In Wrong is Right there was this Arab leader who would go into the desert "to hear voices". I thought of this as I packed some basic gear and the dog in the truck for a short trip out. It occurred to me that the reason I go to the desert is "to hear voices". Sometimes those voices are my own. Sometimes they are what is playing on the radio. Sometimes they are my friends. Sometimes they come on the wind or the movement of the flames in the fires I build.
I watched the fat moon rise over the prehistoric mountains of rocks. In my rear-view mirror the god effect reins down from the clouds. My reality is shifting as I pull off the pavement and onto the sandy desert road. The moon continues to rise and I see a tent city, flickering lights. I hear pounding music. I pull up only to find unknown faces in a familiar setting. Eventually I find the host - one of my cherished friends. We immediately dive deep into a conversation of consciousness - probably because I mentioned my week in Tucson - and he says something that stops me. "Everything is an illusion. The illusion is necessary so we can experience being individual." And I agree.
I had been thinking about suicide, death and killing on the drive out. I had been thinking about cliques and communities. Divisions, exclusivity and inclusion. My irritations. My own activities that are divisive, cliquish and exclusive.
I asked him about Mercy, since I figured he would be able to answer my mercy question, and he suggested thinking about compassion instead. Compassion I get. It's mercy, I have in my claws. It's mercy I want to understand. Elusive Mercy.
The music pounded all night long. I watched people I didn't know dance with fire and hoops and each other. I lurked in the shadows stoking the fire, throwing pallets on it, building a fire ring, pushing the wheelbarrow full of wood through the dance floor. Spider weaving the web. Playing the harp strings.
The music still pounded when I left this morning and headed into a silent desert. As I drove through the basin I saw the whole area as a lush ocean - the rocks and mountains under nutrient rich water. I saw the desert patina echo back to coral, algae and moss.
And then I was back on the 101, speeding through Hollywood, thinking about New York and Boston and the Purple Tornado travels. Remembering all the errands, emails, things to coordinate before I leave tomorrow. I'm glad I took the time to go out there and listen to the voices.
Comments