mecca in its own rite

in the desert, we fragile human beings are blessed with an immediate onset of permeability. it is not a sensation, nor it is a state achieved through deliberation. rather this porousness is
 a condition. it is a kind of luminous assault.

 

from the beginning, though. we took our time and left the City early, to make pilgrimage proper down to what is affectionately called The County. (neither here nor there, precisely, in one town or another, it is nevertheless confined to one county (usually) hence the naming.)

...

leaving...

...going

closer...

...

bingo!

the desert in this part of the country is quietly savage. all aspects, from sandstone drapery to teetering columns of solidified ash are executed in the extreme. while you can throw words around all day long they will only bang and shudder on the desert floor. words like "serene," "tranquil" "picturesque," these would be poor words even for kindling. the other more stout gestures, "grandiose," "monolithic," and i shudder to think "beautiful" are shameful even to form in the mouth and are best swallowed and kept darkly away.

the desert is a forceful animal. every extremity is alive. every animal, every stone, every shaft of gallant light are subject to the crush of silence, the maddening illusions of space and sound and above all to the smug and serene sense of complete and utter self-peace with which the desert carries itself. 

to sit quietly, up high or close to the ground is the ultimate test. for how long can you fold your legs under you in little gales and slams of wind to simply undertake Watching, Listening and Being? how soon before you notice the stitching of your pant hems are coming undone, are you itching the left over paring knife cut on back of your hand, are you spitting at the tassel of your braid that has adhered to beeswax lips? worse: how long before you are overwhelmed by your own, homely smallness? are you made wary of the fragility of your unordered limbs, are you suddenly considering the consequence of all your earthly efforts among the silent spires who cannot even nod and sway sympathetically?

this is the kind of humbling that somehow reverberates at you as well as within you does so immediately. for you need no special radar, nor tuning fork, divining rod, mantra, bodily posture, crumbly pouch of strong smelling herbs or divine will. by stepping out into sage tang of the Untamed places this kind of flattening releases you of all crumbly, petty, brittle concerns and leaves you open, raw scrubbed and immaculate to Receive. just what is its own question. but truly, to have no plan, no intention and no destination is the best way to let knock through you. it takes very little to breathe as the desert breathes, to confuse the sound of a chorus of red wing black birds with the whistling hurry of moving water, to find the patience to endure eons and to give up, only in the most crazy moments, the merest sandy shift in root boulders. all without any landslide of consequence.