We are artists, musicians, nomads from the playa— spirits with open hearts, ready to embrace the rhythm of community.
With fresh land beneath our feet, we build our temples, eagerly approaching neighbors, inviting them to share in our joy.
Yet cautious eyes reflect concern:
fear of noise, dust, and fire— ranchers with herds, vintners with vines, families rooted in faith, cherishing the stillness under starlit skies.
Our excitement ignites a flame, drawing hundreds of friends to dance around fires, where laughter mingles with the night.
But we must heed our neighbors’ unease— their lives shifting, familiar quiet now transformed into a bustling carnival.
As we gather again, frustrations rise like smoke— noise disrupting their peace, the tranquility they hold dear scattered like ash on the wind.
Initially, we assert our right to celebrate, but soon we notice weariness in their faces, tender needs beneath stoic exteriors, burdens they carry in silence.
Can we bridge this divide?
Perhaps through smaller gatherings, potlucks, or barbecues under the stars, where joy mingles with familiar faces, honoring coexistence in a vibrant, shared community.
Into the dark night I go, once again. Grappling with loss, Cycling through stages of grief again. Struggling for the ten-thousandth time with denial, anger, bargaining, depression, eventually, ending where I began, with sorrow and acceptance.
Here’s to the dreamers, the wanderers, the seekers of solace, traversing landscapes of hostility,
Even as the world turns its back, as walls rise higher, gates grow fortified, barbed wire sharpens.
In their eyes, is the flicker of hope, stubborn flame refusing to die. They are the waiters, the caregivers, building, harvesting, weaving dreams in the night.
They know the taste of sacrifice. They dance in the rain of adversity, and laugh in the face of despair.
In the shadows, they build, they toil, crafting lives from the rubble of rejection. Flowers blooming defiantly from seeds planted in the cracks of concrete, laughter spilling over fences like rivers overflowing their banks.
Here’s to the dreamers, hearts sewn together by threads of resilience, reminding us, in their quiet resolve,
that the spirit of humanity cannot be contained, cannot be silenced, will not be extinguished.
In the chaos of existence, they sing, they shout a chorus of defiance, a symphony of survival.
Here’s to the dreamers who remind us that home is not a place but a feeling. the flame flickering in the dark, the whisper of hope rising from the chaos.
Desert Dweller 