Among the things I love most about living in the American west is camping in the deserts. I can see why deserts have attracted mystics, saints and monks through the ages. They lead my mind to see past the clutter that hides the forms of things, to see the contours of the land beneath.
The austere and naked land reminds me, too, of my own impermanence and ultimate vulnerability. Abundance too often leads to confused priorities and muddles my perceptions of what my life is, and what my life means.
It is in the desert that I see most clearly that, truly, blessed are the poor.