Love Letter to Colorado

Flying along the east coast of Canada, watching the sun go down in the west, I find myself reflecting on how strange and how wonderful these past four weeks in the American West have been. High up above the clouds, in an altitude of 30.000 ft, the heights and peaks, the beauty and wonder of Colorado is coming alive again across the distance, its colors mirrored in the slowly sinking sunbeams outside my window. Recalling my last look at its snowcapped mountains, the tears are right there again, the overwhelming sadness upon having to leave. I certainly never expected the place to touch me like this, so deep, so utterly. Thinking of all the things that had to happen to bring me there, to make me decide to come to Colorado, I can't help but wonder ... are our decisions ever our decisions? Is it really us coming to them, or is it them finding us? We may not even be aware of it, thinking we decide "at random", but there is a story behind every decision and I can see it emerging now, while the distance between me and Colorado is getting bigger, flying back east and into the night.

The Gift

It wasn't like I found Colorado, I think Colorado found me. In some kind of cosmic jigsaw puzzle in which every piece needs to be in the right place for us to be able to discern the hidden motif, things had to happen first – people, pictures and prospects had to come into my life and fall into place there, sending me on my way to find – or be found by – a landscape that moved me like no other before. It took an artist to put the finishing touches to that fragmentary scheme inside my mind ... a poet and a painter ... a poet painting pictures with words.

Some of us are gifted in a way that is hard to fathom – somewhere beyond themselves, in spite of who or how or what they are on a different level. It is a gift bigger than ego, a gift that – concerning themselves – may be a curse as much as a blessing: the unique ability to convey images and emotions regardless of self. It sure comes as a blessing when it leads to bring light, joy and comfort into the lives of others. How they do it though is hard to apprehend – inscrutable maybe – but isn't that how art should really be? Coming without purpose, brought into being by a force to create that is bigger than intent, pure energy finding it's way into the world, the artist merely a transmitter of a beauty and a wisdom hardly palpable to himself.

I have a very special friend who is gifted that way – capable of painting the most expressive pictures with his words, pictures that come alive with emotion, color, scent even – able to add shape and structure until they virtually turn into three-dimensional word sculptures – so vivid, so tangible, almost real.
For himself, he does not always seem able to sustain these pictures he paints so well for others – unable at times to draw upon the energy and strength they impart, intermittently blind to the unbelievable grandeur they transmit when they come from a place in his heart that is pure passion, pure love and true openness to the world.

It must have been from there that he described Colorado to me ... and his words found their way right into my heart, placing the cornerstone for a journey that was to become more than a mere "trip through the Rockies", a journey that seems like a key to yet another cosmic puzzle.

The Place

I loved Colorado. I can't explain why or how but it felt like a homecoming of sorts. I touched ground and was smitten – just like that – without reason. Like big love does, it came totally unexpected, taking my heart by surprise. Looking back now, I think I didn't even realize it at first. It wasn't spectacular. It wasn't the kind of love that makes you freak out. It simply provided me with a feeling of immense ease, depth and happiness. Being there felt just right – perfect even – yet in no way special.

I have been to a lot of places across the world. Quite a few have impressed me or made me want to return. Colorado was different – less striking than Utah, less spiritual than the Sinai, less craggy and steep than the Alps, less exotic than Asia and less remote and wild than Africa – and yet it was so much more. It opened up my heart – I felt at peace with myself, belonging – as absurd as this may sound but it felt like Colorado was simply where I was meant to be, coming back home to a place I've never been to before.

Some regions touched me more than others, some left me rather cold, but still ... finding those pictures I had seen with my heart already while listening to my friend's poetic outpours, exposing themselves to all their beauty right in front of my eyes now, it was sheer bliss - grace and wonder.

Walking and wandering for a full month through Colorado's hills, mountains and prairies, discovering it's manifold landscapes, I could feel an energy that was overwhelming at times, filling me with a serenity and strength I hadn't felt in a long time. I never expected it to be that intense. The worries I had felt before, they fell off my skin and mind once I arrived in the vast emptiness of western Colorado. There was not much room for egocentricity in this energy-laden place where all that matters is the moment and nature – and being in tune with them both. Where beauty is omnipresent, all scent, all color, all wide-open nothingness.

The Beauty

It's in the glitter of the granite, those twinkling silvery sparks on salmon-pink rock, reflecting the evening sunlight ... a sky so blue that it hurts at times ... clouds cumulating into giant celestial castles, tinted yellow and black, violet and red ... it's in the burning sun and the afternoon storms, and in the rain that comes as a relief at times, a curse at others ... it's in the shape of the leathern leaves of the scrub oak and in the pastel charms of the wild flowers ... in the sound of the wind echoing off ancient canyon walls, dissembling distant bygone steam trains ... it's in the luscious mountain meadows as much as in the austere prairie grasses ... in the buzzsaw sound of the cicadas and in the high-pitched cries of the hummingbirds ... it gurgles in the white water rapids and rustles in the aspen leaves ...

And then, it's in the air – in this peculiar Rocky Mountain air that surrounds you like a perfume: strong and spicy, balmy and brisk – an overpowering flavor of moss, pinyon pine and juniper, herbs, flowers and grasses. Nature's breath, enclosing your senses in an aura of scent – so lavish and invigorating, you want to get drunk on it, airily losing yourself in its magic and allure.

Colorado, that is an atmosphere so dense, an energy so full of spirit in certain places, it made my hair stand on end, giving me goosebumps when I sat down and went quiet, trying to open up and get a feeling for what was there around me. As if the air was abuzz with history, replete with the ghosts of long gone cultures ... in those wild rivers and red rocks, in those canyons and grasslands, in those mountains and woods and sacred springs ... one could divine their voices in the wind, whispering of a half-forgotten past, singing of ancient secrets and mysteries.

It cast a spell over me, this colorful state, an enchantment paired with the wish to stay on ... a yearning to return. And I shall – if the cosmos wills it too – as in this very second, on an airplane looking out at the stars and the half moon high above the Atlantic Ocean, I have a vague notion something is waiting for me back there ... something yet to be found. The cosmic puzzle is not accomplished, the picture not complete.

The Gratitude

Thank you my friends, all of you who played a role in making me come to Colorado: Michelle – you kindled the initial spark with your great passion for the land! So right you were about the ancient voices! ... thank you, Natasha ... thank you, Brian ... and finally: thank you, Jeff – wizard of words – for being a not so plain man after all.

Thank you all for your inspiration and motivation, sending my mind on this journey until I had no choice but to follow, 'painting' your poetic pictures, pouring your pictorial poems, praising those landscapes again and again – I can not tell you enough, all of you: Dankeschön!

(Author's note, added in the summer of 2009:)
And return I did, spending another month in the home of my heart, Colorado - made possible only by the immense hospitality of my wonderful and amazing friends in Lyons, Annie and Eben Grace. Thank you so much for your patience, for putting up with me for so many weeks, for making me feel welcome and at home. You guys are the best!

The desert

I've been back for quite a while now and still find it difficult to write anything coherent. There are bits and pieces, single thoughts and reflections, but it seems impossible to write any kind of fluent itinerary concerning my time in the desert. I feel like a lot has happened and changed ever since I went there – and since I have last posted in this blog – but I couldn't name it, really. There are hardly any visible changes, it's more subtle, almost impossible to figure out, even for myself. It's as if the desert perturbed me, messed me up, but in a positive way. Going there has proved a most valuable experience and even though I've spent a relatively short time in the Sinai desert and mountains, it was so much more intense and impressive than any of my other travels so far. The desert made me see a lot of things in a totally different light. There were plenty of wonderful experiences that left me with a somewhat changed perception of the world in several aspects.

Forgive me if my following writing is going to be all jumbled and confused, I haven't yet found a way to put the desert into orderly words (especially not in English) and probably it's a futile effort ... I guess I shouldn't even try but somehow I want to share my impressions and maybe a tiny little bit will still come across and give you a slight insight into what it was like to be there ...

(My favourite valley in the Sinai desert)

When I decided to go into the desert it wasn't mainly because I was looking for a deeper meaning of life or new insights. I also expected the whole thing to be as much of an adventure trip as a spiritual journey. I wasn't searching, but willing to find and be found, to come across things without purpose ... whatever life would decide to provide me with – or put into my way – I was prepared to deal with. I didn't so much want to 'discover' as to 'uncover' what was already there. The only intention I had was to challenge myself, to defy and allay my subliminal fears and bring back to life those things inside me that had become forgotten over the years, numbed by routine, comfort and safety thinking. I wanted to regain access to my natural energies and intuition and felt that the desert might be just the right place to try to do that.

(An especially beautiful multicoloured uromastyx – spiny-tailed lizard)

Despite being extremely curious and keen to discover this mysterious place, fascinating me beyond explanation, I was still pretty scared of what might expect me there. The thought of sleeping under the open sky, without any shelter made me feel kind of awkward ... sandstorms ... the heat ... cold nights ... the thought of all possible creepy-crawly animals, insects and reptiles ... uaargh! Telling myself that I would certainly survive all that, as others have before me, I avoided to think any more than necessary about snakes or the notorious scorpion. But there were other doubts instead ... I had but a vague notion of the Bedouins ... wild and untamed people I'd have to come to terms with ... what would they cook, how would we communicate ... how would I manage to ride a camel – so many tiny yet slightly disturbing worries! You see, I wasn't all pleasant anticipation as my departure drew near, my courage slightly faltered during those last few days ...


(The immense heat around noon blurred all images, making them seem unreal and fugitive ...)

Once there, the desert quickly lost it's horrors. What scared me so much in advance felt just natural being there. Inavoidable, for there were no choices or alternatives anyway. I'd have to accept whatever would occur and try to make the best of it. Like many other problems, the things that made me so nervous in advance, became simple facts in the deserts, to be considered rather than be afraid of. I felt so much at peace, so centered and genuine from the first moment I got there – calm and quiet inside ... no more worries, no more wishes ... everything seemed to be just right, consistent and wholesome. I've never felt so much at home inside myself. All the sorrows back home lost their meaning and were put back into the right proportions. There was nothing to be solved. I completely lost my usual urge to 'take care' of things, being overactive in trying to control them. In an almost buddhist manner I realized that if I just took certain things for what they were – facts instead of problems – they'd probably lose a lot of their impact. I became aware of how often I created my own problems by fighting the facts – the reality of things – instead of accepting what was beyond my influence. How useless ... and how much healthier to just let go of the resistance!


(Waking up under the open sky ... every morning had it's special magic ...)

So, what was the desert like ..? Instead of providing me with the adventure and excitement I had expected to find – snakes, scorpions and all kinds of outer extremes – it proved to be a quite different, more miraculous and mediating experience with an enormously healing effect. Challenging in a quite different way than I had thought before. It was full of things impossible to be foreseen ... where I expected monotonous routines there were umpteen unpredictable moments instead. One can not conquer the desert, or force anything, the only satisfying way is to attune one's own rhythm to that of the desert and with a bit of luck, it'll freely share it's energy. It's been such a precious gift, to be allowed to experience the unbelievable power and strength of the Sinai, the vast stillness, the immense peacefulness, the curative force of this place and it's people, the Arab Bedouins ... so strange and alien to me in the beginning, so dear and familiar after all in the end.



(Bedouin household – baking bread on an open fire in the living room ...)

How much heart and humour is in this people, how much courage and curiosity, love and laughter, tolerance and respect. How little do they meet the cliché we have of the Arab people. Traveling and living with the tribe of the Tarabin was quite an enriching experience. The time I spent with my 'desert family' (consisting of me, six Bedouins and two Bavarian friends) left a lasting impression. I don't think my heart and soul have ever been in such close communion before. I wouldn't have thought something like this to be possible, such an overwhelming anam cara feeling, a real 'epiphany'.




(The desert sure was adventurous, breathtakingly beautiful and very impressive – but it was also a lot of fun ... playing innocent children's games with the Bedouins, joining in their singing and dancing ...)




The Sinai is an unbelievably beautiful place, and yet – as any other desert – never to be understimated. One need not fear or dread the desert, but certainly one has to respect it. It's easy to forget about the dangers, taking them too lightly after a couple of good days, but despite being quite impressive and admirable, the desert regularly reminds you to take it seriously, sending a sudden sandstorm, unexpected rain, terrible heat, it definitely has it's ways ... and yet it has so much to offer, to enjoy and be grateful for. It's powerful and peaceful at once. There's so much beauty and variety there, so much life ... I'd never have expected to find in a desert of all possible places. If you walk and ride with your mind open and willing to see, it's a magical place.



I guess people either love or hate the desert, there's nothing much in between. I couldn't help but fall in love with the desert, it captured my heart and my soul and I'll never be able to forget it or leave it quite behind. A part of me seems to have remained in the desert, leaving me restless for it's peace and beauty, forcing me to come back, again and again. Yes, it does take a little of your soul ... but in exchange you carry a bit of the desert inside yourself, taking it's peacefulness with you, wherever you go after leaving it.

(That tiny little figure with the orange headscarf is me, contemplating and enjoying the unbelievable stillness all around)

Planned or not, the desert really relieved me of most of the ballast, the unnecessary luggage that I carried inside myself. Just like I had been told in advance, it was getting lighter with every step I went further into the depth of the Sinai.
"Water may wash your body, but the desert cleans your soul ..." that's what the Bedouins say ... and also "Somewhere in between laughing and playing lies the remedy for an injured soul" and they're right, I guess.




"Traveling broadens the horizon ..." my grandma used to say – and it does, if one travels with an open heart. How different has it been in the past, when I traveled with merely my eyes wide open, taking not much more than flat pictures with me, too scared of the unknown to try to experience what is beyond my own reality. However picturesque those images may have been, they never became alive the way things do ever since I changed my attitude towards life, towards the world and it's people. Where there used to be frozen images are now lively memories:

... vibrant silence, the breath of the earth, the sound of the stars, ringing like a million bells at night ... to imagine that even the vast endlessness of the universe consists of the infinitely small ... just like the mighty desert consists of tiny grains of sand ... hundreds of different shades and colours, changing with every moment ... desert time ... so different from our occidental time ... flowing like liquid, like sweet thick honey ... sticky and yet fugitive ... timelessness ... no need to measure the minutes, hours, or days ... steps, camel rides, tea breaks ... everything is more important than hours, in this kingdom of light and colours ... of indescribable magic ... the Sinai desert.


(Sometimes even the camels joined us in our meditations ...)

Lilli goes to the desert ...

Here I am again – I know I've made myself pretty scarce lately, but there was just so much to plan and organize and a lot of work, leaving little time for anything else.
I'm almost gone, leaving for the desert tomorrow, my bag is packed and whenever I look at it I find it hard to believe that's all I'm gonna take with me, wondering at the same time if I'll really need all that stuff. But since I had been given a packing list I'll just trust in it to be all right. What do I take with me? A sleeping bag, an inflatable mat, alarmingly few clothes, and a whole lot of tiny yet seemingly indispensable stuff, like torches, a swiss army knife, a compass, a variety of cords and straps for whatever reasons ... I guess I'll find out once I'm there. I have sold my car yesterday, I guess I'll miss it whenever I'm back but for now I won't need it and decided not to worry too much, I couldn't really afford it anyway.

Every now and then I wonder what came over me when I decided to make this journey ... going into the desert. Why I suddenly felt such a strong need to experience the vast stillness, the brooding solitude and fierce beauty of the desert, see the indescribably starry sky, feel the stinging heat at daytime and the biting cold at nighttime. My sudden desire to meet the people who live there, spending all their lives under these circumstances, so unreal and inconceivable from my central european point of view. Now I'm going to the Sinai desert, travelling with the Bedouin people, the tribe of the Tarabin. Apart from me there'll be two other european travellers, meditation teachers. I haven't met them before but we have been exchanging e-mails and I'm pretty much looking forward to meeting them in Egypt. It's going to be quite an adventure for me, sleeping out in the open all the time, no tent or shelter except the heaven's tent, the enormous sky above me. We are going to have camels to carry the bigger part of our equipment (and us, whenever we feel like riding a camel). Right now I don't see myself doing that, but you'll never know ... maybe I'll end up enjoying it after all! In the evenings the Bedouin will prepare the camp fire and cook a simple meal and I'm full of anticipation for all those new experiences, the impressions, the possible insights and perceptions.

Talking to people who have been travelling through the desert before, they all agree in one thing: nobody comes back unchanged. The desert is said to have a purifying effect, clarifying the thoughts, putting things back into the right proportions. Not just sorrows and problems but also our own ego. They say it's not the equipment you carry into the desert that is your main luggage. It's the mental luggage we carry and the camels can't help us with that. But normally it's the luggage that will get easier to carry with every day and hopefully it can be left in the desert, so we travel home a lot lighter ... Well, I wonder – but I'll just let things happen and see for myself.

I won't have any chance to write here for some time now but I'll carry my little notebooks and tell you about it later, inshallah ...

Take care, ma'as salaama!