Friday, April 23, 2010

Ebb and Flow: What the Desert Has Taught Me



The desert. Three years ago I left this place. I was sad to leave friends behind, but not sad to leave this place itself. It's hot, dusty, barren, brown, and... HOT. This desert wasn't even my favorite kind of desert. I figured, if you're going to be a desert, do it right. No scrub and brush and prickly things. Just sand. That's how you do a desert properly.



Not that I wanted to live in that kind of desert either. I didn't want to live in any desert...they're all hot, dusty, barren, brown, and... HOT.

So we went to California. Mild, moist, green... beautiful. Who can deny the beauty of the California coast, its powerful ocean pounding the sand, kindly reminding us ( in case we dumped our humility along the way) that we are small and insignificant? Who can resist the pine forests found just miles inland, whispering its ancient secrets like the Ents in a land only found in dreams (... well, and in books, movies and video games)? Surely not I.



I walked every day in the woods behind our house. But I rarely ventured out to other places. They were there. I'd get to it. The last two years by the sea, I vowed that I would start walking along the coast every day. And, every day that I didn't, I told myself it didn't matter. It was there. I'd get to it.

But living in such a beautiful place, where the world stays mostly green all year long, and the beauty of the ocean and the forests are always available, one can get lazy, taking for granted the comfortable sameness that Nature there can provide.



It wasn't until I had a few weeks left, and was totally engrossed (against my will) in moving preparations that I realized: yes, the coast and the unexplored (by me, at least) forests are still there, but there was no time left for me to get to it. I was leaving green lushness, heading back to that hot, dusty, barren, brown place. The green sameness had lulled me into a complacency, one that repeats itself often in other ways throughout our lives... how often do we hear stories of people who wished they'd spent more time with a loved one, not imagining their time together was to be cut short?

It was at that moment of realization that I was determined to never again take for granted the beauties and wonders that Nature was offering. No matter how trivial, I would find something to love about the place I was in and not yearn for something other; and, once found, Her offerings would not be put on a shelf for a later day, but enjoyed in the moment.

I've been here two and a half months now. I've been on two hikes through a forest of tall Saguaros and Prickly Pear, where I marveled at water running through the desert, saw several jack rabbits with their hilariously long ears and legs, learned the names of a few desert plants, and was able to witness the desert patiently paused on the brink of Spring. I've hiked through a "sky island" otherwise known as Madera Canyon, and saw snow-capped mountains peaking through elm and ash, the spring thaw rushing past in creeks and waterfalls. I've been to an arboretum, where I finally saw a jojoba plant, the oil of which I use often to keep my youthful glow (ha!). I have since realized I had seen the jojoba plants many times, I just didn't know to recognize it. I joined the Sonoran Desert Museum, where I learned that a cactus isn't just a cactus; they are numerous and varied. I have walked miles upon miles along dry river beds and around my neighborhood, noticing the little things... the globe mallow growing wild, prickly poppy, desert zinnia, desert marigold, rabbits, birds, the scents carried on the occasional breeze. From my backyard, I have learned to recognize the song of the Cactus Wren. Surely it was here the last time I lived here, but this is the first time I've heard it. I hear it now every day.



With eyes wide open, I've seen this desert in a new way. And, it has taught me a thing or two.

The desert embodies the truth of life, a truth we often overlook or ignore because it conveys a message that is bittersweet. It's a word most of us dislike, and that is what the desert tries to change. Yin and Yang. Dark and Light. Bitter and Sweet. The two opposites rely on each other to exist, and neither lasts forever.

The desert's particular gifts of spring wildflowers, spectacular sunsets, cleansing rains, rainbows, and blooming cacti cautions us that the joys in life are fleeting and encourages us to pay attention to the beauty, opportunity, life and Nature.

In contrast, its AWFUL heat in the summer (I won't lie.. I'm not looking forward to that), intense sunlight, killer (yet awe-inspiring) lightning storms, venomous creatures, and prickly flora point to the contrast: that life isn't always easy, and that Nature doesn't always hand us what we want. It's a struggle.

But, while the good things are fleeting, so are the bad. The desert, as does the ocean, teaches humility, but also joy and awe.

It's there for us to enjoy, a sweet to contrast the bitter, but only if we get to it.