East of Eden, West of the Mississippi

A Texas Memoir Fragment

I.

I was drivin through the hard country, the rollin hills of middle West Texas, Concho County, on 87 parallel to Brady Creek, mesquite shadows slight and still in the wet heat, listenin to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young sing Joni’s we’ve got to get ourselves back to the Gaaaaarden. I was takin them literally.

I was on my way to Eden. Eden, Texas that is.

Years ago, I bought this hat (pictured above) at a gas station there. It was funny to me right away. I got a kick out of the irony. Eden, in Texas, of all places. Funny already. Then, Eden in West Texas, of all places. Even funnier. Then, Eden in huntin country, of all places, with a deer skull symbol of death and murder front and center, of all symbols. Even funniest. And I think that’s healthy. We should be able to laugh at irony. That’s the instinct that made me smile when I first saw the hat in the gas station years ago. But, that ain’t all that’s goin on here. That ain’t why I wear the hat. There’s where I aim to shed some light. This hat may be funny, but it ain’t some joke. This hat is a tribute to Texas, to the people, to the land. I wear it with pride. I wear it because I believe what I see in Eden, Texas as the truest Garden of Eden and a symbol of our divine Humanity. Lemme explain.

II.

The world we live in now is the world that was created for us by our ancestors. Their sins shape us. And in many ways we bear them out again. We are born of our environment. We do our best to make progress, to carry the torch, to become more. We fail over and over. We make slow progress. We repeat our mistakes. We carry the coding of our parents and their parents’ parents on and on. I feel the shame in my blood. Yet I feel the best intentions too. I recognize my ancestors’ pain as my own pain. I feel the echoes of generations in my heart. I know their story is my story and my story is the human story. It’s the story of the weight we carry. It’s the story of our own many failures. Of our disgrace. Of how we hope anyway. Of why we hope. Of what we hope for.

I used to want a different world. I used to want a world that was an Oasis. One that was just like the Garden of Eden. One where we lived in harmony with animals, with one another, with God. A world where we walked freely with peace in our hearts, in communion with all things. O imagine the joy it must be to feel such peace, such heavenly peace. I image the pure rays of the sun. The golden healing love, whispers carried by the wind. No disease. No decay. No poverty. No injustice. No dying. A world without second thoughts. Without doubts and regrets. A world where you’ve done nothing wrong. A world where you are always good enough. A world where you cannot be judged. A world where there ain’t no weight or burden to carry.

But now I know better. Now I know why that last paragraph got harder and harder to write. As I imagined an oasis of harmony, suddenly I felt so many things I love leaving the picture. If the sun don’t get too burnin hot sometimes, how am I gonna feel that perfect cool relief when I lay back on the smoothened limestone in the gently flowing current of creek under the shade of sycamore on a hot and humid summer day? I started thinking about how much I’d miss healing, if I couldn’t get hurt. I started missing the weight I carry for others, the burden I load upon my shoulders in hopes of lightenin it for another. I missed that sudden electric insight that strikes your heart and fills your blood with newfound mercy, lifting you from a depth of silence where no words can go. I missed how much we love the dead and carry them with us in ways that are at times closer than when they were living. I missed how much closer we are to one another when we share our pain. I missed the glory of becoming, of overcoming. Of rebellion and protest. I missed the music of the Redemption Song. And I missed the Blues, man. I miss the sadness, the way it draws me inward to a place where I can rest at times. I missed the grief, how it keeps me in touch with the loved ones I’ve lost. I missed the longing, how it kept me dreaming. I missed the dreaming of better things. I missed the weight of the true responsibility of being a father.

Now, after all these years of livin, I have come to find a truer reflection of the world I want to live in. It’s this world. It’s the world right here. This beautiful mess. Eden, Texas is my Eden. It’s our Eden. It’s even better than the one I imagined when I imagined the Eden in the book of Genesis. This Eden can teach me things about the world and teach me things about myself at the same time. This Eden has struggle and transcendence. This world is far from perfect, and needs a lot of remakin and reshapin, a lot of redoin and renewin, but it sure has a beauty that’s all its own, and that’s a beauty I wouldn’t trade for any other world. It’s a broken beauty. A beauty that doesn’t recognize itself. A beauty that you gotta find within yourself in order to see out in the world sometimes. It’s a hardtravlin beauty that’s been shaped by its scars. Shouldn’t our Eden reflect our scars too?

III.

Eden, Texas has all the same features you’d find in the Eden in the book of Genesis. It’s got both the Devil and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. But each one’s got a slight twist that reflects our Humanity and doesn’t hide imperfection from itself. For instance, let’s take the downtown highway crossroads intersection. Right away we see two gas stations cattycornered in a West Texas showdown, and we see fast food on the third corner. That is without a doubt our Eden’s Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Valero and Dairy Queen. They hold both the Good and the Evil.

They are a part of the American Disease, on the one hand, yet they can be our Salvation on the other. They are paint chipped, cockroach infested, cheaply made eyesores, parking lots littered with spitout gum, vomit stains, oil stains, bird shit, trash and random dirty socks. Yet they are a refuge for the road worn, a shelter for the weary. They are the guardians of Eden, the ones who keep the watch over the passersby as they go to and fro. They are the lighthouses of the highways, the land stars that make countless constellations across America. They have cheap food that tastes super good. Yet they will kill you, clog your heart and clog your lungs. They will lie to you, manipulate you, and steal from you. They represent the best of America, our innovation and industry, our connectedness and symmetry, and the worst, our greed and our gluttony, our speed and our recklessness. They are a walkin contradiction. That’s the way I like them. That’s the Eden I like. An Eden that knows about Paradox. Cause that’s where the human is. Right smack in the middle of Paradox. And that’s where the beauty is too. It ain’t in purity. Pure things are disconnected from other things. We need an Eden that ain’t pure and knows it. An Eden that don’t put itself above other places, but don’t put itself below neither. One that is a little mixed up, dirty, forlorn. One that has a cracked surface and stains. An Eden that don’t have it right all the time. An Eden that contains multitudes. That can show us Good and Evil in even shakes, not hide em from us. Let us clog our arteries with a lifetime of simple joys if we so choose. Let us clog our lungs with the exhaust that comes out of closing distances, goin on adventures, travelin to new places. Dying and Living, all tangled up in one. That’s my kind of Paradise. That’s my kind of Paradox. That’s my kind of World. That’s my kind of Eden.

IV.

Our Eden even has the Devil, just like in Genesis. But the Devil ain’t just a rattlesnake that temps us into trouble. The Devil is in the landscape. In fact, I’ve heard it sung from old timey cowboy stories that it was the Devil that made Texas in the first place. I can see why they’d say that. It’s hard country. It breeds tough. Hermes Nye sung it the way John Lomax heard it. And he heard it the way the young and achin harddrivin harddrinkin ranchhand cowboys used to pick it when they was pickin on those mudcracked Mexican guitars out behind the rundown bar long past last call, quickwitted and full of charm, thinkin up verses, makin all the other boys laugh, hootin and hollerin in the alleyway.

This is a good aside, actually. It’s perfectly timed. Let’s see if we can picture them there. The drunken cowboys, brothers of many origins, leanin on one another, passin the bottle, passin the time. Look at their eyes. All their eyes. Look at the wild innocent longing, the bravado and brilliance, the desperation and loneliness, the recklessness and abandon. They know the stakes. They know your last wish don’t get granted. Those that die on the range are buried on the range. They know about the Dyin Cowboy. The ones that were caught by thunder before they even saw the lightning, caught by the stampede of spooked cattle madness. Or the ones caught by lightning before they even heard the thunder, caught by a cottonmouth comin down the creek. They’ll sing that song last. That’s their lullaby. That’s the one they sing to the cattle to keep em calm at night. That’s the one that gets em dreamin about home, if only they could find one again.

Tomorrow they’ll ride with the cattle, scout ahead for water, take temporary shelter from the heat under mesquite, sweat through their torn clothing, and empty their heart out into the work. Tonight though it’s time to fill the heart. Fill it with drink and song. Can’t ya hear the singin? Lean in a little. In fact go ahead and join em. It’s okay. I’ll be right here when you’re done. All are welcome in their company. No need to feel out of place or out of time. They’re too drunk to notice you there anyway.

(This is Hermes singin, but imagine all the boys crowded around with him…)

Oh, the devil in hell they say he was chained,
And there for a thousand years he remained;
He neither complained nor did he groan,
But decided he'd start up a hell of his own,
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being shut in a prison pen;
So he asked the Lord if he had any sand
Left over from making this great land.

And, I suppose those cowboys might be right. As a Texan myself, I can say it certainly rings true. Here, it seems the Devil has turned nature against you. Ain’t nothing going to come easy. Even out in Eden, you’re gonna have to struggle. Want water? Dig through rock. Good morning? A scorpion lays waiting in your boot. Slide your foot in and feel the Devil’s work. Restroom break? A brown recluse is sitting right below your toilet seat and waiting. Go ahead and sit down. Why? No reason other than your time has come. Mommy look, it’s the yellow rose of Texas, O but now you have a child cryin their eyes out, fingers bleedin, cactus needles stickin out. We gotta learn our lessons early here. Our spiders can kill birds. I swear I seen a tarantula draggin a silkwrapped feathered finch into its burrow. Our plants are even predators here in Texas. Even in Eden, they are out to get you. They will stab you in the back without a second thought, draw your blood with needles, and poison you. They won’t miss you when you’re gone. The grass has weeds, burrs, needles, and nettles that will make your nights sleepless with itch and burn. Make you say things you don’t mean. It hides ants that will set fire to you just like our sun. Ain’t no place to rest. Our insects will hunt you down just because you look innocent. This kid is havin fun outside his home, quick thinks the red wasp, let me awaken his innocence to the experience of pain. Our storms will flood your home and burn it down. Then the next day will be beautiful just to break your spirit.

But those of us who have lived our lives here, those of us who have worked the land, cursed the land and loved the land, we take pride in our struggle. We take pride in the heat, stings, burns, rashes, itches, and bites. We felt it all shape us. We know the struggle is our own and is shared among us. We know our struggle is our strength. If we had it easy like we was livin in an Oasis, we wouldn’t have found within ourselves what we needed to find in order to survive. We wouldn’t have found the meaning in this life. It’s the searchin that makes the findin worth the findin. It’s the dyin that makes the livin worth the livin.

So, yeah, our Eden has the Devil too. He’s in the landscape. We aren’t trying to make an enemy out of him. That’s what makes our Eden beautiful. We live with our snakes. Or we make boots out of their skin. Either way, we love our snakes in Texas. If the devil’s a Texan, or if the song is true and he’s the first Texan, then he’s one of us. And if he wanted to break free and be independent, can’t blame him. That’s how we feel too. He’s welcome here. All are welcome here. Each of us is a lone star. Together we are the Lone Star State.

V.

I’m pulling out of the drivethrough with the heat vapor comin off the hood of my car, the black painted metal bakin dead bugs like an oven pan, windows down in the thick hot breeze, takin my first cool bite of an M&M Blizzard and somehow back a kid again at the Dairy Queen for the first time in my small town back home. Right here in the heart of Eden 83 and 87 intersect at the Dairy Queen. Which makes perfect sense, if you’ve ever had a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. What’s an Eden without a Blizzard machine?

Now I’m leanin against the car next to the Valero pump eatin this Blizzard, feelin the hot metal through my jeans and the sweet cool ice cream crunchin on my tongue and ringin in my teeth, I look up at the large mural of Eden on the building wall next door. It’s a stellar mural. In fact it’s more than that. It’s a portal. In two seconds I’m inside. It pulls me in. I’m entirely in. I can feel Eden’s breath. I can hear the music she makes, watch her fingers on the strings. I listen to her sing. I feel the deer’s calm next to her, feel the harmony between them. No fear in either’s heart. A knowing that connects them to one another with no alarm nor harm. I see her surrounded by green, and feel the peace movin like leaves in the wind. She is a part of nature, not separated from it. She is unashamed. She lives in a simpler world. One without questions. I, eating my Blizzard, ever so briefly am in that same world as her. All complexity collapses. My world is simple too. This taste is bliss (I make a joke to myself that they should call them Blissards and Eden giggles).

With each bite, I feel only the joy of a hot day and a cool Blizzard. There is no room within this complete and simple joy for any other complexity. There is only room for the enjoyment. I feel what it must be like to be in the biblical Eden, to know purity of experience. She is as wrapped in her environment as I am wrapped in mine. Eden, I am with you now. I feel your pure joy too. I feel the bliss, the oneness with all things. I feel no thing but one thing: Satisfied. I know you feel it too. No Fear. No Want for anything. No Need to want for anything. Suddenly I’m not in Eden, Texas any more. I’m in the Garden of Eden as it is written in Genesis. I am bathed in the pure sweet Light of Ice Cream and Candy.

But, as I start to get closer to the end, and I start to have to negotiate how many M&M’s I’ll have on a bite, and when I start to get to the unmixed ice cream at the bottom, I know I’m running out of time. That’s when I start slipping away. I start to tense up. Suddenly I’m not satisfied anymore. The Blizzard has run out but I want more. I have a deep longing. I need water too. I feel sick but I don’t care. I want more anyway. Screw it. I’ll just go over the top and go back over there, I’m thinking to myself. I’ll just get another one. No, don’t do it, that’s sickening dude. Just enjoy the one you had. But, I want another one! Next road trip you can treat yourself but do you really wanna have to drive hours more feelin like shit all for just a certain taste in your mouth? I’m arguing with myself. I feel shame. Embarrassment. I feel guilt. The mural is just a mural now. I’m far away from that Eden and back in Eden, Texas. I’m back in clothed flesh. Clothed in desires and suffering.

Now I’m carrying the empty cup over to the trash can, with sticky fingers tossing it in there. I look at the cup, its contents all scraped out. All the joy and glory it once was gone. Emptied. Discarded. Temporary. It goes in the ground now. To be buried. And the plastic spoon, once so shiny and smooth, an instant intimate companion, once pressed so gently upon my lips, now after just five minutes of use, will spend a thousand years underground. Its microplastic residue is already working its way into my system.

Here, in our Eden, the trash can is littered with a pile so high it’s falling on the ground around it. But I don’t want to keep it in my car because it will gross me out and depress me. I balance the Blizzard cup among the discarded fruits of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Fountain drinks. Candy wrappers. Chips bags. Plastic bags. Fast food boxes. Food fragments. Beer cans. Dog shit.

Discards of our divine Humanity. The Evil as present as the Good. HandinHand.

VI.

Texas made by the devil’s hand, like the cowboys sang? Sure. I see it. I see that handy work. I see the evil in us. I see the self-destruction. I see the irony of Eden in Texas when compared to Eden in Genesis. It’s fun to laugh about. It makes me smile every time. But don’t go thinkin that there ain’t more to that story. Cause everything’s bigger in Texas. Big enough to hold Paradox. Big enough to hold Humanity. Our Evil and our Good. HandinHand.

I ain’t wishin for an Eden that Was. I’m acceptin and embracin the Eden that Is, right here, in this world. That’s what I’m thinkin about when I’m inside the Valero pickin up a water, an “Eden, Texas” hat and sayin Howdy with a smile to the woman behind the counter. She’s tired but she offers me a smile back, just because I smiled at her. We shared a smile. Mine fueled by Blizzard sugar and Paradox and hers fueled by a good upbringing and kindness. I thank her and open the door to exit. The bell rings. I walk to my car, and use the outer window glass for a mirror while I fit my new hat. I feel bathed in the glory. Energized. In love with the world. Sure I want another Blizzard, and I feel a little sick, but I take a deep breath and smile to myself because I am right where I belong. I’ve made it back to the Garden. The Garden of Eden. Right in the middle of Humanity. Right in the middle of Paradox.

I get in my car, turn the engine on, and head out. East of Eden. East of Eden, just as it is written. East of Eden, just as my ancestors before me. East of Eden, West of the Mississippi. East of Eden, to my home in Austin, Texas.