In the American West #1

My motorcycle and I glide through Canyonlands National Park, in Utah, late in the afternoon. The temperature of 72°F (22°C) allows me to forget about temperature, and I focus on the vast, expansive views that only end in the imaginable horizon. The ease and pleasure in our movement together through space is such that I might as well be flying. 

I stop at different look-out points and run out of words to say to myself in response to what I see; the only accurate one, which doesn’t describe the scenery – but the reaction to it instead – is “wow.” Perhaps as an attempt to share the experience (with none other than myself, as I am traveling alone), I keep repeating sequential “wow’s,” hoping that the next one will finally make it humanly possible to take in the scale of what I am witnessing.

No words, no picture, can hold a candle to this magnitude. Not the memory of it, either. The canyons of Utah can only be experienced first-hand, albeit with the humble understanding that the cup of my humanness can only hold a small portion of their magnitude. The landscape here takes me back in time, to a council of Gods who gathered in the region on days immemorial, and played a godly game trying to out-God one another while carving and molding the earth around them. We, humans, have built roads through this pantheon of rock formations, and as we cross them, in-between thoughts, in the gaps between our humanly concerns, we have a glimpse of true perspective. A very sophisticated animal I am; nonetheless, an animal with a perishable body that roams the vastness of what was created here as the canyon-lands of Utah. Creation that will outlive me by Millenia. 

Being impacted by such breathtaking beauty doesn’t go unnoticed. Slowly, progressively, I start to recognize some some shifts in my cosmology. Lately, ever since I left Portland, in Oregon, where I was stationed for about forty days, I have noticed that I have become a different person. 

I can’t quite pinpoint one cause, and I don’t think there is one. The cocktail of life experiences in the first portion of my journey is the likely cause. A three-session Ketamine regimen for treatment-resistant depression was at one point the star of the show. But it was soon out-staged by other characters that while improvising, might have stolen the whole show. 

In the first half of this journey – today being day 58 –, I have met people who are now part of my life. The openness and vulnerability of my now nearly-permanent stance seems to deliver very precise content. Real, vulnerable, generous and caring humans have abounded lately. 

Conversely to the previous experience of depression, according to which I was disconnected and far removed from love and the core of human experience, I now feel like I belong to the human family. And it belongs to me. 

This isn’t only the fascinating newness of first encounters during peak experiences. It feels more like the recognition of peers, journeying along the same road, albeit in different, personalized geographical paths. 

Something has and is continually changing in my daily experience. I have learned to trust more, to surrender more, to ask for help more frequently. Life seems to like that stance, and has been continuously matching it in kind. 

There is more happening, too. But it is a bit early to write about it.

At the half-mark of Inward Ride, I thank you all for the immense blessings that you have sent my way. May my journey and the lessons that I am learning – and sharing here with you –, reciprocate your love, one-hundred-fold. 

Canyonlands National Park, Utah. ©Ciro Coelho/InwardRide.com.