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March 12, 2016
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March 19, 2016
On Monday, March 7, we wandered into the remote high desert like a band of false prophets in search of life-giving waters. Heavy rain—a rarest of treats in this ultra-arid region—was in the forecast, in fact it was written in the sky; but our lost tribe was greeted with little more than dark clouds, high winds and crisp outdoor temperatures peaking in the low forties. Over the course of our expedition, perhaps a total of only seven and seven raindrops anointed our dusty dashboard, to the relief of most tourists, but to great disappointment for the thirsty desert flora.
Still, we would not scoff at the heavens for their unkept promise. In the distance, far to the east and far to the west, we could see the clouds opening up, delivering a blessed bounty of cold rain and snow to the surrounding mountain ranges. And we had reason enough to give thanks, that our travel plans were not utterly spoiled by some catastrophic flash flood, an all too real possibility as El Niño made his one-day detour across the Mojave.
So our guardian angels granted us safe passage into this sacred terrain. And though our Toyota careened through the shadows of the valley of creosote, we feared no drizzle. Making the steep ascent out of that bleak landscape along 29 Palms Boulevard, we were met by hoards of handsome Joshua Trees, reaching for the sky, in unison and exaltation.
Since the dawn of time, man has looked to the desert for divine solace and mystic inspiration. To wander out in nature in search of God is practically a cliche, and for all the most notable prophets of Western religion, that wilderness has consistently been a desert. Out of Nazareth, back to Mecca, or into the Promised Land; the pilgrimage, the vision quest, or the Exodus; it’s a journey through the desert, each and every time.
But few deserts inspire such awe and wonder as the holy land of Joshua Tree National Park, where the shrubby sands are beautified by vast expanses of exotic yucca trees, waving their spiky arms in riotous salutation, while rocky outcroppings of the smoothest, most inviting, almost sensual textures lure the curious visitor along, into an otherwise frightfully hostile setting.
Together, the trees (which are really monocots, not trees) and the rock formations—both so rare in appearance in all the world, yet so ubiquitous in this strange, otherworldly habitat—have a way of mesmerizing the onlooker, drawing him into a trance, one that many might simply attribute to mild dehydration. But with such vivid and extreme examples of what nature has to offer, biologically as well as geologically, Joshua Tree delivers a glorious spectacle for Earth lovers of every creed.
And what’s more, the story of Joshua, after whom these animated plants are named, seems to bestow something of an omen upon our motley crew of travelers. For those less familiar with the sixth book of the Old Testament, it was Joshua, leader of the Hebrews and heir to Moses, who first stepped foot into the Promised Land. Moses is well remembered for leading his Chosen People through the desert for forty years, as the story goes; but it’s important to remember, though often forgotten, that Moses never actually entered the land of Canaan.
With Moses we can see that the journey is the destination, confirming a Taoist proverb of roughly equal antiquity. And as page one in the book of Tao obliquely explains, “The Tao that can be touched is not the true Tao.” There’s something precious and authentic about the truth than cannot be grasped. Real wisdom is not about arriving, it is about the process of seeking. Moses, the quintessential hero of the Torah, is the exemplar of such a process: the wandering and the searching.
Arrival in the Promised Land and the conquest of Canaan marked the beginning of a new chapter in Biblical history, and a significant new body of teaching. Likewise, Joshua Tree, for us, was an important destination, a place worth celebrating, the way Joshua did when he reached up and caused the sun to stand still, or when he waved his conquering javelin over the cowering city of Ai (shortly before laying it to waste with Old Testament vigor.)
After Joshua Tree, our journey continued. And so the journey always continues. (I just hope we won’t have to wave a conquering javelin over our restless young initiates as we venture forward.) And with any luck, we can learn from this—as we are reminded by every journey—to let go of the concrete goals, and to focus instead on making the process more fulfilling for every member of our tribe. And also to give thanks, every step of the way.
For more entertaining stories from the esoteric tourist, check out the following articles.
