In a desert, a taste of what’s to come?

CHASING THE MUSE

I left the war for the weekend. Turned off the radio, the television,

the paper and traded “event currency” for the camaraderie of good

friends and the vastness of the desert. Wide-open valleys beckoned,

and the absence of daily news loosened the constriction in my heart.

My spirit soared on the raven’s wings and drifted over salted plains

and dusty dunes.

We wandered rock fields, star fields and up narrow back-country

canyons. The world felt sweet: new and open. From that vantage, it

was difficult to grasp the rational for widespread global unrest.

The desert already appears to many as a wasteland. The ground is

stressed by lack of a gentle climate and water. Plant life develops

unique strategies to contend with the harshness -- odd leaf shapes

that have little transpiration and shrubbery that tucks low to the

ground, huddled against violent winds. All of the earth’s surface

could look like this if we don’t find resolution with one another.

I love this desert space. Its lack of clutter. Its sharp edges.

Its relentless call to survival. But it is a love born by

juxtapositions. I need the rain forests and the luxuriant jungles to

balance this clime. Life is fragile, and the desert, more than

anywhere, is a stark reminder of how temporal we are.

So how is it, that any leader of any nation -- or even a rogue

terrorist unit -- can bear to sacrifice this life? How can we risk

destroying our home planet?

The type of war being bantered around carries more weight than any

before. We shoot, they shoot. It’s been said before. But it’s the

type of gun this time that moves the mark. Nuclear doesn’t simply

destroy buildings, governments and societies (a.k.a. human beings).

Uranium-enriched weapons permanently contaminate the land and its

people (if any are left) for thousands of years.

Can we talk about what really happens in a nuclear explosion? At

ground level, craters 200 feet deep and 1,000 feet in diameter. All

buildings out to 1/2mile from epicenter completely destroyed. At 1.7

miles, only reinforced concrete remains. At 2.7 miles, bodies are

sucked from buildings and are converted to missiles. Overpressure

enters nose, mouth and ears and causes rupture of lungs and membranes

of the ears. Intense heat will cause humans to spontaneously ignite,

becoming walking, flaming torches.

Forty to 50 miles from the epicenter (we’re assuming only one),

people will be instantaneously blinded by retinal burning. Firestorms

will engulf thousands of square miles, and people in fallout shelters

will be asphyxiated as the fires consume all oxygen. Most of the city

and its inhabitants will be converted to radioactive dust, which will

fall outside the perimeter on anything left living. Brain swelling

beyond the skulls capacity will occur and produce vomiting, diarrhea,

blinding headache, seizures, coma and death.

Pretty picture? If the “they shoot, we shoot” scenario is played

to it’s fullest, nuclear winter will ensue. Radioactive smoke from

the firestorms will reduce the sunlight reaching the earth by 17%.

The resultant massive subfreezing temperatures would destroy all

biological support systems, resulting in starvation, thirst and

hypothermia.

A 1985 SCOPE document, published by the White House states, “ ...

the total loss of human agricultural and societal support systems

would result in the loss of almost all humans on Earth ... this

vulnerability is an aspect not currently a part of the understanding

of nuclear war; not only are the major combatant countries in danger,

but virtually the entire human population is being held hostage to

the large-scale use of nuclear weapons ....” Written in 1985. Yet, in

2003 our government supports the use of nuclear weapons as a first

strike option.

The world has become a more fearful place, and fear breeds into

itself like a disease unchecked. Our “alert status” this week is

orange -- a high risk of terrorist attack. All because people seem

willing to do the unfathomable -- kill themselves so that they can

inflict damage on an “enemy.”

The desert chill cuts through my light shirt and I am thankful

that a jacket is sufficient for warmth. Overhead stars envelope me.

The same stars that shine on North Africa and portions of the Middle

East. We are surrounded by the same sky and we float on the same

planet, partners in the human experience.

I don’t carry a religious pole, and it is difficult for me to

comprehend blowing oneself up as a means of salvation. The world is

populated with many different faiths. Underlying them all is the fact

that we share one planet, one home, and no matter our differences,

without the earth as our foothold, we have nowhere to stand.

* CATHARINE COOPER is a local designer, photographer and writer

who thrives off beaten trails. She can be reached at

cooper@cooperdesign.net or (949) 497-5081.