Reflections on 2026 by Ira
I went to Mars to work on an art piece about a decentralized off-grid society in the desert. But as a Martian explained to me (while placing a rag under a cutting board), “Sometimes the first thing you need to do is prepare to begin.”
I realized society doesn’t need another sculpture, another utopian facade. It needs the real thing. It needs a kitchen. Plumbing. Power. Communications systems. So I sat down. And I shut up. And I listened. And I learned. And together we built a world.
Within, my visions from the art piece came true. We reveled in the joy of finding something discarded and turned it into a thing a beauty. A clay cup, a mural, a poem. A Martian said, “We imagine the future with our hands”.
I arrived at Mars struggling with the disdain of an ex — that I’m too invested, too committed, too passionate. But here, maybe for the first time, I was surrounded by people crazy in the same way I am.
A friend explained, “I want to listen to the radio in my RV, so I’m setting up an antenna.” (And that’s not even half of it -- now he’s transmitting on a rare high-powered community radio station.) Others took one of my stupid ideas and ran with it — literally — for miles. 200 miles. Imagine a town of people full of unbridled passion supporting each other.
During my friend Max’s memorial service, I think I heard someone say, “When a nerd asks you to do something, do something. That’s where we find our collective power. You don’t have to be an expert.”
In the inexplicably magical surrounds of the Salton Sea, people see a sparkle on the horizon. They’re not seeing what is there now, they’re seeing what could be:
Sacred geometries — secret rooms — the sound of saws on a Saturday at sunset — a lullaby service — a train bearing gifts — the voices of robots — and a road to the sea…
