Made of Earth

“I think the more time I spend out here the more I am made of sky and rock and river and star.”
I have known my raft guide, Jo, for a mere 72 hours. Based on the way tonight’s waxing crescent moon hangs, she guesses it is 2 a.m. Heavy snores leak from the tents of other fatigued rafters. Jo and I are the only ones still battling sleep, sprawling on our cots on the riverbank, kept company by the sky and the canyon and the river and the stars from which Jo claims she is made. The rigid cot angers my aching back. The crisp air infiltrates my sleeping bag. The sun’s burn lingers on my victimized arms. I feel drunk with exhaustion yet cannot sleep. The moment is not idyllic, but it feels real and raw and it is shared with another human, so perhaps it is.
Being hundreds of miles away from civilization is both concerning and comforting. This is the sixteenth time Jo has rafted the Green River- which deftly meanders through Desolation Canyon, the less popular cousin of the Grand Canyon- but this is my first time feeling startlingly alone in an overabundance of nothing. The blackened canyon looms, encompassing us as if it is an ancient protector holding both infinite wisdom and a thrilling potential for danger. The river lazily laps the sandy shore, temporarily relenting some of its force as its visitors sleep. The stars set the sky ablaze, congregating like rebellious crystals refusing to be individually cut. With the day’s adrenaline still oozing from our skin, Jo and I drowsily talk for hours. We have nothing. We have everything.
I have shared three days with the canyon and Jo. But, as Jo’s voice slips into the cluttered background noise of river and bugs, I realize time and impact do not necessarily correlate. Our encounters with an untamed Earth may be fleeting, but they are intimate and real. Our brushes with human souls crafted of this same untamed Earth may be brief, but they too are substantial and fulfilling. I digest the completeness of the moment and yearn to be a connoisseur of the desolate, to be molded from this Earth just as the river carefully carves each intricacy of the canyon.
There is much talk on how humans shape Earth, but it is less common to consider how Earth shapes us. As I finally succumb to my body’s plea for rest, I will the moonlight and the canyon rock and the river mist to seep into my pores as they have Jo’s. In twelve hours I will leave the canyon, but if Earth decides to carve me as I wish, I know the canyon will never leave me.