Camus and Bhagavad Gita-Joshua Tree Trip Report part 2 of 2

 Camus and the Bhagavad Gita- Joshua Tree Trip Report part 2 of 2



“Patience, he thought.  So much of this was patience-waiting, and thinking and doing things right.  So much of all this, so much of all Living was patience and thinking.”

Gary Paulsen, Hatchet


At the BNB camp sight, the amber mountains lined the horizon, tipped with snow.  There were giant stones everywhere, how did they get there?  A question for infinity.  It was the first thing on this trip to remind me of the titans and the Greeks.  It was older than the trees, to quote John Denver.  The first animal I saw was a crow.  I believe Crows are bad luck, but cool. I wasn’t that excited about the view during the day,  I wanted to see the stars.  Since the beginning of man’s existence, the stars provided entertainment and meaning and passion.  When I was a child we were vacationing in Vinalhaven, Maine, and there was a meteor shower.  Countless shooting stars.  My parents and I curled up on a granite cliff and wished for peace.   The Joshua Tree site had a Jacuzzi and There was an outdoor king bed on a kind of swing, perfect for viewing the stars.  I was staying in a little cabin by myself.  It was cozy, with no water or bathroom. There was a very cool carving on the side of the main cabin, kind of a wooden quilt with pictures of crows and lizards and stuff.

We all settled in and Martin and Layla prepared a special chili.  I was excited because he used a recipe and cut absolutely no corners in preparing it.  After the pot was done, we left it on the counter and we all made the pilgrimage and went to a table with a fireplace on it on top of a mound of rocks and boulders up a little path. It was in the early stages of sunset, and the sky was a prism of long, pink yellow and orange stripes against the Desert landscape.  


With me as head priest we performed a mezcal ceremony.  Krissy helped me gather up mugs.  The mezcal was still in the bag, how I like it.  Everybody sat down around the fire table in comfortable chairs and in the sunset and held their glasses.  I felt like a mystical friar bringing that mezcal through the desert and serving it at sunset.  I poured the mezcal into everyone’s glass, savoring the moment.  The baby wanted to drink with us, so I had to be sure not to pour mezcal in her milk glass.  “To Life!”  I said.  And then I eloquently thanked the girls, the guys , maybe my aunt too.  When I was done I said, “Well, cheers!” And everyone drank. The hot smokey mezcal was a good pairing with the dry desert, and the feeling is one of when you come into yourself, like being startled awake.  For lack of narcotics, it was a state of slightly altered consciousness.  We talked about the Bhagavad Gita, amidst a discussion about spirituality.  I feel that my spirituality encompasses the Bhagavad Gita.    The most important part of the Bhagavad Gita, is that war is an option, but you must always attempt to make peace first, and that takes purity.


Sri Krishna

“What is action? What is inaction?  Even the wise are puzzled by this question.  Therefore I will tell you what action is.  When you know that you will be free from all impurity.  You must learn what kind of work to do, what kind of work to avoid and how to reach a state of calm detachment from your work.  the real nature of action is hard to understand. He who sees inaction that is in action, and action that is in inaction, is wise indeed.  Even when he is engaged in action he remains poised in the tranquility of Atman”.




Camus, the Myth of Sisyphus

“The only true solution ..is precisely where human judgment sees no solution.  Otherwise what need would we have of god. Thus the absurd becomes god, and that inability to understand becomes the existence that illuminates everything.  We turn toward god only to obtain the impossible.”



Atman is essentially the same thing as accepting existential absurdity.  The main difference is that Existentialists value quantity, and the Bhagavad Gita values quality.  Existence versus enlightenment.  As a rule, action is the manifestation of spirituality.  As an existential, you might devote yourself to social change.  Les Miserables is about social change.  As a devotee of the Bhagavad Gita, you might perfect your personal connections, as I hope to develop connections with my family.  My idea is that existence is an art, passion is the prerequisite to purity, Purity leads to peace.   How would Sri Krishna view the symbol of Existentialism, Sysyphus?  I guess that peace must be made with your existential situation, and then Nirvana can be achieved.  If a man can shoulder his load in the face of impossibility, Krishna would say that he has found Atman. 


Camus, the myth of Sysyphus

“There is no sun without the shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says 

yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing.” 


Comparing the Bhagavad Gita to Existentialism, you find a different version of the same idea.  Existentialists will struggle to find that life work that will make the world a better place.  The followers of the Bhagavad Gita will try to find the righteous path, and act on it.  The paradox is also integral to both theories.


And the gods gave us these boulders to toil among, and the stars started to come out. The action is the rolling of the boulder up a hill.

  The real nature of action is hard to understand 

  The stoney desert was perfect place to ponder this.  Action in inaction. 



Sri Krishna

“ If he has faith, I make his faith unwavering.  Endowed with the faith I give him, he worships that deity, and gets  from it everything he prays for.  In reality, I alone am the giver.” .  Therefore I will tell you what action is.  When you know that you will be free from impurity.”


Action is the manifestation of spirituality.  But in both teachings, manifestations are redundant.



We all sat down for a chili dinner.  The chili was pretty good, but I would have chopped the vegetables smaller, and I’m known as a good chopper.  I tried to tell stories about chili, of which I have a few.  Why do they have chili cookoffs?  Is it real easy to make?  A good chili can be like a warm blanket on a crisp day.  After the meal the guys sat around and talked about movies.  We talked about Korean film and Squid Games, Megalopolis. Rocky recommended a manga book, Death Note, I ordered it and I’m very proud to have it in my collection.   We talked for a while about Parasite, about how disturbing it was.  My father and I had been visiting San Diego in 2020, and we went to the Angelika theater where we saw Parasite.  When the show let out it was twilight and very trippy, a tripped out Sunset blvd type of feel.  Then we got to talking about freaky movies.  Martin had actually seen Mandy, a bizarre movie where Nicholas Cage’s wife is kidnapped by an acid cult.

After dinner everyone who wanted to went out to look at the stars.  They were bright now, but no ufo’s or even satellites or shooting stars.  The stars themself had a strange affect on me.  I think it was the same feeling as drove the ancient greeks to create the zodiac.  I fancied that three stars made Sagittarius. Before television, or even books, the stars were the newspaper, primetime tv, and the cinema.


  The next day I woke up at 8:30, and my cousin Krissy was with the baby walking in from the territory in the front yard.  “Do you want to come see some tracks?”  She said.  I said that I would.  She had found some cat tracks, and rabbit poop, and a bighorn sheep track.  There was a little sculpture that looked like a star of David.  It was made of metal rods.   A lot of times She said not to step on the tracks, but I did anyway.   At some point I saw a white tail squirrel from the patio.  It’s like a wealthy relative of the ground squirrels we have in New England.  Very white, jumpy, much like a white chipmunk.  The tail curves over the back of the animal. 

We had bagels and salmon with cucumbers and red onions.  It wasn’t Lox, and my dad said, jokingly, “these people are not as good Jews as us.”  The plan today was to go to the Integratron.  It is a structure designed by UFOlogist George Van Tassel.  He claimed that Aliens from the planet Venus instructed him in how to build the edifice.  He reputed that this structure could achieve rejuvenation, anti gravity, and time travel.  In the car on the way to Joshua Tree, I was able to look online and find out that Anthony Bourdain had been there with No Reservations.  Technology is an amazing thing.  


I was hot on going to the Liquor store and making cocktails later.


The Integratron was round and made of wood inside and outside.  The ceiling curved into a perfect dome.  We climbed a ladder to the top floor, right under the dome.  We got into cots and a lady started playing singing bowls with a wand she had.  The acoustic effect was interesting.  I sat and meditated fairly well. However, there was no anti gravity or time travel, I don’t think.

Layla was driving me back to the BNB.  She had agreed to stop at a liquor store but all the sudden she did a 180 and put her foot down.  She would only take me to a gas station for liquor.  They bought me a couple of bottles of wine.  I got the wine home and found out the corks were disintegrating, and the wine tasted like piss.  I was despondent. I drank some Mezcal and pretty much cried into it.  I sat and smoked and stewed.  Martin was preparing a Mexican feast, with BBQ chicken and carne asada from the grill.  I had been suffering for perhaps an hour when I saw a desert cottontail Rabbit.  I whipped out my camera and took a picture.  My aunt had scattered bird food and it attracted a lot of exotic looking birds.  Quails with plumes coming out of their heads, roadrunners that made me go looney, and lots of other rare song birds.  They were very friendly, kind of like customers coming to enjoy the food. As it was getting dark, I opened a copy of “Lonesome traveler” By Jack Kerouac.  It was a perfect mode of entertainment.  I read a chapter about a drug deal.  At some point I stepped onto the patio, in the late dusk, and I heard coyotes barking and wailing.  They sounded like they were within a mile. They were South of the compound spread out for up to half a mile.  They were hunting.   What chilled my blood is that the coyotes were communicating with each other.  They might well have been talking about their next meal, which could very well be me.  They are completely wild, pure, but a connection to the eternal.     


The meal slowly got ready, like a slow burn.  I helped chop veggies for the salad.  Martin was amazed how quickly I was able to chop an onion perfectly.  I had been trained in the way of the kitchen.   I spent some quality time with Martin over the grill.  We talked about 14th century European society, and I said that the reason they thought the earth was flat, and mental illness was a sign of the devil, was because they were so miserable.  While the meal was simmering, we all climbed up a slope to the “sweet spot.”  If this climb was on the Appalachian trail it would be labelled advanced.  I was wearing flip flops, and I worried about getting badly injured.  But the view was worth it;   There was a panoramic view, to say the least, with far flung mountains and stones and boulders like endless congregations of practitioners, all bowing to the spectacular sunset.

  I had no idea how good the meal would be, and my knife skills contributed to it.   I had a really clean moment waiting at the table for the food.  It was solid oak, and the chair was like a throne.  The salad I contributed to was a high point.  I put it in my tacos with some onion and some of the barbecued meat, of which there were copious amounts. The meal was comparable to seeing the Mona Lisa, practically a miracle considering that the eight people involved all had dietary restrictions.  Martin will forever be my hero. I also had a glass of white wine with the dinner, which was nice.


At this point, I was satisfied.  The trip could happily end now.  I had drunk mezcal, seen cool wildlife, eaten well, experienced the Integratron, experienced fear and loathing in the desert, and made peace with some of the coolest people I have ever known.  There was talk of using the Jacuzzi, but before that, probably at about 8 pm, all of us except my parents laid down in the outdoor bed and looked at the stars.  Viewing the stars from a rocking bed was a fine thing to do, very relaxing, and Layla gave a speech  about how sweet it was to be there with family.  I didn’t end up going to the Jacuzzi that night, but when I woke up the next morning Krissy and Rocky were headed over there, so I followed them in.  The Jacuzzi was wonderful, and I wished I had soaked in it for hours for the past couple of days.  I was happy because I wouldn’t have to take a shower after it.  I don’t much like using public showers.  There were all kinds of trouble in the next couple of days, and flying back to Providence, but I kept my journal handy and wrote down anything I could manage.  Here is the poetry I wrote in transit.

In Chicago my father and I were riding the moving walkway, with my mother walking beside us.  She took a fall, her shoelace was untied it seems.  I cut my finger with my thumbnail, and that kicked off a whole series of problems.  First I sprayed my hands with disinfectant, then I washed them with water, to avoid touching the soap dispenser, then I went crazy and second guessed myself, thinking I had dirt on my hands,  and I tried to use soap and my finger touched the soap dispenser, there was no more soap.  I went into panic mode… Why, why, why?  It was like a whirlpool of pain and terror, fear and loathing, and my eyes were crossing and people were looking and whispering.  In Chicago the ticket taker gave me the same greeting as everyone else, which felt good.  The flight attendant might have noticed that my eyes were crossed, but let me on.  On the plane I felt the wheels touching the ground and I looked out of the window.  There was some Americana.   An illegible green neon, next to it Wrigley stadium type of cursive neon sign, that I imagined had something to do with cinnamon buns.  What is sweeter, cinnamon rolls or family?  Going up, up, up.






The red and yellow neon sign chauffe mon couer

My brain says to stop, stop, stop

The plane takes off early

Like sliding into another place

My mood lifts a little and 

I look at the neon sign.

It says something about sweetness

Something about family

And I see the tapestry of America

Lit up in those 

words.

Sweet family neon sign

Sky scrapers in Chicago, it looks so small


Landing in Providence

Lights twinkling looks like home

Sounds like home 

Ears pressurizing 

Plane dropping  

People preparing for descent

Did I do it right

Will it be fine


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