Strange Palm Springs..
I come here in a small tornado of self. This project is my refuge, my rocket, my obsession. I have been out in the desert perhaps a little too long as the veil between me and everything has grown quite transparent, perhaps its time to come inside for a little while and build up the safety in opacity. I can go whenever I want, and will be going back out on road fairly soon. I’m here to learn and execute broadcasting, fundraising, getting the word out to a wider audience. My initial trajectory is quite strong in this work, lets take it higher. Lets shake the rattle of financial anxiety out of the beat, lets learn how to appreciate all the bounty available and waiting, lets get fully tangible. Or at least, immerse a little deeper, its ok girl, the water is fine.
I am given the gift of refuge for however long i need it, how fantastic is that. Strange Palm Springs opens it manicured, privileged arms to me and I walk in, tired. All around me is brilliant green and chlorine blue and the endless terra cotta strip malls that delineate the wide smooth, black roadways from the true landscape of dust desert mountain sun that is the Coachella Valley. it takes me a few weeks to see whats really happening here in this refuge for senior citizens and gay men who have an abundance of time. There is always more than meets the eye and the veneer of conformity is always a mask for the abundance of madness and variation that is the human psyche.
The doorway opens from the patio and swimming pool that my room is adjacent to. I step out each day to the growing understanding that this quiet little city in the middle of the vast and ringed by mountains, is like a washed up ships of fools – just like any other community – but magnified by the silence of nowhere. Its light at sunset and then twilight is what clues me into the beat of this heart; how the light reflects off the water in the swimming pool and the sounds of airplanes landing and taking off nearby. The light is so soft then in contrast of the daily harsh glare that is the endless norm in this environment, it illuminates so gently, with great tenderness, the angles and planes of the mountains, the tract desert houses, the silly palm trees.
The doorway widens in the mornings as I tend to this swimming pool, using a net to scoop patterns off the surface, scrub down the sides and bottom. The air initially is soft here too but quickly becomes tight and hot, its winter in the desert now but this valley collects sunlight and holds it close. I have three dusty little dogs who follow me everywhere and their personalities reveal themselves to me as the mornings progress, dear funny little things with their own intelligence and wonderful indulgence of sleeping and snacking each day in the cool tiled shade of this house.
Palm Springs is sad.
The people move in quiet sadness and self absorption, always on a journey of looking inwards or resting. This is not a bad thing, the sadness is not a maelstrom, its just deep and permeates.
There are beautiful, tall, Amazons who walk with elephants around their ankles who move and sleep in slow melancholy.
There is the congregation of the dog park where community and fellowship is played out everyday; the dogs the cover to come together and connect, to be less lonely, to be each other’s daily touchstone and friend.
There are the lost that ping pong themselves between identities driving themselves mad with the inability to feel themselves in the moment so they drown themselves in champagne and hormone therapy.
There are the ones who came to take care of their aging parents and when their parents passed, these ones have stayed to clear through the detritus of grief and integrate the universal passage of being released from childhood.
There are as many stories as there are closed doors; all the quiet drama played out in the individual refuges created here as nothing seems to be played out on the street, The streets belong to facade and the cars.
I fold myself into this place, creating my own rhythm of rest and activation. I reflect myself in relation to others and continue my work and stare at the big mountain the anchors the horizon.
This strange, dusty, little town in the middle of nowhere with its gleaming sharp edges and soft evening light has offered this traveler safety and a place to be for the time being. Its generosity is also part of its infrastructure and makes for an interesting dance partner.
This is the nature of refuge.
