Ophiuchus


There are periods in time that sort of just effortlessly pass us by as we get swept away in the day to day. I suppose that’s been happening to me somewhat lately. My writing, my art, my reasons “why” have been sitting idle at a stop light waiting for “go”. I can’t say there is any void of intent, it’s just been a sort of slipping situation.

As it goes, I find myself wandering through halls of possibilities, continuously pausing in shadows, and somewhat forgetting how many freckles I have or what shape my eyes are. Simple markings of who I am suddenly get tossed and turned with the last year and half’s laundry. I can’t shake this. I’ve been trying. I keep screaming & I keep hearing an echo.

There is this stillness in forgetting to ask all of the right questions. The nature of right’s and wrong’s get muddled by perfectly paved paths. I suppose maybe I’m just not as drawn to that perfectly paved path as I have always imagined myself to be (or tried to harness myself to be).

I’m wired to the art of leaving, even if it’s only momentarily.

I’ve developed a fairly thick skin and short attention span for lack luster memories.

I crave more than filling my vocabulary with “I want…”

I demand a slightly more conscious way of getting through the day.

It isn’t enough to be “good enough”.

If there isn’t an interest in why I say this, then please, back off now.

It won’t get easier, for either of us.

That being said, I’ve found myself drawn to Yucca Valley/Joshua Tree more & more over the years and every time I find myself there, I encounter the kind of humans that have stories & the kind of humans that tell them.

I could venture into my new(ish) found ambition to solidify their stories, but I’ll save that for a day where I can (hopefully) announce some movement with it.

The desert is rough. The people who land there seem to be on a quest of sorts.

I’d venture to say it’s mostly a spiritual one, though I wouldn’t dare suggest that they all hold the same meaning for the word “spiritual”.

Nevertheless, they crave something bigger than the mountains that surround them and more tangible than the sun that burns every surrounding breath of life with wrinkles as deep as valleys, soaked with regret.

I don’t envy them. I just admire them.

When I travel to the desert and hold such vast, honest conversations – the latest episode of whatever-show-you’re-currently-obsessing-over doesn’t hold any value. The real nature of human connection lies within so much more.

In the desert people talk and they hear. Yes, they listen with intent to hear – really, really hear. Hearing through listening is a lost art in so many facets of our relationships now.

The day-to-day over powers.

The bills stack, the cars break down, the dishes have to be done....the communication follows suit. We quickly move from subject to subject avoiding any disruption in the (false comfort of) ‘I love you’.

Breaking this cycle is almost as challenging as keeping it from starting.

I’d say as of right now, that would be my “spiritual quest” in the desert & even if I never make it there to venture on that quest, I’m going to sit here, write it, dissect it, appreciate it, long for it, and attempt to harness it for as long as needed….













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