Apache Junction, Arizona | Desert Valley House Concerts
Superstition Mountain
Where to begin? The question most of us might ask—then again, perhaps I am being presumptuous: some of us may not ask. Some may lack the interest. Others of us might just do, and forgo the asking aspect of things. Whatever the case may be, the beginning seems like a good place to start, so let’s arbitrarily work with that. After all, it’s the beginning of my Fall 2022 tour, so it seems the most logical place to begin.
In the beginning: I found myself in Apache Junction, Arizona. I’ve been here once before, however, it wasn’t a thorough affair. It wasn’t even a one night stand. It was one step away from a drive-by encounter—such as my experience with Phoenix, Arizona: a city I have only truly appreciated from a Freeway (which does not count for anything by anyone’s account). I played a show for the DESERT VALLEY HOUSE CONCERT series, and was immediately on my way home the next morning. I had been on the road for two months, and Apache Junction, was the last function of my multi-city-trans-state adjunction. I was on tour. That’s what I mean.
This time, as the fates would have it (not to mention my own insatiable curiosity) my kind hosts Darice and Lance offered to have me stay a few days to see Apache Junction and its natural splendor. Its Ghost Town: Goldfield.
Its Mountain Ranges, as barren and jagged and dangerous and unforgiving as its surrounding valley. History as seen through the eyes of various Native American tribes who inhabited this region. Superstition Mountain, observing from on high, the people of Apache Junction in their air-conditioned homes.
Goldfield Ghost Town was a wealth of photos. It was also 100 degrees outside. I met it somewhere in the middle and tried to give it a few hours of my time, as I was concerned that further investments might result in me melting, or spontaneous combustion: whichever comes first.
It felt as if I was spread, butt-naked on the hood of Goldfield’s automobile on a hot summer’s day—running on the assumption that it has an automobile. They for sure had a tractor. And a train for that matter. The later wasn’t functioning as they were waiting on a part to fix it. We’ll settle with me naked on a tractor. Fair enough? (And on that note, I bid ado to my male audience). I kid and promise to not hold your imagination hostage with naked insinuations that lead to mental perturbations over hot surfaces.
I am avid fan of all things old, and an even bigger fan of daydreaming about what it would be like to live in an era such as this. I can only imagine what people smelled like. The advent of a daily shower was not quite a staple of the residents of this centennial plus legacy. The occasional bath perhaps? That might even be an exaggeration. I let my mind wonder, along with my senses. I can always plug my nose while I do.
What I can say is that there were no shortage of air-conditioners in this ghost town.
… and I appreciate that. I was sunburned either way, but the cool air felt nice across my scorched person. Let’s not mince words: that was my fault. An intelligent-forward-thinking individual wears sunscreen. As I am none of those things, I wore my sunburn like a badge of ignorance, in the remnants of a ghosty village. People pointing and stating, “Look at the visiting village idiot.” I waved and kept that stupid smile across my face, nose plugged, thinking about bygones well past, absently. It’s easy to be happy on occasion, and this made me happy—that is until I felt the overwhelming urge to retreat back to Darice and Lance’s air-conditioned home for a nap. Am I the only one who feels as if the heat is a vampire of energy when the temperature is well near the surface of the sun? I would share a picture of me napping, but I haven’t the foresight for that either. The photograph is resting comfortably next to my sunscreen: unused and under-appreciated.
This small town had to be the constellation of a gold mine, and sure enough, there was a gold mine present. For $7 you can take a guided tour of this gold mine, but believe it or not, it was so hot outside, and I was so depleted of energy, that I couldn’t picture myself going down there on this occasion. I will probably regret that decision—more likely, I will probably revisit it in the future, as I have quite the fond fascination with the gold rush of the 1800’s, especially as it was recounted by Samuel Langhorne Clemens in “Roughing It.” Words will suffice where our eyes fail us, or more closer to the point as it pertains to me, where my drowsy eyes outweigh my curiosity. Which is not often, mind you.
A day of recovery was in order, so I spent most of the next day reading. My friend Darice with Desert Valley House Concerts told me, “You should read this book.” I have been gobbling it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
At the moment, it’s all I find myself wanting to talk about. So, what is the book about? It’s about Quantum Physics and reality. All of the discoveries made by the Quantum Physicists of the 1900’s and 2000’s. Tangible reality. Is this reality objective? Older sciences before Quantum Physics have never taken into account the role of consciousness into this equation.
We are not inactive observers of reality. We are simultaneously observing it and creating it. An analogy that is accurate, is reality being like a dream. As we sleep and experience the dream, we feel like merely a participant—however we are also simultaneously creating the dream we are experiencing subjectively.
Quantum Physics for the past 100 years has been finding this exists in our observation/creation of reality (The Universe).
An example: “The Double-Slit Experiment”
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double-slit_experiment
This and many subsequent experiments points to the direction that we are not and never will be independent entities in the Universe. We, in fact, live in a participatory Universe, whether we particpate or not. What does this mean?
Everything we do, or don’t do, alters that which is around us. Everything is probability, much like the second law of thermodynamics. A quantum computer, is a direct reflection of this notion.
It's a direct reflection of reality. It's more powerful as a computer because we are designing something that is closer to the function of nature. Probability. It takes into account as many possibilities as possible, and runs on this very notion.
It's like the second law of thermodynamics. Just because we have never seen a shattered glass move backwards into a solid form of un-shattered existence, does not mean that it can't happen. Quite the contrary. Mathematical probability shows us that it CAN exist, even if the probability of it is low.
A quantum computer is taking all possibilities into account, much as reality does, apparently. Probability wave.
I don't completely understand all of this—but this book is helping me to get a general sense of what quantum physics is.
It's both freedom and probability. That we are an active part of the Universe, whether we try to be or not. If you find this alarming to read. It’s okay. Einstein did too. He saw that is was real and how experiments such as the double-slit experiment verified these notions, and this is why he found it so hard to accept, as its very notion contradicted classical concepts of sciences. The very notion of science is to maintain a detached observation of reality around us, at least, in a traditional sense maintained over the corse of pre-existing efforts in understanding reality (The Universe).
It's like a dream. We feel like a participant in the dream while we sleep, but we are actually making the dream that we feel like we are along in the ride for! It's magic, in a sense. And reality: it functions the same way.
Nature only appears to be objective, to those who want to see it that way. If we realize that we are the active imagination of all probability, we realize we are actually not outside of the Universe, but helping it to become what it is at every moment, regardless of whether we try to or not. We simultaneously are spectator and creator, creating as we spectate, and spectating as we create.
The craziest thing, is that nature seems to reinforce whatever we “want” to see, speaking outside of the boundaries of quantifiable experimentation. If a group of persons wants to believe that they are outside The Universe, observing it in a cold and detached manner in a subjective stupor, feeling that their actions/inaction play no role in the constant creation, nature does not argue. It’s simply reinforces that possibility like a warm blanket.
If however, people take the time to really try to see that reality (The Universe) is probability, than they collectively realize that everything is a possibility, no matter the small nature of the number describing the probability of the action: i.e. a shattered glass becoming whole again before your eyes. That is real statistical analysis of a shattered glass. There exists the minute possibility of it becoming whole again.
In the words of the standup comedian Bill Hicks: “Young men on acid realize that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration—that we are all one consciousness experiencing our self subjectively. There is no such thing as death. Life is a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.”
And let there be no doubt, the weather didn’t disappoint. It’s the tail-end of monsoon season in Arizona. Micro-bursts are abound. They pickup patio furniture to great heights, only to drop them in places the owners of which might not agree with. I quickly helped Darice to collect her patio belongings under the confines of cover, to prevent mother nature’s exterior decorating options.
Chili was had. Conversation was abound. Discussions of a hike the next morning were agreed upon in the Usery Mountains above Mesa, Arizona.
Joe, one of Lance and Darice’s friends chose the location: Wind Caves. We made a morning of it.
It was a conjoined effort to remove my own naiveté in regards to Wind Cave, this Mountain Range, and it’s trail, in general. Specifically, I’m still pretty absent in so far as most other things are concerned—and it’s always great to know that Wind Cave was named aptly: plenty of wind and plenty of cave to go around (they both were very generous and we shared). Listening to these fellas both brainstorm a painting company in which the painters put the F.U. in Fun Home Renovation was my personal highlight to an already stunning view (not pictured).
However, the main reason I am here in Apache Junction is to play music—which was done. I done did that for Desert Valley House Concerts. We had a wonderful time. Exhibit A (good time):
As with most places, it’s not the place, its the people that make the place, and Apache Junction is no exception. Thank you Darice and Lance for making this such a lovely experience.
WHO IS MIKE VITALE?
I am a storyteller, singer, songwriter, music producer, traveling musician, Jungian dream analyst, all-around curious fellow (Spiritual, Mathematical Historical, Scientific), Taoist, and much much more, based out of Los Angeles, California. I’m constantly releasing new music, in all sorts of different genres. You can listen to me below, on Spotify:
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