West Desert Journal

It grows cold tonight. The twilight is winter red. The leaves are gold and orange. Not long now and cottonwood skeletons will be exposed in canyon bottoms. Time to go to Cal’s ranch with my next paycheck and get me a Carhartt jacket for the winter snow and muck.

The Colorado Plateau has some of the most spectacular landscapes when they are decked in snow. The good thing about this time of year; no more tourists, no more commercial RVs crowding the back roads. The highways are mostly quiet in the winter, especially out by Tropic and Escalante, Utah.

inside the doorway of the traveling sky,
there is quiet peace in this world.

although there is a lonely wagon filled with ashes
it wonders past sea and mountain, and through the valleys.

when it gets dark and black.
without sight, does it wonder
and cannot find peace.

the children that knew, are crying,
while their parents lay in bed dying.
and so the only mother of them all
went to her autumn grave,
and soon the peaceful snow gathered.

the wagon wonders,
with it’s ashes.

In the dark it wonders.

but in dreams, the children are free
where burdens do not exist.
where suffering has no season.

sad world, sad people.
God has been abandoned,

in a hidden place,
the wagon of ashes has stopped,
far away beneath the treeless moon.
the stars are freezing in the bitter cold.

the children that knew are crying,
while their parents were dying,
in the realm of this sad, sad world.

Dream of the old way.,
Vanish into the back woods.
The power of the wind is strong.
There is a shadow in the trees.

The powerful mystery speaks.
Dream of the spirit life
Where boundless solitude is found.
Go into the desert alone
Because it is calling you.

There’s a spirit home for every soul.
And the shadow waits.
In the hills over yonder
The mystery sleeps.

The sun is shining in a quiet world
of peace and stillness
Where the forever hills sleep,
that is where you should go

If you are a child of the mountains.

The sky is full of storm,
As I retire for the night,
listening to the dense wind blow.
The rain begins to tap the house.

This past summer
the trees were buzzing with ghosts.
And there on the edges of reality
a fiery noise did grow.
The noise is unquiet.
Listen as the coyotes howl…

Praise to those that can hear
the powerful song of beauty.
Beware to those
who do not recognize anything.

The beauty of the wilderness
is beating inside me.
Scenes from an ancient ponderosa forest
flower in dreams, deep at night.
These dreams radiate with the glow
of black sun and turquoise sky.
Wind dashes through the pines
like white water rapids.

The sound is strong, listen.
Love the beauty.
For whatever may come,
be ready!

People are awesome and lovable. Taking them into the outback to see the beauty, we grow to become close friends and acquaintances. It makes me realize that I could not be happy without good company in my life, and when we are able to connect, we all listen to truth and there is no hard feelings. When hearts are open and listening, truth flourishes and that has been happening on the tours I’ve been giving. The experiences go beyond the commercialism. Folks from all over the world come to see the Southwest and when they are with me, they learn about the cultures and the history of the landscape. They walk away with worth-while knowledge. People ask questions and have a deep desire to learn. When they are given correct info, to the best of my capabilities, they are thankful and responsive. Now folks are sending emails to the company I work for, with good things to say on my behalf, and I am grateful for those words of kindness.

I’m going out to Toroweap to camp with my brother today. So I have something to do. I’m just kicking around here in Cedar City for the rest of the winter, pondering a move to Santa Fe. Last night I dropped my guests off on the Las Vegas Strip (Uglyville), and stopped in at the Moapa Piaute Travel Plaza to buy some powwow music. I’ve become a regular there, getting gas every time I pass through. This job is almost done for the season! It sure didn’t last long. On the way home I was listening to music; From The Underworld of Redboy, a really good native recording by Robbie Robertson… Amazing stuff!!!

The glorious evening was chilly with late monsoonal clouds entering Cedar Valley. They were on the outer limits of the city. Lightning exited a massive thunderhead that lead other cloud soldiers. Trees were bending and swaying to the relentless gusts that brought fine sediments in from the bone-dry Great Basin. It is getting late, the sun has already vanished behind bellowing clouds.

It is dark outside. No stars. In my sleep, I hear the rain and thunder as it plays out in dreams. I’m hiking somewhere in canyon country, surrounded by contrasting red and yellow cliffs, stained by desert varnish. In the vision, the cottonwood grandfathers are talking to me with their creaky branches in a creek bottom.

When awake, reality is a stunning vision. Life is not easy, but the beauty is constantly all around me. The mountains, clouds, animals, trees, rocks, and the rugged Southwest. Away from the towns, the manzanita and tammerisk grow wild. Sunflowers crowd the shoulders of dirt roads. Juniper choke the vast foothills. Off the beaten path lay the remnants of archaic peoples. Looking at sacred images on the rocks, it is hard to imagine the monsters that must have co-existed with humans. Were they supernatural entities? These rock paintings are alive and radiate with spirit. I leave them a gift.