The Transpersonal Papers: Chapter Three
"A Spiral at The Great Salt Lake"
(c) 2008
Vegas completely freaked me out.
After a weekend of Holotropic Breathwork in Prescott, I decided to go through Vegas on my way to Utah. Bad idea.
Let me explain:
First a bit about Breathwork. Holotropic Breathwork, in a nutshell, consists of breathing too hard, listening to music too loud and laying on your back for two plus hours as your body and soul go into a non-ordinary state of consciousness. While in that altered state, a breather can feel more hopeless than he has ever felt before, she can experience the collective unconscious and/or her past lives, he can become a wolf or a tree, she can sit in the lap of God, he can feel the complete sadness of the world, she can re-experience childhood anger at her father, or all the above. And I pay good money for this. I tend to feel supremely stuck for a while in Breathworks, scream and yell and crawl like a snake on its belly, rest for a bit, experience myself crossing the field of battle in Gettysburg for the tenth time, dying at Gettysburg for the tenth time, cry for all the hurt in the world, and near the end of the two hours, rise into the Clouds of God and fly effortlessly. And that’s a good Breathwork experience.
So on Sunday, the day after the Breathwork, I drove to Vegas for the first time in my life. Yes, I’m an idiot. Sounded like a good idea at the time. Bright lights. Big city. Lots of Excitement. Yea. I forgot that since I had no psychic boundaries to speak of, due to the intense Breathwork, I tend to feel what others are feeling. I’m empathic by nature. On Sunday, I was empathic to a fault.
Let just say I got to Vegas in the early afternoon, and even though I had every intentions of staying the night, I fled The Strip around midnight. Lost $20 playing craps in as long as it takes you to read this paragraph. Won back $8 in nickels at a slot machine in which I have no idea how I won. Left the faux replica of New York City, walked up the strip to Caesar’s, got lost in the sports book there and couldn’t find my way out. Finally did find my way out, walked back down the strip and cried, watching the fountains at The Bellagio, performing to a tape of Pavarotti. Walked down the strip some more, entered a medieval castle, looking for a room, changed my mind at the last minute, and drove away as fast as I could in my truck, the lights of Vegas literally in my rearview mirror. I stopped at a casino south of the Utah border, thought of sleeping in my truck in the parking lot, couldn’t sleep, went inside to win my $12 back, lost $20 more at the Blackjack table, got back on Interstate 15, crossed into Utah, found a place to park off an exit ramp, and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning I awoke at dawn, got back on I-15 and headed toward Cedar Breaks National Park. Actually it was this morning. Monday morning. Cedar Breaks still had feet of snow in places and it’s June. It was wonderfully cool in the alpine meadows at 10,000 feet. I played in the snow, made some snow and pine needles spirals and healed my soul from Vegas.
Now, I’m west of Salt Lake City on I-80, looking for a dirt road to my right that’ll take me to the shores of The Great Salt Lake. I pass a Morton Salt plant and I see an exit up ahead. I’ll take it.
The road turns quickly to dirt. I’m following my nose. Speaking of nose, it really stinks here. Smells like a dead Chesapeake Bay Mud Toad that’s been out in the sun all day. I can’t see water but according to the map, if I keep heading North, I’ve got to hit water. Some bizarre bushes grow in the hard sandy soil beside the road. The road isn’t bad but it’s isn’t good either. Two tracks firm but rough. And God, that smell. The smell of brined everything.
The road forks after a few miles and I take the left fork. Soon, I see shoreline up ahead. I find a place to pull off and park. Getting out of the truck, I notice the smell has dissipated a bit but is still there. Maybe my nose is getting used to it. I grab my Pentax and walk toward the water. Big black flies buzz by my head.
I approach the shoreline, but it’s not really shore. The edge is a wet mix of sand, brine and crystallized salt. It reminds me of walking on the end of a frozen lake; but it’s not ice I’m walking on but salt. The wind blows the flies away from my head and then they return. It’s getting hot. All in one day, from walking in the remnants of last winter’s snow at 10,000 feet to 4,000 feet here, walking on dried salt beside a brine sea. A small peninsula of sand juts into the lake. Off to the West, a distant desert mountain range. I then see the shot. I draw one spiral (bad arch), a second spiral (bad placement), and then a third. Spiral Number Three is the charm. Black flies come and go. Not biting yet. I’m adapting to them too. I take a dozen shots. The wind picks up. I pack up the camera as soon as I’m done shooting and take it back to the truck. I’m now feeling the salt on my skin, my lips, my teeth. I stand still for a while. I breathe in the briny breeze. I kind of like it. I imagine the Clouds of God from this weekend. I feel connected again, both with the similar and the extreme.
Vegas sand and Great Salt sand.
Cold snow and hot brine.
All alone, but with people just a few miles away.
All alone, but with God close by.
Standing in an American Desert that feels a little Middle Eastern, a bit biblical.
I open my eyes, breathe and smile. I walk back to my truck. I start it up and head back to the Interstate.
Opening a cool Tab from my cooler, I drink a long draft from it, cutting through the salt on my lips.
Tab. The Elixir of the Gods.
