West Desert Journal

Summer is near. Hopefully the clouds will come and bring rain upon the Colorado Plateau and Great Basin. These two enormous and uncanny deserts are my church, where untouched secrets still lurk; where wild creatures roam unscathed.

There is good and evil in this little conundrum of life, but everything serves a purpose. Our reality cannot be understood with any theory. Humans can try, but I don’t think they will ever succeed in defining our infinite existence. Science and math cannot describe the beauty of a thunderstorm roaring across the land, becuase it can’t describe how I feel inside. For the Creator is gorgeous; and reality is forever a mystery.

There is a reason I write about the desert, and other places of beauty. When I’m out in the middle of nowhere; far from cities, institutions, or establishments, It feels awesome and secure. So I’ve come to the conclusion that humans are in a deep load of shit. They keep manifesting their oppression in different ways. If I write about the wilderness, it keeps me balanced. The images of mountains, trees, and wind, these beautiful dreams are painted to my memory, and they bring understanding. I hear the wind when I feel confined, or wherever oppression pervades.

Society is everywhere, and its confusion keeps growing stronger. Every now and then, life feels so useless. I’ve been alienated, and want nothing to do with the dreams and ambitions of the modernized world; for their dreams and ambitions might equal death, destruction and dehumanization. How else can one describe the problem? My own mental outlook is a burden, because I don?’ know how else to feel, or react? This superficial modern culture suffocates me; what a hell-hole of confusion! Even when I conceive new ideas, even they become recycled versions of the same old disease, a continuation of the same old destroyer. This is how it feels and this is why I write about the wilderness. Everything is so spacious and empty, and I am empty inside. If I know nothing, then I must be more human?

My opinion is, humans are weak, and I’m weak. That is truth, because my own pride sucks. My arrogance and prejudices suck. I detest them all, because they’re components of the disease. This is my assumption, but I think many others feel the same, and if there is only silence, we would never get anywhere

I know nothing. If an an observation is made, its nothing more then that.

When I photograph the landscape, the trees are the most profound models. Their twisted shapes tease my spiritual universe, manifesting great feelings to my heart. When I see the shapes of trees, and stand in their shadows, and touch the bark of slithering branches, I respect the intelligence and kindness that whispers softly from those fleshy-wooden centers. They seem to communicate with compassion. They love life in unconditional ways; great peacemakers in a hardened, troubled world; patient creatures, with the greatest definition of understanding. I?ve wanted to emulate their calmness, but I envy their beauty. Cemented in one place, they grow so wise and bountiful; those roots crawl so deep. They are so clever; that white painted Aspen, that rustic pine, and every other wooden spirit.

It was a cabin in the wilderness, where a Tree Man discovered my sorrow, and the clouds and wind never stopped. He called himself the Dream-maker, and was full of wordless resonance. I spoke with the wooden mind carefully, its heart was quite a spook; It so skillfully-artistically studied my vision. Noon dripped from the pines like butter. The visitor was so hard to learn. While the ground around him was dark like ravens? it was his thrown of beauty. The sky palace above was sweet as flowers in a young meadow. Soon he left the ancient cabin and strutted like an old fellow bent with pain; dressed like a three-hundred year old hobo, a hermit ghost in organic rags. If you ever gazed into the eyes of this beholder, the compassion was more elder then humans. In the end he became a tree. For the sun in a quiet world is the peace of such rest and stillness.

The thunder and wind are acting strange this evening. The crickets are serenading. I’m standing there are the mesa edge watching the sun scatter its rays through gaps in the clouds. The desert becomes glowing red, and the rain sparkles through the sun’s rays, soaking the monstrous cottonwoods below, bathing them in a deep yellow light. All is quiet, except the wind, thunder, birds, and crickets. I watch the lightning strike the desert back and forth in the mystery of the moment, randomly hurling itself out of dark thunderheads that engulf the desert in shadow.

These canyons are my home, my soul. Mysteries are flowing down unknown channels. The Sky Father is happy this evening, and the sun knows I’m here waiting. And this world has awakened. It is so awesome to hear her voice, and nothing can surpass the moment. The beauty is forever strong, and my heart is beating. There are creatures that creep in unknown places, and the shade lurks in the trees. It’s a strange thing with a personality, looking at me with invisible eyes. It’s laughing hard and wailing, but what does it mean?

There are so many sounds, so many different birds singing in the cottonwoods and the creek below is busy singing, and the rain splashes on the rocks like gravy. A roaring flash-flood goes rampaging somewhere in the abyss of shady wasteland, and somewhere, somebody’s footprints have never been found. Their body lays undisturbed like a footprint on the moon; dead like a mummy, and buried somewhere deep.

The clouds begin to break slowly, then pass over the mountains to the north. The thunder goes with them. The sun sets it’s foot on the horizon, then slowly creeps below. I watch the sky ignite into crimson colors, then fading to purple, and then deep maroon. I waited until the last sliver of ancient sun departed, and stood there till every color came to an end. Then I awoke from the pleasant dream.

The plateau country was radiating, and the raven’s had vanished to the alcoves where their young awaited. I was beneath an alcove myself, near some petroglyphs that I had photographed. Their gnarly shapes and twisted bodies were perplexing; Little figures with antennas dancing across the rock-face. Their strange grip on my spirit was marvelous and erratic. They healed that uncanny darkness within. What are these peculiar creatures, painted and etched in sandstone canyons? They invade my head with their shadows at night, and glow like phantoms.

The entrance to the that twisted canyon country was covered in a dream, but I can still feel its shadow on the breeze that slithers like a snake down old mountains, and across vast landscapes. It reminds me of whirlwinds, and dust devils, and how they turn so mysteriously. I am grateful that the wind is in me, that I may breathe!

It’s real funny, but I thought some friends could last forever, that they would always be someone you could lean on? But even close friends come and go. They soon fade from your life and become distant, pleasant memories. It’s real sad in a way, because you build an attachment and relationship with them, and then they’re gone? Maybe I’ve been that way too, but I thought friends could last a lifetime? Despite my mistakes and imperfections, loved ones have always been there for me through thick and thin. And in tough times, family will always be there when I need help. If it weren’t for my immediate family, I don’t know where I would be?

The human race is lonely and unpredictable. Why are we unable to understand ourselves? Why is it such a deep conundrum? Sometimes I am afraid of being human, because of what I am capable of. There’s also much to learn in this lifetime. So hopefully I’ll learn the answers to some of my questions.

Sometimes if your friends stroll totally out of your life, maybe they weren’t really your friends to begin with?

Our family went south of Cedar City and almost made it to Arizona. There was a new area that we had never been before, and it was awesome. Big red rock cliffs came jutting out of the ground like backbones. Creosote bushes and various cacti decked the landscape clear to the horizon.

We left Cedar about 6:00 A.M. before the sun even came up, just right before dawn. The Pine Valley Mountains, located south of Cedar City began glowing in a soft purple hue and then turned pink, red, and orange. The sky was burning red. The whole vista was dreamlike, and brilliant.

When the sun rises, it is good to witness. Because if you’re lying in bed and sleeping, you must ungrateful and lazy? That beautiful sun provides warmth for this planet. If it weren’t for its service, we’d all be dead. It is hard for me to rise in the morning, but I have been doing it lately. Going to bed early and rising early is a good habit. It creates a mind full of wisdom and happiness. The day seems more fulfilling and high-minded.

I always try to be thankful for my innate source of power, and I am grateful to be living and breathing the sweet air of the Earth. I’m grateful for my parents, siblings, and family. So don’t forget to count ALL your blessings, instead of being ungrateful.

Hopefully, I don’t flip-flop on this subject, but I’ve tried to be thankful for everything that the Creator has given. I’m even thankful for being depressed sometimes. Because blessings come in many different forms, whether they be good or bad. The struggles in life are blessings. They teach you to endure to the end.

When I viewed the sunrise on the desert this morning, It reminded me of everything beautiful and bountiful. What a grand and stunning world that we all have the privilege to live in.

The wind pushes through the forest like a wild stallion, roaring in a thousand rivers. In the mountains around my home, Bristlecone Pines stand high on the edges of cliffs and mountain peaks; catching and shredding the wind in their twisted branches, making it whistle and wail! I’ve been up there on those mountains, in places where no other man has ever been. I’ve befriended those ancient monsters of peace. They have chosen to grow in the most barren places. They are wise for their perseverance, and for their stubborn lives.

They were on my mind tonight. I was day-dreaming. When I am confined, busy, and unable to travel, I depend on a core of mental images/landscapes. But that simply isn’t enough! Sooner or later, I start going crazy. Surely, the desert is always singing to me.

The urge is relentless. It keeps me thinking about the deepest parts of my life. Is my existence on Mother Earth important? This journal serves a purpose, no matter how obsolete. It is an endless journey to discover my own shadow. I’m just one of billions!

The wilderness is my haven, because it always feels safe. It keeps me balanced and sane.

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It’s constantly agitating; something keeps bothering me, but I can’t identify the source? I’m dubious? There is this constant impulse to wander off somewhere? But school is an anchor. Why do I feel distraught? This city is surrounded by desert on all sides, and I’m pondering on deep beauty.

We all dream. We all feel cut off. We are lonely, and need a freedom that is hard to reach. So continue to survive, because the mysteries are still singing. I can see the clouds as they travel the sky, and they are restless.

There’s a quote I’ve heard, and have no idea where it came from: if a tree falls over in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it matter? I feel that it does matter!

I want to resist; I want this world to change! Listen to what Blackfire has to say.

My heart is humble in the face of endless landscapes and places where the modern world hasn’t invaded. Beautiful places are safe. I sometimes fear the world that we all live in. I fear those human beings that can crash airplanes into tall buildings killing thousands of people. At the same time, I fear leaders who use war and try to justify their killings. How can a war justify dead woman and children lying on the ground? Where does someone escape an ignorant worthless existence? Animals kill, but Animals never instituted a holocaust like humans are capable of doing. It’s very sickening, because I am human. I am held down and mocked by those who don’t want to understand. Humans are scary. But when out there on the wilderness, away from civilization, the wind howls all around me. It feels safe. There are many hidden places that the Unknown can still abide.

The oppression is overwhelming. Society is getting old in its worthless despair. Their existence is beginning to look like a grave. And from my perspective, it’s being done in the name of religion. One day, when everything deteriorates, people will be left with their survival. There will be no airplanes stealing the sky. Those gigantic cities will be dark at night, like ruins. It will be peaceful when real justice comes. The outcome is not known though. And I think Earth will do the cleaning.

Could I rip myself from the core of this existence? What could I do? Trying to exist in this world is always an uphill climb. But it is also impossible to understand what everything means? I’ve always possessed deep anger. It is difficult to interpret though, but it’s been very close to my heart. I’ve defended what I feel about truth.

My existence is unforeseeable, but my dreams are strong, and I am not afraid to talk. Nobody can regulate my behavior, or my spirit. Life is uncontrollable and so is my Expression. The clouds cannot be controlled, and they freely roam that deep blue sky, and my spirit wants the same. When I am on the mountain, I look down upon everything in an ageless forest; the flashlight then becomes my friend against the dark night of winter. The tower of stars can be heard singing, for the light found in this world, is the peace of such rest and stillness. The sun is shining in a quiet world.

While all of us are probably blind-folded, there are those that suffer in the heat of a miserable existence, and they want to grow strong. What has been stolen needs to find its place once again. There is strength everywhere, and it’s a power that is understandable. Because it simply enters my dreams and desires like a tornado, and it creates certain feelings. Any strong truth is awesome. Anything that we can relate with could be truth.

My brain is quite screwed-up. I’ve been a selfish person, and with that, I’ve become wasted space. But my convictions cannot be squashed. The landscape is older then us. It’s more alive then most people who take without giving. It’s older than those that destroy beauty to simply eradicate the meaning of everything. The land does not exist for economical purposes, or recreational purposes. It serves a definitive purpose, and I am tired of seeing it exploited. It belongs to certain nations that are understandable.

It makes my heart bitter to know that some people destroy places that are sacred to others. I am tired of hearing about every form of exploitation, and the mindless creeps that take the fat of everything beautiful. I am sick of hearing about the disease that wants to occupy everywhere and in between. It’s taking, and taking, but giving nothing back. It’s a thief. It’s an ignorance plagued with immense stupidity, because in its greatest intelligence, it will be forever blind. It is totally oblivious to truth and harmony.

In the summer, when I am on the desert listening the thunder gather, I can feel the heartbeat and wisdom that stirs. When I see an old man barely surviving, I think of his great strength, and how ignorant I am. When I see old people, or a little baby, I am reminded of beauty. When I see things that are beautiful, my heart rejoices that such things compose this world; for she is our awesome Earth Mother, whom we should have the greatest respect for.

The power of this world is mysterious. I have no definition for anything. It’s strange that one truth can contradict another. But everything is hard to understand, and my place is peaceful, and silent. The amazing thing is a four-thousand year old Bristlecone Pine Tree standing against the heavens, while its roots cling against solid stone with barely any moisture.

I guess when no one is around, you don’t have to argue or relate. But when you have relatives around, you should understand them, no matter how screwed up they might be. You’re screwed up too. And it is disturbing when I try to honestly think outside the box of paradigms that I carry so close. So I am always left with the conclusion that I know nothing at all. I can’t ever claim to know anything. And I cannot even begin to explain what I am trying to describe.

Getting off the soap-box now…