[Death Valley, January 2016] - A wild rush clamors past ears and claws through clothes...then all at once everything is calm. Repeatedly the wind roars then abates. The great valley below is breathing insatiably, gasping with an almost desperate need. From down in the mile-deep maw reverberations of a primal metabolism rumble into consciousness tectonically. There's an inherent, antonymic rhythm here: in and out, tranquil and chaotic, innocent and worldly, swift...and very slow.

If there's a heart in the still, doleful depths of this place it beats very slowly, at a frequency that can only be felt, not heard. Life is hard, but vacillating between life and not-life is an existential trial. "To be or not to be" depends not on metaphysical whim, but meteorological fortune. When water bothers to fall, it often assaults the sere, broken ground in torrents of jealous exasperation. And the earth responds, eagerly embracing an ancient obsession.

But from that turbulent reunion a revelation in hues erupts, insolently mocking the outside world's disbelief. Networks of dependence, intricate...barely comprehensible, spark countless living and lifeless "neurons" into a churning, ageless desire. The primeval desert mind grinds like a monstrous millstone, trying once again to crumble and combine its elements into something new, something aware. Inevitably, the alchemy of awareness founders, and dissipates, and is swept away on the dry wind.

From ceaseless grinding of hard rock come the soft sands of the dunes, where vigilance waits for eastern light to wash away the stars. Chilled toes deep in supple, shifting grains counterpoise the flush of morning sun. A whisper of breeze suggests the return of respiration. At first it murmurs gently, drifting through narrow, polished fissures in the cold earth; then, as the diurnal fever builds, it comes huffing and howling out of canyon mouths, clouding the air with ground.

An intractable self is this place. An ineluctable force motivates it. It's a feast for the senses, a salve for the spirit, and a callous reminder of personal transience in the face of timelessness. Yet there is also a hint of fragility, a sensitivity to obscure and mysterious points along a knife-edge where short-sightedness could tilt what was once immutable toward irreparable injury.

There are scars here: roads, buildings, and pseudo-wild, sadly irredeemable lives - now truly "merely actors." There are conceits of technology that signal potential ruin. However there is also hope, if mostly in the stubbornness of rocks and hard places, irresistibility and immovability. It may be that this salty, sand-scrubbed region can be diminished, perhaps even devastated. But meek acquiescence is not in the cards. This is a will too ephemeral to be caged, a soul too feral to be tamed. 

Trip Guides: Death Valley National Park (SA)

Photos: Flickr 

Videos: Youtube