Across the desolate highway is a dirt road with a faded sign that leads to Ajo Mountain.
The wanderer crosses the blacktop like a hurt tortoise, then meanders onto the desert sand, and starts the journey under the mid morning sun.
It doesn’t take long before all signs of civilization vanish. The imposing cactus tower his vision, the desert starts to play it’s tricks on his mind.
Clouds gather and disburse quickly along the skyline. The Lizard King spews an ancient truth in the afternoon wind.
“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”
He listens to the wisdom of the past as it sets a framework deep in his mind. The trail feels surmountable now, and he rambles on into the late afternoon, worry free and present about his own personal revolution.