Voice of the Desert

In the mornings and in the evenings I go to the dried-up riverbeds that are mostly unstirred by humans. They’re like a desert highway for wildlife...and the thousands of footprints give off the same energy as a highway on a bustling weekday morning with everybody rushing to get to work on time. There’s something about being in the riverbeds that feels safe. Something that pulls you along and pulls you deeper into the desert...closer to the beating heart of the Earth. The flow is in the direction that all the tracks are pointed. And it’s the feeling you get on the highway when you zone out and get pulled along with the current of traffic. It’s also where I hear my mother’s voice and I feel most safe. Not my birthmother. Not my adoptive mother. But the mother I needed. She speaks to me out here. I don’t hear her anywhere else. It’s a slow and calming voice that comes from the chest...from the heart...not the head voice - it’s the voice where lullaby’s come from. But also the type you’d want on your side if you ever needed someone to stand up for you. It is unwavering, assertive, and accurate. Deep, strong, and assuring. The kind you wouldn’t question. The kind the honest trust but makes the dishonest squirm. Just the sound alone makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay. The voice comes from the ground as if it has roots and stays low and steady and doesn’t waver in the wind...like something you can hold on to during a storm. She only says what needs to be said...nothing ever frivolous just to fill the silence. She’s mostly quiet and just listens. She heals me on our walks through the desert. We walk the dried up rivers and follow the wildlife tracks. And take in the energy that they’ve left behind and use it to heal. Use it to become one.

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