Rivers in the Desert

 I will open rivers on the bare heights,           
     and fountains in the midst of the valleys;    
I will make the wilderness a pool of water,         
    and the dry land springs of water.    

                        ---Isaiah 41:18

Near Mar Saba Monastery

Sitting at brunch on the Bosphorus River in Istanbul, it is difficult to believe that just a few days ago I was in the dry and barren wilderness of the Judean Mountains. Starved of moisture, it's crags and canyons are cracked and cut by scorching sand and wind. 








But today is all about the water. I love the ocean, the river, the sea. I grew up sailing on San Francisco Bay where my earliest memories involve the salty ocean spray on my face. The smell of that kelpy, briny stew are favorite childhood sensations. Not unlike the breaking waves on the California Coast, sitting on the banks of the Bosphorus facilitates a calming peace deep within.

On the way to the Wilderness

So why am I drawn over and over again to inhospitable landscape of the dessert, a place devoid of water, that essential elixir for life?

Of the 14 days I spent in Palestine, I spent parts of four days in the wilderness. All but one visit was a disappointment of sorts. Each trip to the hinterlands offered the possibility to sit, pray, and drink in the spiritual solitude I seem to be chasing and rarely find in my full and freewayed life. But every time I journeyed there, I ended up being welcomed by Bedouins. I guess this is what happens when you befriend folks in the wilderness. Their hospitality invites you to dine, share stories, and drink tea. And when you show up, as I often do with new friends, their kindness cannot be refused. 

Some of the Sunnyvale Group
with Bedouin friends

More Bedouin friends
with Suzanne Brooksbank

So what is it that I am longing for? Sitting beside the Bosphorus River, taking in the magnificent view while sipping a bit of turkish tea comes close to facilitating my need for quiet and reflection. But the vestiges of civilization remain. The pulsing music, the pods of boats, and the sounds of Turks in animated conversation doesn't ameliorate my desire for the deeper communion I had hoped for on this pilgrimage. 

The water beckons and stirs up what the heart holds dear. What I could not physically find in Palestine this round, I now seek in my memory. It is not the waves that call but the feelings of being swallowed up by the sounds of silence within boundless, desolate vistas.

I'm trying to explore what all this means.

Exploring where this will lead