Little by little, their voices fade; As she opens herself to you.

Her sandstone is the heart of the world.
The flow of blood within it is her noisy silence, filling up the empty spaces between the stars.

I walk forward, so that I may forget the human race and instead become a child of the desert…
So that I may become sandstone, wind and burning sky.

Beneath the fabric of that sky, I walk the path of this living gallery
With only the spirit of the earth beneath my feet as my minister.

In the book of the earth, it is written that nothing ever dies.
Because there can be no separation between the earth and those that walk upon her varied scapes.

Every drop of blood has once been rain.

Our bodies continue to be made and un made and re made in and of the earth
As our spirits flow to and from their varied forms forever.

And so I arrive beneath her, Calf Creek Falls.

All day and all night the water runs down the spine of her sandstone.
Her lace legs falling over rocks like ribbons made of snow…
Ribbons of tumbling water without a break or seam, forever.

I lose myself in her silky currents and the darkness gives way to light.
I see that I too am becoming seamless, like the spaces between the stars.

Like a mother, the desert remembers her children. 
She takes you back tenderly.
She reminds you that one day; maybe tomorrow… you will be re born as one of her many datura flowers
Which, as they open, offer the blooming laughter of ineffability.

We are all children of this earth, so we are all children of the desert,
Walking forward with her beneath our feet.

She opens her heart to us one by one so that we may remember, we are not just human.
We are also sandstone and wind and burning sky.