West Desert Journal

Yes, I’ve been diagnosed with this and too much homework at school is the cause. Right now I am working on a paper about Ethnomethodology and how it has become revolutionary in the field of Sociology. It basically invalidates all the old conventional theories like Marxism. Even society is an illusion to the Ethnomethodologist! Maybe I should become one?

Thanks to desert beauty and crickets on warm summer nights, I know what I crave. I miss the dark monsoon storms of late July rolling over high desert plateaus and listening to the distant rolling thunder. The days are growing longer and trees are becoming green. It is time to go sit on Grandma’s porch and watch the hummingbirds.

Well, I’ve spent most my life living outdoors and being in the hills. This summer I am going to photograph areas of rural Southern Utah. Here’s a new twist, I’m also dating and enjoying a social life. Heck, I’m more sociable than I ever imagined. It’s a piece of cake with the right amount of confidence.

This summer my goal is to do some serious hiking in the outback. Running is a new passion. What I need is a good backpack for trekking. My old one is busted. I have an S.A. 44 Magnum to spook off cougars and black bears, so I feel safe going into the wilderness alone. I’ve already come face to face with a black bear and only pots and pans to bang!

My writing is picking up. I am sitting alone in a motel room and extremely satisfied. What do ya know! At the moment I feel liberated after traveling long highway stretches and winding through steep rocky canyons. I am the nomadic vagabond!

Tomorrow, I’ll be tearing across the Colorado Plateau from high ponderosa desert to sage covered sandstone mesa. The sweet smell of life and laughter is just fabulous, joyous, and spectacular. I sit all amazed at the center of this Creation. This world is apart of me. My mind is with the shifting clouds that roam colorful vistas.

Life is about love. Loving life is the key to truth and happiness. My thoughts are very active tonight. Something unusual is about to come out of the woodwork. These feelings are like clock work and I’m vigilant. The world is about to change, maybe.

Goodnight Folks. Freedom Rules!

I’m working two jobs at the moment. One is Bar 10, out in the Grand Canyon. The other, Bundu Bashers, out of Park City. My last tour is on the 6th. I guess, I’m done with work for the season. This is a three-day tour beginning when I pick folks up on the Vegas Strip. The first day we visit Zion National Park and Grand Canyon. One of the days we have Navajo guides take them to Antelope Canyon and then over to Monument Valley. On the third day, we go to Horseshoe Bend, Bryce Canyon, and then back to Vegas. For three more hours I drive back up to Cedar City. On the way, I stop at the Moapa Paiute Travel Plaza to gas up and look around the shop.

I’d like to go camping in the Mormon Mountains pretty soon. They are apart of the Mojave desert and north of Moapa. Maybe to a place called Welcome Springs. It’s warm during during the fall and real isolated. For a week I went into that country and never saw another two-legged, just wild horses. Of course that was more in the high country on the way to Pioche, through Rainbow Canyon. In the old west, Pioche was one of the most lawless towns in Navada. It is said that there were more then 75 men killed in shoot-outs before anyone actually died of natural causes.

So after these tours, I’m going to travel the Mojave this next winter. Most of Central and Southern Nevada are part the ancestral homelands of the Nuwuvi, or Southern Paiute. I just finished reading a fictional account of a great Southern Paiute Warrior by the name of Mouse… The chairman of the Moapa tribe is quoted on the back of the book, giving it praise. The author isn’t native. I thought it was pretty good read. Although I know books are all-to-often, subjective. There’s a place in the Valley of Fire, which is also known as the Place of Birth to the Southern Paiute, where Mouse hid out and continually resisted the European invaders in his homeland during the 19th century. He was a thorn in the side of the Mormons that lived in his country. Good for Mouse! If you visit the Valley of Fire, north of the Moapa Indian Rez, there is a place the locals call Mouse’s Tank where he spent his days of resistance. There’s a lot of history in Southern Nevada, and it’s pretty interesting. Most of it is unknown to a lot of people.

Some of the folks are getting to know me at the travel plaza, because of all the stops I make while doing this job. When I was younger though, my cousins, brother, and I, we would usually stop there to load up on fireworks before heading off to go camping. We’d travel to places like Hamblin Valley, or north of Pioche, up into the Pinon country. In the fall, you can gather pine nuts. The Travel Plaza itself, is a truck stop, book store, gift shop, clothing store, casino, and everything else. It has one of the largest stock piles of fireworks in Southern Nevada. Pyro Heaven!

So this winter, I’ll venture where wild horses roam and the wind constantly moves. Nevada is a big sky state. It isn’t hard to get lost while roaming hundreds of miles through the interior. After all the time I’ve spent, I have barely scratched the surface.

Southern Nevada is a land of the Nuwuvi and I will always remember it as such. When I take visitors through, I tell them about the Southern Paiute and the folks that run the Plaza. The last time I was there, I locked my keys in the shuttle van while getting gas. Luckily one of the employees had some knowledge about opening locked doors. He unlaced his shoe and made a noose out of a shoelace. Carefully we pried a side window in the van. He slipped the noose through the opening. It took about an hour before this boy was able to get the noose onto the locking mechanism, and unlock the door. I was amazed!

It grows cold tonight. The twilight is winter red. The leaves are gold and orange. Not long now and cottonwood skeletons will be exposed in canyon bottoms. Time to go to Cal’s ranch with my next paycheck and get me a Carhartt jacket for the winter snow and muck.

The Colorado Plateau has some of the most spectacular landscapes when they are decked in snow. The good thing about this time of year; no more tourists, no more commercial RVs crowding the back roads. The highways are mostly quiet in the winter, especially out by Tropic and Escalante, Utah.

Well, I’m falling into a rut they call a career. As of late, I accepted a much anticipated job working for Bundu bashers. They give tours all over the Southwest, to many National Parks, and I really look forward to giving this company by best effort, for the last part of the season… The job goes until the mid part of November or whenever the tours die down. More and more, I feel comfortable working as a tour guide, and educating people about the Southwest and its history. The real reward from this type of work is all the wonderful people that I get to meet, who are coming from all over to see and experience a beauty that has been my back yard and stomping ground, my whole life! It was amazing and fulfilling to work as a wilderness guide in Grand Canyon. The Creator has truly blessed my life!

Tonight, I just got back from the family ranch where I was cutting Alabaster stone, and down-sizing it for our ndn customers. The stone was excellent, it almost rang like a church bell! That is the sign of good carving Alabaster. I’ve been thinking hard about sculpting more stone, as this is a resource, available at my finger tips. Are there any beautiful female stone carvers out there, that would be interested in a guy like me!?

Anyways, I’m really trying to frequent my blog more often and post. I even changed the layout! There’s little things that are driving me through the wall though, about the design. It’ll take time to iron it out to my liking. Rome was not built in a day.

I love life, I really do!!!

Autumn is coming. The rain was cold yesterday, but I’m always wearing cowboy-cut wranglers which provide good insulation. In the dead heat of Central Arizona, I’m wearing blue jeans, good protection against rattlers and thorny bushes. The trees in town are still dark lush green. The oak on the mountain has not turned yellow, yet. Autumn is a season for whirl-winds and dust-devils, which I see more of in September and October. The harvest brings warm weather but colder nights on Southern Utah’s high desert. It is a choice time for camping in Canyon Country. The heat isn’t so intense and the threat of flash flooding is small. The monsoon storms are quieting down. And soon the rattlers and blow snakes will hibernate, together. The landscape will become still, with a rush of autumn leaves in the wind.

This weekend, my brother, his wife, and I, are going camping for my birthday. I turn twenty-six. In many ways, I still feel very young, but the days are creeping by. Will I ever find another person to share my life? The loneliness does not bother me, which surprises a few. I’m actually very content. Folks are saying to me, hop on the band-wagon, get married, have a bunch of kids! That’s fine, I’m in no rush! That is the small town mentality of Utah. It ain’t uncommon to see a family of twelve walking down the street. There’s a Brady-Bunch in every extended family!

Joe’s wife has never been camping without a tent! She’s a city girl from Mesa, but not so sophisticated. She’s become countrified by Southern Utah culture. With a slip of the tongue I’ve already heard the words, ain’t, gots, reckon, and ya’all! She promised my brother she would sleep in the desert, under the stars, without a tent! We’re going to Toroweap, Calf Creek Falls, or the San Rafael Swell? It’s my decision. She’s never been to the Toroweap Overlook, in Grand Canyon - A 3,500 foot drop to the Colorado River.

I believe in the existence of aliens, bigfoot, and most other phenomena. I think it naive to say nothing is there, because we live in a universe where the possibilities are infinite. Just look at the stars on a clear night out in the middle of nowhere! We do not always understand what is happening in our world, but it should be our responsibility to observe nature. Those mysterious entities may be spiritual manifestations, warning us! The earth is teaming with life, but even the power of life is unknown. Can science even begin to tell us about the soul and meaning of life? Hell no!

For a long time now, I have ventured into the wild, avoiding the every day rut. When I enter a mega-store, I feel the artificiality of our pop-culture, the greed of our doing, and I see all this ugly consumerism trying to drown me in its depths. Is this a culture of greed? Yes. I will not conform. I will not accept the status quo. My enemies are those that destroy beauty.

I’ve listened to the silence of deep canyons, of isolated desert landscapes. The beauty keeps me alive and moving. The natural world seems to be telling us that a great and powerful change is on the way…

The physical warnings are the earth quakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes, and record weather patterns. These are physical precursors. All over the world, things are not the same any more. It is undeniable. People are gathering who hear the mysteries. A growing chorus of them are trying to do something about it. When I was down on the Colorado River, they were talking about strange things going on in the canyon! They say there is more radiation in the Grand Canyon then ever before.

Perhaps more folks will see the mysteries of the unknown, as time draws further towards a close. I’m moving away from the consumerism and secularism, and from those that say there is no spiritual power in this world! That is how I’ve become personally sovereign. Even my personal relationship with the Creator has been a lonely one, but it is strong. My advice, follow the roots of truth, and listen to the unknown!

I feel the winds of New Mexico up here in Utah, I think the time draws near for me to spend a season or so in that country? I’m thinking of moving to Santa Fe, Gallup, or Farmington, and get out of Utah for a while. I think when I go to settle down it will be over in Blanding, or Moab, Utah. I really like the high desert country of the enchanted state. So much beauty!

Always live life to the fullest. Never quit or fall short of the goals you set, or the dreams you have. Go all the way, the whole way. Life really is too short. I’ve fulfilled two goals of mine; living and working in the Grand Canyon, and running the entire length of the Colorado River in Grand Canyon! Another goal of mine is to live within Canyon Lands National Park for a year. How do I go about achieving this?

Yes, New Mexico is a happy thought, tonight.

I’ve been moving around the Southwest far from home. The first journey was a 1,600 mile loop around Arizona passing Hoover Dam, traveling along Route 66, down through Prescott, and as far south as Tucson. This is around the time my brother was getting married to a girl from Mesa, Arizona.

On the ancient Colorado, I had the opportunity to be Swamper for Arizona River Runners for one trip and worked my tail off. That is because one of the gals that was susposed to go had a medical condition at the last moment. So this oppurtunity was pretty rare and was told that getting a paid position on the river in my situation was like winning a contest. So I was able to skip the volunteer (work-your-way) position somewhat. My whole life I’ve been visiting Grand Canyon, but never had the chance of going down the river. Folks down there get a little trippy; they’re the whiskey-vodka drinking crowd, but I enjoyed the company. Sleeping on the pontoon every night, the stars were incredible. The river’s current rushed just feet from my head and it plays out in dreams and visions.

After the river, I traveled around Navajo land, going over to Shiprock, up to Blanding, down to a Tuba City flea market, and stayed in Monument Valley for two days. I went to several look out points above the Goosenecks of the San Juan River, like Muley Point. My whole idea was to venture up to Canyon Lands, but was missing Navajoland, so I returned to Monument Valley.

I’m back home in Cedar City, but already anticipating another road trip; maybe something more than that?

Note: Edited June 26th to add a few more details.

Well folks, I’m going on a Colorado River Trip through the Grand Canyon! See you when I get back on June 19th. Until then, West Desert Journal is on hiatus.

Every river company I have spoken with have no volunteer work available for folks like me. Yet, river guides like Tom Vail are telling me that I must go down the river 6-10 times as a volunteer before I can be considered for any real job on the river. Maybe I’ll go down the Colorado like good old Buzz Holmstrom; a man with real courage, who by himself, traversed the entire length of the Grand Canyon. It’s larger then life and I am forced to dream. I’m tired of dreaming, I want a piece of the action, thrill, and beauty. Give me constant adventure, that’s all I crave on this crazy planet. The beauty of the hills is all that makes any sense. I’m sick of going everywhere else. I’m an explorer always feeling restless. If I don’t find some way to break the tension, I swear I’m going to go do something funny like attempt a solo river trip!

Tomorrow morning I leave to go back to Northern Arizona. I have to  say hello to Billy the Kid, our live-in road runner who isn’t afraid of people. We feed him live mice which he whips around and swallows. It’s back to visiting the Grand Canyon every day and getting paid for it. The nights out there are quite rare. Even in rural Utah, the stars don’t stick out as boldly as they do there. At night we have frogs croaking, desert pack rats moving about, and so many different insects making noise besides crickets. It almost feels like your stuck in a trance after the sun goes down. I can’t help but wander what I’ve been missing, even growing up in Southern Utah. The Strip is so different. It’s the 80 mile stretch that really changes the aura. Right before I go to bed in the bunk house, I pause to view the busy stars while listening to desert toads and hearing the wind shifting cottonwood branches.

The landscape around the ranch is covered with evidence of previous cultures and people who called this home. It’s so bone dry, you can only speculate as to how they survived such ruggedness and harshness. It’s cooling off a little; they say it isn’t as hot as it was the week before I came. I sure do love educating the folks that fly in from Vegas, they are so overwhelmed by the beauty that the ranch offers, especially in such close proximity to the Grand Canyon.

Billy the kid is the most interesting bird. He hangs out with us, literally. It’s hard to believe he’s even wild. He acts like he was raised and nurtured by humans. I may have to write some more in the journal tonight. Supper is calling…

My new life began on the Arizona Strip about a week and a half ago. I’m working 8-9 miles from the inner gorge of the Grand Canyon at Bar10 ranch. The Arizona Strip is one of the most isolated places in the United States, and it has been called the Tibet of North America, because it is one of the most uninhabited places by human population. The problem lays in the fact there is no water on the strip except for a few springs here and there. The Heatons own this ranch, which spans about 250,000 acres large. They have a spring that they pipe water to the ranch from, which is about six miles away. They have about 1,000 head of mother cows that come to the Bar10 in the winter, but during the summer they are at higher elevations. Where I work is about 4,000 above elevation. My job entails being a trail guide. Bar10 ranch has an airstrip that brings tourists in from Las Vegas to see the Grand Canyon. The Heatons also saw the opportunity to pick up river runners who didn’t wish to journey the whole length of the Colorado (through the Grand Canyon) and on to Lake Meade. We pick them up by helicopter. In the old days, those that wanted to visit the Bar10 had to pack everything out by mule. I’m working as a basic guide giving ATV and Ranger Tours, plus educating guests about the Arizona Strip.

So it is a great way to settle down for a while. I’m 80 miles from the nearest telephone pole or oiled road. They have satellite internet out here, so I will be able to post stuff when the chance arises. I work from dawn til dusk… There’s no personal time it seems. When we aren’t giving tours, fixing meals, or entertaining guests, we’re digging ditches, holes, mending fences, etc. It’s a great job though. I live out here five days a week, and spend weekends back in Southern Utah. There’s just so much going on here, that I probably won’t get around to mentioning many details. It’s incredible to see the Grand Canyon every day, and live in such close proximity. I figure by the time this job ends in April, I will have some good experience for something even better down the road.

I’m thinking of some type of job in Law Enforcement through an agency like the National Park Service, or the BLM. I’ll get into certain details later down the road as to why I am pondering this. One reason is, I would like to protect archeological and historical sites from those who would seek to exploit them, or destroy them. I’m tired of seeing these sites and sacred places being jeopardized on a daily basis. I’m not one that wants to dictate things, but I want in some way to protect these areas just because they are so precious, priceless, sacred to so many indigenous and non-indigenous folks, and because they are simply irreplaceable.

So I have great hope for what my future holds…

That subliminal quiet is stirred only by ancient winds. The rocks are timeless, squared away to outlast the human element. Passing through Juniper I observe enormous balloon clouds hovering over the tips of the mountains. Looking out across the valley below, I see the rust stained foothills where one of Southwestern Utah’s largest petroglyph sites lay, a place known as the Parowan Gap. Some say the ageless writing spans 12,000 years ago in age. I’ve heard that the Paiutes say that they were written by the Creator. Others say they were inscribed by tribes coming from the far east on their trade routes. The gap is a strange and respected place that I often find immense silence.

Moving up the steep grade of the hill into a flat opening in the Junipers, I see arrowhead chippings scattered everywhere. I’ve learned to leave the arrowheads and chippings alone, not because it is against federal law to gather them, but out of a respect I have for certain cultures around here. There’s these old fire pits, dozens of them. In some places fire pit is built on top of fire pit in the sediment, sometimes overlapping. There they are, flintknapping, cooking, grinding corn, visiting, telling jokes, telling stories around the campfire for centuries.

The arrival of the Mormons came not too long ago, about 150 years ago they entered the Parowan valley to stay. The Spanish came 200-400 years ago. The Old Spanish Trail runs through the Parowan Valley, up passed Summit, Utah. The history of these settlers, intruders, invaders is so recent in the history of the Southwest. Their presence is barely a glitch on the radar screen of America’s timespan. What happened in this valley 2,000 years ago, when folks were gathering seeds and killing the cottontails just before the winter snows? Some things will have been forgotten in these so-called modern times, when human beings are so busy they forget to listen to that ancient wind, and they become encased in a workaholic lifestyle in a tall skyscraper in Chicago or New York. Bring a New Yorker out to Southern Utah and the isolation would scare the hell out of them. Those tough street-smart gangsters from L.A. would be a cinch to track and intimidate if they were wandering through these canyons.

This land is beautiful. So much of it’s history remains untold, hidden, and the truth lays out there in the isolation and desolation. The gnarly branch of an old Bristlecone can tell many stories. If I walk passed one of these 3,000 year old trees, chances are, many humans crossed the same path to greet the tree, long before Columbus was born. This history resonates up from soil underneath all the temperary structures, buildings, roads, and cities built by this civilization, America. The truth tells the history, not the myths of America’s founding fathers, or the temporary monuments erected to honor certain persons or individuals.

I was born in Utah. I don’t want to be so naïve and ignorant of the landscape and its history. For example, Mount Rushmore is sacred to Americans, because it honors certain presidents that added providence to America’s adolescence. But I leaned that the entire area around Mount Rushmore is very significant and sacred to the Lakota people, and the sculpturing is looked upon by some to be a desecration of a holy site. All of the Black Hills are sacred to the Lokota.

What history is to be learned about Southern Utah’s past? How many undocumented events took place where I live? Before the local Wal-mart was constructed in Cedar City, I remember all the arrowheads, and bits of pottery that were laying around where that superstore now stands! Does anyone care about what happened there in that area? What about all the endangered Petroglpyphs near this big-box superstore and inside the city limits of Cedar City? As I hike the ageless hills and wander spacious valleys of the Great Basin, it really sparks an interest in me to know the truth, and to seek it. I can only ponder most of the time when I stumble across the ruins of Puebloan ancestors, the rock writings, or when climbing the storied canyons of the Colorado Plateau, deep into the beauty of Mother Earth. I realize just how fortunate I am for the opportunity to explore this place; to feel the vastness of the solitude and isolation. This is wilderness in the truest sense, full of human history, habitation, and legend. The stark blue sky and the stony vegetated earth tell the stories of what happened long ago.

This is what peace is for me. I hope the desire to seek answers and truth never fades.

Galactic blue clouds
Fill the turquoise firmament
Deep from within the belly of Mother Earth
The stories unfold.
The winds are singing -
moving the rain and thunder.
The land is so beautiful.
May it always remain beautiful.
A resistant land it is.

Why are Americans so paranoid about illegal immigration?

Americans need to stop and think about their own roots… I know of a T-shirt that reads; “Ask an American Indian what they think of illegal immigration!”

Think about the hypocrisy Americans have towards illegal immigration, when some of our own ancestors were illegal invaders to this continent. A lot of these “illegal” immigrants are indigenous people that were here long before Columbus set foot.

These Mexicans are risking their lives and dying out in the desert for what I have. That is an indicator helping me realize how privileged I am as an American.

Americans claim they worked hard for what they have, but how hard is life for those that have to survive down there in Mexico? I see these Mexican folks on a day-to-day basis, and they are not a threat, but are friends and neighbors. Americans need to chill out and find more optimism.

I’m tired of seeing the animosity against these folks; they are good people who contribute to America. We have always been a melting pot (or tossed salad) of many different ethnic groups, cultures and peoples. In many ways, this country was built by immigrants.

Today, I came off an abnormally high plane of ecstasy that wasn’t expected. I’m still just extra happy today? First off, I went and purchased a new pair of shoes. My old ones were battered, and they have survived since I was in Flagstaff. Those good shoes met their end in the garbage can just outside of Target. Walking home, there were enormous spring thunderheads over Saint George with patches of dark blue sky. These new shoes are very comfortable and I had four hours of sleep, last night; maybe this is the recipe? Anyways, I’m getting closer to having my rig fixed, and then those hills are waiting.

This current theme was a little interesting, because it reminded me a lot of the desert teaming with all kinds of flowers in the spring and the first sounds of thunder. It was a simple and elegant layout, very minimal and very nice.

Things should be said, whether or not people choose to believe them. I should quit keeping certain things so secret and open up a bit as to why I am going into the wilderness so much. Out there, certain mysteries have been revealed. the fact is this, I have witnessed a lot of unbelievable things that I fear to tell people because they might not believe.

One of these stories involves the one foot man that lives in the Great Basin of Southern Utah. One night I was telling a story of the one foot man to some of my brother’s friends. We were staying in a small cabin of theirs out in Hamblin Valley, which is a famous place to gather Pine Nuts in the early fall. Joe’s friends are cowboys and they act real tough and such but not on the night that I told them this story of the one foot man. He?s a little creature, not much higher then a human knee. It isn’t human, and it does roam across the landscape. I will never reveal any more detail about this creature in this journal. That night out in Hamblin Valley, was a real jittery experience, because Joe’s tough cowboy friend started getting angry and confronted me during my storytelling. He told me to shut the hell up or else, and so I did, and ever since, I am careful as to whom I tell my stories to.

So I have contemplated as to whether I should tell certain tales on West Desert Journal? Some of the stuff that I write has is sugarcoating as to what remains covered by the curtain. I hesitate to tell some stories but in due time, I may choose to reveal certain slivers of truth and knowledge in relation to the experiences that I have had on the desert. There are enough of them to pass onto my future grandchildren. The unknown definitely exists and I warn you to be careful in them hills. Always inform somebody where you are going and never go against your better judgment or you could wind up raven food.

The story of the one foot man is not all that important, but it was to my advantage to scare a few country folks. Those who have heard my tales were angered, maybe even spooked beyond reason. What I say is true and I need to start writing about some of these events.

In January, the sun barely melts the frost in the morning. The high reaches no more then forty degrees Fahrenheit. The clouds snuggle closer to the earth, and the sun sets further towards the Southwest. Every exhalation is a warm visible steam jetting from the nostrils of creatures able to survive the hostility of the frigid desert. At night, under the moon, groups of Mule Deer bundle together and bed down beneath cottonwoods, near the farm communities. Driving steadily at night, on a frontage road, you drive no faster then thirty to avoid bouncing a buck. Locals go spotlighting in the middle of the night.

The days are so short with barely the chance to get anything done. The farmer barely has enough time to finish the chores before returning to the house to stoke the fire, to chop the wood, and feed the chickens. The old farmer or rancher, kicks off his smelly, snuggly boots, and flips on the television.

As one watches the flames dancing in the stove, they hear the chilling winds beat the house outside. A blizzard is on the way. The mother cat gave birth to six kittens just the other night. My grandmother used her padded arm for the mother cat to grip while she was in labor. Just like a human, she wanted every body close by to show support, especially grandmother. Now the mother cat follows grandma all around the house.

January is spent in the house hugging the stove. Unless you dress up in long johns and heavy flannel cloths, and a warm heavy wool hat. Then you can venture out into the frigid.

Bad news. It turns out that I won’t be working at the gift shop. The owner hires me, only to have second thoughts and tells me that he can’t afford to hire another employee. So tonight I was a little depressed feeling bad, because I was actually anticipating this job and would’ve enjoyed it. Cookies like me are tough, they never give up! Life is unpredictable. Working there can remain a good memory, but I am not going to let it sadden me any further.

The passed week I’ve been missing Flagstaff. Ed Little’s photos of the Peaks are a reminder! I might journey down there this January and go shoot some photos. Hopefully I can find a way to get into some four wheel drive before long and I will be long gone from civilization with all the spare time that I can muster. I’m going to start badgering those guys over at the BLM and see if they have anything to offer; if I have a snowball’s chance in hell! I might have a job later in the Spring working for the BAR 10 ranch down on the Arizona Strip.

Man, I am really craving isolation right now, not because of anything. It’s been this way for a while. I don’t really care what people have to say either. I am happy to have the opportunity to escape when needed. The wilderness is at my front porch every day. When the sun goes down, I like to watch the red rock light up like the furnace coal.

If there was a vortex that could send me back three thousand years I’d probably step back and hesitate for a moment and then jump through. Sometimes I wander why Creator put me in this time, in this reality. I’ve been waiting far too long for my ship to come in. Maybe some people have to swim out a little ways?

I went onto the Arizona Strip last night about thirty miles south of Saint George. I am going to go to Toroweap again and visit that grand place! It?s the 60-90 miles of dirt road that hinders most people from going there. The more time I spend in that country, the more I crave a BLM job there. Last night, I was shooting some photos, and had jump from one location to another so quickly, it almost gave me whip lash! The lighting was constantly changing. I would rush to my car, peel out, and fly to another location, creating those rooster tales behind my car. Then, the gigantic, beige moon climbs from behind a dark red mesa after the sun had settled. The air was warm, and the colors of dusk were quite astounding.

I’m just happy today, for no real particular reason? Maybe things are changing here in the desert. There was still a cricket singing this morning, in November. This I could get used to, being at 2000 feet above sea level, in an ocean of red sandstone. Saint George has got the worst traffic in the state, but it is not a bad little community. For work, I’ve been taking tickets at all the basketball games over at the Burns Arena. I’ll be doing this unless I get the job at the gift shop.

Last night, I was feeling restless. I didn’t want to go to sleep. So I drove the Neon out west of Saint George, down old Highway 91 into the desert.

I don’t know what to write, but I have to force myself to write something on the computer. My old writing professor always said those who were serious about writing for a living or for a readership, they should write at least once a day, and fill at least one page. That is what I do. If I don’t write in this journal, then I write in the composition notebook. But I am going to try and put some creative stuff on here soon some essays.

I may be working in a tourist trap of a turquoise outlet pretty soon. The big cheese came closer to hiring me today. It is a decent atmosphere to work in. Chimes ring, native flute music plays in the background, and the roaring traffic of Saint George looms outside. I’m talking to the manager, just getting to know him one on one. I spoke with one of the fellow employees too. It turns out that she likes to rock-hound a lot. Neat! Anyways, I’ll see what happens. This will definitely beat the Lowe’s job I had before, where they were having me load boxes in the back warehouse every shift. They had hired me as a sales associate, but that wasn’t the case. In the end they were only giving me ten hours a week, max.

I feel like my life is passing me by. Yesterday I was eighteen, now I’m twenty-four. How did it happen so quick? Why am I madly in love with the desert? I love those shrub covered wastelands!

My uncle just went through a bitter divorce, and his wife hauled his children off to California, and so he’s trying to start over again. You would think I’d be grateful NOT to be married, but that isn’t the case. I’ve seen how lonely and destitute he has become without his family. How am I able to cope with being alone without a beautiful girl and family in my life? If any girl would ever have me, what would I do? Am I scared of commitment, or am I scared that I may hurt someone else because of my own selfishness? What girl is going to go off into the boonies with me and spend a lot of time doing this? Is there anyone more obsessed than I am? I’d hope they’d be the type waking me up before dawn, telling me to get my camping and hiking gear ready for a trip.

So I am lonesome, but not enough to get hitched anytime soon. I’m obsessed with the rugged wild, those places place off of the black top highways. Right now, I crave the Creosote covered stretches of the Arizona Strip. I would kill to have a park ranger, or BLM job, working in a god-forsaken wilderness. I’d move to Cliff Dwelling, Arizona, Population: 12! There’s nothing stopping me but my current situation, my reality. This is such a heartache to endure. Every day that I grow older, I see my life passing me. Every day that I am not in my Canyon Country is one day less that I have to be apart of it.

I am getting burned out on college life, though it is something I don’t mind. Knowing that my mom and dad read this blog, I am going to be careful about what I say. That is why I have an anonymous blog. I love my parents, but at the same time, I like some privacy.

I need a change. Maybe I’ll do some sheep herding this summer? When lambing season starts next spring, I may call the Burtons in Parowan and ask for some work… THINGS ARE MUNDANE, so I’m looking for interesting things to do. I’m looking for work here in Saint George and there’s a Southwestern gift shop that might hire me. The stress I feel comes from the fear of getting plugged in further. I don’t want to be the guy with the tie and brief case… I’d prefer being a hobo, adventurer, traveler! Maybe truck driving would be an option? The urge to drive everywhere is very, very strong. This is a nomadic urge. If I had my way, I’d live in New Mexico, Nevada, Arizona, and finally Utah. I’d migrate back and forth at certain times of the year and stay busy that way. The desert never stops calling me either, so I don’t know what to think anymore.

Then I think about America and all the blind faith people put into their leaders. They vote for lying politicians thinking that things will eventually change someday… People have persuaded me to vote, but if I don’t vote, maybe it’s a way to stop recognizing a currupt system of government. True democracy didn’t start with America. I put a sticker on my car of Geronimo and his Warriors, with a quote that reads; “The Original Homeland Security, Fighting Terrorism Since 1492!”

It felt like summer again, here in Saint George. Last night it was real mild. I’m heading north this weekend to spend some time with my grandparents. Last night I drove west of Saint George, into Nevada again, just to go see some Joshua Trees out there. Man is it an amazing lost world. There is so much beauty, The highway cuts through the desert, but it still feels primordials.

At home last night, I did some writing on my computer, and ate Pinion Nuts while enjoying the late night warmth. It is the middle of October and feels like May. I’m pondering my life here in Saint George, and I don’t know where I will be a year from now? My destiny is unforeseen which worries me. There are times that I’ve felt uncertain about my future, but right now it remains largely unknown. I have no plans or goals to follow. My life seems correct at the moment, but could I adapt to sudden changes? If things were to morph, how would I adjust? I need to develop a plan of survival in case terrible events come to pass. Natural disasters are increasing. The intensity is startling.

Almost certainly, I can feel the head winds of a dark storm creeping into my reality, and into the reality of others in the Southwest. Things are not always going to be pleasant. The wilderness is a real escape from the world. Every journey digs deeper into my soul. No matter what happens, I am feeling safe and content. If things change, I need to be there for my family, to help them and protect them. They are all I have in this temporal world. But the desert seems to purify my worries and it may preserve me. There are places out there, where nobody ever goes, that I can find peace. Hopefully my loved ones can find peace in the wilderness, if things came crashing down.

When I speak of tearing down the walls of existence, I mean in a peaceful and non-violent way. An individual can also tear down the walls of their own Existence. On the large scale, I want to change the culture that surrounds me; either that, or abandon it entirely. I believe what Ghandi said, that no conflict could be justified, even if it was for a good cause. So my passionate cause would have to be a peaceful revolution. I just don’t understand why some have the desire to inflict harm on others? And how some countries have an arrogant desire to wage unjustifiable warfare. I’ve noticed this desire in youngsters, when watching them kill fake people in combat video games. The phenomenon of humans killing humans on an international level is not a good thing. Islamic terrorists see the world through tiny keyholes, as much as any mainstream American.

So how can society ever change its approach towards the Earth, or any other living thing, when humans cannot even change the way they treat other humans?

I respect the Environment. I love the Earth. I also have a deep respect for the food I devour. As a carnivore, I love meat. When I pass away, I hope some animal will have me as a hardy meal.

Now back to tearing down the walls of existence. Here’s what it means on an individual basis. People need to change what is all too familiar about themselves. Tear down the walls of your own mindset, of your own viewpoint. Break the windows of everything you know. You can learn other worldviews and perspectives when you do this. You can learn to combat your own prejudices!

My father told me that he doesn’t trust those that claim to know everything. I believe in his proclamation: the more I learn, the less I know. ..and the more I discover, the evermore perplexed and moved by life I am.

I’ve heard that everything is happening, because we live in a world of suffering. I’m not entirely convinced of that.