Stillness Of The Desert

As I left California, with the rain and cold weather still in the forecast, and the government shutdown still torturing me, I decided to head to Death Valley National Park. It was supposed to rain on and off with temps in the 50's. Due to private donors, most of the park was open and the campgrounds were free since the park was not allowed to charge fees. As I entered the park, I was stunned by the prehistoric looking mountains, as if an ancient lounge of giant sea lizards had climbed up out of the Pacific Ocean and decided to take a nap and never woke up. The colors of the layered sediment reminded me of layered sand art that so many of us made as children, with oranges, grays, purplish-blues, varying hues of browns. The aged sediment pressed down and down until it looked like a painted mountain, sloping down into the desert floor. The sand dunes also appeared magical. As I passed by, the overcast lighting from the sky made the caramel colored dunes appear as silk sheets with the illusion of waves gently cascading and falling

The drive down into the park was also a highlight. Highways 190 starts at the top of the mountain at 5,000 feet  and then goes down and down and down, with gentle ups, like a kiddie roller coaster, in one straight shot to the bottom of the desert floor at 200 feet below sea level. There was not another car on the road for the entire drive down. It’s was a  total thrill for me to drive fast and I just let my car coast, at 85 mph, riding the middle of the road, up and down, up and down, with butterflies in my stomach and having a blast.

Unfortunately, I was unable to enjoy the park.  It started raining the evening I got there and then the next day was 45 degrees with a mix a rain, strong wind and a few snow flurries.  I was in no mood to explore in that weather. And of course, the weather forecast showed no indication of sunny skies over the next week so I decided to move along and head to the Grand Canyon. There was hope of sunny skies there.

When I arrived at the Grand Canyon, which was open despite the government shut down, it was 45 degrees, sunny, no wind or rain and about 8 inches of snow on the ground. It was very busy and seemed as if every ethnicity and language had gathered at this national site. There were Indian women in Sari’s, teenagers in shorts and t-shirts, the granola hikers decked out in the name brand essential hiking gear with their man buns. There were tourists that looked like they had driven from Aspen, Colorado with their fancy, faux fur lined boots and coats as well as some foreign tourists in flip flops and jackets, shivering while trying to take the quintessential Grand Canyon photo. Many of the hiking trails were closed off due to snow and the risk of safety issues. Since one of the only trails open was the South Rim, a paved trail, I decided I’d walk that for a while. The trail was active with all the tourists sightseeing. Generally I get annoyed when there is too much of a crowd and I can’t enjoy the scenery, but I enjoyed watching all these people experience snow.  For instance, 3 middle aged Indian women, all dressed in Sari’s, building a small snowman and throwing snowballs at each other, and laughing like school girls. There was a Latino family having a snowball fight. A mother-daughter duo that kept arguing about how cold it actually was and how far they wanted to walk. There were two older women who kept attempting a selfie but kept falling down on top of each other in the icy snow (I stepped into helpJ I know the difficulties of taking a selfie). I continued people-watching as I sauntered along the path, breathing the crisp fresh air, and stopping now and then to admire the grand scenery. There were moments of quiet, away from the crowds, sitting on a ledge here and there and just taking in how massive and still this place was.

The next day predicted rain and possibly snow.  I decided I’d wake up early the next morning to head out before the weather became too bad.  As I left the park around 8 am, the blizzard started.  The 3^rd snowstorm of my trip. I drove for about an hour in the snow before I needed to stop and get gas. The other two national parks in Arizona were still closed (Petrified Forest and Saguaro) and some fellow travelers recommended I head to Tuscan where the temperature was sunny and 60 degrees. That sounded heavenly!! So I headed out from the snow storm, which then later became a sand storm with the high winds persisting as I drove through the desert. The wind was so strong that I was holding onto the steering wheel with white-knuckles trying to keep my car in the lane. I eventually reached Tucson and decided to stay a couple nights at Catalina State Park.

The park was breathtaking. The campground was green with varieties of cacti ranging from Saguaro, prickly pear, fishhook barrel, staghorn cholla, teddy bear cholla and so many more. Several plants were flowering and those bits of color popped against the green and brown background. The mountains behind the campground were tall, jagged and gray, but felt protective of the desert it covered. Unfortunately, I contracted a nasty head and chest cold and my energy was pretty low to enjoy it all. My last day there I did manage a 4 mile easy hike/walk. The stillness was calming. I was the only one on the path, and if it wasn’t for the prickly cacti everywhere, I would have enjoyed just laying down and sunbathing in the stillness of that landscape.

I have vivid memories and feelings of stillness and “being” when in the desert. Once was in Wadi Rum, a large desert in the country of Jordan (mentioned in a previous blog post) of how I was just still while riding through the desert. Another time of sitting atop the arid Arabian Mountains. And another memory of driving down a random dirt road in southeastern Utah and coming to the edge of a canyon. I remember sitting there while I watched the sun go down, without another soul around. I didn’t experience any inspirational thoughts or insights, but that moment felt profound and still and immense and beautiful and sacred, but for no particular reason other than I was witnessing a breath taking moment on this lovely Earth.

I’ve noticed that my energy feels different in different landscapes.  When I’m by the ocean, my body feels a restless energy and it’s difficult for me to relax, oddly enough, since the beach is a place most people think of when imaging a relaxing time. When I’m in the mountains or walking among trees, I feel a positive, calming, grounding but also driving energy.  When I’m in the desert, I feel still. That’s all. I don’t feel rushed, or think about the past, or the future or even the now. I don’t feel at battle with my ego, or wounds, or self-esteem, or hunger or sleep. My soul is just “being” in the stillness. Stillness is a verb, an action word. In our everyday lives, it actually takes effort to be still, to put down our phones, our “to-do” lists, to turn off the tablet or TV, to let our minds rest. I am a restless soul with a restless mind. It takes a tremendous amount of effort or external distractions to shut off my mind.  Yet, when I’m in the desert, there is no effort to be still, it just happens. There is a calmness, a profound peace, an almost spiritual experience when I walk in the quietness.  It’s as if Mother Earth is telling me to slow down, that it takes time and patience to grow and carve a beautiful existence, so just be still and let it be.

Walking through this Arizona desert landscape didn’t offer any profound revelations, but I was reminded of the stillness. It is easy to always rush onto the next thing. Why is that?  If stillness is so sweet and good for the soul, why do we prioritize “doing” over stillness. Obviously, we all have obligations to jobs, family and maintaining our material needs, but perhaps moments of stillness can help us reconnect with our soul, our divine, in order to help us learn and appreciate the beauty among all the chaos.