I can't remember if it was a dream or reality.  No matter, it is a time I will never forget.  I do remember times were tough and I was in a very unbalanced place.  One morning, I woke up with no purpose and wandered.  I wandered through the neighborhood, through the city, through the countryside, and out past the green forest.  I remember thinking, "I should turn around and go back home."  What was "home"?  It wasn't what I remember either.  Life had become so damn lopsided.  What if I kept walking?  Who would notice?  Who would care?  I kept walking.  I came to the edge of the desert, it looked so lonely and yet very inviting.  I stood at the turning point; go back to the familiar or venture into the unknown.  I kept walking.  

   The desert evening was cold.  The animals became increasingly busy.  They were foraging and hunting before the unrelenting sun rose from its slumber.  The moon was bright.  I hadn't seen it this bright since I was a boy on the farm.  In a small way, this reminded me of the farm.  The night was quiet except for the noises of nature.  As a child, I would go out at night and lay on my back in the freshly harvested fields.  I would stare at the moon and listen to the bugs and the livestock.  It was so peaceful.  I wondered then, like now, what the plan was.  Was there a plan?  Most of time, it seemed like there was none.  That frustrated me.  I noticed a coyote venturing my way.  I laid still.  It walked right past me as if I wasn't there.  It stopped and turned its head.  I lifted my head and we looked at each other.  The coyote appeared to have a sympathetic look in its eye.  After a second, it carried on with its nightly scavenging.  I pulled my arms inside my shirt and decided to sleep.  

   The morning heat burnt my lungs.  I slept much longer than I intended.  I was thirsty and already hot.  I began to second guess my decision.  I kept walking.  The landscape was unchanging; sand, scrubs, and cacti.  I noticed the vultures in the sky.  They circled anything and everything.  How fortunate to be able to fly.  What a gift I thought.  I noticed something in the distance.  It appeared to be a tent.  I ran up to it.  I pulled the canvas flap open.  To my surprise, a woman sat on a stool in the middle of the tent.  She shouted, "Come in and shut the flap.  You're letting that ungodly heat in."  I nodded and quickly closed the flap.  The tent felt a lot cooler.  I didn't see how that was possible.  Maybe it was heat exhaustion.  The woman was covered head to toe in a Middle Eastern wrap.  She pulled back the part covering her face when she spoke.  She had exquisite, alabaster skin.  It was flawless.  She smelled like a mixture of lavender and coriander.  She spoke softly, almost singing, "You're here for water and I do have plenty.  It is cool and you can have all you like.  However, you must answer me three questions.  What defines the desert as you have seen it thus far?  What desert animal best describes you?  What is the most delicate and beautiful art in the desert?"  I was shocked.  These seemed like very subjective questions.  I figured I can't miss.  

   I said, "The desert is defined by the many thousand square miles of sand it contains.  I feel most closely linked to the coyote because it can hunt and scavenge.  It is a lonely animal and yet can run with a pack.  The most delicate art is the sand and wind eroded sand stone sculptures that litter the desert.  They are unique and broken just like me."  I waited for her to praise me and hand over my water.  Instead she spoke sadly, "Those are wrong.  I cannot give you any water."  I angrily said, "What do you mean wrong?  Those are my opinions.  How can they be wrong?"  She lifted her head and gazed at me with her indigo eyes.  The whites of her eyes were like marble and the indigo contrasted brilliantly; like two Roman bath tubs.  She said, "The desert is defined by the newly sprouting cacti.  They represent the next generation of the desert.  The animal you most identify with is the vulture.  You envy their ability of flight.  You emulate that by taking flight from your problems.  The most delicate art in the desert is fulgurites.  It occurs when lightning strikes the sand and forms a natural glass.  It is rare and beautiful, just like you."  I had a look of confusion but could not muster a response.  She told me I had to be on my way.  I staggered out into the heat, not knowing if that really happened.  I continued walking.  

   My level of thirst was intensifying.  I tried to ignore my sun baked face and painfully swollen, dehydrated throat.  As if by miracle, another tent appeared.  I thought, "Is this the same tent?  Did I walk in a circle?"  As I approached, a lovely girl appeared at the door.  She had very little covering her body.  She was bronzed by the sun.  Her hair was golden blond.  Her face was a bit crinkled from the sun, but she was amazing.  She welcomed me in.  Her tent smelled like peyote and honeysuckle.  It was heavenly.  I immediately noticed a water jug.  I asked for a small sip.  She said she wasn't allowed to.  I begged her.  She looked around as if waiting on someone to stop her.  She said, "You may have one tiny sip.  Then you must do something for me."  I nodded.  She gave me a tiny amount in a cup.  It was tepid and metallic, but it was the best I had ever tasted.  I handed her the cup and asked, "What do you want from me?"  She softly said, "You must answer me three questions.  If you get them right, you can have all the water you like and you can stay here for as long as you like."  I couldn't believe my luck.  Where they going to be the same questions?  She asked, "What defines the desert as you have seen it thus far?  What desert animal best describes you?  What is the most delicate and beautiful art in the desert?"  I felt the excitement swell in me.  

   With hardly any pause I said, "The desert is defined by the newly sprouting cacti.  They represent the next generation of the desert.  The animal I most identify with is the vulture.  I envy their ability of flight.  I emulate that by taking flight from my problems.  The most delicate art in the desert is fulgurites.  It occurs when lightning strikes the sand and forms a natural glass.  It is rare and beautiful, just like me."  She reached out and grabbed my hand and said, "Are those your answers?"  I nodded.  She sadly said, "The desert is defined by the many thousand square miles of sand it contains.  You feel most closely linked to the coyote because it can hunt and scavenge.  It is a lonely animal and yet can run with a pack.  The most delicate art is the sand and wind eroded sand stone sculptures that litter the desert.  They are unique and broken, just like you.  You must go now."  Once again I was dazed and confused.  I stepped back into the heat and the sun beat me even harder.  I wandered for hours or maybe minutes.  I finally collapsed while climbing a dune.  I couldn't go on.  I waited for death or the alarm clock; neither came.  I don't know what happened.  I just ceased to be.  I've been here ever since.

   Moral of the story:  We all are born with a native knowledge of ourselves and the world.  As we live, we all gain knowledge and gather different perspectives of ourselves and the world.  The key to being happy, joyous, and free is knowing when, where, and with whom to use which knowledge.