Sunday Sharing -- The Desert
I live in a desert--above, below, and all around. It is the place of my deepest roots, and like many desert dwellers--plants and animals--I've learned to dig deep and hold firm in my connections. For me, the desert is not a barren and desolate place. It is here that I experience spiritual richness and depth. The distractions of more fertile landscapes are not present and the desert lays bare the essence of the land and connections with the spirits of place and land feel more accessible.
From a Pagan perspective, the desert holds a unique energy. The earth, so often revered in our traditions for its fertility, presents itself in its most raw and elemental form. This exposure has a sense of purity—no trees to conceal, no streams to murmur. The vast, open expanse is a stage where the land spirits can speak directly. In such a place, without the distractions of lush growth or human constructs, I can hear the whisper of the wind, the hum of the earth beneath, and the pulse of the ancient energies that have always been there, waiting to be noticed.
This mirrors the experiences of the Desert Fathers and Mothers of early Christianity. They sought the desert for its starkness, understanding that they could hear the Divine more clearly in this stripped-down environment. Removed from the world's noise, they encountered the Divine in the wind, the silence, and their internal landscapes. Their experiences reflect how the desert demands that we look within, uncovering the depths of our spirit and stripping away the illusions we carry.
In my own experiences, the desert is a sacred teacher of Presence. It is in the stark stillness where I hear the most. The sun's warmth on my skin, the gentle shifting of sand beneath my feet, and the vastness of the sky above create a container where I can not only reach outward to engage with the Divine but also turn inward to engage the Divine within. The Presence is palpable, not as a distant deity but as something interwoven with the land, the elements, and my own being. I see the Divine in the cacti, resilient and thriving in harsh conditions. I feel the sacred in the dry wind that carries stories of times long past.
This connection is intimate and direct. There is no veil, no buffer between me and the spirits of the land. The desert demands my attention and my respect. It teaches survival, resilience, and the beauty of simplicity. In this way, it mirrors the Wiccan belief in the interconnectedness of all things. The spirits of the desert—whether they be ancestors, gods, or land spirits—are not hidden behind layers of vegetation or crowded out by noise. They are present in silence, speaking through the rocks, the winds, and the wide-open skies.
In contrast to the desert, more fertile landscapes offer a different type of connection—one of abundance and flow. The forest, with its dense life, can sometimes overwhelm the senses. There is beauty and magic in the greenery, the streams, and the life that teems in such places, but it is a more crowded space. There are many spirits in these places, and the energy can be more diffuse, making it more challenging at times to pick out the singular voices of the land.
The desert, however, is like an empty temple. It allows for clarity and focus. It is a place to confront the Divine face-to-face, without distraction, without fear, and with a deep understanding that the desert’s harshness reflects a truth about existence: life, death, transformation—they are all laid bare here.
In the desert, I walk on sacred ground where the spaces between this world and the spirit world feel thinner. I connect with the spirits of place--a deep, ancestral memory runs through the land. It reminds me that even in the most barren of places, the sacred is present, waiting to be heard.
Blessed be.
Lady Cynthia Cebuhar
Image credit: 854910 © Kateleigh | Dreamstime.com
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