My affinity for the desert is so strong that I believe it to be grounded on something more than just experiences in childhood and youth. Certain phobias and needs, etched deep in my psyche, are somehow answered or assuaged by bare and open landscapes. One phobia I have always had is disorientation. True, no one likes to be disoriented, but my dread of it is excessive. An element of that dread is the feeling of gross incompetence and, with it, vulnerability. Another element, closer to the core of my being, is the fear of meaninglessness. The two reinforce each other. Lost in the city, I am physically immobilized. My car is tanked up, ready to go; the streets all lead somewhere. But I have no reason to move one way rather than another; even front and back cease to have meaning. This temporary physical paralysis is elevated in my mind, absurdly no doubt, to the level of metaphysical anguish--the conviction that my life itself has no direction, no purpose.

posted by Cyndy | link | | |