The desert is an ordinary place, but it is somehow extraordinary. With that contradiction, I am speaking of the monotony there, which is suddenly punctuated with some beauty. Life can be like that sometimes.
I was writing on automatic pilot for so long, and I still may be. There's no telling what I'm accidentally revealing about myself, if not merely that I am kind of simple. I can also be full of myself, which can be problematic, because there may be little of substance. I also scribble in a series of journals, where I sometimes think I am touching upon something profound. This blog seems like an ephemeral extra. Maybe my journals are ephemeral too, even though I can currently hold them in my hands, and physically put pen to paper. I have found such activity to be refreshing, and equally relaxing.
In the grand scheme of things, even the desert itself is ephemeral. Nothing lasts forever, or so I've heard, read, and been told. The universe we know will expand into infinity, leaving our little speck of dust even more remote and alone than it is now. In the interim, the continents will shift, and deserts may eventually become oceans. It is mind boggling, or at least it is supposed to be. I'm pretty sure a lot of people don't give it much thought. It is highly unlikely that any of us will live to see it, even with advances in medical science.
The desert can be such a dour place. It's a dry, unyeilding mistress, and the oases are few and far between. Here, I find myself in a time of life that seems to be akin to the proverbial crossroads. Unlike previous crossroads however, this one seems to offer more time to make a decision. Perhaps that is only illusion though. Time seems to slow down in the desert, while the rest of the world moves at breakneck speed.
Living in Kansas, years ago, life seemed silent and still. The pace was glacial, but that was an illusion too. Things were changing; time was passing. Kansas was once considered part of a Great American Desert, when the word, "desert", could mean merely a place that was sparsely populated. The rain was supposed to follow the plough, but settlers found that the plains could be very arid, after an initial decade of wet years.
You can't really plow the desert; you'll only be turning over sand. I did see small green fields, here and there, along the Colorado River, in Utah. Travel very far from that river though, and you are back among forelorn places. These places are essentially part of a vast flyover countryside. If only we could leap over the similar places, which can be found in the human soul.
