Revelation of Desolation

“Therefore when you see the abomination of desolation which was spoken of through Daniel the prophet, standing in the holy place […], then those who are in Judea must flee to the mountains.” —Matthew 24:15-16

I have no idea what this bible verse is talking about, but flee to the mountains I did. Let me tell you the story of how I ended up in Monument Valley, and the lessons I learned there.

I reluctantly left the Strater—it seems like forever ago now—but if past is prologue, why would I deny myself the adventures that lay ahead?

While it would have been nice to have coffee with Larry, I wanted to get an early start. I shoved off at 8am with the intent of getting to Page, AZ by 11 to take a meeting somewhere with WiFi. Narrator: “He didn’t make it to Page.”

I thought to myself, “So how cool could Mesa Verde be?” Maybe I’ll skip it, see Four Corners Monument, and blast off to Page. What an idiot. Just before I would have missed the turn, I decided to visit Mesa Verde. Almost instantly, I knew I made the right decision, and I’d have to figure something out about the meeting. Three hours later, I was still in disbelief at how amazing it was. Native Americans built homes. Out of rock. In the cliff. A thousand years ago.

I ended up taking me meeting from the little lodge in the park, although the Wifi was terrible. By 3pm I figured I’d better get on the road, but I had given up hope of getting to Page. Sidenote, as I passed by Four Corners, it was closed. Because Covid has affected the Navajo nation particularly badly, their government has completely shut down all public access to parks on their land. Wait… Monument Valley is on Navajo land.

I was fleetingly disappointed that I didn’t get to see Four Corners, but Monument Valley has been on my must-see list for years. I asked a clerk at a gas station when I stopped to refuel, and they assured me that Monument Valley was closed.

Well, I hope I can at least find a place to camp, I thought. The view from the road was fantastic enough. I should focus on finding somewhere to pitch a tent. Just like the Hickory Inn Cafe in Vega, TX, I noticed a small billboard interspersed among the small, homemade billboards scattered along the road. “Sleeping Bear Campground, 1 mi”

A right onto a small road, then another mile. I was beginning to doubt whether this place existed until there in the middle of nowhere, a hand-painted sign read “Sleeping Bear Campground. Pick your own spot, we’ll come around later. Fee: $20” As I pulled onto the dirt road, Stormy bumbling over the dirt reluctantly, I noticed that there wasn’t another soul on the campground. There was nothing but a few scattered shelters, and no camp host to be found. Was this place completely abandoned? I also noticed an old, eroding trailer parked at a far campsite, which I would inspect later and also find to be abandoned. The only sign of life was some structures in the distance, about a half mile away.

I parked and unloaded my gear, and started to setup camp. It was silent. Now and then a fly would dive-bomb my face and in contrast with the rest of my surroundings, was extremely startling. Once my tent was setup and things were in order, I sat down and realized how alone I was. Desolate. Completely, totally, alone with the earth. The sun was low in the sky and the clouds were dynamic. It looked like it could rain, but in the mean time, it created such fantastic light. I grabbed a cigar, my camera, my knife, and started walking. Where? I mean, anywhere was fine. First I inspected the abandoned trailer. Yep, still abandoned. I snapped a couple photos. I noticed an old structure in the distance, and I decided to check it out. As I approached it, I heard rustling, and two dogs, out of nowhere, were running toward me. Being a dog in a previous life, I was unafraid. They were clearly interested in who the hell was in their space. I feigned disinterest and began to walk away. The one dog lost interest in me, the other didn’t. She trotted over to me, skittish but friendly, and sniffed my leg. A calm energy from a human translates to a calm energy in a dog. She knew I was no threat. I stood there and let her sniff my hand. She had no collar, and looked very thin. After a second, she turned around with a start and ran off.

What an alien place. Magnificent pyres of red rock bursting into the sky in forms that could be mistaken for remnants of an ancient civilization more advanced than ours. I could see that there was no barrier between my campsite and Monument Valley’s structures, only some distance. I turned into a child. A real-life Link in Hyrule, bounding forward in whatever direction I wished, accepting any challenge the rocks presented, finding a way forward into the Valley. I took the natural ridge that led to the first rock formation. The strata looked deceptively easy to climb, but I eventually found a way up to the first level. I almost screamed with joy. All I could find to say was “I love you, God.” Knowing full well that whether God is an entity, a concept, or the universe itself, I was, in this moment, fully connected, and in the face of all the evil in the world, in love. Regardless of religion, politics, dogma, worldview, this exists. This place just exists. And it’s magnificent. And I felt like I could spiritually melt into the earth.

As the sun continued to dip, I knew that I should start hiking back to camp before nightfall, or I would physically melt into the earth, and the way down is always trickier. As I descended, I gathered some firewood, and by the time I got back to camp, I had a big armful, enough for a nice fire.

It was extremely windy that night, and I thought that for sure it would rain. Instead of rain, the wind did two things instead that I am so thankful for: First, it blew the clouds away entirely, and second, it woke me up at 1am. I peered out of my tent and the sky was alive with a chorus of stars as I had never seen before. There was no moon and no light pollution, instead, thousands of stars. The sky was so clear that I could see the Milky Way streak through and divide one side of the sky from the other.

I took all of my clothes off and stood alone in the warm wind, with all the stars, in the middle of the desert, surrounded by massive, stoic, eternal earth.

I have no idea how long I stood there. I eventually went back to bed, and slept soundly until I was gently awakened by sunlight. I left my tent in my underwear and started to make some coffee. Suddenly, I heard the sound of something approaching. I was thinking that I should probably put some pants on, but then I realized that it was just two horses, also looking for breakfast. They couldn’t care less about me, and just wandered by, munching on the little bushes that dotted the landscape.

I want to remind you that I was intending to miss all of this and just go to Page. What an idiot.

Then, I heard another noise, and this time it was indeed a human. I put some pants on. I mean, I guess, like anyone would care. A Navajo woman, Korene Blackwater, was making her rounds, indeed, to collect the fee for the campsite. So it wasn’t abandoned after all! We talked for a long time. I learned how to say Hello, Please, and Thank You in the Navajo language. She talked to me about plants her grandmother used to tell her would cure all kinds of things, but how ironically, she died from complications after getting Covid, and that Covid has been ravaging the tribe. She thinks that it’s intentional, and that the white man is trying to use this crisis to remove the Navajo from the United States. But she also acquiesce that in reality, it's likely due to the heavy alcohol use and obesity issues that are also ravaging the tribe. She gave me the number of her brother-in-law Joe, who ran a horseback tour of Monument Valley, and said that he would let me in if I would like. For a moment, I thought about completely changing my plans and spending another day in Monument Valley, but then I thought about Katy, and 1. that I need to get home eventually, and 2. that’s something she would very much enjoy, and 3. maybe I should revisit this place after Covid. We talked for a few more minutes and then she left. I stood there again, in the silence, moved by how much I had learned in a place that was completely desolate.