This last weekend my very best friend of too many years to count came to visit me in Arizona. She enjoyed and was surprised by the diversity of the landscape. It’s dry, it’s wet with bogs and creeks, it’s red, it is wind whipped, and it has lopsided mining towns slowly sliding down the mountain.
But it’s ultimately just plain dry. My knuckles crack with the dryness of just being. I have to remember to put lotion on many times a day. I don’t really like that kind of regime. But she longed to go back to her moist air of Seattle. And I don’t blame her.
The thing about Arizona is it has helped me glean my spirit. The desert has always been a biblical place of searching and abstaining and thirsting. There is no fat on the land of this desert. It is very lean. The very low lying scrub and cactus survive on minimal rainfall. If a down pour of rain comes the land cannot even absorb it, it runs off and creates flash floods.
Where I live there is no mall nearby. And that’s part of the attraction. I don’t really need anything other than what I have. In fact I have too much.
When I left Los Angles, the heart of materialism, I could not let go of my many things. It was just too heart breaking to part with a lifetime of collections. I voluntarily came to this place in the desert with not so much shopping, except for tourist shopping, with I didn’t need.
The desert represents what is most essential for survival. Like the plants that survive on minimal water, I too survive on the barest of input. I don’t watch too much TV.
Less is more.
I have been diving deeper into myself to discover what makes me tick. Writing has helped me tremendously. Traveling too.
The desert is a spiritual retreat. The sun bleaches everything. There is nowhere to hide in the bright sunlight. If you are here long enough, the dry air and sun will make you look older than your years. Or maybe it is wiser than your years as well.
I have slowly detached from what I found vaguely interesting. Most things can be replaced: Computers, TVs, anything electronic and they get upgraded every two years or so. It’s sad really. What cannot be replaced are my family photos, my drawings and paintings, and my journals. Most objects can be replaced. But souvenirs from distant lands are mementos of a journey that may not be repeated.
And finally I have found my load too heavy to bear. I want to shake off the attachments I have created in this short time. I want to live long and full. But I do not want to carry the weight of my life on my back! I want to be light of touch and light in spirit. I want to see the edges of my belongings without needing to step way back for a view.
