The first month of the trip was spent in "The Desert" of Utah, which comprises Indian Creek, Castle Valley near Moab, and Zion National Park.
*The pictures will go in chronological order if you begin from the bottom and scroll up.
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"The great concepts of oneness and majestic order seem always to be born in the desert." -John Steinbeck (Travels with Charley)
Return to On The Move
Notes on the desert
The desert is an important place. Although beautiful, it is necessary to enter the desert knowing that it is more than just an expanse of scenery to look at. The desert is a reflection of our most basic elements as organic beings. It is dust. It is sand. If we break down our composite parts, we will find that we have not only arisen from those elements, but we will assuredly return to those states at the end of our decomposition. Perhaps the connection to the desert, the tie I feel to its sacred spaces, is simply an urge to speed up the suffering and torment of life in order to return to sand and dust. If we amass all of the problems in the world; if we dwell on the minute and ultimately meaningless difficulties we endure daily and we arrive to the desert with those burdens as our luggage, the struggle will quickly dissipate into the air as the sand caresses our feet and the heat turns our flesh darker. Our world is meaningless to the desert, and I find that I must quickly adapt to the truths expounded by cacti and sage in order to make my connection with the wasteland a powerful one. I must mentally and spiritually return to sand and dust. If I do not, the desert will punish me with heat and stinging brush; with dryness and exposure. You have to become a part of the desert to love it. If you do not, you will not find good in it, and it will make you miserable.
When I enter into the red lands of Utah, and when I breathe in the heated earth, I am instantly set at peace. I take in the vistas of crags and towers that sit like behemoth terracotta warriors, eroded and cracked over the course of time. I am connected. And regardless of an inability to describe the connection, I am there, and my problems aren’t. I breathe because I am an organism that requires air. I sweat because my skin is hot. I drink to quench my thirst. I do not need to stroke any ego nor quell any anger. I simply try to blend myself with my surroundings, as something innately connected with them. The desert acknowledges this primal state and releases wonders that can only be described as God-like: moonrises and coyote songs, wild flowers and water carved rock faces.
It is interesting to be aware of a connection to the natural places of the world. I am sure that lizards don’t ponder such trifles while sunbathing on rocks, nor do scorpions preach spirituality when skittering through the shadows that perched stones provide. Yet, I am not sure that they do not feel the same connection. I guess what I am speaking of is the act of moving with natural inclination. The desert provides more than just an opportunity to “be” among nature. It forces that “being” as a survival mechanism. Only our most basic instincts matter and if other distractions lure us away from those instincts, we will become dehydrated, sun stroked, and senile. This phenomenon seems to occur more rapidly in the desert because the landscape rarely provides escapes. No trees for shade. No rivers for bathing. So the connection must be instantaneous. The desert beckons you to connect. It is forceful in doing so.
I was fortunate to spend such a length of time in the desert. It cleansed me, and brought a focus back into my life that I had been missing for years. I hope that everyone has time to go and sit among this continent’s dry and sandy lands. I am sure that if all of us did so once or twice a year, we would feel more at peace. If not for the beauty, then for the reminder that all of this will soon end and the product will be the same as that which stands beneath our feet in those deserts of the southwest: sand and dust.
When I enter into the red lands of Utah, and when I breathe in the heated earth, I am instantly set at peace. I take in the vistas of crags and towers that sit like behemoth terracotta warriors, eroded and cracked over the course of time. I am connected. And regardless of an inability to describe the connection, I am there, and my problems aren’t. I breathe because I am an organism that requires air. I sweat because my skin is hot. I drink to quench my thirst. I do not need to stroke any ego nor quell any anger. I simply try to blend myself with my surroundings, as something innately connected with them. The desert acknowledges this primal state and releases wonders that can only be described as God-like: moonrises and coyote songs, wild flowers and water carved rock faces.
It is interesting to be aware of a connection to the natural places of the world. I am sure that lizards don’t ponder such trifles while sunbathing on rocks, nor do scorpions preach spirituality when skittering through the shadows that perched stones provide. Yet, I am not sure that they do not feel the same connection. I guess what I am speaking of is the act of moving with natural inclination. The desert provides more than just an opportunity to “be” among nature. It forces that “being” as a survival mechanism. Only our most basic instincts matter and if other distractions lure us away from those instincts, we will become dehydrated, sun stroked, and senile. This phenomenon seems to occur more rapidly in the desert because the landscape rarely provides escapes. No trees for shade. No rivers for bathing. So the connection must be instantaneous. The desert beckons you to connect. It is forceful in doing so.
I was fortunate to spend such a length of time in the desert. It cleansed me, and brought a focus back into my life that I had been missing for years. I hope that everyone has time to go and sit among this continent’s dry and sandy lands. I am sure that if all of us did so once or twice a year, we would feel more at peace. If not for the beauty, then for the reminder that all of this will soon end and the product will be the same as that which stands beneath our feet in those deserts of the southwest: sand and dust.
Baby Hands gears up
Wag Bags make me happy
Baby Hands crushing on toprope
Ethan chillin
KIng Cat
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