Father, where art thou?

The lack of internet reception will be the bane of me. I haven't forgotten you, but we are challenged by the lack of technology that we have. I have not been able to write, even offline on my chromebook, so I believe it's time to invest in an extender and maybe a laptop that isn't from before 2000... Anyway, I'll write and eventually, when I can, I will add the photos. 

Don't worry, I got you. You got me. 

We are outside Palm springs, CA in yet another desert. This one, a city of RVs clawing a gusty, rutted terrain, gazes at snow capped mountains. I have to tell you...I don't know how this happens, but there is a direct link between nature and an insistent, direct communication with the Divine. No wonder Moses got the 10 commandments in a place like this.  I've seen a burning bush, a cactus, to be exact, burning with the sun's rays, glowing from within, from the abyss of a slot canyon that brought me to my knees with its awesome beauty and sheer massiveness. 

Sitting in one of the holes in a cliff, made by erosion, water and wind, aka, God, meditating, like Buddha, feeling momentarily at peace. Maybe the news of my father, from whom I've been alienated, having Covid and my son, who has chosen to cut all contact with me, has brought a slight opening, like a slot canyon in my heart.                      

Do I want to be right or do I want connection through love and peace? 

I am in the middle, a pin prick in the Universe, yet the chasm between me and these men is so deep, so profound.  I had chosen this separation, this distance, this uprooting between my father and me. Years of complicated, toxic masculinity and rejection, downright abuse and my inability to move beyond these in a different direction, landed me in that decision. Stepping into California a second time within a year, feeling my son's presence on this land and his absence as well, created a link of feeling in the middle of rejection and longing towards both him and my father.

A tug of war pulling at my heart strings, yearning for these men, 

these children really. 

I think my own commandments have been given in this vastness, pulling my insides to expand, 

to accept all of this landscape, its beauty and ugliness, 

its breathtaking valleys and mountains, ups and downs, 

wonders and heartbreaking trash, fracked and lusciousness. 

 I've seen green shoots spring after an annihilating fire. I've seen fish corpses floating on a now warm, algae-filled lake downsized by 200 feet due to climate change. I am trying to learn how to hold these extreme climate changes in my heart, the fractured and the healing despite of it all.

God's Playground

It's hard to be in the middle of arid, vast Texas and not think of God. Did that just come out of my fingers? I had a moment of God, Country (except, land) and Family. Sitting in the middle of a BLM (Bureau of Land Management) site, I see the light tickling the Guadeloupe Mountaintops to the South; the sky, a Robin's egg blue, hung with swatches of gray, purple, white and pink clouds. I am enveloped by brush teeming with birds, National Geographic TV for our kitty, Kobi. I feel calm, the scratchy texture of the bushes, the golden, parched grasses, the miniature sage, the quietude, seep into my nerves,  elixirs to the madness of my mind. There is a smallness, an insignificance, that I relish here.

I am a tiny particle in this awesome terrain. That puts things in perspective. This is where I feel God reigns; this is where I feel grounded to a solid earth beneath me. It's not glamorous nor breath-taking. It is breath giving, which is the biggest oxymoron considering we are smack dab in the center of oil fields. On our drive here, I saw lit torches, hundreds of feet high, dotting the ever-working landscape. Unlike Louisiana, I didn't see many relentless oil pumps churning, digging, so I wondered if there are pipes interlacing underground, like communicating mushroom colonies, only malevolent to the planet. 

The inescapable truth of van-life is that I am faced head-on, feet first, engaging with the world, the land and the earth, daily. It's harder to live in the world of electronics and isolation when you step outside, which I do, everyday, unlike in my sticks n' bricks. We stopped at Enchanted Rock state park right before sunset. We'd been driving for days. All of us needed some dirt on our boots and sun on our faces. It was the unleashing of three year olds in a sandbox, a herd of mustangs on the Savannah. 

Kobi, Rachel and I hopped, skipped, climbed rock formations, our nostrils to the wind, breathing, breathing, breathing. I remembered the existence of my body, its abilities, playfulness and silliness, abandon and yearning. I so wanted to capture this freedom, ball it up and send to you. 

There are amazing, connected life-affirming experiences while on the road and there is also heartache, frustration, loneliness and disappointment. Things break in the van, often. We have fixed and replaced or are in the process of doing so to all these: Bathroom sink, radio, fridge, generator. We've not had hot water or heat at times. Our awning tore off near Arches National Park when a sudden, strong gust of wind decided to cause some upheaval. These could be experienced as small annoyances or the chance to learn how to use power tools and feel competent.  

As stunning as this country is, it is soooo trashed. I am not sure if it's apathy, disconnection, the lack of trash pick up or availability to dispose of things properly or a lack of workforce to pick up trash. But it is rather disheartening.  What can we do? The task seems massive. It's easy to give up, to feel that one is so small and insignificant. How can I make any difference when Walmart triple bags an apple? 

Maybe apart of my journey is to be so invested in nature that against all odds, I would feel that I have to do something, no matter how minute it feels. After all, it hasn't been the work of corporations that have shifted civilizations to the better. It has been folks, individuals who encouraged, inflamed others to get behind a cause and then change happened. 

I'm just trying to wake up, stay awake and keep my heart beating long enough to do something, anything.

Maybe a part of this writing and showing you what we see is to have you care, engage, join in this journey where we aren't limited by shoulds and have-to's, where we push beyond what's expected, the formulaic, the boxes, the designs that made us feel like we can't dream big, can't step out, made us fear financial insecurity, fed us untruths about consumption and insisted we sleep in various ways in order to escape. 

Last night, we boondocked (dry camping without hookups) outside of Las Cruces at Prehistoric Trackways National Monument. There is a dog training outfit to the left handing out dog treats, a smattering of RVs encircles and beyond, monochromatic mountains overlook a valley dotted with shivering trees. It's cold and beautiful. It's unabashedly the West, expansive, arid, unforgiving for the unprepared. Today's menu: City of Rocks State Park, Chiricahua National Monument then Tucson for propane, water and Chameleon Mocha cold brew and vittles. That's the plan. We'll see...

Trembling before 2022

    

We flipped our house and flapped our wings, heading to Savannah, Georgia for a spell and a spell it was. This magical, fecund, fraught city holds the sway of a thousand Spanish moss, lazily undulating under massive, sturdy oaks, nodding to graves, marked and hidden from the 1700's and 1800's.

The cobblestone streets, the pouting azaleas and the luscious-lipped camellias gather around nymphs, Botticelli-like maidens, boars and vined fountains, eagerly listening to tales from afar.

This is no ordinary American city. This is the manage-trois-birth-child of Creole, French and English colonizers, of Southern living, hospitality and bloodshed. Named after the Native American Indian tribe, Savana, its river of the same namesake, unloaded hundreds of slaves and catapulted its cotton industry. I was surprised, that unlike, say, Virginia, its confederate statues stand tall and proud in many squares and parks, nary a paint spilled on any.

Clad in Christmas gold and red, its gas lamps flickering, strewn among Victorian marvels, the hoofs of carriage-drawn horses mute the history trampled beneath. This city makes you fall in love with heartbreak and beauty, like an old lovers I've had.

St. John the Baptiste Church

But what is it about this place or any others I seek? Why do I have this insatiable need to go or leave or explore or escape? Is it simply my nature or the fact that home was never a sanctuary or that wandering is in my people's DNA or my voracious appetite for newness, for more? Do others have this affliction or compass? I hear from many about their longing to roam, to be free yet most don't. Many cannot even begin to imagine leaving their jobs, their steadfast lives, their familiar routines and unquestioned expectations.

Forsyth Park, Savannah, GA

Maybe it's a generational thing. Although I was born in 1966, baby boomers' values have shaped me. I am probably a kibbutznick hippie who doesn't wear makeup, showers less often than most in the US, believes in self-sustaining gardens and shared resources and has a deep aversion to buying large houses, SUVs, newest electronic gadgets, etc. I love real books with pages and heft, real honest-to-goodness phone calls and getting the oh-so-rare and elusive letter. 

The Fountain, Forsyth Park

Maybe I keep wondering to see how people engage, what have they figured out that's more fulfilling or maybe standing on the edge of a sunset I finally feel tethered to the gateway of the most direct contact with God, this Universe, feeling alive and momentarily connected.

Monterey Square, Savannah

As I sit here and am grateful for this tool on which I write (believe me, if I had a pen, you wouldn't have been able to decipher my writing, nor would I have been able to reach as many,) I am surrounded by long bearded oaks, fanned by Sawtooth palms, the scent of fire in my hair, I watch the sun gently kissing, waking all the groggy elements and wonder what do you wish for the New Year?

Colonial Park Cemetery

If you really could dream big without duties or judgement, what would drive you past your fears? How would you dare to be bigger, not just fine? What untruths would you be willing to confront about what you were taught in order to discover your authentic self, desires, longings? 

Mickve Israel Synagogue

As I ask you, I am willing to keep digging, to keep investigating and inquiring the same dialogue within myself and I promise, if you are interested, to let you in.