It’s Saturday. I think. Not at all sure of the date.
I’ve been wandering the deserts and canyons of eastern and southern Utah for 8 days. I’ve visited canyons in the San Rafael Reef, Temple Mountain, Goblin Valley, Glen Canyon, the tip of Lake Powell, Natural Bridges, CanyonLands, and maybe on to Arches. I’m slowly, somewhat begrudgingly heading home. On my way I find myself in Moab. It’s changed a lot since I was last here. 6 stop lights now. I quit coming here years ago. Too crowded for me.
I stopped at City Market. I love it that I’ve been out and away long enough to feel complete and utter culture shock. I’ve traveled dry canyons, seen primitive ruins of those who have traveled here before… living such utterly simple lives. Lives of survival. I took all the food and all the water I would need with me when I left home. Basics. Beans and rice. Homemade oat cereal. Fruit. I’ve lacked for nothing. Last night near CanyonLands National Park it was cold enough to freeze the water inside my car. I bedded down in an ice storm. I could see it coming and planned an escape route if I’d needed it. Sometimes those dirt roads turn to glue in a rain storm. My high-powered down sleeping bag and a couple of blankets kept me warm if I kept my head under under wrap.
Back to City Market. I’m struck by all of the things we have created for ourselves for our day to day existence. Strawberries? What a totally glutinous item after spending 8 days in the dry sands. Cigarettes? Wow. Everything looks so foreign to me. I regret that I must head back into the chaos. Back into too many choices. I have a sneaking suspicion we need those many varied things to survive the insanity of the day to day…. when what really serves us most is less… not more. I admit that I am glad to come away with a salad, from a real salad bar no less. Yes, Moab has changed. I will have another day of solitude and then life will get progressively busier and more chaotic as I travel towards Denver. I guess I have to be ready but I’m sure not yet.
I’m heading to the north and west of Moab where my sabbatical journeys began 11 years ago. It’s always good to revisit. It helps me remember how far I’ve come from those days when I had no core self. I knew I was desperately searching for something. I didn’t have a clue that it was me. God met me there on many occasions. I like to re-member that experience. Back then I was running away. When I look back now I believe I was mostly running away from the voices in my head. Back then I thought I was running away from my former spouse, my life that wasn’t my own as Mom, from the terror that lived in me. A new me was breaking through the concrete. After several years my journeys became about running toward that new me. I was ever in the process of discovery. Now I’m just happy to wander… to turn right or to turn left… to take whatever path looks most interesting. To have large chunks of time where there isn’t a single thought in my head. What a luxury. I’m happiest when I can just pause. I can’t know a place by going through it at 65, or even 50. I want to be there for a few days, in one spot, understanding its sounds, its patterns, its secrets. To hike into its heart. What a gift that the earth allows such visitation.
I’ve found myself laughing right out loud many times the last couple of days. I guess living in your car for a week will do that…. like when you wake to find the water laying next to you is frozen and the whole car is covered with a layer of ice. There are so many comical moments in life. I notice them when I go slow enough…both inside and outside. Like the really large lady coming out of ‘Big John’s House of Ribs” laden with tubs of food. Or the metal sculpted dinosaurs outside the Sinclair station that looked remarkably like they were humping. Or the street signs that go nowhere. Huh?
All in all I’m enjoying the simplicity. There’s something very healing about living contentedly with basic human needs, needing nothing more. Although a shower might be nice
