With love,

B