This isn’t a story with a twist. I didn’t come away from Joshua Tree National Park, land of the Serrano, the Chemehuevi, and the Cahuilla, with a new found appreciation for it. I still learned a lesson there, though.
I’ve never understood the magic of this reserve and I still don’t. My L.A. friends swoon about it. They declare it’s a sanctuary of energy, where they can commune with the cosmos. They insist I join them on their weekend visit. “You’ll love it,” they assure me, “once you’re fully there. It’s the best destination…so…freeing! You’ll have the time of your life with us, we promise!”
I wander the monotone brown landscape in search of inspiration. I stare up at the spiky Yucca dotting the desert in hopes of insight. I sit alone on a dumpy boulder watching my friends, feeling like the new kid in school. I’m happy that they’re enjoying themselves so fervently; glad that they have this oasis in which to rejuvenate from the burdens of city dwelling. But, I can’t share in their enthusiasm.
I was happier in the larger expanse of the Mojave we’d driven through where I’d glimpsed eerie creatures and bizarre features. Joshua Tree seems…soulless…a setting under the human thumb of entertainment. A group of skaters takes possession of my granite neighborhood to perfect their tricks.
I abandon my friends to their sun soaking. I tramp the dusty trails through the parade of Joshua trees. A blond actor comes to moodily smoke under the jagged shrub I’m examining. He tells me the desert is a salve for his nerves. When I question whether cigarettes are a fire hazard inside the park, he gently reminds me it’s the only thing that allays his anxiety.
Traveling farther, I keep interrupting ladies in diaphanous gowns performing for photo shoots. This isn’t my scene at all so I hustle back to my companions hoping to convince them to leave. But they are in their sweet spot, in tune with the vibrations of this desert. I amble along another path; I listen; I observe my surroundings hoping the topography will speak to me, wondering what all the excitement is about, puzzled as to why I’m not feeling the enchantment.
The malady of hype has a long and troubled history as does our human penchant for turning everything into conspicuous consumption. Whether wrought by our deep need to belong, our selfishness, or our ability to rationalize anything, I don’t know. But, an interest sparks and suddenly it feels as if everyone is over-the-moon for mid-century modern pink or practicing ‘Ayurvedic yoga’ or drinking fermented tea or planning to recuperate at a Mayan sweat lodge. Hidden under the tsunami of adoration is the dark side of privilege, impulse, and information dissemination; there are costs, heavy and unseen. I’ve been guilty of it, wanted to be a part of it, resented being left out of the phenomenon.
Perspective shifts for me at Joshua Tree. I have to be okay with not getting it. I don’t begrudge those who claim this as their spiritual haven, but I have to remain content that it isn’t mine and never will be. There are homes, multiple, where we belong. We sense this when our feet first touches the sand, or as we wander the woods, or hear a certain song; maybe we arrive at the knowledge following decades of resistance. Often we only realize it long after our stay has become a faint dream. There are other places, however, where we’re forever strangers — uncomfortable, fearful, intimidated. And that’s not what we choose, what we like, but it is what I have to accept graciously. I can’t belittle the terrain because it doesn’t unfold for me or disparage those who have identified with the heart of this bit of earth.
So, I return to my friends; I sit in my unease with patience. On the drive home, I listen as they tell me how the trees and the rocks and the light altered them, how they elevated to a higher plane of consciousness. I don’t roll my eyes or snort in derision. Possibly they did achieve nirvana. And when they ask, “Did you feel it too?” I smile and say, “Well…once when I was in.…” Even if our sacred spaces are chasms apart, there are still ways I can try to connect.
TRAVEL NOTE:
Yucca brevifolia (Joshua trees) expanded their southwestern territory during the Pleistocene thanks to the dietary habits of an extinct ground sloth.
A friendly reminder for visitors that taking natural elements as souvenirs not only destroys the local habitat but also potentially introduces non-native species to the home.
I would love to hear about your sacred places and travel destinations that have become beloved homes in the comments below.
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It is so interesting that you write about ones of those shared ‘sacred spaces’ that is not sacred for you at all. Julie Riso and I had been discussing ‘personal and shared’ sacred spaces on her blog and IG and I am currently writing about ’these’ on my post about Sossusvlei. What I love about your post is how you came to terms with Joshua Tree not speaking to you at all (although admittedly, it speaks to me through your pictures ;-). I also totally get how you feel left out of some of the current cultural phenomena. I may loop your thoughts into my upcoming post (writing it as we speak). Hugs from Brazil!
Ooh, you’ve come around to this side of the world! Nice.
Sacred spaces (or safe places) and belonging are two topics I constantly think about, and this time I wanted to look at it from the outside, so to speak — from the perspective of someone being told about a promised land and then not discovering it once they landed. More than welcome to interweave my crazy ideas into your writing! Looking forward to reading both yours and Julie’s piece and chatting more about this theme especially in regards to the idea of ‘shared sacred space’ which now intrigues me.
Hugs from Southern California.
Honest and well-written
Thank you very much.
Thanks for this. In fact it’s impossible to ‘connect’ to order. And being almost instructed to do so makes me, at least, less able to engage. When a place speaks to you, as Chartres Cathedral does to me, as certain places in the Pyrenees do, I prefer to be on my own, not answering the call of the ‘must visit’.
Yes, the pressure to visit certain places, to live a certain way, to achieve certain things is more pronounced now (or perhaps social media makes it feel so to me)…so much is getting lost in the rush of having to answer that call. Thank you for your insight.
What a great post.
I have never been in a real desert, but I can imagine, I think so, that it could be something like wandering in deep forest or on a mountain in Lapland where the nature is rough and where you can find some plant that will survive. Thank You for this post.
Thank you for reading and for your understanding. Nature has such diverse landscapes, but I do find that wandering in each of them has the effect of making me realize what really matters in my life.
Thank you for this thoughtful and honest article (with beautiful photos). I too, can relate to not “getting” the hype when others seem enamored. As always, I enjoy your travels and writing!
Thank you for your lovely comment.
The ocean is a sacred place for me. I don’t live near it at the moment but I was born near it and spent a lot of my youth within a kilometre of it. But the word “sacred” isn’t really right. I feel relaxed when I’m near an ocean. I appreciate its vastness and power and age, and that gives me perspective on what’s important to me.
I love how honestly you write about your experience. I believe that searching out “an answer” in a vial of distilled Mayan herbs or a trip to the Acropolis isn’t an answer at all. It perhaps indicates a much deeper need for satisfaction from life, from work. But, if such a place or journey gives people something, then who am I to question it?
Stunning photos.
The shuttle of life and ‘work’ is discontentment for most. We are always dreaming of better and safer, but the answers we look for aren’t answers at all. How true. Thank you for the inspiration.
I appreciate your honest opinions and for me, I tend to share your opinion. But anytime I see or hear of the Joshua Tree, a certain U2 song comes into my head. 🙂
🙃 The members of the band had such a profound understanding of what this particular landscape signified both in its reality and its mythic qualities. That album is full of ideas about disillusionment and the exhaustive spiritual thirst. Now that you mention it, I should have titled my post “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”
Oh how lovely – both your friends’ spiritual connection and the joy it brings them, and your own recognition that it’s ok that it’s not the place for you. I think I’d find Joshua Tree interesting, fascinating even – those trees certainly are unique – but a soul place? Probably not, not for me either. Lovely photographs and musings both.
Alison
Places, I find are so similar to people. Varied and quirky and you’d love to like them all, but it just never works out that way. It’s possible to walk away, but from the other side of it when you’re really hoping to become friends or make a solid connection it’s distressing and isolating for that not to happen. Thank you as always for your kind words, Alison.
A deep green woods; it could be in western Pennsylvania or Slovakia or Nepal. Perhaps that’s sacred space #1. A perch on a slab of granite at least a mile up from sea level – I’ve felt it in Tibet and Colorado and … Bobbing in the sea. Vast, open spaces. I fall in love hard, and fast, with a lot of places.
But there are definitely places I’m just not feeling it, and I’d be hard pressed to explain why, especially because some of them ostensibly meet my criteria for being amazing destinations. I see Mayan temples listed above, and I have to add myself to the list of those uninspired by such wonders. Just as I shrug at New Orleans, glaciers, swamps, live music venues (ooooh, she’s really weird!) and other places or experiences that just don’t rev up my heart or slow down my breathing enough to make them forever (or even momentarily) special to me.
One other note: I do find your honesty appealing, as others do. But in my experience, even people who say they like honesty will try to find a message or a meaning or something else to maybe, just maybe convince you that there was something there that you might have missed. Sometimes we just want to not like a place or a thing and be done with it, at least in my case! So I will resist and simply say thanks for telling us what you really thought about Joshua Tree!
😁 I had no idea not liking live music venues was a sign of weirdness! Thank you for such an exhaustive list of the places that speak to you so profoundly. I’m moved both by how specific the spaces are that capture your attention and the breadth of what leaves you wanting to be done with them. And, regarding your other note: yes…it’s sometimes so difficult for us to imagine that something incredibly vital to our own sense of self has absolutely no value to someone else. I’ve heard that critique before and said it myself to people. That’s really what I was attempting to talk about in this post — my understanding that not having the feels for Joshua Tree created a chasm between me and my friends, a disconnect I was struggling to bridge…and still am.
Live music (all but the symphony, which I do enjoy) creates a chasm between me and my friends. When I say I don’t like it, or sit through it in true discomfort, people look at me like I have two heads! It doesn’t seem to be something most people find difficult.
I appreciate your honesty in your reaction to Joshua Tree. I’ve never been there. Loved your story of the guy who needed a cigarette to calm his nerves in a place he claimed as his own. The diaphanous gown ladies were a hoot. California is as much a state of mind as anything else.
Thank you. You’ve got me thinking about how often our ideas about a place really do dwell in our minds. Hmmm…something to chew on.
You make a great point. Places, like people, speak to some of us, and to others they don’t. We need to respect and embrace this fact.
It’s hard to accept, because so much of our sense of belonging comes from finding like-minded folk (or a place) and staying in that circle. But, this is something I’ve been challenging myself to stay open to: the uncomfortableness of being. Thank you so much for your comment.
What an interesting post! You may not have clicked with Joshua Tree, but your photographs suggest a connection. Nature’s indifference to us, which may come across more strongly some places than others, is to me both humbling and consoling. It goes on with us and without us. And just as there are foodies, maybe there are what? cosmonauts?–people who don’t just enjoy their experiences in nature, but need others to know they had them…resist.
😁 You’ve pointed out something most interesting! So much of social life does seem to be centered around letting other people know that we’ve done something. Thank you for the reminder that this is not what matters, and also for your comment about nature’s indifference. I come back to the idea again and again that we need nature, not the other way around.
This will maybe sound stupid, but my most sacred places are home. I know I have a penchant for traveling and through my lifetime I’ve established a couple of places that are “home”. They’re in Barcelona, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Berlin, Utila (really tinny coral reef island in Honduras) and Kortrijk (little town in Belgium). They all have different things to offer, but somehow keep me in balance. I’m considering Kampot (Cambodia), but I’m afraid that it will disturb the already floating equilibrium.
Not stupid at all. I love that you have a floating coterie of sacred places which have spoken to you and in which you can belong. Having been to Barcelona and Kampot I can certainly understand their appeal as homes for you.
Your honesty is refreshing and touching, in a way. Why do people write honestly so rarely? I like to surround myself with those who do.
I have often felt off, for one reason or another but I must have deleted such instances from my memory bank because right now none comes to mind. But mostly they were connected with people and their behaviour, not the location. Okay, Universal Studios Tour, hahah. That was really unnecessary.
Desert as such is not my kind of environment, I have to have water of some kind and greenery. Also, it brings to mind what we are up against, not yet but soon. Two years ago there was such a drought around here that I could plainly see a future desert right here in Tuscany.
But yes, people do what they do… Before I laugh at somebody’s mumbo-jambo, I imagine them laughing at me if I was to explain what I feel at a Pearl Jam concert. For example.
A great post!
🤗 Honesty makes us vulnerable to one another, so it’s difficult to do. Your last sentence said it all. My real work remains: how to not be dismissive of other people’s “mumbo jumbo” while pursuing my own. By the way, per your Pearl Jam feelings, I do love how music (in all its variety) is universally capable of making us experience those intangible emotions. Rock on M! ✌️
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To each is his/her own. I’ve climbed many a pyramid in Mexico and elsewhere. Seen people at the top, eyes closed, arms extended, palms up. Absorbing the energy. 🙂
I must be deaf. I can’t feel it. 🙂
But if they are happy and feel better? Let it be.
Cheers
Different strokes indeed. The question remains: how then do I move past that divide to reconnect? Thanks for letting me know I’m not the only one who doesn’t get the feels on top of pyramids. All the best. 🙂
To reconnect with what or whom? Don’t need to. You don’t need to do the same. I think we can “connect” with others on some points and not all. ALL would be almost totalitarian in my view. 😉
(But then that’s me…)
B. Good.
Haha…thank you for the advice. Since I was with friends, I think it hit me harder than usual that I couldn’t feel Joshua Tree as a space the way they did. But, I am finding other paths of connection….
That’s the spirit. 🙂
Art is one huge hyperspace of connection.
Music of course.
Literature.
There are many paths.