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A sandstorm baptism
We weren’t eased gently into the Sahara, we were hurled into its embrace, quite literally. Our driver stopped in the middle of what felt like a sand-colored void: no horizon, no ground, no sky, just a swirling expanse of sandy chaos. He announced, “You’ve arrived,” dropped us off and drove away. That was almost twenty years ago, at the start of my meditation journey.
Thankfully, the storm calmed down later in the day, revealing an otherworldly landscape of undulating dunes under a vivid blue sky.
Desert Camp Life
Our camp was modest yet practical: a row of identical tents for sleeping, one shared tent for meals, another one for meditation, and another that served as a makeshift bathroom and shower area. I was in tent three, my mom had tent four, her proximity a small comfort in the vastness of the desert.
We quickly settled in, dropping our bags and running out to explore the stunning golden dunes. There’s a strange, childlike joy in sprinting up a steep dune, only to tumble down laughing. But the playful exploration soon gave way to the reason we were there: meditation.
The First Meditation
Our teacher introduced us to a foundational practice centered around the belt-bowl-axis: the belt encircling the waist, the bowl extending to the pelvic floor, and the axis rising to the top of the head. This structure became the base for every meditation we practiced.
Next, we rooted ourselves, not an easy task in the shifting desert sands. But by going deeper, beyond the dunes’ movement, I found an anchor and profound stillness.
We then envisioned a funnel above our heads, a pathway for receiving messages or energies. Though my mind initially wandered, after several practices the vast desert gradually helped me relax and find calm.
The silence of the Sahara was profound, no hum of civilization, just an all-encompassing stillness that amplified every breath and thought. After the chaos of the sandstorm, this quiet felt like an invitation to fully embrace the simplicity of just being.
Sandstorm and Snoring, a midnight crawl
One stormy night, I woke up in my tent and realized I needed to pee. It was one of those nights where visibility was nonexistent, pitch black with a storm so fierce you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.
Determined, I crawled out of my tent on all fours, guessing the direction of the bathroom tent. I knew it was about 100 meters away, but that seemed quite far with the wind howling and sand stinging my face. With some luck and after what seemed like an eternity, I found the bathroom tent and handled my mission.
The way back proved even trickier. Crawling again, I miscalculated and ended up in the wrong tent. As I entered, I heard the familiar snoring of my mom. At least, it was mom! It could have been worse. So, I reoriented myself and crawled back into my own tent and sleeping bag, relieved and covered in sand. By then, the desert had already moved into my sleeping bag anyway, so it didn’t make much of a difference.
A Night in the Dunes
One day, we left the familiarity of the camp and wandered deeper into the desert for an overnight adventure and a walking meditation. With only the essentials: water bottles, blankets, and some food, we set out into the vastness of the dunes.
Hiking through the Sahara was unlike any other journey. The landscape was a sea of undulating sand, with dunes rising like mountains and valleys stretching out infinitely. At first, I felt like an ant in this enormous expanse, my smallness highlighted by the sheer scale of the desert.
But there was also a strange sense of freedom in the vastness. As the group hiked through the valleys, I decided to run on top of the dunes, enjoying my freedom. I kept close enough to see the group, always aware of their direction, but far enough to feel completely alone at times.
The sand worked its way into everything: my shoes, my clothes, between my teeth, even into my thoughts. Yet, as I trudged along with a water bottle in hand, I felt an unexpected connection to the desert. It wasn’t just vast; it was alive.
Walking through the dunes, I often felt like one of the tiny grains of sand beneath my feet, just a single speck in an infinite expanse, similar to a drop of water in a vast ocean, seemingly insignificant on its own, but essential to the whole. It was humbling.
That realization brought a profound sense of connection. Just as each grain of sand makes up the towering dunes and each drop forms the ocean, we, too, are all connected through our souls. Each of us is a small yet integral part of a much greater whole, the ocean of souls. That was my realization during our walking meditation.
When sand dunes come to life
The guides had an ingenious way of keeping the camels around camp at night. They would loosely tie the camels’ front feet together, allowing them to roam and graze but preventing them from running off into the desert.
Thankfully, during our overnight trek into the dunes, the night was quiet and calm. Of course, I woke up in the middle of the night again and needed to pee, so I got up, looking for a nearby sand dune to hide behind. I found one not far away, squatted down, and…
Ahhh!
I almost screamed into the stillness of the night when my sand dune started to move. It was a sleeping camel!
Terrified, I scrambled to get away, but in my panic, I forgot my pants were still around my knees. There I was, running awkwardly through the sand dunes, pants at half-mast, looking like one of the camels with its front feet tied together.
Eventually, I pulled myself together, adjusted my pants, and stumbled back to my sleeping area, my heart pounding and my dignity somewhere out in the sand.
From Traumatized to Camelized
By the time we started our trek back to camp, the wear and tear of the hike were catching up to everyone, especially my mom, who was 66 years old at the time. Having been an avid horseback rider in her younger years, she gladly accepted the offer to ride a camel.
At first, she seemed relieved, perched high above the sand with a bit of nostalgia for her riding days. But camels, as we quickly discovered, aren’t horses. They’re much taller, wobblier, and far less graceful, especially when descending steep sand dunes.
Watching my mom cling to the saddle as the camel swayed downhill was nerve-wracking and hilarious. Every time the camel lurched forward, she looked like she was about to fall off. By the end of the trek, she may not have felt fully at ease on her new four-legged friend, but she had embraced the chaos with a bravery that impressed us all. That’s when I told her, “Mom, you’ve gone from traumatized to camelized.” We all laughed, breaking the tension and seriousness of some of the meditation.
Reflections: From Small to Vast
Meditating in the Sahara taught me about surrender. It demanded that I let go of control, embrace the chaos of the storms, and find stillness in the face of overwhelming vastness. The desert wasn’t just a backdrop; it was a teacher, stripping away distractions and leaving only the essentials: breath, presence, and the strange beauty of being small in something so vast.
In that moment, being small didn’t feel limiting, it felt expansive. Being part of this vastness made me feel big. The desert, in all its immensity, wasn’t something outside of me. It was something I was part of, and it was part of me.
To Be Continued…
There’s more to share about the meditations and lessons we learned from the desert, but for now, I’ll leave you with this: we are all grains of sand in the vast dunes of existence, drops in the endless ocean of souls, and in that connection, we are infinite.