March 16, 2016, Prescott- I’ve had an affection for things Celtic, since long before things Celtic became trendy. My half-English mother forbade the playing of Irish music in the house, but she’s come around to at least allow its play, on the music channels of her cable service.
My own affection for such is part of a lifelong connection with those who are close to the soil. So, I feel bonds with the indigenous- not only my Penobscot ancestors on my paternal grandmother’s line, but all Native Americans, Inuits, Siberians, Hawaiians, Australian aboriginals and those whom I called, in my childhood ignorance, “the natives” (tribal Africans).
I associate Celts, ancient Teutons, Slavs and the nomadic peoples of the Eurasian steppe with the land, also. It seems they ravaged one another, in wave after wave, and usually just as the one group was settling into sedentary life, there came the next horde.
That’s been the way of humanity, since we headed up, out of Africa, and wherever else we may have mastered the art of upright mobility, and spread across the continents. We have so often looked to the other’s yard, for prosperity- or at least for a change of scene. Indigenous people had these conflicts, too, though when the Europeans came to these shores, with visions of commerce and gain, the American peoples were in the process of establishing a peaceful network of trade routes, from southeast Alaska and the taiga of Canada, to Tierra del Fuego, and so many points in between. It is highly likely that there was trading between the Aleuts and the people of Japan; between the Greenland Inuit and the peoples of Scotland and Norway (even before Iceland was settled); and, possibly, between the seafaring people of what is now northeast Brazil and the kingdoms of western Africa. Then, too, nobody could hold a candle to the masters of the ocean: Those who went east, from the Malay Peninsula, and became the Micronesians and Polynesians, or west, and became the Malagasy.
We face, possibly in my lifetime, if not in my son’s, a decision about the proper use of the resources on our planet’s Moon, then those of at least the near planets of our solar system. Green- the colour of many of our wardrobes, tomorrow, will continue to have different connotations to different people. Mean green, or gentle green? Commerce, at any cost, or careful stewardship? It seems this has gone on, since Croesus minted his first coins, or even since the nations that pre-dated the Great Flood, if one believes in such things.
Where are you, in this debate? (My Xangan friends, in particular, please know that I don’t take umbrage at contrary opinions, even if I get a little spirited once in a while.) Express yourselves, and Erin Go Bragh!
March 13, 2016, Prescott- “It is not yours to keep, this ever-changing trail”- Laura and the Killed Men, “The Ever-Changing Trail” (All rights reserved, Laura Kepner- Adney and Sam Golden, 2015).
I sat, joyfully, in one of my favourite evening live music venues, The Raven Cafe, and listened to this Tucson country-folk band’s first set. The line above is from their a capella set closer.
They excel with instruments, also.
Include the video, as it happened that the evening was a fine counterpoint to two hikes I took this weekend, on Prescott Circle Trail. Yesterday afternoon, the spontaneity of which I wrote, a few posts ago, kicked in. I accepted the urge to do a “fill-in-the blank” hike, to the top of Badger Peak, which is circumnavigated by Section 7 of the Circle. The peak is also called “P” Mountain, owing to the large white first letter of my adopted town’s name.
Here are some scenes. The first two were taken from the access road, to which I transferred from Prescott Circle, at the half-way mark to the summit.
View from road leading to Badger Peak summit
View of Government Canyon spur, from Badger Peak access road
Communications Towers, Badger Peak summit
P is for Prescott, Badger Peak summit
View of Watson Lake, from Badger Peak summit
The third photo shows a communications station, atop the peak. The white circular arrangement is the top of the P. There is no access to the arrangement, in its entirety, without permission of the Yavapai Nation, which owns the mountain. The final photo shows Watson Lake and the Granite Dells, from the summit. This hike was four miles, round trip.
This afternoon, a friend, who had wanted my help with a remodeling project, postponed it until next week. This gave rise to spontaneous hike # 2: Segment 5 of the Circle. It is a ten-mile round trip, something I’ve not done during the Fast.until today. I was inspired in this by another friend, who is both older and physically smaller than I am, and who hikes and runs during this time period. So, out of my comfort zone I went- with enough water on which to fall back, in the event I felt weak. As it happened, that was not a problem, as the air was cool this afternoon, and the Sun was hidden by clouds, most of the time.
This segment goes from a point south of Upper Goldwater Lake, around the south and west shores of that body of water, above the west shore of Lower Goldwater Lake, which is closed to the public and through Prescott National Forest, to White Spar Campground. This hike was ten miles, round trip. Sitting here tonight, I feel refreshed and focused.
Here are some scenes of Segment 5.
Trailhead sign, Prescott Circle Segment 5
“Tree-pod”, south of Goldwater Lake
Note the “Tree-Pod”, on the right.
Gray granite boulders, south of Goldwater Lake
South shore, Upper Goldwater Lake
Pair of daisies, Prescott Circle Trail
Memorial to Yarnell Hill Firefighters
On the left are a pair of daisies, seen along the way, above Lower Goldwater Lake. The heart-shaped stone memorial, on the right, is dedicated to the 19 firefighters who died at Yarnell Hill, in June, 2013. It is atop a ridge, 1 1/4 miles southeast of White Spar campground.
View from Monument Ridge, south of White Spar
Trailhead, White Spar Campground
The Sierra Prieta range can be seen from Monument Ridge. On the right, is the trailhead at White Spar Campground. I spent only ten minutes, resting, at this very full facility. There were 2 hours’ back journey left.
On the way back, I stopped for several minutes at this lovely nook, Banning Creek.
Small pond, Banning Creek
Small pond, Banning Creek
There had been a fair crowd here, when I was headed towards White Spar. When I returned, only one lone bicyclist and I had the place to ourselves- and he was about to leave. I saw very few other people, the rest of the way, until I got back to Upper Goldwater.
Now, with the next two weekends booked, I will wait until April to take on the next segments of Prescott Circle- unless things get canceled and spontaneity calls.
March 9, 2016, Prescott- I have finished reading a few books this year, most notably “Keep Moving”, by Dick Van Dyke, “The Witches”, by Stacy Schiff, “Terra Incognita”, by William Barnes and “Extreme Ownership”, by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin.
Current reads are “The Dinosaur Heresies”, by Robert Bakker, “Sphere”, by Michael Crichton and “Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself”, by Dr. Joe Dispenza.
This last was loaned to me by a friend, so I am making finishing it a priority, out of courtesy, since she is also making reading it a priority. There is a wealth of food for thought and for self-transformation, in this fascinating book.
As many of you know, I am investing in self-healing, through careful use of Certified, Therapeutic-Grade Essential Oils and, by and large, avoiding fast food and beverages laced with processed sugar. Regular exercise, in the forms of hiking, and hitting the treadmill three times a week, has also been beneficial.
Dr. Dispenza advocates these practices, but goes a step further. The “self” he wants people to leave behind is the self that regards attachments to limiting physical and mental habits as unavoidable. I will be incorporating his recommendations into my own meditation practices, as my reading of this book progresses, and will post on my findings.
One change in my behaviour that is already in place is that I will refrain from making grandiose schedules of travel and visiting, well ahead of time, overextending myself and then changing things up. My journeys will still happen, when I am off work for the summer, or on breaks during the year. They will, however, tend to be more spontaneous, and “out of the box”, in terms of where and when.
I am also finding myself being more sensible in managing resources. This, oddly, derives from being more detached from needing those resources. Thus, I can step back, look at a given situation, and make the correct choice, for me, whether it be frugal or generous.
Being more relaxed and engaged with people is another bonus I have taken from this book. The notion of totally letting go of past hurts, minor slights and misunderstandings is something that could benefit all of us. It will actually result in better sleep, more energy during the day and faster metabolism. I am looking forward to further learning what he has to say about personal resurgence.
February 24, 2016, Prescott- In “To Kill A Mockingbird”, Scout reminds one of the racist men that he, too, is a father. The man then walks away from a hateful mob. I was reminded of that scene, this evening, when a “racially-mixed” couple made a presentation, on their experience living here in this largely Libertarian city. It seems that, not so many years ago, a noose was tied and left hanging, from a tree branch in their front yard. While many treat them well, there are those I have historically viewed as misfits, trying to make those they view as square pegs, fit into round holes of their imaginations.
We each set a noose to a tree, at some point in our lives. Usually, it’s the noose of blame- intended for someone else, as a way of evading responsibility. Sometimes, it’s the noose of “Us vs. Them”. Other times, the “wagons in a circle” noose hangs, from the branch of imbalance. We certainly see lots of these, of late.
The worst nooses of all, though, are those we set for ourselves. The noose of anger, or that of addiction, lead us to swing from some unsightly branches. The noose of self-pity, now, there’s one I have to work especially hard to keep off my neck, at times.
I am getting better at facing such traps, and cutting them down, before finding myself looking at a victim- or being one. It’s been nearly 24 years since we heard, from a flawed, but cogent, voice: “Can’t we all just get along?”
Northern lights, prehensile, love in all its forms, dish soap
I have often struggled, over the years, to understand the motives and behaviour of my contemporaries and certain of my elders. Children and teens, especially since I have “grown up” are easier to “grasp”, in terms of what makes them tick.
I have done better in understanding people of all ages, over the past five or six years, having seen, firsthand, how stress and anxiety can lead good people to hurt others. God knows, I have dished out a few hurts, myself, and also because of stress.
Lubricants, of various kinds, from dish soap to sweet nothings, can ease much pain and lend to the solution of all kinds of problems. Their partner in so doing is love, in all its forms. I have written about love, of course, most recently on Valentine’s Day. The expected earful, about love being far more than mere romance, was not long in coming. To me, the fact is that love is the basis for the existence of the Universe.
The Creator’s Love for His creatures is evident in everything that is good, and in all the challenges that beset us, as well. Some have faced sufficient challenges in this life, as to want to throw things at me, for having said this. It remains, however, that challenges and problems are frequently the vehicles to illumination and understanding. A physical example lies in the solar storms and flares that,,apparent.
I will write further about those realizations that have come to me, through trial, especially over the past twenty six years. It is my goal to give rest to the adage, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”
February 14, 2016, Prescott- I spent Valentine’s Day on a trail, of which more in the next post. Right now, I feel the need to address some concerns that came up, regarding a post I wrote on another social media site.
No, love is not physical in origin. It is not limited to the chosen few, nor is it something that should cause rifts between friends, siblings or parents/children. In a contentious society, such as the one we have now, such rifts often happen- over anything.
Love is a spiritual force. It began with everything we experience with our senses, being brought into existence. It became manifest in plants, when they propagated. Likewise, with animals, when they procreated, then nurtured their offspring and family members.
Humans have taken love to the next level- and we see the spiritual, feel the eternal. I have spent the past five Valentine’s Days as an observer, a well-wisher to couples, and a would-be soother to the distressed. There have been some, including one I thought was a friend, who have attacked me for even hinting that we should treat today as a time for honouring the concept of relationships. More’s the pity.
The fact is, most of us have been in a close friendship that, sooner or later, evolves into romance, and in many cases, marriage. Many of us, myself included, have had such friendships, and I have certainly had my share of those which “went south”.
I have had one that endured, and that’s really all that matters-in my case. Love is eternal. It will survive the worst of excesses, abuses and miscarriages of justice. It can be confused with its physical manifestations of affection, and lust. They feel good, when they are mutually accepted by both in a friendship, for a time. Real love, coming from the spirit, feels good for all time.
Hope your Valentine’s Day went well. If it didn’t, may you receive more love, as this year progresses.
February 13, 2016, Glendale- The slight, bespectacled girl embraced her tall, athletic friend, and caressed her blonde forelock. “Are you scared? You are safe now.”, the shorter girl spoke, in comfort and assurance.
There were about 500 of us here, tonight, at Independence High School, in the southern corner of this vibrant, artsy city, immediately to the west of Phoenix. Yesterday, two girls, who were openly in a relationship, died in what appears to have been a murder-suicide. We were here to pray and place lit candles at the makeshift memorial that lines the southern exterior wall of the gymnasium. Those who felt like talking, did. Those who needed a hug from someone they knew and trusted, got all the comfort they could handle.
I am a stranger here, tonight. It was 2011, when I last worked in a classroom at Independence High, as well as at the other campuses of Glendale Union High School District. I had good experiences here, and got on well with the students. This evening, though, drew me like moth to flame. I explained my ties to one of the current school counselors, who was introducing herself to anyone who seemed out of place, and making sure we had a connection to the school. It was enough for me to just stand and silently pray, offer positive thoughts and accept a candle from one of the other teachers. It was graciously lit by a well-dressed student, and I joined a line of people in placing the candles at the memorial site. I stayed for about 20 minutes further.
Candlelight vigils have become all too common- as have the acts of despair, of giving up, which lead to the cause of the vigils. One of my online friends responded to my initial post about the girls’ deaths, with one word: “Bleh”. My own response, every, single time is a sinking heart.
This is Valentine’s Eve. People at other high schools are having dances and parties. People across this maddening, beautiful Valley, with its frenetic traffic and culture of anonymity are crowding into hotels and motels, paying premium prices for the sake of a holiday. At Independence, suffering proto-adults, and their elders, are doing what far too many of their peers have had to do, since 1997: Mourn those among them who have fallen victim- sometimes by their own hand, sometimes by the Hand of Anonymous Rage.
It would be nice to be able to simply say: STOP!- and have it be so. For now, though, all I can do is be here for people I’ve never met, people who might recognize me from five years ago, people who are part of a generation I have come to love with the highest level of intensity. I want “my kids” to thrive, to dream, to live to the fullest.
I dream- of the day when vigils may come to an end.
A Sagittarian Seeker 