I spent about two hours, this afternoon, with an online group,”Earth Rising’, in the last session of a class, entitled Gaia Calling. Gaia is an ancient Greek name for Earth. The concept of our planet, and all heavenly bodies, as a living entity, goes back to the earliest antiquity and has credence in modern science-particularly in the realms of seismology, geology and hydrology. This class focused on our relationships with both Earth as a whole and with the area in which each of us lives. My Home Base, as many know, is in the basin of three mountain ranges: Sierra Prieta (west), Bradshaw (south) and Mingus (east). It is also the watershed of the Verde River and its western tributaries.
I have been getting spiritual messages, through this group’s interactions, as well as through meditations guided by an Australian Cosmic Advisor, Elizabeth Peru. Guided meditations are similar, in that the meditant is asked to breathe deeply, whilst focusing on a specific area of the body, then expand downward, into the earth, upward into the heavens and outward, to connect with the spirits of others.
These meditations have brought messages, fairly consistently. They have, in earlier iterations, led me to travel where and when I have and to rearrange my homebound life, in the same way. I was guided, most recently, to offer the memorial hike in honour of my late uncle. That it ended up occurring on Penny’s and my thirty-eighth wedding anniversary was an added confirmation from the Universe- a sign from God.
I have signals for the 1 1/2 months ahead, after today’s session. The rest of June is to be focused on faith-based activities, on at least one community festival and a hike on Granite Mountain, my first since late summer, 2014.
The first week of July is to be focused on community events, followed by a week of faith-based observances. I then get a message to make a journey of advocacy, to Chaco Culture National Historical Park, and its environs. The area is under pressure for development of natural gas resources. My journey would last four or five days, and is contingent on both the health status of the people in the area and on whether the park itself is open. The last week, or so, of July is open-ended, but the indications are for a mix of community and faith-based activities.
These forecasts, as Elizabeth calls them, can, like weather forecasts, be changed-but so far, I have found them quite spot on. It’s when I have indulged my own whims, as in 2013, that I have found self off-track.
I have had more energy, in the past three months, than in the previous ten years. It is likely a combination of things: Essential oil-based supplements, better sleep, being more present in the moment, paying more attention to celestial connections. COVID19 restrictions have kept me mostly around Home Base, but my activity levels have not dropped, appreciably.
Just a few other thoughts, about what I was taught as a kid, and how it has never mattered more than now.
I was taught to look beyond a person’s outer frame-and focus on his/her character.
I was taught that every person matters, ESPECIALLY if other people treat that person as if (s)he doesn’t.
I was taught to be kind to animals, and how much more to other people.
I was taught to stand up to bullies, try to understand their deeper message, make any changes in my behaviour that are warranted and accept a former adversary as a friend, once the tormenting behaviour has been outgrown.
I was taught to honour other people’s lifestyles and traditions, but not encourage those things that demean other people.
I was taught to respect my elders, but not to abide their foolishness.
I was taught to plan ahead.
Most of all, I was taught to love, unconditionally.
Had I not been taught these things, and held them close, I would not be alive today.
Today was a good day. I got to visit Raven Cafe, and while I wore a mask into the establishment, and while ordering and paying afterwards, I found the al fresco dining experience both comforting and free of any worries about COVID19. The young ladies who work there, like all those I encounter during this Twilight Zone of a year, are worthy of no less than the utmost care that each of us who patronize the place can muster.
I finally have restored all the photos that I eliminated from my 2012 posts, whilst still in the limited storage space of Word Press’s free account. Writing means more to me now, so maintaining a Pro Account, with its unlimited storage, has made such restoration possible-and with better quality versions of the older photographs.
Now, to the title subject. As is my wont, I have engaged in reading and listening to both sides, or all sides actually, of the various debates on both COVID19 and the episodes of violence towards individuals, the vast majority of whom have been African-American. I have engaged, as well, in discourse with people who bring up seemingly minor details of these matters, both by way of expressing their concern with the matters at hand and by way of denying such problems exist. There are also those who don’t want to hear what is being said, and interject-sometimes, but not always, with pejoratives and catcalling.
Into this cacophony, have come Black Conservatives-loudly, almost tearfully, denying there is systemic racism extant in this country. The “you low life cousins of mine are bringing it on yourselves” take on the issues MAY have SOME ring of truth, in SOME situations. What it tells me, more immediately, is that these are people who have either lived more comfortable lives than many others of their skin tone or they are just hard-wired to tough out life, without thinking much of misfortunes.
I have never had to endure the day-to-day ignominies faced by, say, Appalachian whites, or trailer dwellers who work day labour, in many small cities and towns across the continent. That doesn’t mean I look down on them. I am hard-wired to tough out misfortunes, but those who aren’t, are deserving of a leg up, along with encouragement to build up their emotional immunity, so that life is not an endless cycle of tears and self-loathing,
On the edges of the cacophony, and often in the middle of it, stands our nation’s 45th President. I have to say this- I do not think he is a well man. I don’t think he’s an evil man, but he is not acting like a well person. It would be far better for all concerned, if he were to step aside, preferably at the end of his current term, as our nation’s 36th President did. Lyndon Johnson was also not well, and did what he could to save himself and the country.
If the voters of this nation want to stay the course of conservatism, there are plenty of others, men and women, who could take the reins. If, as current polls indicate, the electorate is shifting leftward, there are plenty of competent men and women who could serve, from that political stance, as well. (I am far from sold on the current presumptive alternative to Mr. Trump).
The cacophony, however, is unlikely to let up until a critical mass of one end of the spectrum either sees, or experiences, the legitimate concerns of the other. There is far too much urination, to put it indelicately, that is being sold the public as “rain”. Only independent investigation of truth can bring this to an end.
I got back to Home Base at 10:30, this morning, after a restful night in Flagstaff (keeping obedient to our lingering statewide curfew) and a pleasant breakfast of smoked trout and gouda omelet, at a lovely little place called Downtown Diner. Never let it be said that our rising generations are without a work ethic. Every one of the teens and twenty-somethings who served us, this weekend, was working nonstop.
Now, to the title of today’s post. I read, this evening, of the murder of a Santa Cruz County sheriff’s deputy, in the line of duty. It had nothing to do with a protest, of any kind-and was apparently done by a mentally ill man, who had easy access to firearms. For sharing this news, I found myself painted as spreading “an Alt-Right trope”, as the phrase, “All Lives Matter” was part of the article (as was “Black Lives Matter”, in a sympathetic way).
There is a cost to denying others their humanity. For centuries, it has been the purview of an elite which has prided itself on the maintenance of power, wealth and “tradition”, to the detriment of those regarded as the “lower classes”. The deaths of peasants, and later, of slaves, were viewed by the high and mighty as mere trifles.
Those lower classes learned this lesson, all too well. The miasma of bloodletting, during the French and Russian Revolutions, was the natural consequence of those centuries of rule by feudal mindset. The rulers would point to St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, and the peasantry were cowed, for a time. When things became too much to bear, the cherry-picked passages from the Bible no longer held currency. Unleashed, the long-suffering masses lashed out, in every direction.
The same is true today. Decades, if not centuries, of being told to find one’s place, and stay in it, have worn those who have heard such drivel, to a frazzle. There has been progress, and there will be more, in the area of building a just society. The trick, however, is to not, as Pete Townshend warned us, in his song, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, let “the parting on the left” become “parting on the right”.
There is elitism among conservatives, and there is elitism among progressives. There are people living in deprivation, on both sides, as well. If there is to be genuine progress, the recognition of the enemy being our mindsets, our egos, has to be kept front and center. Otherwise, those at whom one looks down one’s nose will bring about changes that will serve to keep the cycle of disparity going.
Of all things that get done in life, none exceed in value the homage paid to those who have gone before. As giving, to those in need, results in getting more of what oneself could use, so does paying respects, to those who have transitioned, bring more honour to the one paying the respects.
I was able to stay in a fine little cabin, a duplex, which I shared with a family of three, who kept to themselves. Jacob Lake Lodge has been built into a resort, of modest size, staying free from any ostentatiousness. It has a small, but quality, restaurant, where pandemic-based spacing is in effect, and of course, masks helped give a sense of health security, for both patrons and staff-when we weren’t eating or drinking, of course.
Cabin 10, where I stayed at Jacob Lake Inn.
After hiking a “warm-up” trail, in search of the actual Jacob Lake, I found only an RV Park, and so returned to the resort, in time for check-out. Then, it was off to the Canyon!
There is a plan being considered, that will result in a sizable amount of trees being cut, in Kaibab National Forest, along the road to North Rim. There is a huge amount of slash and burned-out trunks, left from previous fires and intense storms. To me, it would make the most sense to clear that mess, and probably would put a fair number of people to meaningful work, this month and next. As the trees under consideration are “old growth” forest, it is especially heart-rending to consider the unnecessary damage to the ecosystems.
After arriving at North Kaibab Trailhead, where the Elantra would rest, while I hiked, it took a short bit of checking the route, to make sure I din’t end up going down the North Kaibab Trail, itself. Ken Patrick Trail, a bit to the north of the steep big kahuna, would take me to Uncle Jim Trail. With the help of a thru-hiker doing the Arizona Trail, I was on my way, in short order. You can see from the sign, below, that Ken Patrick was dedicated to service with the National Parks.
About 500 feet along the trail, a large ponderosa pine had fallen across the path, so I went up and around the mess. Three other trees would lie across the trail, at different points.
The first set of overlooks lies about 1/4 mile along the Ken Patrick Trail. This view mirrored what I saw last October, from the Bright Angel Point trail.
The limestone columns remind me of horse heads.Here is a cross section of the Inner Basin.
Nature leaves her little jokes, even at the expense of damaged trees.
A guidepost, perhaps?
Sooner than I expected, it was time to take a hard right.
The trail junction.
The first segment of Uncle Jim Trail is four tenths of a mile. It is also the area with the most up and down inclines, and the only place where there are switchbacks, albeit mild ones. Two downed trees greeted us hikers, along this stretch, as well.
At 7/10 of a mile, along the western leg of Uncle Jim Trail’s 2.1-mile loop, I came to a series of fabulous canyon views.
This drop-off looks milder than it is.Who’s watching whom?
Finding a heart-shaped rock, I placed it carefully against a small set of wood shavings.
A little altar
This natural eroded bowl could serve as an amphitheater.
Looking at this “amphitheater”, I also saw a back country hiker looking over its edge.
I came upon an unofficial overlook, east of the main viewpoint, and appreciated the two “guardians”, looking back towards the rim.
Sandstone heads have this mesa to themselves.
Looking out from this vantage, at Uncle Jim Point, I have a tripod to help me focus.
Here’s a view towards the Inner Basin.
Heading out from this vantage point, I spotted a burnt ponderosa, which could serve as a memory pole, of sorts.
A woodpecker’s home and a place to mark memories.
I spent a few minutes sitting on the landing of a restroom building, writing in my journal. As I did, a fierce gust of wind came up and blew my sunglasses off the landing. I looke for the shades, for about ten minutes, but to no avail. If that is my offering to the forces of nature, so be it. I have a feeling that the wind took them all the way to the rim, and over.
Hearing happy voices, I followed the tral to the main viewpoint. There were four women, a couple and me, taking one another’s photographs. Thus, a pyramid could be envisioned: Four at the base, two in the middle and one on top.
Here I am, courtesy of the “better half” of the couple.
With Uncle Jim Point in the background, I fulfilled a promise to myself and to his family.
Uncle Jim Point juts out into the Inner Canyon.
With that, the two parties and I leapfrogged one another, on the way back, as each took rest breaks. We all missed the junction sign, going back on the Ken Patrick Trail by osmosis. I last saw the four women taking an extended photo shoot at the first overlook. The couple, it turns out, are from Santa Monica, and were enjoying their first venture out of town, since January.
So, my heart’s desire was fulfilled and I headed out of the Canyon, with a brief stop at North Country Market, for a well-earned salted caramel latte and a long, but smooth, drive to Flagstaff.
One of the things on which many men of my generation claim to pried themselves is a relative lack of fear. Many went to serve in the military, in VietNam, saw horrendous things and came back with PTSD. Part of their coping has led to a very strong sense that nothing in civilian American life even comes close to what was experienced in wartime. Thus, COVID-19 is “a socialist hoax” or “an assault on freedom”.
I will agree with the second part. I just don’t agree with my contemporaries’ idea of the assailant. It’s academic, at this point, as to the exact source of the virus. All that is known is that the first victims were in Wuhan. It is not, a brainchild of an American socialist who is looking to take over our country, by killing off conservatives, as some have actually claimed. As I said last night, that socialist is very long in the tooth, and more at risk of getting COVID-19 himself, than most of us are.
Well, live long enough, and you’re bound to hear and see just about anything. There are still people in the world who swear that the Earth is flat, that witches once wore peaked hats and rode on broomsticks, and that there are Sasquatch in the Cascades. We have a wealth of science fiction, being popularized, all along the continuum of thought.
This year, though, is a SyFy dreamworld-and for many, a nightmare. I’ve had a few moments of trepidation, myself. So far, none of my fears, as to personal safety, have panned out. My most earnest prayers, thus, have to be for the safety and well-being of others.
There has been, in the time of pandemic, a particularly acute explosion of awareness, of various acts of violence against people of colour, by both those in authority and private individuals; against indigenous or pastoral groups, by those seeking to exploit mineral or plant resources, without having done the requisite research into archaeological and anthropological remnants at the resource site; by those who are ust lashing out at whoever disagrees with them, on a given issue.
The philosopher, Eckhart Tolle, refers to the existence of a pain body, which stores physical and emotional memories of unhealed pain. This concept explains everything from the phantom limb, felt by amputees to the acting out, by dementia patients, recalling an abuse from many decades earlier.
Many are acting out their pain body memories right now. I know what they are feeling is real-I went through the purging of much buried emotional pain, some of it from my formative years, during the period 2008-14. Part of it surfaced, as I was still caring for my dying wife. The rest came out while I was rebuilding my life. It had to all be handled as quietly as possible, so I thought. None of it was Penny’s fault, or our son’s. Most of it, in truth, came from bad decisions I made, or from things happening around me that, for the most part, were no one’s actual fault.
I have reached the point of stasis, so I know that it is possible to overcome one’s buried pain. It involves communication. It involves trust. It involves commitment to self. It involves resolution. It involves reconciliation and forgiveness-especially towards self.
Those who have committed, and are still committing, crimes against humanity are also committing crimes against themselves-whether they tell themselves it’s for the greater good, for the stockholders or for the survival of the community. It is still an injurious act-with no real winners.
Let us all give some thought to healing our pain bodies.
The relative calm, that has accompanied our state’s lifting of a stay-at-home order, was broken last Wednesday evening. In the Metro Phoenix city of Glendale, a disgruntled young man decided he’d “had enough of being bullied” and went to the large Westgate entertainment district, equipped with firepower. He used that firepower to disrupt the lives of 3 victims, all of whom have survived, and of countless other frightened diners and shoppers. He told police that he was InCel- an involuntary celibate.
In 2014, a similarly “aggrieved” individual went on an even deadlier rampage, in Isla Vista, CA, near Santa Barbara. That person’s plaint was the same-He felt he was forced to be celibate, because of snobby women. My own reaction to this, was that his complaint was balderdash-prompting one of his apologists to scold me and say that I should clean up my own backyard.
Life has shown that I did have some self-work to do, though not what the critic assumed. It has been nearly four decades, since I wallowed in self-pity, about my status in the dating field. Never once, though, did it occur to me that FORCE was the answer-to any social difficulty. Time brought Penny, along with my improved self-concept, greater respect for women as human beings and a realistic ethic , regarding friendships of all sorts. Our marriage lasted until her passing, and would still be extant, had she lived.
I happen to believe in celibacy, outside of marriage, so the concept that one is saddled with it, in an involuntary manner, does not wash, in my view. There will need, for a long time to come, be cause for parents to pay close attention to how their adolescent-and young adult-children are faring socially. There will need, for a long time to come, for society (police, social workers, teachers, weapons safety advocates and groups) to notice those who might be loners, misfits and mentally unstable. Those people do not need access to weapons, and to argue otherwise is a perversion of the right to bear arms.
People, both men and women, should retain the freedom of choice-in any relationship.
I woke today, feeling the power that comes with a day which may be written as 05-20-20, and which is the midpoint of the twentieth week of 2020.ย Being Wednesday, I found myself in two consecutive Zoom calls, for two different reasons, this afternoon.
After those were finished, it was time for a regenerative cat nap-THEN came the urge to finally take the first of four directional walks.ย So, on went the sneakers, sunglasses and ballcap-and east I went.
Today was the last of a series of mild, rather breezy days, so walking was a veritable pleasure.ย My eastward route took me as far as the still-shuttered Planet Fitness franchise, in a shopping center called Frontier Village.ย This was a 1 1/2 mile-one-way jaunt, and relatively easy.
The way back led me along the edge of Prescott VA Cemetery, resting place of many military veterans, and a place where I usually join a large group of volunteers, placing American flags at gravesites, on Memorial Day weekend.ย I’ve heard nothing about that, this year, so am thinking it’s another casualty of COVID19.ย I stopped and read Abraham Lincoln’s “Address at Gettysburg Memorial Cemetery”, thinking about what, today, is “altogether fitting and proper”.
There are three things that come immediately to mind:
ย Treat all citizens, especially those with whom one disagrees, as worthy of respect.
2.ย Honour those who may need us to make small adjustments in our daily conduct- i.e. people who might be immunocompromised, and need those around them, in public places, to wear face masks.
3.ย Continue thinking for self-and that means THINKING, not following the loudest voices in the room, on the Internet or in the streets.
These are altogether fitting and proper, nearly 157 years after our nation’s 16th President dedicated a military cemetery, receiving the remains of those who fought in one of our nation’s bloodiest, and most divisive, conflicts.
A Sagittarian Seeker 