Into
the Desert 2018
carol p. vaccariello,
dmin., lpc
storyteller
I know this to be true:
the moment I decide to commit to a pilgrimage of the heart,
is the commencing moment.
This journey started a year ago. I answered the phone.
Skylar Wilson invited me to be Elder in Residence for Wild Awakenings,
a week-long journey into Wilderness.
I am searching
through my noisy heart
for silence
+++
This was my first trip to Death Valley.
When I arrived, I pondered the name. What was it about this place that provoked a name like ‘Death Valley?’
My plane landed at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, Nevada. The taxi took its time driving less than two miles for a fee of $30 to the Serene Vegas Resort. Checking Google, I learned, I could have walked a meager mile to the Serene.
Thankful to check in and get
settled for the night. My room was more
than a mile from the Strip. Walked to the Strip to find something to
eat. Observed people who had smiles
stuck to their faces. Some wore outlandish clothing, some barely any. One young beautiful woman, with glittering
long feathered headpiece and chestnut hair, approached me, the lone older woman
on the street with streaming silver hair.
Greeted, I smiled. Distracted by
layers of loud makeup, I searched her face for camouflaged beauty. Clothing was
unmistakably that of a “call girl.” I’m not very schooled in these labels. Seems that a “call girl” is one who waits to
be contacted by telephone. Doesn’t work the streets. A bona-fide “show girl,” perhaps, on her way
to work. She reached out to me. Intense seeking
eyes and surprising gentle voice. I expected harsh, crude. I received simple.
My smile was not painted or plastered, stuck to my face. No color, simply the soft quality that comes
with nature. I smiled warmth. Acknowledged her greeting. Took in the momentary
encounter. Walked passed. Wondered, “Is this the real “Death Valley.” People searching for something. Anything to
fill the emptiness of their “desert” souls.
I was uncomfortable out here.
Desolate noise was everywhere. Bodies,
soul-less, filling the street.
Found a small store. Purchased yogurt and milk. Returned to
the relative quiet of the simple yet ample accommodation that was a healthy
distance from the Strip. Relieved,
thankful.
+++
The following day, Skylar arrived. Truck filled. Supplies, tools, food, water. Next phase of soul journey.
We camped in a small town, Tecopa. Edge of the desert. He brought a tent and air mattress for my use. Camp ground was a place where natural volcanic hot springs were directed into four pools. Two pools in the men’s building and two in the women’s. One of the two pools was hot and the second was warm. I ventured in the rain to the women’s pools. Misdirected, I unknowingly circled the men’s area entering from the opposite door. Mildly surprised to find a man hiding himself behind a wall. Peeked his head out. Explained that I was in the wrong building. I found the scene rather humorous. Bet I gave him something to talk about that evening.
Followed his directions. Calmly exited. Went directly to the women’s area. Showered and slowly immersed myself in the hot volcanic water. Fantastic! The water was absolutely amazing. So clear. So smooth. Not a bubble in it. The pool was concrete painted sky blue. A natural sand and pebble bottom. Enclosed for privacy. No roof. The starry night sky! Concrete, sky blue; night sky, pitch black … diamond studded. I laid back. Gazed deep into stars. Enjoyed penetrating, soothing, relaxing heat.
Before falling off to sleep, I removed myself, showered and dressed. Made my way to my tent. Slept on the inflated mattress that lasted about three hours. Awakened around 1:00 a.m. on hard ground. Flattened air mattress beneath me. Spent remainder of the night on cold rain dampened ground. Grateful to have the deflated mattress beneath me.
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