Tinkering in the dust

The desert stretches out beyond my mind – swirling dust devils sweep across endless white expanse.  Out in the center of the desert in a mirage of dust, a mirror reflects from sky to earth; I can see my Self sitting alone in the center of the storm.  Around me is a wasteland – all of the life rests within.  I become enveloped by dust, and I see the art, the creation from a thousand souls, it all rests within my being.  A garish molten sun rises across the horizon, light piercing through the sandstorm, straight into my three closed eyes, tickling the corners of my mind.  I see David with his magic carriage, and Sa, her dark golden skin a beacon in the sand, and the small boat, aimlessly searing for the 747 jet, all lost in time in Black Rock City.

I remember hiding in the motor home as the sandstorm took the Playa.  Everyone ratcheting down shade structures, frantically zipping tents, storing cups and loose pieces of valuable junk that were strewn about the campsites.  As the visibility wained and all became white, most humans hiding from the passing dry storm, one man stood in unison with the malevolent wind, embracing its coming.  The bass from the mighty Pink Mammoth sound system thundered through the open space, and David emerged from his tent, bobbing his head to the house music beat.  The dust quickly pasting him white. His head tilted to the passing cloud, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, exposing his teeth – a lurid yellow in front of the slate grey sky.  David tinkered on his bicycle, tools in hand, messing with the lights, opening the hatch on his carriage, throwing in a can of soda, closing the hatch, opening the hatch and stuffing in a fur coat caked in dust.  He circled in an eager frenzy around the bike. The carriage on the back of the bike was proudly lit with a ring of lights coming to head height, dozens of small LEDs spaced across the half circle built up from the small wooden trailer.  A few more tinkers, a couple more useless tweaks, and the desert vehicle was ready to embrace the storm.  All the while his body gently writhed to the beat, head steadily bouncing in anticipation.  Finally, as fast as the dust devils merged into the angry cloud, David pulled his ski goggles down, straighten his colorful scarf, and rode off into the grey abyss.  

I keep these real life dreams safely stored within my heart, a faded map I call upon to keep me straight on the coarse.  The journey – full of mysterious wonder – the destination a rising star in an ocean of dust.