Into
the Desert 2018
carol p. vaccariello,
dmin., lpc
storyteller
After lunch, gas tanks full, we headed out of town. Along the road there were signs. Natural hot springs. We stopped. Enjoyed the deep heat of the pools. They were set back from the highway. A short walk on a sandy path. Others were there enjoying the soothing baths. The young men traveling with me were less than half my age. I wasn’t convinced. Was this a good idea? Concerned my presence would stifle their spontaneity. Projection, ya think?
All four of the men, well educated, richly life experienced, had lived less than 35 years, while I grossed 72.5 years.
I waited. They stripped off their clothes. Bodies quickly lowered to hot volcanic pools. The youngest, 25, had enough early morning hot pool. Alongside the pool, we watched and walked and talked. They played in the mud. Top of their heads, soles of their feet. Covered in mud. Sun dried. Cleansed in the dive.
These 30 somethings morphed into ten-year olds. Frolicked, mud plastered each other. Their inner animals exploded. Ferocious roars of power and dominance. They danced, wrestled, rolled on the ground before diving back into the pool. Eyes sparkled. Delighted. Free, vibrant, connected with Earth’s primal energy.
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The day’s light was vanishing. Base Camp here we come. Preparation was key to our journey. We needed daylight. There is no way to light up a desert when GrandMother Moon was close to dark.
They air dried and dressed. We were on the road to Death Valley. In a short couple of hours caravanning to base camp, we found the unmarked turnoff near the 30, or was it 50 mile marker? Each needed to claim a space, pitch a tent, settle in for the opening Council Circle. Quickly we found our way around our newness and differences. Seeking the comfort of mutual space and place. We planned the rhythm of the week leaving ample opportunity for Spirit to move and challenge and stretch us.
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All my life, I longed for an adventurous brother – now I have the promise of four young men. This moment may never present itself again. Of course, I would go. One week in the Wilderness. Seeing the stars in a totally dark sky, no moon, no artificial light, only stars. I desperately wanted to see that sight at least once in my life. Tonight, I am stretching my gaze into a brilliant Cosmos. It appears like a box of salt spilled in swirls on black velvet, black light illuminating. The stars shoot so fast that I doubt my eyes.
High winds ripped rain fly from my tent. I can see the stars. Tonight, I don’t know if I should be frightened or exhilarated. Held in arms of magnificent adventure. We prayed the young seekers into the mountains. They began their three day fast and silent vigil. Blowing winds honor their quest. Continuing more than thirty hours. Wind chill created a constant cold. Fire was impossible in the high winds. Others chose to sleep in the open. Only protection from the destructive, chilling wind: their sleeping bags.
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During the day the winds continued their intensity. My Mother. Sometimes she visits in powerful Wind. Often, I experience her as the Wind. First time I knew my Mother in the Wind was amazing. A beautiful and moving story. Worth the knowing. Find it in The Lion of God: Archangel Ari’El. Chapter nine, Coming On The Wind. Enjoy!
Every time I experience strong Wind, I know my Mother’s spirit is near. This week, she was blustery for an intensely long period of time. After 30 constant hours of high winds, I didn’t think it could get any worse. One day of gentle breezes lulled me into believing that the Winds had passed. I was unbelievably wrong. The next day the Wind picked up and kicked up with new vigor and power. Now I was feeling frightened. I was once close to a tornado. This new Wind was going beyond getting our attention. One burst came at my tent from all four sides at once. It was as if I were sitting inside an inflated paper bag that was being suddenly banged from all four sides. Astonished, the tent did not explode with the force. Two of our men in the mountains. Alone with no food. Profound wilderness. No phone service. No means of calling for help. Yes, I was afraid.
The tent folded in on itself. Unzipped all of the windows to let Wind’s force blow through rather than hammer the flat sides of the nylon. Impressed by tent’s strength. Ability to stay up, to stay together. I thought about writing a letter of “applause” to Coleman for their sturdy product. At a deeper place, I thought about the Winds of life that can beat me up or takes me for a ride. My choice. Fear or excitement.
Winds created a “walking” tent. Stakes would not hold the lose sand composite Earth. I wondered, “Is this a metaphor for my current life? Am I struggling to hold on? To stay put? To establish some rootedness. Or, maybe the question is the very opposite. Maybe I am being asked to let go. To risk something new and different? Maybe I am being challenged to be someone very different from the mirror-person looking back at me. What is the question riding to and through me with this Wind? Is my Mother’s spirit the source of my experience? Is she demanding I take a closer look, make some changes. Is the challenge before me: let go of every confidence? Ride naked and new on the force of the Wind?”
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Interesting, this planned experience of intergenerational wisdom sharing. The Elder in Residence. Supporting and supported by young, strong hearts. Knowing and unknown.
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My tent was near the four to six-foot drop-off. It bottomed into a wash created by previous years flood waters. Land sculpted by strong moving water that passed repeatedly unnoticed. The stark bare bones of Earth’s mountains, reminded me of the Franklin Mountains of El Paso, Texas. Water had no opportunity to soak. Hard, rock-solid mountain surface repelled drenching. Simply, it roared down mountain sides, flooding washes, longing for lower ground.
I was told it rained here twice a year. Doubtful of that statistic. I had experienced a large downpour my first night when we pitched our tents in town and tonight, it felt like more rain was on its way.
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Incessant high winds, created concern. “Where might I find myself in the morning?” Before being swallowed in darkness, my strong headlight beam shone its way over the sand stony terrain. I found eleven rather large stone-people to help me. The largest that I could lift. Placing the stone-people around the inside perimeter of my “Wind-walking” tent floor to insure I would awake on the topside of the cliff come dawn!
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