Seeing

From Indio to Blythe, I-10 crosses 100 miles of desolation. Vast expanses of empty desert stretch out to barren mountains in the distance. I knew these vistas well, having passed them many times when courting Barbara who lived in Blythe. This desert was only boredom to endure. There was nothing to see.

Yesterday I hiked in those mountains, some of which are in Joshua Tree National Park, and I found a wonderland.

My goal was Lost Palms Oasis at the end of a 4 1/2 mile trek over ridges and through washes. The guidebook called the palms majestic. It didn't mention the visual delights along the way. At every turn of the trail, amazed at views like the one pictured here, I could only say, "Wow!"

Along the way I passed through a veritable garden of desert foliage—Mojave yuccas, California juniper, jojoba and creosote bushes and ocotillo and cholla. And cute little red heads like this barrel cactus.

Eventually I reached the oasis overlook. "Wow!" There they were, nestled down in the canyon and marching up the ravines—the largest stand of California fan palms in the Park.

Down in the oasis I found a big boulder to perch on and dined alfresco on the cold cuts, bread, tomatoes, and tangerines I had packed. What decor in my dining area! A feast for the eyes. A sight not even imagined by motorists whizzing along on I-10, intent on their destinations, regretting every minute they are forced to spend here where there is nothing to see.

And as I walked those 10 miles into the oasis and back, I thought about seeing and not seeing.

I saw only 2 species of animals on my walk—several little lizards scurrying out of my way and a cactus wren that was highly interested what was on the menu for my lunch.

But I know there were more animals around, because their feces were on the trail. I saw the little pea-like droppings of rabbits or perhaps the mountain sheep that frequent the oasis. And plenty of scat of predators—maybe coyotes or bob cats or mountain lions, all residents of the area.

I didn't see any of these animals, but I'm certain they saw me. Blending in to the terrain as they do, they'd be invisible to me. At one point, I climbed off the trail 50 feet to rest on a rock and drink some water. While I watched, two solo hikers walked past on the trail. Neither saw me, but I saw them. If they missed me, sitting there in plain sight wearing my white cap and chartreuse shirt, how much more likely that I missed seeing the yellow eyes that followed my progress up the trail?

And I thought about other things I have not seen. People ask me if I've had any close calls as a biker. Yes, I can recite a couple near misses with death or disaster while riding my Harley, but how many have I escaped without even realizing it?

And I thought about my cancer that I didn't see, didn't feel, would have had no knowledge of until it was too late had it not been for sophisticated medical technology. And I thought about the proton beam—again unseen, unfelt, but as real as the cancer it's destroying.

And I thought about Oedipus who ridiculed the blind prophet Tiresias, a seer who couldn't see, but ended up like the butt of his joke—blind but filled with terrible knowledge. I thought about acquaintances whose neuroses blinded them to realities so obvious to everyone around them.

And I thought about our proverb Seeing is Believing, and about magicians who amaze us with sights we see that don't really exist. And I thought about the biblical text: "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."

And I thought about the folly of the confidence we place in the testimony of our senses.

And I prayed again my daily petition: Give me clarity to see reality, clarity to see Your Hand in the daily events that surround me.

Treatment count (as of last Friday) 34 down, 11 to go.