WEEKLY WTF
11-25-24 Edition
In The Desert Again
I’m in the middle of the desert again. Not literally, not the physical desert I’ve grown to love: a still & silent place pregnant with possibilities and adventure, solitude and drinky poos. I’m in the middle of a metaphorical desert. Walking thoughtfully through its barren mystery even whilst physically sequestered in suburbia.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, but I’ve been here before. Alone even amongst others. A thousand miles away from civilization even whilst living within it. Lost within its obscuring thought dunes even though truth is within my closest proximity. Searching under every rock and within every crag mistakenly thinking that any worthy answer lies outside of myself. I remember this place, this proverbial desert of mind, it’s a difficult place to find, an almost impossible place to purposely navigate to. To find yourself in this dreadful desert requires not a password or a secret knock. It is found only by a conspiracy woven of the myriad threads of circumstance. It is both a gift and a woe to find oneself here.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and it is a forgetful place. You can only truly remember having been here once you are back. It is not rock bottom, it is a place that transcends all states. It is not depression, it is death & rebirth. It is a desert whose sun evaporates your every tear and whose hot winds crack and peel the naive pink skin of who you pretend to be. The desert’s insectoid inhabitants burrow in and below your conscious mind and consume the organs of attraction and aversion.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and being in this forgetful place I now remember. It’s a place that is crossed only by paying careful attention your feet- turning your dualistic stepping into singular momentum. While squinting into the horizon of the future you see only mirages and lies made of undulating heat. Looking back at your fond footsteps brings sadness as the temporal wind erases them. Right here, right now, one step at a time, that is the way.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and now that I am- I remember what’s next. But I also remember that I must forget what’s next lest I reap little to no benefit from this present opportunity. The desert of dejection is part of the route we all must walk on our way home.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, although I’m simultaneously sitting on a carpeted floor in a spare bedroom in Walnut Creek Ca. This internal desert is a familiar place. It’s a place that takes from you all that doesn’t serve. As you trudge along your emotional joints start to ache and you begin noticing how all the shit you carry with you weighs you down. It doesn’t make it any easier to let go of, those bits of yourself that you thought important, it just makes it necessary.
I’m in the middle of the desert again but without a canteen. There are no liquid lies to wet my dry desirous tongue. I have not a speck of food, no sustenance of belief, no paradigm pies. Not even a hat of hope for my burning and peeling head. These are necessary conditions though for the type of traveler that I am. You burn and peel, burn and peel and eventually you become one finely tanned motherfucker.
I am in the middle of the desert again, as I must be. The path I have chosen has no regard for terrain or conditions. I am a wayfarer aiming at a singular star. A method that often causes me to stumble for my eyes are always upturned. A way of traveling that leads me into treacherously deep canyons and through perilous hot deserts. But also I find rejuvenating lush forests and calm misty coasts. The star of truth is my sirens song and I follow it through ocean depths and deadly deserts alike. Perpetually lost on earth but always at home in the sky.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, but as bleak as it sounds I am grateful for it. There is no place better to let shit go. Where else but in a barren wasteland devoid of the possibility of selfish purpose and/ or of self satisfaction can one truly surrender- surrender to what is.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and I do not seek ancient tablets to console my overheated mind nor do I summon a deities hand to reach from the heavens in order to massage and soften my leather heart. I’m here to surrender to what is- be it frond or spine, be it sand or sea.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, it’s a place of death that implies rebirth. A place of destruction that demands renewal. One must be cautious though, in letting go and in surrendering to the sands, that something new and inferior does not flood into the void created by your willing sacrifice. It’s tricky business giving up bits of yourself because you then become vulnerable to what other people think you are or want you to be which is always based on what they are holding tightly onto to define themselves by way of contrast. Be mindful that as you unclench your hand to let go of things people will view that empty palm with abhorrence and will try to put something of themselves back into your grasp. You are misunderstood- but people are only acting out of love and I cannot fault them. The desert path seems strange and dangerous to those not walking it because from afar it seems a scorched wasteland but underfoot is a complexly woven wonderland.
I’m in the middle of the desert again but don’t worry about me because the desert is my fucking jam. I have just arrived to its hot dry desert heart you see, just now whilst sitting here upon this sand colored carpet, listening to howling desert winds push mechanically through the ceiling ducts. The distorted chirping of desert crickets emanating from the tv in the living room as it pulses under this bedroom door. The rumble of monsoon thunder reverberating through walls as the drier begins to spin. I just got here, to the middle of my desert, and so I am documenting the voyage because as I mentioned before, it’s a forgetful kind of place.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, a desert that teaches you how to walk alone. It doesn’t mean don’t love and it doesn’t mean don’t be attached. It doesn’t mean “be” alone. It teaches you how to walk through the world with endurance. It teaches you that it is better to tread lightly with awareness and to be simple. To accept and appreciate what resources reveal themselves under your very feet as opposed to hauling all that baggage that is so heavy and extensive you can’t reasonably unpack and re pack it constantly in a fruitless attempt to deploy how you want things to be.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and it’s ok. This is the place we come to when who and what we are- collides with something that opposes and strips us of such thin civilized apparel. It’s where you find yourself when the comforting clothing of belief gets shredded. It’s where your tattered ass ends up when your greatest efforts fall flat in the eyes of others. It’s where we empty ourselves so that we can again enter the forest of creation and be filled with its luxurious moisture- a spiritual oil change if you will.
I’m in the middle of the desert again with my head pointed at the ground carefully measuring each footstep and I am already noticing a change in the flora. The tan dust of despair becomes populated with plump green cacti which give way to juniper trees and curly mesquite grasses. Lizards dart leaving puffs of dust in their wake and birds rustle noisily in the dry brush. In my minds eye, though my steps are slow, the terrain speeds by as I watch it change rapidly in color and in texture. Like thoughts- desert critters skitter about in my periphery. Like fat cacti rushing by, I see all things of the world as plump green flesh trying to protect itself. Like emotions- the time lapsed terrain rises and falls in unexpected ways but the desert travelers eye must remain steadfast and not be dissuaded from the path.
It must not be dissuaded.
I’m in the middle of the desert again, 40 days and 40 nights are just a fucking cake walk- I’m going on 90. I’m being baked in a circumstantial oven but I still feel a bit gooey in my middle and so I’m not quite ready to come out yet. I don’t feel fully baked. I must linger a bit longer in this hot place until its tremendous sun sweats out the remaining ocean salt of my emotional impurities. But seriously, you should see my fucking tan.
I’m in the middle of the desert again and it’s fine, it’s not forever. I can hear the distant oceans roar emanating from highway 680 as it reverberates through this bedroom window. I can smell the pine forest waft up from the melting deodorant in my armpit. I feel the desert carpet sand that squishes between my toes give way to hard packed ocean shores made of hardwood. I slide my hand gently against the white bark of textured drywall. I pick the brass door fruits daily. I piss against the squat porcelain tree stump. I longingly turn my face upward into the warm Redwood rain as it cascades from the shower head.
I’m in the middle of the desert again. An ecosystem both beautiful and terrible. The lack of observable desert life implies the great void of death. Nature abhors a vacuum and we are nature so… duh. Therefore no one wants to be here in this internal desert or even think about its terrain or features. People walk it in denial lured by mirages that never get closer and never take shape. Find your feet, you might be surprised to find that you like the feel of hot sand between your tender toes.
I’m in the middle of the desert again. Thus I document it- both for myself and for those who also feel the deserts pull. For those who are feeling overburdened and need a place to go to simplify, to lighten their load and to gain perspective. A place to enter raw for the purpose of being baked to perfection, golden brown tan- err I mean crust, and all. Because a desert is what lies hidden and unspoken beneath all the forest’s green tapestries and civilizations concrete and plastic facades. When claustrophobic under towering behemoths of metal and glass, when crushed under the tremendous pressure of an emotional sea, when bombarded from all sides by creatures and beasts made of your very own thoughts- come to the desert within and learn how to be free.
I’m in the middle of the desert again but not to worry for I am a consummate desert dweller- bearded and strange. Wild eyed and forgetful. Lost in a city but masterful in my weird desert craft and my eccentric travel tactics. And no, I am not alone but we must travel uniquely and of our own accord even whilst shoulder to shoulder and even when a thousand other souls are pointed the opposite way. The desert is not the place for herd animals- fat, happy and slow. It is for the sly and wise, the sinewed and slinky with tooth and fur, scales and feather. I cannot expect to be a good traveling companion to those I love until I have mastered my own gait and perfected my slow stalking of the desert thought beasts. You can’t always control your terrain but you can control how you walk it. And so I’ll keep walking, step by careful step, and I’ll figure it the fuck out- back out here in the middle of the desert again.
Dedicated to Miracle Maisie Mae
Toodaloo
