Blog Entry 21 * 5-23-22
I left Reno last night and spent the night at a truck stop. This morning, I set out on Highway 50, and the feeling was amazing. I’m experiencing what feels like being a sponge, soaking up the soft, calming energy of the desert. It’s interesting how, sometimes, after a challenging period of purification and seeking understanding, things can suddenly lift and pass within a few days.
The desert has a way of stripping everything down to its essence. The vast emptiness, the dry winds, the endless stretches of road—there’s nothing to hide behind here. It’s just me, the land, the sky, and the presence of God. In that simplicity, my heart feels lighter. I realize how much unnecessary weight I tend to carry, how much the mind clings to stories and struggles. But here, the desert whispers a kind of freedom, teaching me that peace comes when I stop resisting and simply rest in Krishna’s presence.
One night, while deep in the desert, far away from the distractions of material energy, my meditation with Krishna felt incredibly clear and peaceful. During that meditation, Krishna told me that I had reached a new level of growth, and more of His consciousness would be staying with me. I could feel Krishna’s presence growing stronger and stronger throughout the day, and the following day, which was truly beautiful.
It felt like walking with a quiet companion who never leaves my side—an unseen Friend who both watches over me and lives within me. Even the barren desert roads seemed to shimmer with new meaning. The silence wasn’t empty; it was alive. Every gust of wind across the sand, every ray of sunlight breaking over the hills felt like Krishna’s way of saying, I am here. You are not alone.
This journey reminds me that spiritual growth often happens in cycles. There are times of dryness and confusion, followed by moments of sweetness and clarity. The key is to keep going—to stay sincere in practice, even when the heart feels heavy or the mind feels restless. Eventually, the clouds part, and the soul receives the gift of renewed connection. Out here, on the “loneliest road in America,” I feel more accompanied than ever.