3.9.17 | Arches National Park

I woke up in a hotel in Moab, flipped open my laptop, and went to work on this website. 

As I was getting my stuff together to check out, I found a book Kyle Harvey from Lithic Bookstore & Gallery in Fruita had given me. A small, thin publication of poetry from John Knoll called “Ghosting America.” We were talking about my trip and the poets I enjoy and Kyle said he knew I’d like it. In that very moment, I had a premonition that something in that book would speak to me deeply. I feel like some power is nudging me toward my future, and trying to enlighten me. Maybe it’s just me. 


Arches National Park might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. Massive, red rock towers stand tall over fields of cactus, trees and brush, and the clearest blue sky fills in every gap of the horizon, neatly following the many lines of the formations. As I write this, the air is cool and refreshing, and my skin is starting to feel kissed by the sun. 


 


 

 









































I decided I would try to find a place to shoot a quick video, and immediately found one. It's not hard when there are beautiful vantages everywhere. But something felt mystical about this one. I had passed it, but I felt compelled to stop driving, and back up in the middle of the road to go back to it. I got out of my car and trudged a somewhat difficult path toward what I thought might be the perfect spot. Halfway there, I stopped and took a look. It was a great spot, but not the best for what I wanted to do, so I decided to move on, trusting that I would find the right one. Feel me?

Of course, then I did find the location. Well off the approach to a system of arches, a rock stable sat quietly, begging for a tripod. After scouting it, I carried my gear out and went to work. 


After shooting and packing, just as I was about to head back to the car, I remembered the John Knoll book. I pull it out of my pocket, sat back down on my playing rock, flipped to a random page, and everything else happened just as I knew it would. 




And the first 3 lines of the next page read: 

     What if every heartbeat had a name 
     and it was your job to keep up 
     wouldn’t you just die 

I was overcome with emotion, and took it all as a mission statement. 

Of passion we are born 
of passion we are born 
of passion we are born 
of passion we die 

I knew I’d gotten what I came Moab for. I got in my car and set Las Vegas as the next destination.

B

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