Author: sarabrown

Marilyn Luna.

Isn’t that name just everything? Marilyn informed me when I told her that I thought she had such a romantic name, that ‘Luna’ is a more common surname in the desert.

“Of course it is and there’s nothing regular about it, ” I thought in return.

Luna is a word of the desert; round, high, and mysterious. This woman is yet to learn her full Luna magnitude, she is seeking and feeling out her horizon.  An individual on the cusp of leaving young womanhood behind and stepping into the experience of being fully ‘Woman’, Its exciting and tender to behold this Luna rising.

I met Marilyn working at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs and in the first couple weeks of working there, I came in one morning and Marilyn honored me by opening her heart up and spontaneously got real. She spoke with vulnerability on how she was feeling shame in not take care of her spirit, not honoring herself with choices she was making in life. Marilyn confided in me, reached out and transcended the moment by transforming  it from a mundane, “Hey, whats happening” moment at the beginning of a workday, to one of true compassionate communication. Marilyn revealed herself to me and in doing so she illuminated a gorgeous light on herself that made me want to interview her for this project. By holding out what she perceived as weakness, Marilyn impressed me and made an impression, I wanted to know more about her truth.

To view Marilyn’s full length interview, please follow this link and enjoy:  https://vimeo.com/271195571

At the end of my time in Palm Springs last month, Marilyn and I finally connected for her interview and I took her took one of my favorite sanctuaries I had discovered while I was there. Its an abandoned golf course going dry and brown and wild without constant attention and watering; the desert is quick to reclaim its own out there in deep quiet savagery.

During our interview, Marilyn spoke of her readiness to ask for help from an emerging place of actually wanting to change her emotional circumstances instead of solely seeking sympathy. I believe that is an incredibly important distinction and to take notice in the break of previous motivation. This is a leap from one state of being to a whole new level of emotional intelligence; willing to do what it takes to obtain wisdom. And that’s exciting to observe in another person, that moment of understanding that a whole new set of emotional action is needed to evolve and guide a person to the next level of maturity. To expand as a human being instead of falling into the trap of contraction.

To be there as a witness as Marilyn is starting to understand and apply this, was a total honor. This specific experience with interviewing this woman was a moment for me to ‘pay it forward’. When I was just about the exact same age as Marilyn,  I had a person come into my life that facilitated a similar truth that coincided with the sensation that the universe reached out and hit me on the head with an emotional hammer. It woke me up to that I had to radically alter my approach to how I navigated myself through the world ground floor up, I had to do this if is was to honor myself and thrive instead of fundamentally wither. I witness Marilyn having a similar crossroads experience in her emotional development and I see her with just a little nudge and a whole lot of love from the people in her life, crossing that threshold into full, intelligent, present womanhood with flying colors. Marilyn is already there, she just is in the process of opening her eyes.

Marilyn is articulate and passionate and aware. She uses words well and with care and claims Writer as her vehicle of self expression. Marilyn has kindness and generosity and helps the people around her and both her and her husband are committed to the assistance of those in need. Marilyn has a wonderful smile and laugh and the pleasure I took in her company and intelligence is immense.

The honor in her sharing her heart with me and my opportunity to share some of Marilyn’s story and her understanding of her own emotional responsibility, is just fantastic. This is what makes this journey and meeting these women and this work all worth it.

This is the nature of refuge.

 

 

What do you do when you are a young mystic in our American culture, where do you learn what you are?

One of the dictionary definitions of a mystic –

“A person who seeks by contemplation and self-surrender to obtain unity with absorption into the Deity or the absolute, or believes in the spiritual apprehension of truths that are beyond the intellect.”

You grow up aware, hyper-sensitive, turn inward as your intricate inner world of divine sensations is seemingly yours alone. No one has guided you through the ultimate reality of inter-connectivity. No one has taught you that you are one of the guide mirrors placed in our human reality, meant to reflect that we are all together in this, that no one is alone. We are forever with everything around us. But no one has taught us our purpose, no one has said,

“Hey you! You are a guide!  I will help you enter into your power so that you in turn can witness and teach the spirit wisdom and its woven reality to form.”

 

And so the average American mystic is left up to her own devices and feels utterly isolated and alone and becomes sad a lot of the times in that sensation of aloneness. So alien though, this solitary experience when her purpose to be is the connective force. The mystic does have a purpose in being and if that imperative is not identified, what do you do with the blindness to the true self? The endless restless sensations of almost there, almost can see around the corner, almost can catch It behind you or from the corner of the eye.

What Is It?

The truth of ones power and that you know you are different from everyone around you. So, you have nightmares and visions growing up. Omens and mythology comes naturally to you, they resonate as a sensible form of communication. Supernatural is something you innately recognize as your working reality and wish you could confide about in and be taken seriously.

The wind speaks across the desert and the windmills turn and answer and the mountain sits and listens and the hot dry sun beckons and silences simultaneously. It wasn’t until you were a little older that you realized that you were the only one, the only human one that was taking part in that conversation.

But you are not the only one, just one of a small group in the midst of millions.

In feeling extraordinary emotion not only emanating from yourself, but all the living beings around you, how do you protect yourself, why do you need to protect yourself? Because no one was there to teach you how to enter into that flow gracefully and take on the role of conduit without drowning in sensation. How do you teach yourself that as a child and is it inevitable that you just surrender to drowning?

Visions of ravens and seeing far into the desert horizons, wild young thing and your cellular understanding of true freedom. Buy the motorcycle, take the wind by the teeth and fly.

The young are obsessed with Why? Why? Why? Everything must have purpose and meaning and explanation to prove its valid existence, more wild appetite and consumption of information – tell me! Couple this with the widest net of collecting sensation that the mystic comes into the world with, you’ve got a rich nervous stew of perception that trembles in raw awareness.

Where is the mentor, the teacher at this precipice of coming of age?

Its not until you are older that you understand that it is predominately Is Is Is with life and all its experiences, the why not so important for justification, the why more of a rich delight of exploration and possibility. Not mandatory to define ones sensory experience by, but a rich reward of intelligence and consciousness. The why because more sophisticated in its less hurried exploration.

It’s a hard way to learn, seemingly alone to come into ones purpose to teach the singular human that her sense of self will not be lost in connectivity but amplified in a chorus of the universe’s delight in itself. How does the young American mystic survive the sensation of strange isolation to mature into becoming a teacher of connection?

Depression, anxiety, drugs, sex, adventure.

All quite dramatic and full of sensation that the mystic can and does amplify without most of time, knowing that she is turning something already quite intense up to 11. All that latent power and nothing seemingly on the surface to do with it. These all are valid teachers yes, but hard ones, suffering seems to be the natural outcome and with suffering if she survives it, often comes wisdom and self awareness. Then the awareness of her true nature and power will also hopefully blossom and come to fruition. Is usually takes some pretty hard knocks to open one’s eyes to the truth about one’s mystic self.

The Hero’s Journey, The Alchemist.

Please watch Stephanie’s full interview here http://vimeo.com/264531226

There is a danger though as a woman mystic in navigating all this in a male dominated culture. When she is seeking, when she is alone with her eyes still closed, the mystic is desperate for help and justification of feeling so lost. We live in a world that is deeply fearful of the power and magic of women, men have created millennia of myths turned into religion that always tells of the evil stain of a woman’s integral power. With a female mystic having innate understanding of the rhythm of myth’s language coupled with the heightened power she has come into the world with, a man’s religion may seem the answer. Men love absolutes and having only two options; success or failure, reward and punishment, do or die. Be careful of creationism and the myths that justify the punishment of women. We suffer more than men not because we deserve it, but because men are frightened of us and our power and punish us for their reactive fear. Take it all with a grain of salt and continue to listen to what resonates with you.

Interconnectivity is your safe harbor and cultivating your relationship with your power to conduct pure energy and give it definition is your home. To hold that power loosely and with love, with your very existence and ability to communicate your extra sensory experience to others with clarity and conviction, that is your safety net.

The very thing that frightens you as no one has been able to help shape it and give it form – as there is no mystic school in our country –  is the very thing that is your bedrock of faith. You are allowed and encouraged to create your own language with and through it and then share it, plant those seeds and watch them grow. Grow strong alongside those seeds in your ability to communicate the reality of Mystery in our human experience coupled with practical reality, its the paradox of existence and it is juicy.

Young American Mystic, you are real and you are safe in your becoming, in owning your own wonderful, strange self.

This is the nature of refuge.

Its been an unexpected 3 months to say the least here in Palm Springs, but as a good friend said,

“Not a bad place to spend the winter.’

Simplicity in that statement.

I arrived here at the end of 2017 it is now the third  month of 2018 and I thought I’d be here around a month, I was mistaken. But I am doing exactly what I predicted before I left Washington and started this journey – I told others and myself when they asked the question about money and funding this work, what would I do?

I responded, “When I run out of money I stop where I am and work and then move on when I am able.”

Also simplicity in that statement.

I further explained that I didn’t have much of a preconceived agenda in how or where I went with The Nature Of Refuge, I would really just let the weather dictate where I went as not to get too hot or too cold in my travels and let the work itself connect the dots and set the pace.

It’s doing exactly that and this particular slice of desert is really the only spot in the US besides Florida, to spend the winter outside in any capacity and be comfortable.

So, coming to Palm Springs when I sensed I was about to run out of funds and then having that actually happen, the stress of that. Job seeking and shooting the occasional commercial gig and art modeling, having that not be enough. Getting really sick for a month, going to the ER and then going through all my reserves, having my truck break down and manifest some major repair needs before I could get back on the road, maxing out my first credit card and learning about that. Panicking about all of this and going into a tailspin for a minute – this was all a part of my grand design to begin with and all I have been doing was living up to each one of my expectations of myself.

The thing is, I also had and have an expectation of myself to simultaneously and radically alter my dependence on the pendulum sensation between abundance and scarcity as my rocket fuel. That addiction to panic in response to the building an imaginary wall of failure behind me and backing myself up to it time and time again has run its course, or my fascination with it has finally waned. I want with all of myself to let go of the identification with the survivor mind set and enter fully into the awaiting reality of continuous abundance, be that material or spiritual.

And I want that to happen now.

I am a very impatient individual.

I am also still wrestling with my ego and the need to control and forcing my agenda when force and control are completely uncalled for.

So of course all of the challenges that were happening in the last couple of months and my resulting panic spiking, was completely unwarranted and seemingly unnecessary. But there was the necessity of me truly reconnecting with the present moment and letting go of my scheming and planning for the future and the only thing that finally got my full attention was the spike of seeming disaster and my overwhelming panic response that overloaded me and shocked me into the present moment completely. Emptying me out and calling my full attention once again, to the reality that I have no control, there is no agenda even in the midst of great creative and spiritual output, and to slow the fuck down, stop.

This forced me to stop spinning my wheels in chaotic emotional response to challenges in circumstance.

For a few weeks, I took ten minutes at a time, the mantra of existing in the next ten minutes, that’s all that concerns me. It worked and I was soothed. It’s all that is real anyway.

During this time period I got a call from The Ace Hotel, a local cool kids destination boutique hotel chain with an outpost here in the desert. I had applied there on a whim when I first got into town but with no real response and no real interest on my part, I hadn’t really thought about it again. When Ace called me I had literally two dollars in my bank account and a maxed out credit card and an injured truck and psyche taking 10 minutes of my existence at a time. I had had a phone conversation with a dear friend who was helping in talking me down off the ledge so to speak and she believed that I could still devote all of myself to the project in the midst of all this upheaval, stay true to the work and have faith. Also practically not to waste my energy on looking for a service job and the added frustration of that but if something dropped in my lap, by all means take it and use it as a tool to aid my creative endeavors. Good advice and the next day Ace called me and it felt like a gift and all part of this serendipitous care-taking that the universe has wrapped me in in these last couple of years.

A punch in the jaw and an immediate hand stretched out to help me up. It’s a funny image but a true one and I am certain that magic and my faith in it are actively at work and intertwined strengthened by each other. So I keep getting up by taking that hand. This is fascinating juicy stuff.

Ah but my ego and working at The Ace Hotel!

I am serving poolside while the sun and the kickass soundtrack spilling from the speakers along with drinks and nice asses roll around the pool. I’m hustling drinks, running my own cute ass off and making mad money while the season is high. My ego does not like it one bit,

“Service industry, again?”

“Yuck!”

“I’m an Artist!” It says in self-righteousness, “What are we doing here??”

“Can it.” I respond. “We need the money honey.”

It is a serious hustle out there, too much to do, too much ground to cover, too many people, too hot, but I am making mad cash everyday. My body and mind hurt at the end of each day and I soothe my ego with the reminder that this will enable me to be on the road doing The Nature Of Refuge for some months comfortably and that fact and connecting with these women is the only thing that matters and far more important than my ego. I meditate and move and release my energy that The Ace is generating that feels toxic but I am still creating an anxiety mind stream about the place and experience and already having anxiety dreams about the work one month in. My skin itches all the time, which has always been a major signifier of my stress levels, and I am sleeping restlessly.

“Its worth it,” I whisper to myself and the thing of it is, that its true.

I am still in the midst of my sacred creative center; it is with me wherever I go. I am still engaged with and observing the women around me, I will be interviewing two of my co workers this week that have that light around them that attracts me to their stories of vulnerability and connection. Each time I speak of this work, extraordinary conversation and compassionate listening and speaking occurs. It astounds me these past 5 months what these beautiful women share with me with such articulate vulnerability and emotion. Affirmation that everything is worth this project is revealed to me everyday.

Take this experience for example. Last week there was this lovely couple that were staying at the hotel for a few days and each day I was out working the pool, they were also out relaxing and enjoying themselves. They immediately made a point of connecting with me and telling me how cute and thoughtful they felt I was and we struck up a professional friendship the duration of their stay. After a few days of this, the more talkative woman of the pair started asking me questions about my life and what I thought of Palm Springs and what my interests were. I told her about The Nature Of Refuge and the fact I was slowly making my way across the country interviewing American women about their experiences with safety and vulnerability and what the concept of sanctuary meant to them. This woman was immediately quite curious and responsive, she and her wife were Canadian and on a much needed vacation and she started sharing with me a story of such grief and loss in such a graceful matter-of-fact manner that only added to the depth of her story. This woman, let’s call her Miss Fab, started talking about how my work intrigued her, the conversation of feeling unsafe as a woman because she was feeling unsafe in her body in response to the medical community due to the fact that she and her wife had just lost their newborn son. He died due to medical negligence in the hospital care of their child a few days after he was born. He had died this past December and Miss Fab and her wife were traveling to help in some way with the grief. She went on to tell me the details of the hospital’s negligence, the fact that she was still lactating and as she put it, “ her body was still looking for her child’, the fact that her wife and her were actively choosing to draw closer through this ultimate nightmare of loss instead of being torn apart, how they were considering conceiving again and the worry and fear in making that decision. Miss Fab also showed me a photo of her son, Huxley, before he died, he of course was beautiful.

 

So there I am, drinks tray in hand, being a witness to these women’s loss and pain and the honor of that moment was overwhelming and gave me literal shivers across my body. I told Miss Fab all this and she said the same was happening for her and I asked if I could hug her and she said yes. The pool scene buzzed around us and at some point one of my co workers had come over to tell me it was time to take my break which I ignored, this moment with this woman was everything, it was why I took that job to begin with, for that moment to reveal itself and all the other moments of true compassionate connection that will happen there in my time as an employee at The Ace. This is who I am now wherever I go, whatever environment, however I choose to spend my time in, I will be this cipher. It is an extreme honor and my calling, this is what I was made to do, be this witness and tell these stories.

Any twinge that my ego has in this point in time, is one to be ignored, ego twinges usually are best ignored or better yet, acknowledged, identified and then released. For me to revisit an environment that has always caused me great stress such as a service job, is a gorgeous opportunity to do my deep creative work in the midst of that anxiety. To learn and integrate that I am on my hero’s journey in every environment I place myself, that nothing is wasted and that failure is just is not an active reality at this point.

Fear of failure is not the rocket fuel, authentic connection is what propels me now. Over and over I am here to learn and integrate that truth, I hope I truly understand that fact and transform my emotional hardwiring before I die.

So thank you Ace Hotel for all that you are providing right now. I can’t quite let go of my agenda of more fundraising plans and how I want to guide and share and cast a wider net with this work in the coming weeks, my ego and I are a work in progress always.

This journey with The Nature Of Refuge has only begun, it is a marathon not a sprint, I am seeking stories of sanctuary and our collective relationship with autonomy and connection, safety and violation and through listening I am learning my own experience with the inner sanctum of stability. In learning the contour of the shape of my own fears, I can hold greater space in witnessing the shape of others and there we can hold one another, stronger together than alone.

This is the nature of refuge.

 

I woke up this morning and the first thing I did after brushing my teeth and making tea, was watch the full interview with Carly Valentine. This is a woman who has exquisite grace in movement and and execution. Carly is a person in which ritual and placement has been integrated in daily relationship with her life. She is a skilled emotional dancer in this and is a pleasure to experience, as grace in any form is something I admire.

Please watch Carly Valentine’s full length video here http://vimeo.com/257023665

In watching the footage of Carly and reflecting on the emotion of our conversation, what stands out it is the extraordinary thread of strength in women and their communities. This is how we as women have survived millennia of subjugation and persecution by the patriarchy, our response  has always been to rally together and turn to each other for safety and support. To call on our intense resilience and our integral knowledge that it does indeed take a village to survive. We gravitate toward circles more often than not, understanding that ancient strength and it can take shape in a sewing circle in a church basement or a pagan ritual circle under the full moon. Its still an understanding of the power of coming together in unity and establishing balance in the circular form of protection.

Carly has come from a heritage of a strong matriarch lineage and a tangible connection between the generations in her family. Her connection to her strong creative self and expression of that through her photography and personal aesthetic, Carly directly attributes to the love and connection to her mother and grandmother, she honors them through her work and sense of self.

It comes as no surprise to me then that Carly is the initial architect of the community of 400 plus women in the Mojave Desert area named Daughters Of The Desert and now holds the title as President of the organization but has co-created a system of support with a vice-president, treasurer, etc. Carly has spearheaded the project, www.daughtersofthedesert.com  in which through her photography and portraits of the incredible women in her desert community, she has opened the door for these women to band together to promote and support each others creative and professional lives. This group of women are also are in the midst of creating an actual sanctuary for women to go to when they are in the need of safety, retreat, education, creative space, and resources. These women have organized themselves politically, promoting social justice, women’s rights, and shifting their local communities tolerance and silence when it comes to abuse of women. These women, powerhouses each in their own right, have come together and created an even more powerful sanctuary and refuge for one another and I for one am completely inspired by the work that they are doing together and the commitment to each other.

This is how you get it done. Together stronger than alone.

This past year with all the challenges and struggles thrown up and into the harsh light of the reality of American culture and its dark relationship with gender, race, class, and immigration has been deeply disturbing for all Americans wherever you land with your ideology. We are in the midst of uncovering real, ugly social truths about one another and simultaneously attempting to radically change how we go about navigating them. Its intense to say the least and we’ve barely scratched the surface, We have a long way to go and it takes all of as a nation with all our dissenting opinions and voices to somehow, create harmony, or at least carry a tune together. Otherwise this great ideal, this great possibility that is our country, is lost.

So in this corner of the country, these women in Daughters Of The Desert have come together in in a short period of time and have established themselves as a force to be reckoned with. Women when they run out of silence, are quick to take care of business and the evidence in that with the last year with women rising up politically, radically shifting our national conversation about abuse towards women and challenging generational attitudes toward sexual and physical abuse. It is in evidence in Daughters Of The Desert and other women communities forming around the country. Circles of women coming together in solidarity and sparking progressive action while maintaining momentum.

Carly Valentine speaks softly and with authority. Eloquent and elegant. Her personal strength is reveals itself with grace as you speak to her, she has all the time and her own time, its a beautiful way to move through the world. Carly has the ability to bring people together and inspire, she draws power from her own vulnerability and understands that in sharing her fragilities she will instigate solidarity and therefor strength in others. Carly is a leader and knows the timing of stepping back, letting the work unfold and  catch its own momentum.

This is the power in women.

This is the nature of refuge.

 

This is Christina Wolcott. Christina was born in Illinois, lived in Humbolt County for thirty years and is now living in Palm Springs. She lives at the abrupt edge of one of the mountains that rings Palm Springs; mountain base, parking lot, Von’s grocery store. There is a white half wall that delineates nothing that I can discern except where Christina has built her refuge that consists of a bed, two baby strollers, and piles and piles of exactly arranged rocks in mysterious formation.

I first saw Christina a couple of weeks ago when I was hiking up the same mountain  that she lives at the base of. The way that Palm Springs crowds right up to the very edge of the mountains that flank the city on one side is somewhat weird when there is so much empty desert space as far as you can see, but then not weird as the mountain provides shelter and the water and oasis created at its base, is severely limited. Huddled together out of necessity, Palm Springs with its airs of privilege actually can only exist practically because of the benevolent mountain. The mountain that Christina lives at the base of and communes with through the rocks

When I walked by Christina she was speaking to herself in a rapid rat-a-tat manner and walking in an agitated lines that led to the mountain and through the stones littered all around. She was dressed in a cool, funky, flair that caught my eye immediately and she waved to me in a relaxed way when I passed her by even though she was so intent on the rocks and the landscape.  I was intrigued and knew I’d be back to see if I could interview her.

I came back the next week and at first Christina was gone but then she came walking and talking around the corner carrying plastic containers full of rocks and i just liked her, I liked watching her come towards me in her strange world and cool outfit, I wanted to sit down and talk to her and listen to what she had to say. I introduced myself and Christina graciously invited me to sit down on her bed with her, without hesitation or fear, Christiana invited me in. I sat I asked if I could video and photograph our conversation and away we went together. Christina speaks in a low growly voice that may be due to her diagnosis of throat cancer that she told me about, the rocks that she is obsessed with for Christina, and the doctors and magicians she’s consulted with, have too much radiation in them and might be the reason it hurts when she swallows. Christina speaks erratically and non-stop, but listen closely to what she is saying and there is quite a bit of coherence, there’s a through line in all her lines and connectivity and dragons and eyes opening and blinking in the rocks that absorb her entire focus.

I caught bits and pieces of her story as she threw the words out, she was telling me something, a real truth, and it was my job to decipher through her patterns. There was talk of her Angel Babies and then a tangent of her son that she was able to hold onto for twenty-three years and then lost – the reason there were baby strollers and a creepy doll strapped to one? The heartbreak was real whatever the linear events were, Christina’s eyes so huge and devastated in contrast to jaunty red suspenders and pearl necklace she wore. But the rocks, the rocks are everything to Christina. She spends all day, everyday, collecting, piling, speaking to, receiving transmission from, experiencing  God through, animals appearing in. Christina will tell you about types of rocks, Cameos are one classification she is especially fond of. It sounds like she has had some conversations of cultural appropriation with Native Americans in her spiritual handling of the rocks and whether she’s paying enough respect or should even be doing it at all, totally fascinating. Christina prays and believes in the power of Love and the universal connectivity of God, people, dragons, eagles, and the rocks who act like a cellphone. Why not?

Please watch Christina’s full length interview here http://vimeo.com/252626037

In my mind, Christina is a mystic that has been driven mad by personal tragedy and the overwhelming magic of the desert. Its a classic combo, its the paths of most mystics and prophets. The power of the desert is real and pain breaks us open over and over, sometimes a person just can’t come back together again and stays in the raw egg vulnerability, ending up just heading out into the light instead of tethering again in the common world. When I looked into Christina’s eyes and her madness, I was looking into myself. The thinnest of lines separate her from me, she has looked into the sun and will never turn away, she stays transfixed. I look into the sun from time to time and feel the radiant blindness of universal connectivity and its seduction of truth, but then i look down to the ground and root with my connection to being just human and all that entails.

At one point, Christina looked me fully in the face and stared at me with such exhaustion and sadness. She said,

“I’m just so tired, I wish I could have time to hang out with my friends.”

It was that moment I knew we were sisters on a quest, that we are both being driven to outline where love and connection and divinity all meet and intertwine. Christina is so far out over the edge but I could easily be right there with her if I let go. But I want to be able to communicate all of this with you, I am the storyteller and gatherer, so I must keep a foot planted here and over there. Since Christina can’t get her message across to very many people, I will carry it for her, whatever the content is.

I will be a witness in Christina’s extreme resilience and fragility.

This is the nature of refuge.

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.