West Desert Journal

Way off in those mountains,
Phantoms are better left unknown.

The sun descends beneath the large red mesa,
The clouds soak the sunset glare.
It is silent, except for the thunderstorm.
A beautiful purple thunderhead expands,
Blue lightning ignites and echoes.

Hear the wind, and the rain falling
On the sandstone mesa. Smell the sage.

In the foothills, the wind whips the juniper jungle.
There is a feast; an unearthly celebration going on.
They are busy, tonight, somewhere in those hills.
They dance and shift in dark caves.
In cobweb networks they sing.

I travel far from the city. I leave the colony. I am moving away from this community of people. They all struggle as I do. I am apart of them in their world. They are wired like me. There’s no escaping the machine. Yet, every trip away from the colony becomes one little victory over the machine.

If you head to the mountains, alone, and stay out there long enough, it starts to change you. I’ve gone into the wild enough that I have many stories and experiences to share with my children, and grand children, if I am still around. There are things that busy city dwellers will never understand. They cannot hear it, or see it, because it is withdrawn to the shadiest and most secluded areas of the planet.

Where I go, there are no others except the sparse few that share the relatedness. On occasion I have passed them by and give them a finger wave from the steering wheel, or a shout from the top of a ridge. The isolation communicates with us. We know who we are. Gather round, sheep herder, hermit, recluse, hobo, you are welcome here. We are learning each others’ thoughts and dreams.

I am fighting the machine, because it does not have control of my life. I am free, truly free. Even the coyotes and ravens are dependent; they eat the rabbits killed along the road. Like them, I adapt and use the tools that benefit my survival. But I am sovereign from the machine, it doesn’t infiltrate my mind. I am a different from those of the popular culture. My existence is real; I am not like my captors.

There’s something a lot worse than a throw-out bearing going out on my 1987 Suzuki. I went a had a shop look over my rig today, and it turns out my worst fears came tp light. The manual transmission needs replacement, on top of an new clutch, and throw-out bearing. This is stressful, because I’m not going anywhere until this is taken care of. So I am short on funds, and it’s time to get creative. A used transmission is going to cost around $200-450 dollars, and the total cost of repair is going to be $600-1000 dolalrs. When buying a used vehicle, this comes with the territory. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. Damn!

There is an old cottonwood, burned by lightning; it has survived longer then most. It’s stands by a muddy river that passes through sedimentary gorges, red plateaus. The river and wind have been moving long before humans and monsters. The landscape is not untouched, because people have been using it for eons. Some of us may know where we originate, and there are many tales of how we came to be.

I think of the gnarly cottonwood and call it grandpa. It is sad to see his branches torn… Still though, he is very beautiful standing by the red river. The sun is falling, the clouds ignite. The old way is singing. Thunder comes to the canyon tonight and then the rain.

How I remember the good ‘ol times: “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash,”

As I dwell on the sorrows of humanity and the world, the desert, the animals, the wandering clouds, the sun blazing just before dark, I think of the salad days. Before those days, the old west, and the times that have long sailed into memory. Johnny Cash is a hero and he plays his spirited tunes down the old dirt road we go, the folk songs of our land. The lesser known songs pass into furthest trenches of my mind. There was no self-righteousness in Mr. Cash, especially when it came time to entertain the inmates at Folsom Prison, making them human once more in a strange land.

I think Johnny seen everything for what it really was. Never will I forget the man that makes my heart feel so big.