Healing Waters

Today, on my day off, I went to Lama Central to eat breakfast at 10am, and it took me about an hour and a half after eating to extricate myself from the usual Lama goings on. Then, I went to do a little plastering in the Cottage Industries Building. The University of New Mexico student group that is visiting Lama came through on a land tour, and I gave them the low-down on printing prayer flags since I was in the flag printing building. I finished the plastering project, cleaned up, and it was suddenly 2:20pm. Yikes! I really wanted some time to myself on the land, some peace, a chance to do nothing for a little while.

Rio Grande River at the base of Cebolla Mesa Trail

I decided to drive to a spot on the Rio Grande gorge that I had heard about but not visited yet. My friend, Aaron, was driving in as I was driving out, and I invited him to join me because I know that we can co-exist in companionable silence. Plus, we had talked about making the trip earlier in the day; I thought he had gone without me already. 

Cebolla Mesa is probably the closest access point to the gorge from Lama. You drive about nine miles down the Lama dirt road to Highway 522 and simply go straight across it to another dirt road heading west across the mesa. Go another five miles or so to a dirt parking lot with a few overnight campsites at the top of the gorge lip. Looking down the steep cliff, a second mesa level is visible about halfway down. The river runs swiftly at the bottom, and I could see the tiny whitewater rapids far below. The hike down to the river is only 1.25 miles, but it traverses a 1,000 foot drop in elevation. Which means the trail is steep. Which means there were tons of switchbacks, boulders to climb over and spectacular views. Picking our way down, skidding on loose pebbles like ball-bearings, it wasn’t long before my legs were wobbly from overusing weak muscles. I haven’t hiked all winter!

yellow cactus flower

The vegetation changed as we descended. Shrubby Juniper and twisted, burnt pines gave way to brilliantly lemon-yellow flowering cacti, a type of yucca commonly known as “Our Lord’s Candle”, and an Artemesia or wild sage, my favorite smelling native plant. One relatively flat section of the trail meandered around massive boulders and towering Ponderosa Pines with huge, thick trunks at least five feet in diameter. They reminded me a little of California Redwoods in their quiet majesty. After another drop in elevation, and close to the water, there were willows, horsetail reeds, lusher bushes of Artemesia and black, volcanic rocks burnished by the river. Occasionally a thorny wild rose bush grew onto the trail displaying tiny but vibrant hot pink, flat-petaled roses with bright yellow centers. 

a sweet spot along the Rio Grande

We reached the water at the confluence of the Red River and the Rio Grande. The water was cold, bracing, refreshing on hot, tired feet. It was too cold and too wild to go in past wading depth. The sun was still shining bright and hot into the bottom of the canyon gorge, and we hadn’t seen another soul in our descent. So, I stripped off my clothes and lay on a partially submerged, smooth, black rock in a calm eddy near the river’s edge. The rock was delightfully warm, and I could trail my fingers and feet in the easy current to cool off. I didn’t quite doze, but I was utterly relaxed under the bare blue sky, cradled by the steep sides of the gorge and soothed by the sound of the rushing, tumbling water.

Ahh, bliss: Nowhere else to be, nothing to do besides feel the sun on my skin, the cool water on my fingertips and the sturdy warmth of the rock against my back. A gentle, intermittent breeze ruffled my hair occasionally. 

I lost track of time (and we hadn’t brought a watch, anyway) as I lazed on the rocks and listened to the lullaby of the river. I am, in my essence, a water child. I love the sound of water, the pounding ocean surf, the calm shushing of dissipating bubbles as a wave recedes, the gurgling song of a small rill jumping and dancing over rocks, the ever-changing constant of a big river rushing over boulders, through natural sluices, falling back upon itself at roiling rapids. I love the pull of the currents, the lift of tide swells, the buoyancy and lightness of floating in calm water. I love the way I feel cleansed, refreshed, revitalized by moving water; my skin sings and my blood feels more alive in my veins.

Heading back up the canyon; 1,000 foot elevation change

Finally, the sun began to slip below the high walls of the canyon, and we decided to head back up the trail. It was still steep, and now we didn’t have the benefit of gravity working in our favor. I was quickly out of breath, and took many short breaks and a few longer rests as we slowly wound our way up the switchbacks. I had only brought a quart of drinking water, and since Aaron only decided to join me last minute, he had none. The water was gone before we were halfway up. My breath rasped in my dry throat; I tried to exhale through my nose to minimize evaporation of my precious saliva. It took more than an hour and a half to make it to the top of the gorge where the car was parked. The car clock read 7:18pm – we were shocked!

Since we had missed dinner at Lama and were ravenously thirsty (I was also shaking with hypoglycemic hunger.), we decided to drive to Questa, the closest town to get cold sodas at the gas station there. That can of 7Up was the best tasting liquid ever! I wolfed down a PowerBar to stave off my shakiness and called it dinner. I drove us back to Lama, walked to my house in the now chilly wind, ate a few almonds and drank another quart of water. I am a little sunburned, sore and tired, but happy, happy, happy. I’m gonna sleep well tonight.

A Drink of Water in the Desert

After over a week of no contact – we kept missing each other on the phone – I talked to Andrew yesterday. It was very encouraging. It reminded me that he is real, that he likes me, that I like him. We have a good connection. We laugh easily. We seem to understand and have empathy for each others particular brands of dysfunction. I am proud to know him, proud of his accomplishments, intellect and earnest, good intentions. The conversation gave me hope that this relationship of ours might actually work. I needed that like a drink of water in the desert.

A Small Healing

I put my feet in a narrow tributary of the Rio Grande River today. The water was cold, in rich contrast to the warm air. I felt the current flow past my stationary feet, inexorably moving, pulling, and flowing. I was aware of the unity of all water; the Earth’s oceans, rivers and rain are all connected ultimately. There is only one “water”, as there is only one “air”. I felt the power of all the Earth’s water pulling out my emotional pain, doubt and confusion, holding it in its vastness. It was a small healing.

More of The Same

I’m stumped, sitting here in the warm sunshine, taking this precious morning time for my Personal Practice, writing in my journal. My head is so full of a million thoughts that I can’t decide which ones to validate with my pen. I can’t decide which ones are worth following, picking out from the cacophony.

I’m thinking a lot these days about my future life with Andrew (formerly known as Pegasus in this blog). I am afraid that I am creating a fantasy in my head about our life together, however long that may be, and will only be disappointed when it is less than idyllic. We will undoubtedly disagree. We will hurt each other no matter how much we intend otherwise. Some days will be drudgery. Some days will be hard. We might fight, although my guess is that it would take the form of drawing inside ourselves, brooding, sulking. We are both prone to such behavior. I worry that we don’t have the skills to come back from that place of self-isolation. I worry that our mutual love for one another is not strong enough, hasn’t had time to become strong enough to weather such self-created adversity. I worry that our love is only affection, and I worry that it isn’t enough to keep us intact. Mostly, I worry that I will ruin it somehow.

Unraveling

The stress is unraveling me. Or something is, or I’m just unraveling due to some mysterious, invisible, compelling force. I want to run away and hide from everyone. I want to sleep, or better yet, obliviate. There is a weight on me. I feel I am about to fly apart. I welcome oblivion because the strain of keeping myself whole is too great.

This mortal life seems to be capitulation at every turn, a future of losses. I am sorry, sorry for myself, sorry for those who love me. For, surely, I will disappoint them and hurt them. Surely, I will blow apart.

Don’t Lose This Day

April 26 – (took me a while to get it uploaded.)

I don’t want to lose this day; it was so full and rich. The first half of the day was reserved for our Winter Closing Ceremony. The latter half for Seva and/or One-on-Ones(re-committing with each other for the coming summer months), then a Business Meeting which we hold weekly.

While everyone else was in meditation at 9am, I built a fire in the outdoor firepit near the Dome. The sun was out, and a slight breeze was blowing; it was warm enough to wear a short-sleeve shirt and thin skirt, almost too warm for an open fire. At 9:30 all the residents joined me at the fire circle to burn last year’s prayer flags that we had taken down from “the Peacock” last week. I led the ceremony, asking everyone to imagine all the prayers and amazing experiences and good feelings that went into those flags over the entire previous year, not just from we residents, but all the people who had come up the mountain. As each person dropped one or two flags into the fire, I asked them to imagine that all those prayers and feelings were dissolving into the smoke and intermingling with the air, traveling on the wind out into the world. “Think of it as ‘energetic advertising’ for Lama, to call others to the mountain this year,” I said. Eventually someone mentioned saying aloud the names of those who have come to Lama in the recent or distant past, and so began a litany of lovingly spoken remembrances popcorning around the circle. We drifted into companionable silence as we sat around the fire, watching it burn down to embers then ashes.

Together, we gathered the special picnic brunch that had been pre-prepared earlier and walked up to the Spring, the source of all Lama’s water. (Two of us put out the fire completely with water, dirt and sand while the food was gathered.) At the Spring, the aspens were garbed in electric, fresh green and clear water was flowing out of the Spring door and down a tiny natural creekbed. We spread the picnic out and relished the special foods: fresh-baked baguette, creamy goat cheese, smoked Gouda, a delicious pasta salad with greens and goat cheese, secret salami (Our kitchen is vegetarian per health department rules.), raspberries, and a soothing, homemade herbal tea. The raspberries hadn’t been washed so we played a game of floating them down the little creek and “dunking” for them without using our hands. It was a fairly idyllic time, augmented by the loosely organized sharing time after brunch. Some people brought poems written by others or themselves; we sang a song for the water with a hand drum. Emma played her flute, and she and I each read an essay written during the winter. As we sat on the ground around the Spring, the weather turned overcast and more breezy, chilly, threatening rain. We packed everything up, and headed down to do our individual work for a few hours before the Business Meeting.

I met two different people, singly, in the Dome for One-on-Ones, and the time passed quickly. The sky darkened further, and it began to rain. I didn’t get any Seva done.

What might have been just an ordinary business meeting in the dining room (where we have met all winter – we hardly ever eat in that room) seemed somehow sweeter. We discussed and voted on very mundane things: whether or not to purchase more meditation cushions, designate money for roof repairs in the Community Center, a continued conversation concerning the proposal from the Sufi Ruhaniyat Order to build an enclosed shrine at Murshid Sam’s gravesite, and began the process for choosing this year’s officers (Co-ordinator, Secretary and Treasurer, the closest thing Lama has to a hierarchy). We have these meetings every week, with similar topics on the agenda, but it felt good to all be together in the warm room, rain pelting the skylights.

Dinner was a fantastic-tasting, homemade hot & sour soup from the Moosewood Cookbook. Most people chose dinner time to continue One-on-Ones; there were only four of us in the kitchen eating together, and two of them were having their One-on-One at the table. It was an unusual, very quiet dinner. Since there was very little talking, we ate and cleaned up quickly. It was still light out, but the wind had intensified to gusts clocked nearby at 70mph. I went to the office to try to get a little work done before going home. Three others had the same idea, and our little office was full. 

While I was on the phone talking to Lama’s accountant/fundraiser, the phone suddenly went dead and there was simultaneously a calamitous banging on the roof. All four of us got scared and ran into the kitchen where a couple of other people were finishing up the dishes.  Seth said the loud sound was caused by some corrugated metal roofing that had been used to cover the beehive up there; it was now loose on the flat adobe roof blowing around in the wind because all our bees died suddenly two weeks ago (It was very sad to watch the entire hive die.). Joe said, “That could kill someone!” So, Seth ran out to secure it or take it down. The phones came back on, fat raindrops started spitting, and it felt kind of crazy as the wind gusts ripped through the pines, banged doors open and shut, flung old shingles off the Dome roof, and threw around even heavy objects (like wheelbarrows!). It became necessary for me to use the outhouse, so I braved the wind and rain to make my run for it. While I was in the plywood structure, a blast of wind hit the little building so hard I felt it lurch beneath me. I screamed with a mix of terror and delight as I imagined the entire outhouse lifting off with me inside, or leaving me sitting there without the benefit of walls and roof. 

As I skittered back to the office, others were heading home; it began to snow heavy, wet flakes that melted as they hit the ground. I was in the office for while longer. The sun set, the wind died down substantially, and the precipitation eventually stopped. I walked home in the dark and quiet. My house was cold since I had opened the windows earlier in the warm morning. I shut the windows, lit a fire in the stove and snuggled into bed. More wet snow fell; the flakes stuck to the windows, slid down and piled up in a foot-tall triangle against the glass. I awoke at 3am to stillness, no snow, wind or rain. It was a rich, full day indeed.