The Chariot of Desire: Part I

October 18, 2017

Traveling south through Utah with a bagel in one hand and a steering wheel in the other, I find the Book Cliffs. My mind wants a place like this for its own. My mind is in a cluttered place with all the complicated infrastructure, overgrowth, and debris of modern existence. This place out here, though, is empty. Washed over, dried out, and left alone. That’s a place where my mind wants to be. That’s a place where it can breathe and step and stare and feel no pull toward distraction. My eyes trace up and down the Book Cliffs and look for a spot to put myself, but I don’t want to be in it. I want to be it. I want to be the Book Cliffs.

The orange turns to blue then black. The sun leaves a fluorescent westerly glow from the past behind me. My sweet Chariot climbs forward into hills then mountains. The foliage, the cliffs, the breathtaking vistas—they’re tucked in for the night, hiding under that lumbering ocean of darkness that comes and goes with comfortable familiarity. It’s a beautiful drive, if only I could see what’s around me.