IN THE WORLD I WAS mapping out, there were certain roads that went to certain places. There would be a road that led to the desert, and I would name the desert Arid because it contained my name and I would take that road and I would stand there, in the desert named Arid, and I would see a summer storm coming in, and I would breathe in, and understand that the smell of that storm was the smell of God. And I would map out a path that led to a hill where there was a mesquite tree and a huge boulder. I would sit on that boulder and watch the storm coming straight at where I was sitting—and the thunder and the lightning came closer and closer. But the storm was not threatening me because the storm did not exist as a bully, but as something that was coming to welcome me into the world, and to remind me that I was a part of the desert and all things beautiful. And when the rain arrived, it would pour down on me, and I would become a part of it. I imagined Dante kissing me in the rain. And we would not be afraid of the storm. And he and I would sit there until we learned the language of the rain.
And on my map, I would name that place Lugar de los Milagros.
The Place of Miracles.