When the magenta skies grow purple and then a deep black decorated with stars by the millions, this is when the winds pick up and the desert starts to whisper.
The whispers speak of all sorts of things and some are haunting and lonely whispers through forlorn expanses, some so out of the way and remote that the last human passed through them in 1849, heading west trying to stake a claim in the gold rush.
Other whispers are softer and melodic, like a romantic ballad being whistled gently through cacti and sagebrush.
Today the whispers are unlike any I've ever heard. Cosmic whispers of wind gusting over the rocks and sands. A symphony of whispers, like a million voices speaking from each of those stars of inconceivable wonders.
The last few months have been long ones. Lots of things have been accomplished in these months and the future will reap some of the coming changes.
Here in Shamballa, time and space sometimes seem to stand still.
I have a favorite rock outcropping I like to lay back on, and I call it 'Look Out Perch.' During the day after just a small walk, I can take a break and watch the planes take off and land. At night it's a simply sublime spot for stargazing and listening to the winds' whispers. Take a laptop with a wireless hook up, as I'm doing now, and one can transfer one's thoughts into digital signals that, like the winds' whispers, travel quietly all over the earth.
When you hear the soft whisper of the wind wherever you are, listen closely and you'll know if it traveled past Look Out Perch - the unmistakable siren song of the desert rides with it.