A Flower Grows in the Desert

The desert in August is not symbolic of rebirth, yet my annual trip to the desert has been my source of revitalization for more than 20 years.

I go to a spa that provides a proper physical and psychological “comb out” and to atone for my high-octane life. Here I check my devices at the door and as I take my first deep breath, I begin to notice things. I notice that I am not leaning forward in anticipation of the walk sign, and I am not making lists while I’m having other conversations. I actually can see the green, mustard and purple of the flowers and cacti — as if my eyes have been recalibrated from thousands to millions of colors.

As my breath travels three muscles deeper in my belly than usual, I begin to surrender to the healing power of the desert. This is the place that I come to find my best self.

Here, I dance with abandon in Zumba class and laugh from a primal place deep within me.

Here, my skin feels warm from the inside out — my muscles alert, primed and ready to serve.

I am neither hungry, nor full, yet I sense that I am nourished completely and in every corner of my being.

I am content, observant, aware and awake.

In August, the monsoons that arrive here at 3:00 pm are thunderous and violent. The rain arrives sideways, like little baptisms of renewal.

I sleep as if under a spell — deeply, securely, and surrounded by the softness of the feather bed that fills in my hollows.

I am beyond comfortable here — as I wake each morning in the dry heat, I know that I am one of those flowers meant to bloom in the desert — alive in the city, yes, but never as lush and fully open — as here. ~Laurie