Life and Death in the Desert

I stood at the top of a dusty mountain, the searing afternoon sun high above me, and the endless, unforgiving desert below. Mountain. To me it was just some long dead thing; a giant, crumbling form of rock and dust and nothing more. There was no life as far as my eyes could see, like the remains of an ancient and far-off world, void of the necessary ingredients and conditions to create and sustain life; its punishment absolute after some ruinous cataclysm, now mine to bear alone. 

I took a deep breath and let it out in a long, exasperated sigh. I was told by a local mystic woman on the side of the road that I would find answers on that mountain; that there was a spiritual quality to that high and lonesome place in that barren wasteland. But I still felt the same emptiness I felt in the comfort and familiarity of my house, hanging on to the edge of a run-down town off Route 66. I hated that place. I could see no beauty, I could feel no peace in its expansive loneliness. I could think of no reason at that moment why I would want to ever leave that ugly mountain, only to return to my life in the dust. If you could call it a life. It often felt to me like a slow death and a quick decay, a decay so quick that it happens even before the former can finish its work. 

I suddenly became aware of the dryness of my lips and tongue, and that made me aware of the discomfort on my skin and on the top of my head, feeling as though the sun had finally found me in that wretched place and resolved to turn its entire gaze upon me until it burned through my whole being. I wished it would get on with it. I unslung the canteen from my shoulder and lifted it to my mouth, and before I could take a drink, a small voice in my head begged the question, “Why bother?” At that moment I thought that was a sincerely reasonable question; one, I realized, I had no answer to. So I replaced the cap on my canteen and threw it down the sheer face of the mountain to be with that scorched abyss. Perhaps, I thought, I will just lay down here for a while. And so I did. 

The heat disappeared, along with every other sensation in my body, and my sun bleached world turned black. And then, a sound. A whooshing, like that of gentle waves lapping up onto the shore of a beach. Another sound, more distant than the shushing waters. The pounding of drums, as though there were a lively island drum circle nearby. I opened my eyes to see a brilliant moon casting its ethereal glow over a sea of black and liquid silver. Countless stars dazzled the canvass of sky left over, some neighboring planets here and there, camouflaging themselves into the mix of the other celestial bodies. 

As my eyes became more acquainted with my new surroundings, I looked out at the watery horizon to see the slumbering forms of islands in the distance. The air was warm and sweet with flowers, and as I breathed deeply to appreciate its agreeable nature, I picked up the scent of smoked pork wafting over on the gentle breeze. Along with that, the smell of cigar smoke, much like the ones my grandpa was always smoking when I was a kid. I love that smell. This cannot be real, I thought. I decided to close my eyes and count to ten, and surely this hallucination would end and I would find myself in some macabre land of the dead, or back on that dreadful mountain in the desert. 

I did as I thought to do and closed my eyes and slowly, deliberately, counted to ten. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again to a silvery night on what appeared to be a tropical island. I did the next best thing I could think of, and I slapped myself across the face, hard. For a moment I seemed to lose the sensation in my body and my vision began to swim, tunnel, fade. There we go, I thought, that did something. Suddenly, loud and deep laughter erupted into my awareness, and my vision tunneled back in, followed by the return of the controls of my body, followed by that moon.

“You almost knocked yourself out!” bellowed a deep voice from behind me, followed by another bout of jolly laughter. I straightened up and turned around to face the chest of an absolutely massive man.

He seemed to be of Pacific Island descent, and that was reflected by a body full of tribal tattoos, and what seemed to be some sort of ceremonial dressing; what one might see on one of the islands of Hawai’i. 

“Welcome home, you crazy devil! You have been missed.” 

“This can’t be real.” I said dumbly. 

“Why can’t this be real?” he replied in his friendly, easy manner. 

“Because, I was just on a mountain in the Sonoran desert. I must have died.”

“Whatever you say, brudda. Come on, she’s expecting you.” 

With that, he turned around and started walking in the direction of the distant drumming. 

“Wait!” I nearly shrieked. The man stopped abruptly and turned slowly to face me, a small smirk on his face that told me he was trying to hold back more of that warm and boisterous laughter. 

“Who are you? Where am I? And who is she?”

He said nothing more, only waved his arm in a beckoning motion as he turned around again. 

The giant man led me off the beach and through a nearby forest. Within the shelter of the trees, the world was a warm silvery-green. The brightness of the moon seemed to have no trouble at all in penetrating the canopy and lighting our path. We veered off to the left, leaving the sound of the drumming trailing off in the distance to our right, and ahead of us I could see flickering lights. As we drew closer, I saw that the lights were from a series of torches blazing in the night, guarding a lonely but sizable hut. 

Inside the hut was a fire, and most of the ceiling was open to the sky. I saw a form sitting on the other side of the blaze, eyes hosting the divine dance of the flames. There was something about those eyes. As I drew nearer, the form and features began to come in clear, and as those strange and familiar eyes left the fire and looked up at me, I suddenly knew who she was.

“Mom?”

“Hello sweetheart.”

She smiled gently and stood up, crossing the room with her arms outstretched. I practically leapt into her arms like a child.

“I don’t understand, what’s going on?” I pleaded. I was profoundly elated, and equally confused. How was this my mother? Where was I? What was happening?

“Your memories will return in a short amount of time, my love. Already you remember me. Soon you will remember all the rest.” She raised her hand and moved a strand of hair gently from my face. Just like she used to do… before. Wait? Yes, yes I’m starting to remember, I think. Her lips stretched out into a peaceful smile once more before she turned to my guide and spoke. 

“Maui, please lead my son to his rooms so he can prepare for the feast to celebrate his return. 

“Maui…” I interrupted. “Something isn’t right. I just… I can’t remember, I can’t think of what it is.”

A look of confusion, then understanding crossed my mother’s face, and she looked at Maui, and then at me with sadness in her eyes. 

“Oh,” she said softly, “It isn’t your time yet. I’m so sorry my love. You have to go back. You still have so much to do.”

“Mom, what do you mean? My time? Am I dead? Please don’t make me go back to that desert.” I was beginning to feel strange, and I was trying to control my panic in front of my mother and this apparent god, but I suddenly felt as though I had too many questions and not enough time. 

“You must remember that you always have a choice in what you do with your life in the mortal world. A new path awaits you. I love you so much, and I will be here waiting for you when you get back. And we will have that feast, and you will remember. Now you must go, time doesn’t stop in the mortal world. Much to do.” She placed her hands on my cheeks and pulled me toward her to kiss my forehead softly, before my senses left me and again my world went black. 

I woke up to the sound of a helicopter flying overhead, and the feeling of delicate arms gripping me tightly. Faintly over the roaring whirring of the helicopter’s blades I could hear somebody sobbing by my ear and telling me that I had better live or she’s going to bring me back to life and kill me herself. Even with the pounding in my head and the aching weak heap of my body pinning me to the ground, I chuckled quietly to myself. It was my wife. I was suddenly stricken with a deep guilt, as well as an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. I was being given more life. Something just hours before I was certain I did not want, now I cherished it as the most priceless treasure. But deep in my heart I knew, that when it was time for me to go, I would be going home. Somewhere full of beauty and love. 

For the time being, I needed to sort my life out in that dusty little desert town and find myself a new horizon. I looked up into my wife’s eyes and saw anger, love, relief, questions. I had no words to say to explain to her what went on that day, neither before nor after the incident on the mountain, and she wouldn’t have been able to hear much through the droning of wind and machine, anyway, so I pulled her in close and kissed her deeply. When I released her, her eyes were wide with shock and her cheeks were rosy with a rush of fresh blood. 

“What was that for?” She asked in clear bewilderment. Did she wonder if I still loved her? I would make sure she never wondered, again. I smiled and shook my head, dismissing her question for a while longer, and as the quickening light of dawn gave way to a fiery horizon, I made a proposition, instead. 

“I have a great idea,” I said. “How do you feel about moving to Maui?”