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...