A bit o' reflection.

[PaleoRob]

Thought I'd post this here. Its a little tidbit from something I've been writing (a story of sorts), and thought some folks here might like it (or rip it to shreds, whatever ;))

On the road then the rowdy thrill-seekers went. Seeking enlightenment, certainly some of them. Seeking fun. Seeking something to do. Off to read deep meaning into something that just is, and to gather meaning known only to its makers. Such is the problem with attempting to derive secret, sacred knowledge from the meaningless and mute. What “meaning” does sandstone have? Records the passing of a desert, or a sea, or a river, yes. But meaning, as a deeper purpose? Unlikely. Sandstone slickrock has as much inherent meaning as a fetid swamp – both parts of this earth. It is man (or woman) who derives meaning from the inanimate...derives or contrives, who can say?
And yet...there is something about sandstone. That slightly rough, slightly smooth feel of it under foot, under hand. The lyrical sound of the individual grains blowing loosely against the whole. The stains, fractures, crevices, and oh-my-go that gorgeous glow when the sun hits it at just the right angle before slipping below the horizon. Its look of liquid mercury after a thunderstorm. Its rounded humps and deep, dark defiles. No place else our intrepid hero wants to be. So he returns again and again to the sandstone wilderness.
And the ruins. Don’t get started on the Anasazi. Too many New Age gurus and wilderness wannabes have overblown the whole thing, claming so many spiritual and metaphysical ties to places we non-Pueblos can’t even begin to truly understand. Too much Sedonafication of the Ancient Ones, mystery devolving into pithy phrases in tourist handbooks. Any Anasazi secrets that remain, remain with their descendants. Far be it for anyone who doesn’t need to know to find out.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas? Love or hate? Ambivalent?

[azbackpackr]

Interesting writing, Rob!

As for Bullet, I sure don't remember it as you described. I have a photo of the pourover, and recollect that one gal in our group had trouble with it (there was no ice) but I sure don't recollect any other difficult areas. Maybe you got off the trail? Or maybe I just don't remember it.

Some people who are very sensitive, (not me) such as my hubby get totally creeped out in some of those ruins. And my son has seen ghosts at Keet Seel. My husband and I were on the regularly scheduled tour of Pueblo Bonito, with about 30 people, when he suddenly felt total terror. It was in that string of rooms you go through before the docent leads you into the plaza. He told me he knew absolutely that something terrible had happened on that spot at some time. At the time he said he would never go back there again, although now with the passage of time he would like to go back. He said the hair was standing up on the back of his neck, etc.

I enjoy visiting ruins, it does get your imagination going. Or you can approach it totally with the intellect, read all the books, go to classes about archaeology, etc. I think a person who seems to have the spiritual connection should also read up on the latest archaeological information.

I will say here, Desertspirit, that the concept of "sisterhood" has long eluded me. I just do not feel it with anyone. It makes me want to run away when people talk like that. I am not comfortable with it perhaps because back in the late 60's and early 70's if you were in the counter culture at all then they started shoving that stuff down your throat, like you were supposed to feel it and all, and I never did. I felt imposed upon by it.

Just my 2c.

And Rob, good luck on your book. I know writing a book is very time consuming, even is actual WORK!

Elizabeth

[desert spirit]

The first time I went to Chaco, the friend I was with absolutely hated it from the instant we drove into the canyon, and this was a longtime canyon hiker from Utah who loved visiting ruin sites. She said it "smelled like death". I never quite understood what that meant, exactly ... I'm pretty sure she didn't mean it umm literally ..

But there's no question that there is something different about Chaco. Everyone I've ever talked to about it says the same thing. There is something very mysterious and even ominous about it. There's no way to explain it or even put it into words. It's just ... mysterious.

I was there another time and went to the evening ranger talk at the campground. It was just getting dark and he was discussing the wildlife in the canyon, and told some Native stories about Coyote. As he was talking, I looked over to the side and there was a coyote, sitting on his haunches and listening intently. I swear he appeared to be enjoying the talk ...

Elizabeth ... by "sisterhood", I don't mean to shove anything down anyone's throat .. I just mean that I imagine that I could be friends with an Anasazi woman no differently than I'm friends with women now. We would have more or less similar feelings about our lives and about "things". We could discuss boyfriends or we could discuss the destiny of the universe, and we would both understand what the other was talking about. That's all I meant.

Hayley

[azbackpackr]

Well, I'll have to pass that along to my husband, that he's not the only one.

As for the sisterhood thing, it was a big thing in the early 70's. "Sisterhood is beautiful. Sisterhood is powerful," and all that heavy political stuff. That is what I was thinking of. What you are talking about I would call having "gal pals."

[desert spirit]

Gotcha

[PaleoRob]

A bit more, since I'm feeling like its time is getting close here:

The day passed languidly, the last vestiges of night sliding down the canyon wall, sunlight brightening all it touched. A few faint clouds blew along through the stratosphere, ice crystals flung through the air, to thin to cast a shadow miles below. A hawk circled through the cold sky above the canyon, letting out a plaintive cry in its search for food. It drifted on after soaring over the west rim for an hour or so, on to better hunting grounds. No jackbooted BLM rangers appeared in the canyon bottom; only the occasional rabbit and two lost-looking deer, foraging through the fallen leaves down by the wash. Slowly the sun slipped out past the rim of the alcove and shone directly onto Rob and the ruin he sheltered in. Solar heating at its best. The sleeping bag Rob was laying in warmed up rapidly, but he stubbornly refused to move; he didn’t want to move his ankle any more than he had to. Plus he knew how fast it would get cold at night, and he wanted to savor the almost summer-like warmth as long as he could. His eyes traced lazy circles around the spirals and sheep and symbols etched into the rock many ages ago. Such absurd patience to hack out such intricate designs above your head, heavy granite hammerstone swinging against the stone chisel. For what purpose? Beauty? Religion? Were the two separate for the Anasazi? The sun continued his path towards the west, towards the horizon, evening, and the great beyond. The plaintive call of a lone canyon wren echoed from somewhere far down the canyon, bouncing off hoodoos, arches, and alcove walls, distorted and repeated until it was hard to decipher its origin. Strange times, Rob drifting in and out of sleep in the lazy afternoon sun. Waking his cheeks felt hot; was it fever or sunburn? The minutes stretched into hours, the buzz of blood in his ears loud, almost overpowering. Some rodent skittered about behind his head amongst the dust and potsherds, but it was too much effort to turn and look. Was it coming closer, to investigate if he was still among the living? Rob rolled his head to the side, staring out again at the canyon bottom. Where the devil was Lori? The mouse scampered over Rob’s chest on his sleeping bag, and he made a half-hearted attempt to shush it away. His mouth felt chapped. His stomach rumbled, which spooked the mouse better than his unenthusiastic gestures had been able to, and it bolted towards the nearest clump of brush. A hawk glided back across the canyon, perhaps the same one as the morning. Did it spy the mouse, or was it too well hidden? Shadows began to drift towards the alcove as the sun drifted further towards the horizon, the dark hands of the trees reaching across the canyon bottom now. Out of the madhouse tangle of leaves and branches and shape and shadow came the silhouette of a woman. Was he asleep again? Still dreaming? No, for the silhouette resolved itself into a solid figure, and Lori walked the slope back up into the alcove, back from her long sojourn.