I recently came across some notes I'd written during the trip to southeast Utah Mark and I took in early September 2012:
There is "something" about these red rocks, dry earth, and striated cliffs that is calling to a very primordial part of my soul. I sense that my soul has known this place long before it took its current refuge inside of me. Maybe my soul is hearing that "something" calling out to it, calling, "remember me, old friend? Wasn't it you who was here, helping to carve out these cliffs in the rushing, frigid water? Wasn't it you who was here, helping to heave great slabs of earth skyward, exposing this rock below? And wasn't it you, old friend, who was here, again in the rushing river, this time flowing away from the land, leaving nothing behind but sand and a few scrubby bushes? Wasn't it you who flew high overhead, seeing all of your work, calling it good, then leaving just as mysteriously and as silently as you came?"
The sky here is a shade of blue that I don't have the words to describe. My best is, "If God has eyes, and they are blue, this is the shade of blue they would be."
It is so singularly clear and crisp, yet warm and inviting; it's the color that welcomes one to sit, to stay and to bathe in its light. It's impossible to be angry surrounded by this color of blue because it softens everything inside of each of us, urging us to flow in the sense of awe, laugh, be kind, and appreciate this awe, because far too soon this color will shift into a much colder attitude and appearance.
Laying on my back, floating with the natural rhythm of the Colorado River, I submerged my head enough for my ears to feel like I was melting in the river, my body slowly seeping into that cool, flat water. There were two spots along the river where there was absolute silence, the only exception being Rachael our river guide, rowing and moving the water out of our way at one spot and the other being when she pushed us through the water, not even the oars in their sockets made any noise, it was the river water that accompanied us that barely made us aware of where we were.
This is what I still hold in my heart of the desert.
