Walk Like Water - Pt 3
Puppies, Deserts, Mountains and Hot Springs - perfect!
MOAB
We camped along the Colorado River for a week of rest and hiking. We have a puppy with us now - Miss Echo Marie Cortez joined us - found in the shadow of the mesa in the window of a thrift store, a rescue from Ute Mountain. How much is that puppy in the window? She is a mutt – with some heeler and terrier in her - has a wonderful soft black coat with a white overcoat, floppy ears, and a brilliant black tail sheathed in feathery white. Her tail looks on fire. She has one expressive brown eye and one wild blue ghost eye. The Indians say the blue eye can see other dimensions and I don’t doubt it.
She stays in the tent with us and wakes us up by pouncing on our chest with both too-big paws, a huge grin, and slobber. We bought her a kennel.
She changed the dynamic of our trip - the Yogini and I are head over heels in love with her - but we won’t be able to hike the backcountry of the parks with her or backpack any distance. She can hike the national forest trails though and is a capable little hiker.
We first stayed in a hotel in Moab and the ancestors grimaced and then laughed out loud when the dog peed and shat on the carpet, the AC didn’t work and we spent too much money for shitty pizza. They were a little more approving when we found a walk-in campsite along the river near delightful Moonflower Canyon. This little canyon is floored with shimmering cottonwoods, surrounded by glowing red cliffs with evidence of old human habitation in an alcove at the end of the trail. A small pool of fresh water from a seep spring is surrounded by stunning green grass and willow. There are petroglyphs at the entrance to the canyon and an ancient ladder made of pinon pine for climbing up a crack in the rock to the flat top of the surrounding mesa.
Infected now with ancient fire, sure that earth is alive and accompanied by the spirits of the ancestors, I rode my bike up the road past the campsite to Hunter Canyon. Stashed the bike chained to a cottonwood at the canyon mouth and hiked up for the canyon headwall. Nobody was in the canyon, the small creek was dry along the trail and there was some difficult scrambling to get up to the seeps along the wall at the top. The scree was unstable and gave way a little with each step. There were no signs of previous habitation or settlement here. The canyon is only about 3 miles long and rises gently to the 200-foot cliffs at its head. A perfect small cliff called to me and I picked my way up the slope until I stood on top and could look back over the valley and surrounding red rock wilderness. I settled into a comfortable sitting position and closed my eyes, relaxed my mind, and let my thoughts drift away on the morning breeze. I sat thus for maybe forty minutes as the sun moved higher in the sky and the shadows shortened. I heard the songs of the ancestors again as they danced the world alive. My head swirled with color and light and simple sounds - the web of life and existence spun through my mind. The silence of the high canyon set my wild spirit free and I knew I was in the right place. All of this was meant to be and could be no other way - deep in canyon country, alone high on the side of a sun-blasted canyon, near a seep spring of fresh water, haunted by native song and spirit. In my mind I heard - “Wear this canyon like a cloak my son. Be strong with its magic”. A weird thing to hear in my head for sure - but it made me strong and light and fearless. I knew the earth and the ancients were talking to me - overwhelming the craziness of the current age with a deeper and stronger wisdom. The wisdom of the canyons and the ancient beating heart of earth herself. I would indeed wear the magic of this canyon as a cloak.
Three more hikes we did in and around Moab. The first was a lovely trek to Morning Glory Arch up Negro Bill canyon. It’s a busy trail following a gurgling little stream, but I was alive to the stream, the rocks the clouds, and the smells. We took Echo, that pie-eyed little puppy and she walked and traipsed all the way without issue. At the top of the trail, we rested under the arch - more a natural bridge - and watched a group of young people repel down the gap between the arch and the wall. Surrounded by red rock, water, scrub oak, and sand we hiked our way back down the trail. It was an uneventful hike up a fairly crowded trail to a miraculous spring and pool of clean clear water under a natural red-rock bridge. The canyon is a serpentine affair with a couple of opportunities to go astray. It branches and forks and winds its way into the slick rock highlands around Moab. The ancients were with me here too, but only as a quiet, barely heard thrum below the calls of the hikers and far away hum of the road. I struggled to hear them - to hear the mind being projected into rocks, sky, clouds, and creek.
We hiked too to Corona Arch - a magnificent spray of rock taking the same shape as a corona on the surface of the sun – sunburst frozen in red-rock sandstone. The hike was across much slick rock and the ancients were strong here. The many people on the trail tended to drown out the spirit of the place, but it was there and discernable. I was attuned to listening to the mind underlying everything and its impact on my own scattered thoughts. I thought not in language but in shapes and feelings and impressions, walked mind-full and care-full upon the earth. Things became hallucinogenic…spirit everywhere, but I alone detected it. Corona Arch was a dip in very deep water.
The last hike was a solo jaunt up Hidden Valley - a cleft in the rock behind the cliffs that front Moab. If you follow the trail far enough up the valley you intersect the Moab rim trail where you can hike, bike, or drive all the way back down to the river. Hidden Valley was a quiet, peaceful place separated from the Moab hubbub by the rocks and distance, and time. The valley was carpeted in wild oats and grass with a few shrubs here and there. The trail was sandy and mostly flat after an early scramble up a steep escarpment above the valley. Peace reigned here - sweet quiet peace. I walked in thrall to the walls around me - they were craggy and sharp cut eventually playing out to the smooth slick rock orbs close to the river. Yellow, blue, white, green, and a sandy cream color were the colors of the valley. There were few other hikers and I swung down the trail full of the sky, the cliffs, and the silence, my mind kaleidoscopic with the constantly changing imagery. I came to a small rise and the trail continued down toward the river canyon on the far side. Across the river, the fantastic surreal landscape of Canyonlands beckoned. Battlements and spires and crenelated towers, fluted columns, grand staircases, and long sloping ramps were lit by the beneficent sun. As the sun moved across the sky, so the shadows of the canyons moved and flowed and changed into phantasms of light and dark. Here I halted and looked for a shelf of rock to sit and bask in the sunshine, quiet my mind, and absorb the holy. I clambered up a slight scree slope and found an excellent boulder willing to support my ruminations. I sat in the sun, focused on a creamy cliff across the valley, and listened - over there a small songbird - over there a deer step - over there a mouse skitter - a slight fly buzz to my right. I could hear everything. The landscape itself spoke with a deep vibration not heard but felt. The ohm of yoga comes close to describing it, but no words on a page will ever suffice.
The sound of wilderness peace is the sound of everything. The earth hums to herself and we appear. The earth sings us into existence with a deep thrum vibration. I basked in the sun and reveled in the earth's buzz. I was alive in living earth - deep within its atmosphere - supported by its holy rocks - warmed by golden and perfect sunshine - home. I climbed down from my rocky perch and made my way back to the trail seeking to disturb the slope as little as possible, mind quiet and relaxed, body steady and strong. I pitched back down the trail the way I came, alive and aware. Every instance, every leaf and petal and flower and pebble spoke to me in the language of the earth. Every detail of this walk, every tiny feature was made up of earth speak, earth mind. The cerulean sky above the grey-red cliffs, the golden grass and white puffy seed pods, the gnarled juniper trees, and broken shards of rock - all of it was perfect. And I - my mind stilled into reverence - walked on, thrilled just by the swinging motion of my arms and legs - amazed at the ability of my muscles to accommodate and negotiate the tricky terrain without any struggle. I flowed back down the rocky escarpment and away from this sacred place. I felt its goodbye in my bones and legs and arms - it thanked me for my ramblings and worship. It smiled at my scattered thoughts and invited me to return.
It is for us to play our part, to write our story, to be the human part of this mystical concrescence as it is laid down in time - layer after layer - minute by minute - eon by eon - and so help create the magic and wonder of this planet. As I walked away from the trail toward the parking area and the waiting truck, I turned to the mountains, bowed deep with hands at my heart - Namaste, Mother.
Hot Springs
“So… Enlightenment,”; said the shaman from the far end of the steaming pool of crystal clear hot water. “Aint it great?”
Drops of steaming hot water dripped from his shoulder-length hair and beard and his blue eyes crackled and glowed above a magnificent grin. Here, I thought, was a spirit guide sent to advise and council. Yogini - boldly and beautifully naked herself - responded - “I don’t claim enlightenment, but I know how to get there. When I need it, I concentrate on the small and beautiful and my mind eases and I am brought back out of myself and can focus again on what is important.”
“Then you have all the tools you need!” exclaimed the Guide.
We left Moab to search for more hot springs in the cold, crisp fall. We found some on an organic farm and small resort located in the San Louis valley on the alluvial western slope of the Sangre De Christo mountains. Here, you can spend a few bucks and soak, camp on the grounds under the juniper, hike to some mine ruins, and work on the farm for bread and veggies. It is a communal affair, not run like a conventional resort - run specifically for travelers, wanderers, and seekers – only enough money collected to maintain the operation, not profit. It is a slice of heaven along the road. I will not tell you its name or its exact location - you will have to explore and find it on your own.
We sat surrounded by scrub oak and juniper in a rock-lined, gravel-bottomed pool filled with 100-plus degree water that trickled in at the far end from the mouth of a PVC pipe. All around us aspens flickered yellow/gold in the soft breeze. We sat naked with seven others in the pool enjoying the hot water. The outside air was a cool 40 degrees. The cold air around our heads and shoulders contrasted sharply with the hot water around our torsos.
Soaking in a hot spring naked with strangers is a wonderful way to break down any trepidation or illusion there might be in conversation. It is hard if not impossible to put on airs when you and your neighbor are naked as the day you were born. The talk was free and wild and we willingly shared experiences and outlooks with our fellow wanderers. One couple shared their story of near retirement from the workaday world to an RV cruising the country but had yet to really let go and embrace non-work. I sensed their fatalist notion that they would never successfully break the ties and give up working entirely for life on the road. We all commiserated and encouraged them to do what their hearts told them regardless of what the bank balance said.
The conversation turned to travel and art - the wonder of exploration and the satisfaction of a good book read. The Spirit Guide - told us he took 7 days to travel 100 miles in Southern Utah. If he saw a trail he wanted to explore he stopped, got out, and hiked. He had no preconceived idea of where or when he wanted to go. He had no end goal in mind. He drifted across the country with no set schedule - lived in the moment, and enjoyed the wild. Others in the pool nodded sagely and wished to be so carefree.
Spirit Guide said - “More and more people are looking for a better way to live. Relax, let your spirit take you, listen to your heart, and go. Stop and explore along the way. Give up the game of success and stability and responsibility - go, wander, explore.” With that bit of advice, he smiled, stood, walked to the end of the pool, got out and dressed, shouted “Safe travels!” and waved goodbye.
Later, farther up the hill, soaking in a different, bigger pool surrounded by drooping willow and tall grass with a grand view of the mountains across the valley I wondered about the words of Spirit Guide. Many people are looking for a new way to live. I am one of them. This trip to the mountains was a long exploration - sometimes frantic - looking for something profound - seeking an answer to the question - how should we live? I had heard the ancestors in Mesa Verde and Moab, and here it was again - here in a small pool of hot water above the long-ago pasture and summer grounds of the ancestors - here again, was the answer.
Travel lightly, explore gently, live by your wits and on your own schedule, and bravely wander where you will. That was the answer. Give up the normal notion of travel and satisfaction. Happiness and satisfaction are here IN the moment, fully immersed in the beauty, love, and exuberance given freely by the magnificent and beneficial Earth. This advice and guidance were given by a naked seer without a question being asked. Here was clarity and direction - here was magic - here was the wisdom of the ancestors.
The ancestors considered hot springs sacred. There are stories of warring tribes laying down their arms in the vicinity of springs - to coexist and heal. The Nez Perce left their babies hidden beside springs for safety when fleeing US Cavalry and found them perfectly unharmed and asleep when they doubled back after losing the soldiers. The Utes believed hot springs contained water spirits that healed and created. The tribe itself originated when First Man came dripping out of a spring, became flesh and blood, and rose from the steaming water to create the world. Today, under a willow hanging over a miraculous natural pool of hot mineral water I too was healed.
Saved by water in the Blood of Christ mountains.
