The Ghost of Tom Joad Knocking at the Door: A Pilgrim's Journey into the CaliforniAmerican Heartland--22. Father Crowley Point

The Panamint Valley from Father Crowly Point, Steve Brown 2022

After the car floats across the otherworldly plain of the playa in Panamint Valley, one comes to a sort-of lakeshore town (minus the lake), Panamint Springs, that if not otherworldly itself, looks like it's from another continent and culture, perhaps the Middle East, with palm fronds glistening before a heavy stone backdrop.   

And then it's up, and up, and up again, here a bend, there a bend, and, of course, another bend.  That is driving in Death Valley National Park.  The glistening black rock and the views of the almost-white valley below are amazing, as are the wild donkeys, if you should by chance see them.  And that chance is actually quite good.

At the top is a sign to Father Crowley Vista.  We turn to the right.  There is pavement and an outhouse and view of a canyon.  It would be a noteworthy canyon back east, but it isn't much to brag about out west.  There are thousands and thousands grander canyons.    The real view, the one worth stopping for, is well beyond the pavement, and as it turned out, legal to drive to.  

It is so like Death Valley National Park to only take the pavement part way to what you really should see.  It's almost as if they want most of the tourists to move on, disappointed, never to return to the park again.  I'm not sure that's such a bad idea.  Silence, stillness, peace, and space are not necessarily well preserved in the throngs of humanity rushing to dramatic edges for quick selfies.   We took the Camry out on a road that I wasn't sure a Camry could handle.  And then we got out and stayed a while. 

If one could stand forever at the top of Father Crowley Point and look down over the Panamint Valley one would be at peace eternally.  Or so it seems.  

That, of course, is not true.  If one built a house there on that glorious rim looking down into the depths of God's handiwork, one would still spend most evenings watching TV and/or obsessing over tomorrow's schedule and thoughts of how can we possibly get all that done?  It is just human nature.  

And perhaps it needs to be.  Are we really ready for constant enlightenment?  Is transcendency at this moment something we really desire?   I think knowing and accepting who we are and what we really want is essential to enjoying a journey--whether it is to Monterey, California or to the end of one's life.  The key is not simply being enthralled with the grand vistas--those rare jewels along the journey--but rather to be as present as much as possible for the entire trip, even those moments the mind refuses to stand still, and the eyes gloss over, and refuse to see.  Those moments too are part of the journey.   A good traveler learns to love the entire journey on its own terms.

When one clings too strongly to something, all of the forces come together in opposition to that tight grip, something many conservative parents don't get.  When one lets go a little, some of the natural force flows towards what you want to achieve rather than against it.  Give children a solid example and an ever-loosening leash as they mature into adults and the desire assert independence also decreases until they find a comfortable orbit around all they've ever known.  Keep a strangle-hold, allowing no autonomy, and each pull on the reigns fuels a force so strong that the child will rocket out into the farthest reaches of space never to return.

The same goes with thoughts.  The surest way to experience no peace is to allow no turmoil to enter your mind.  The surest way to become numb to love is to refuse to feel hate.  The surest way to never fully enter a moment is to expect to remain there long beyond your current ability to remain focused.  A soft eye open is what is needed.  An attending to the moment without needing to dominate it.  Emphasizing observation over action.  Peace is an action--but it's a soft one built upon solid observation and understanding of turmoil.   Love is an action, but it's a soft one built upon a solid observation and understanding of hate.  Attentiveness is an action, but it is a soft one built upon a solid observation and understanding of the fleeting nature of the mind.  

So, there Marci and I stood upon that precipice looking out on a sight that I felt could change me forever.  Father Crowley Point, truly one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.  The wind blew; it was a bit chilly.  But that's not why we returned to the car.  We returned to the car simply because we had a long drive ahead of us, and it was time to go.  One could spend a lifetime here, but for now, at least, a good twenty minutes was time enough.  

Letting-go is as important as holding-on.