Landers, CA has fascinated me for 20 years. From the First Nations gatherings at Giant Rock, to the UFO chasers, to the occultism of the Integratron, the stories have been more to me than just data, informing a strategy. It is intensely spiritual Exhorter land.
Currently it is a party area where the cops don’t interfere, as well as being a dirt bike and dune buggy paradise. Crime and crud define the current brand of the old lake bed.
I have been there many times, taken the occasional land-wise visitor there, done both warfare and worship, by day and by night. At times I have just sat there and quieted my soul, listening to the majesty of the star song in the clear desert nights and been enlarged by it.
It was on the MUST DO side of my list of possible goodbyes, as I uproot from CA and move to SC.
I decided to record “A Celebration of Heaven” there as my act of closure. Megan packed up a suitcase full of gear, Christine flew in from Canada since she has a vested interest in this series, we added plenty of cold drinks and sundry ancillary paraphernalia to my car and headed up there on Wednesday afternoon about 2:00.
There is a very defiled patch of land on Highway 62, right about the county line. In the two decades I have been going up to the high desert, there have been numerous attacks and near death experiences compliments of those critters.
This time they hit the car hard, killing the power steering pump and breaking the mechanism for opening and closing both rear windows.
I made it up the grade, barely, and pulled off to the little church in Morongo Valley so I could inspect the damage and plan our way forward. Back in the early days, when I was driving a dilapidated Buick Skylark up that grade, they would leave a hose available so I could cool down my gimpy radiator, before challenging the next grade.
We limped into town (population 3,500) and found a mechanic who said he could change it out, overnight, for $810.
While I dickered with him on the process, Megan secured a taxi which took us to the nearest rental car place five minutes before they closed for the evening.
We got dinner in town, and took the hour and a half drive back home. Before we went down the hill (since the downhill side of the highway has more savage critters than the uphill side), Megan worked the phones and put together a team of intercessors with unresolved hostility issues.
Needless to say, we made it down through the swarm with negligible difficulty.
On the way home, we dissected the situation. All of us were aggravated over being victims, not something we have a great deal of grace for. But a compelling picture emerged that God was in this, and we should just roll with it and not fuss.
Thursday morning, I called the mechanic to be sure he had the part and that all was in order for the afternoon pickup. The phone was disconnected. Disconcerting to say the least.
Megan added another member to her warfare team. We left an hour early and arrived there to find the car done and the price stable. We drove the rest of the way to Yucca Valley, disposed of the rental car, got a fresh load of ice for the cooler, gassed up my car, and then wrestled with the fact that it was way too early to go to the staging area, since we wanted to record at night.
Adding to that, our team was sorely out of alignment.
The varmints had successfully taken out the newbie on the off-site team. And they had hacked our team to cause problems. We wandered over to an air conditioned burger joint and sat at the back, doing preemptive hydration, and trying to find the way back from our disconnect and misalignment.
God graced the time and within an hour we were in a good place, functioning as a team again.
We adjourned to a slightly more appealing restaurant and had a wonderful meal in a context that surfaced memories and emotions for some of our team.
Then, off to Highway 247 and our rendezvous with a new patch of the desert. The land reached out to welcome me about eight miles before Landers. I wept inside over that. I have been there many times and the land has never acknowledged my heart towards it. I have occasionally at different places around the world had land welcome me, but it was a first for Landers.
We had warned the intercessory team that we would lose cell phone connectivity shortly after we passed the Integratron. Interestingly, it did not happen.
We drove the dirt roads in my ordinary passenger car, with low clearance and street tires. At Giant Rock, I turned Northeast. I had known in the spirit we would be recording in a new place I had never been to, over in that direction.
I wound my way around the first hill successfully, feeling no draw to stop and explore. Got part way up the second hill when some bad judgment on my part got the car stuck. We spent at least half an hour getting it unstuck and went the rest of the way up the hill, but knew that this was the place.
To our amazement, we had FOUR BARS of cell phone signal when there should have been none in the previous 15 miles. We were connected to our intercessors via Glympse app so they could track where we were at all times.
When we moved from the stuck spot, they were relieved since it was the confluence of three demonic structures. The top of the hill met with their approval.
Megan and Christine went to work with the set up.
I helped briefly, then detached, switched out of leader mode, and worked to connect with my spirit and my fire while the sun went down. Getting there had required soul to be front and center, in charge, and competent, while also allowing my spirit to choose the location. Now soul needed to step back.
We had been concerned about wind and heat but neither was an issue. There was a gentle breeze that cooled us off quickly after the sun went down, but it was never strong enough to interfere with the quality of the recording.
This was a very different kind of message that I shared. It was my spirit worshipping my God. I could not even see Megan and Christine from where I was seated. I was not teaching. I was not considering any future audience for the recording. Much of what I spoke of was beyond my soul’s capacity to understand. I didn’t bother to share background material, like I do in a teaching setting.
I just worshipped with words, from the songs of Revelation. It was about me and God.
When I was done, we lingered and savored for a while. The stars were elegant. We had chosen a night with no moon, for that very reason.
After packing up, we headed down the hill, feeling our way along in the dark, without a map and no moonlight. I did not go back the way I came, because I wanted to avoid the bad patch in what could barely be called a road where we had gotten stuck before. My city car was not made for off-road adventures.
I ended up in a worse place and it took nearly an hour to get unstuck.
I was not able to find my way back out of the desert the usual way. I think it was God who arranged that so that we did not go through the defiled patch by the Integratron. I imagine there is some sort of covenant within a contract affecting everyone who comes and goes into the desert by their gateway.
We eventually made it into Yucca Valley, took a comfort break, and then headed down the hill, arriving back at the office before daybreak. The angels kept us in phone contact with the intercessors through the most impossible territories, and the intercessors stood watch all through the night until we got home.
A priceless bunch.
Something profound happened to me as the land, the Exhorter’s stars, and the incredibly unfathomable theme of the songs in heaven all left a deep imprint on me.
This was supposed to be my closure-and-goodbye trip to Landers.
Now I am more deeply bonded to that patch of desert than ever before. I cannot envision saying goodbye to it. I wonder when and how I will return.
Meanwhile, I try to ignore this unexpected twist in my complex journey of uprooting from California so I can arrive well in South Carolina.
Quite ironic that a week from tonight I will be at New Testament Church for a welcome ceremony, blessing my entrance into the state – at a time when a piece of my heart is more deeply in love with California than it has ever been in the last 45 years.
Copyright June 2018 by Arthur Burk