The first time I
lay beneath the astonishing stars of Anza Borrego, I
slept little, waking through the night to the
haunting call of the wind as it roared through the
land like the voice of the desert gods themselves.
But although I was awed by the power in that voice, I
was unable to translate its message. Choral Pepper's
guide to the myths and mysteries of the desert has
reminded me of that magical night; and now I
understand that the desert gods were reminiscing,
recounting their fabulous tales to all who could
listen and hear. Those tales, like all good stories,
entertain us, divert us, amuse us. But a good
story-whether it explains the mysteries of creation
or the location of a long-lost gold mine-provides us
also with something beyond entertainment and
amusement. A good story provides us with a glimpse
into another world beyond the confining world of
"reality" that surrounds us daily. A good
story reminds us that "reality" holds more
than meets the eye, that the world around us is alive
with wonder and mystery. A good story, in short,
allows us to experience the world as children do:
with fresh spirits and open minds, with eyes to see
and ears to hear and hearts to believe.
In the world of
myth and story, all things are possible. Animals
speak; spirits fly through the night; old men are
made young; and gods walk the earth. What seems at
first to be an empty cave in dry sandstone may, in
the light of legend, prove to be the door to the
center of creation. And that door to the center leads
us back to ourselves. When we suspend our disbelief,
when we celebrate the truth of other realities, we
open ourselves to a condition that theologians call
transcendence. In other words, not only does the
world around us shine with a new light, but our inner
world also glows with new visions, new understanding.
In spiritual terms, the enchanted world of myth and
story is the miraculous world of faith. Throughout
time and in all lands, the telling of tales has
opened the hidden secrets of the universe itself, as
well as of the human heart and soul.
In The Little
Prince, that wonderful story of the human heart, the
author describes a moonlit night in the desert thus:
"I have always loved the desert. One sits down
on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing.
Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams
. . . When I was a little boy I lived in an old house
and legend told us that a treasure was buried there.
To be sure, no one had ever known how to find it;
perhaps no one had even looked for it. But it cast an
enchantment over that house . . . 'Yes,' I said to
the little prince. 'The house, the stars, the
desert-what gives them their beauty is something that
is invisible!'"
That is what the
desert gods were trying to tell me that night so long
ago. The myths and mysteries of the Southern
California desert are what give it its beauty, its
enchantment; and, through the grace of that
enchantment, we may learn something of our own
mysteries, as well.