West Desert Journal

In a heart beat, I’d rip down the walls of square existence, and all of civilization, in exchange for simple beauty. My own shadow speaks. My enemies are those that destroy beauty.

I leave town with pop in my jug and the cool wind coming through the window. Towards the rolling hills I go, covered with dense Juniper, and Pinion Pine, where cloud shadows twist and roll. My pop jug is full of Mountain Dew; and I’m feeling the cold air hitting my face. I?m happy and humble. The desert clouds hum above my car, as it travels down the shady highway, further from town. The town glistens behind, where busy mice hurry in their trivial lives.

Turning off the highway, onto a dirt road. The car ploughs down the road, towards the mountains. Gravel slams the floor beneath. The tires plow through soft dirt, making thick clouds of dust. Towards those lonesome hills I go.

The sky is so blue, and so calm. The desert is so clean and wide open. Nobody can find me out here in the sticks, of long ago. The deeper I venture, the freer I become. The Earth Mother is so beautiful. She is so comforting. Out of the hills, cloud shadows carve the landscape. The landscape has no end. It cannot be sold. Beautiful is the wild. The desert is a haven of peace and harmony.

I hear my own shadow singing.

I thought I
heard the unseen,
while sleeping?

Nothing opened the door,
but it remained closed.
Yet, Nothing walked in
and I heard him
jingling his keys!
I also heard him
punching the code
into the key pad!
Again, no one came
through the door.
The door remained closed.

I see an ungodly shape on the wall.
The inanimate black shadow
watches me without eyes.

I was talking with my grandpa today, about hermits, those bearded men that still seem to haunt the mountains living in makeshift huts or sheep camps. He said I ought to take my camera and go photograph the few that I’ve come by and try to capture them in their routine. Of course I’m wandering if this would be considerate or respectful towards them?

I assume that these folks live in the hills because maybe they don’t want anything to do with civilization. These individuals truly live in the quiet places, yet, I don’t quite understand where they may be coming from? How do they survive emotionally with only themselves to entertain? I’ve been wanting to hunt of few of them down and get to know them. If they want the company?

To me, a hermit is a human that discovers happiness in isolation. Half of the time, I feel like a recluse. I tend to despise human company, out of frustration. Mostly, I crave the company of others. I would like to learn how to be at peace with myself as my thoughts are very stormy. I crave the sugars of society but I wouldn’t mind living on the fringe.

I don’t expect everybody to live in cabins, but I feel like a hermit. I’m waiting for a life changing event, for my dreams to grow. Yet, I’m not an earth-loving, tree-hugging, dope smoking stereotype. I’m an average, clean cut college student, and this is my journal. I won’t let the bigger world define my existence. I have my own innate power, to resist the common.

I’d been hiking through sage, and sand for hours. The sky was blue and calm, but small clouds soon grew thunderous. I brought my two dogs with me on that afternoon excursion in July. The wind wailed, and whistled through stone crevices. The cloud shadows began to merge, and soon rain was falling. I was hours away from my vehicle parked on the highway’s edge.

After spending time at a petroglyph site, I was able to find a small cave, to wait out the storm. Lightning clapped and echoed through the canyon…

As I reached the entrance of the cave, hollering for my dogs to follow; out of the dark came an unknown beast. On two giant wings and large talons stretched forth, a Great-Horned Owl almost crashed into me, but managed to land on a rock near the entrance. Completely startled, he stared at me in violation.

I scared the hell out of that poor bird! In confusion it flew off into the canyon, into some shaded cliff overhangs.

Stars and quasars burn forever, like candles, in the stillness of the universe. Beyond the earth’s atmosphere, the universe is teaming with hidden activity. Undocumented life forms dwindle and cluster in the dark crevices of outer space. Their intelligence sometimes exceeds ours and they play with our imaginations. They have always known us and they visit the earth like tourists and vacationers. Every now and then, strange lights are seen on the desert, and appear when they think no one is near. Aliens have been coming to the earth for a long time, always leaving us with mystery.

The desert is something that cannot be understood, only speculated upon. My mind drifts through mountains of sage and cedar, and I hear them hills over yonder, chanting about what happened long ago…

As I try to put my feelings onto paper, yes, I speculate about manifestations that have caught the corners of my eyes, or a bold flash of firelight deep in the hills, that disappears in a flicker. There are abnormalities that appear, and they seem to move and vanish, with utter and disturbing surprise. It is the excitement of being alone and isolated in the boonies. Of course, my imagination tends to run rampant, like a rabid coyote. But perhaps I get tangled in blissful delusions.

When humanity becomes too noisy; forget the contests and debates of human existence. Venture into the shadows of this quiet world. If you go to the farthest boundries of the wilderness, or into your own imagination, always remember, that you are lucky to be in a beautiful world. It never leaves your side. The Earth, the forest, the desert, is an entity that cares for you. Whether you’re lost in the confusion of some conflict, or basking in the moments of peace, you are always valuable, and indispensable in the face of the Creator.