Raw Vagabonding : Zion, Bryce & The Power of Water

After I finish up odds & ends and death & taxes in Vegas, we flee to Zion National Park to get away from city life and spend some time communing with nature and delighting in uncertainty. Last time I drove cross country with my darling illustrator friend Elliott in 2003, I got sick in the Big Horn Mountains and we had to cancel the Southern Utah portion of our trip so I could make it to SF in time for an interview, so I am super excited to finally get a chance to see such amazing beauty.

We arrive at nightfall, set up our tent and get ready for bed. I feel the earth cradle my body, support my spine, and realign me with its touch. This is exactly what I needed to release the stress from the last 2 days (terminating my lease, organizing friends to remove the rest of my stuff in SF and dealing with the imbalanced sublettor) and reconnect with what is really important. The earth is always so grounding, and sleeping outside in fresh air always feels best (yes, I was nodding with agreement while reading the section on sleeping outdoors in Victoria Boutenko's 12 Steps to Raw Foods. In SF, I loved that the temperature was mild enough all year round to leave my windows cracked) to me, which is a major part of why I love camping so much.

The North Wind begins whispering and I think I'm in for a gentle song to lull me to sleep, but she has something on her mind, and her restlessness keeps me up most of the night. It's a small price to pay for being in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, a place that feels sacred and possesses strong healing energy, which I am very much in need of after LA & Vegas back to back. San Francisco, as a city, is more grounded in it's energy and nature is more accessible and abundant. There is lots of beauty near LA, but the traffic and need to get into a car to get everywhere can be a big deterrent, especially for a bicycle/public transport person like myself.

As I write this, I'm sitting on the edge of a cliff, inches away from the water curling it's fingers over the edge of Navajo sandstone, and the sound soothes me in a way that nothing else can. It doesn't matter that I only slept a few hours or that my hip is experiencing some technical difficulties - all that matters is that I am here, now. The vibrational power of water is astounding. Sound is vibration and the energy flows in all directions; the syncopation of the life force pulses with my own heartbeat, making my soul do a little dance with the molecules embedded in everything. I watch the water drop down into the Virgin River as the sky opens up above the canyon. I close my eyes and listen to the water reverberating around me and within me and drift naturally into meditation. I remember the last words I read last night before I turned off my headlamp:

Survival is in the rivers of your blood. So is death. Open to what you fear.

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