Dragon at Heart

It is a new year, both solar and lunar. A time to move beyond reflections and reflexes, a time to branch out with courage into the new. I am glad that this is a dragon year. In some legends, a dragon is an old snake who earned a large pearl of wisdom, gathered and amassed during the many changes of skins, to ignite a deep transformation into a creature of all elements. Breathing fire, flying through the air, swimming in the water....it's a great metaphor. Incredible potential lies within, if we accept our life lessons, disappointments and pains as equal to our joys in leading us toward transcendence.

And I meditate on the power and simplicity of the stream flowing somewhere in the desert. Life is ever moving.....

Golden Mountain: Hidden in Plain Sight

I cannot tell you how many times I have passed this gray hill. From a distance it looks like a temple or natural pyramid. It is located very near the entrance to Interstate 17, which I travel on several times a week. So this should have jumped out at me long ago. But I didn't see it until now.

Thanks to my new friend Jerry at Friends of the Forest, I saw it. I learned that this sacred hill was once a great pueblo where many hundreds of people lived many hundreds of years ago. Located near the Wet Beaver Creek, it was home to a settlement of Sinaguan people. It is reputed to take on a special golden tone in the light of the rising sun on special days of the year. Once I saw it, I could recognize the sacred nature of this place. The fact that it had been hidden in plain sight, increased its allure. Once I saw it, I knew that I would visit sometime soon.

The road and the trails that lead to this site are very rocky or covered. In fact most of the base of the mountain is surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. I got lost several times trying to find the entrance. However, since I was visiting during the shadow period of the Full moon, I felt that I couldn't leave without visiting the top, leaving an offering. I found prints of horses' hooves and followed them until I saw what looked like an entrance. There was a special "gateway" stone, but it too was covered by the barbed-wire fence. I decided to make an offering of red silk. If I didn't find a way in, at least I would show my respect to the spirits of the people who lived there so long ago.

Maybe it's a trick of the mind, but I felt some slight shift in my perception after I made that offering. I turned to my right and found traces of a path that had been grown over with cactus and holly bushes. I had to keep moving along the path. Even if I risked climbing the fence, a dry creek bed stood between the fence and the base of the hill. Dangerous indeed. My perseverance was rewarded after 20 minutes of walking when I found a narrow opening in the fencing. As far as I could see, it was the only way in. It led to a path that skirted the northern base of the hill and ascended upward. It was clear that very few people came this way.

As the top of the hill started coming into view I heard a strangely familiar scream. It was repeated over and over again. I looked up and saw some agitated ravens.I have seen many ravens in my life, especially around Sedona, but I have never seen a ravens' nest. They tend to avoid people. So they clearly didn't like me being so close to their nest. They kept yelling at me even as I walked past the place where they could see me. In my mind I hoped they could perceive that I had not intentions of going anywhere near their nest. And then, I thought, with their symbolic connection to the underworld, they just might be guardians for this place.

I eventually made it to the top and saw pottery shards here and there, as well as outlines of dwellings. The view was spectacular and I imagined it must have been a wonderful place to live. I walked around the top until I found the remains of a flat grinding stone. Maybe it was a cooking space or a working space for handicrafts. I don't know, I only know that this spot felt special. So, I stood at that point and meditated, connecting my feet to the Earth and opening my 7th Chakra to the Sky. I relaxed and said a blessing for the spirits of the people who once lived there. Then I laid a handful of Cedar needles on the grinding stone. The minute the last needle hit the stone, those ravens flew up, but this time making sweet sounds like the of their jay cousins.

What a pleasant surprise! I laughed and smiled. I admired the golden flowers growing up there. I opened my arms and felt the wind sweeping over my body. I paid my respects and began my descent. When I finally reached the bottom, I covered myself with lavender oil and gratitude. When I followed the rest of the path, I realized it had been very near my car, but somehow I missed it. I hope that this experience would help me remember, to see the gifts and opportunities hidden in plain sight.

Spring: A New Beginning

After a couple of close brushes with winter weather, even on the first official day of Spring, the season is finally here. In all its glory. Cherry blossoms, apple blossoms, bees, grasshoppers, butterflies, hummingbirds, finches,bluejays, hawks, desert quail, lizards, rabbits and the every present ravens. All are out enjoying the bright warmth.

Finally, I am back out on the trail, connecting deeply with the Earth. Breathing with the fresh breeze. Enjoying the fatigue in my legs as I climb. I feel alive!

As I hike around Chimney Rock and the Thunder Rock summit, I see some of my favorite hiking places from a new vantage point. I breathe and I am feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, watching troops of butterflies dance around me. It is really magical as I meditate on the joy of being alive.

I ponder about the fate of our brothers and sisters in Japan, experiencing yet another earthquake. Spring is a time for new beginning, but I know that it must be difficult for them to imagine beginning again. I give thanks for my blessings, my health, my family, my friends, and above all, my purpose. I pray that the energy or money that we can send to Japan, can truly make a difference.

Considering the Earth

 
 
 
 

It is still winter, but winter looks very different in the desert. On this day I decided to take a walk in the more open desert rather than be shielded by the great red rocks. The beauty is inspiring. As I walk around I think about all of the things befalling the Earth, all of the damage we have done as a species, as well as the natural radiation and changes imposed from the sun and other celestial bodies.

The Earth is constantly changing, shifting. But it remains beautiful and nurturing, a home for many creatures. Even if our actions bring on another ice age, even if we cease to a part of this web of life, this life will continue. As I look at this desert landscape I consider the Earth with a sense of hope. That which we now value, the trees and lakes and hillsides that command top dollar, could be gone in an instant. But this beauty will remain.

I not only see this beauty, I feel this beauty. I meditate on this beauty and my Dahn Jon is alive. The vibrations of these beautiful thin trees, tall grass and dry ground resonate within me. And I am blessed.

Beauty and Service

After all these months of hiking in Sedona I have finally hit the Soldier's Pass Trail. Maybe it was the influence of my last post. Maybe a weekend day in the fall is the only time that it is really accessible for me (limited hours for entry). Either way, Sunday was a good day to go. For the most part, I was on my own and when I ran into people later, I made some good connections. This place is famous for a pass that connects to other trails, a series of seven small natural pools, a set of caves and an arch. I didn't expect that the trail had so many offshoots, so I did not see everything. I enjoyed the cool air, the magnificent views and the plant life.

Unlike my trek to the burnt out forest, many of the plants on the Soldiers Pass Trail are pretty common to this area. It was the abundance that surprised me. Especially, the Century plants, a species of Agave that blooms once in 100 years. There were so many here that I lost count. Because it is deep autumn, they were all in various stages of death or decay. I took many photos and shared a few here. When they are in their prime, they are a beautiful shade of golden yellow with red piping. Early in the summer, they were surrounded by bees and birds and sometimes dripping with nectar. But I had not visited this trail in the Summer, so I had not seen this many Century plants in one place. I could only imagine what they looked like in the Summer.

Because I was on the Soldier's Pass Trail, and these trees stood up like guards at attention, I started thinking of them as Sentry plants. I couldn't resist the word play, and they inspired many creative thoughts.It was a beautiful climb. And then, there were some other surprise plant life. I have a photo here with an Arizona Cypress. I am told they only grow in this valley. This one looks pretty old and it was growing right out of the rock. I see that a lot with the plants here. I guess they have to take advantage of what little shade, soil or moisture wherever it is provided. I long to be that creative. I have said it before and will probably say it many times, that the beauty here inspires me. Beyond the aesthetic appeal. It's the inspiration of possibility.

And I walk on in gratitude to this beauty. I open my hands, my arms, my heart and I receive this beauty. This is my temple; the perfect place for meditation and contemplation. In this space, you don't have to believe in God or spirits or energy. You will feel something essential that renders discussions on belief moot.

On that note, this was a day when many people in this community transcended the boundaries of their own beliefs and worked together to help many local charities. It was called Mitzvah Day. Mitzvah is a good deed, also a commandment because it is the action that forms the basis of healthy society. I was touched by the hundreds of people generously donating their time. I was happy with the opportunity to meet some of my "neighbors." I was impressed by the way the people were reflecting the beauty of their surroundings. People of various ages and abilities. I chose to work at the "Peace Garden" and learned a lot about gardening in a short time. I took a photo of the medicine wheel some of us weeded, seeded and watered. I am grateful for yet another inspirational lesson in creativity.

A Time for Soul Searching

Many things to to reflect on during this time. Mid-term Elections, Dia de Los Muertos, All Souls Day, Halloween, Samhain. And last, but not least, National Diabetes month. As I was hiking on Sunday, I wondered if there was a conscious decision to have Diabetes month right after a national sugar fest. Because it is a time of Celtic New Year and time for remembering and honoring ancestors, Diabetes stayed with me. How many of my family members have been touched by this disease. Both maternal and paternal family members are prone to it.

Without consciously knowing it, I developed an odd relationship with sugar. As I became an adult, I noticed how certain "foods" made me feel and I didn't like it. I began to treat sugar with the same aversion some people have for alcohol or tobacco. Maybe somewhere deep down inside I knew that I was carrying this genetic time bomb, that would be detonated with a significant amount of sugar. Maybe I carried terrible memories of my paternal grandmother's amputation or the stories of how my maternal great grandmother had cuts that would not heal. Maybe, I was stifling the worry for my siblings, trying not to imagine them in Diabetic comas. These thoughts all flowed back to me like the little skulls and scary masks that are emblematic of this time of year.

Thankfully, I crossed the river of my fourth decade in pretty good health. Thankfully, my ancestors had given me hope and courage, despite the genetic time bomb. Thankfully, I made peace with my own mortality and I found a practice that helped me know and accept myself physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. I took a series of deep breaths and really began to live.

Each one of us carries some frailty or sensitivity that we inherit. Truly a lot of our personal healing involves doing the healing work our parents or grandparents didn't finish. So this time for remembering is also a time for accepting my responsibility, my part in the weaving a great cloth. And I breathe again.

It's been years since I gathered candy for Halloween. It's been years since I put on a costume. But I think this year I got to see the fun in it again. In lovely Sedona, not only is the weather pleasant, but everyone around town seemed to be dressed up on Sunday. At the grocery store, at the gym, at the coffee shop and on the streets. All sorts of costumes. It caused me to reflect on what, why or how I stopped celebrating life in this way, how I became so serious. I did a long hike on a new trail. Quite appropriate. I can start to take a different approach. I am seeing new ways for integrating my internal growth with connections to others.

I sat down to meditate in a cool spot. My spine charged with energy, my hands charged with energy, my lungs filled with the fresh scents of pine and juniper. My eyes filled with the bright light reflected on new flowers and leaves. My feet were tired from the rough rocky path, but my heart was full and grateful peace. I was happy to get back into town, to experience the energy of this time of year.

As I voted today, I marveled at how crowded the place was. I do not always agree with the politics of some of my new neighbors, but I do like their sense of civic involvement. I also appreciate their easy-going style. I have mentioned again and again how beautiful this place is and how blessed I feel to be with these red stone hills. But I am beginning to appreciate the beauty of the people here, too. Maybe the red rocks have softened my heart. I hope so.

By the way, two of these photos are from NYC. I couldn't resist sharing them.

Blessings and light,

Joseph

A Season of Color

If you have been reading my blog posts, then you have been sharing in my enjoyment of Red Rock Country. The beautiful colors and shapes of the rock formations frame an overload of the senses. Among those great stones are vivid tones of plant life, great and small. Various shades of green are accented by bright florals that seem to shift each month. The air is so clear, that the sky seems to step down and lend its own hues to this parade of color. Subtle scents take flight and dance in that clear air, along with sound hushed by the pine and juniper. It seems like perpetual dazzlement. And yet, this richness of beauty does not compare autumn in the Northeast.

I am back in New York. I have spent time in the city and in the country. For several days I was up in the Catskills/Shawangunk region where I had lived and worked. I haven’t been gone that long, but somehow I had forgotten about the majesty of Fall. In my mind, somehow, the triumph of those hearty plants in the high desert had replaced the graceful passage of time marked by changing leaves. As practitioners of mindfulness, we often speak of the effect preconceptions can have on one’s experiences. What about its opposite? When I approached these trees, this vista, this tapestry of red, gold, orange and brown, I had lost my “conception” of Fall.
With gratitude, I looked into the green warmth of the hemlock, bathed in the magenta, burgundy, orange and chrome auras of maple. I felt the sharp contrast of the birch… Leaves. Is that what they do, these colors? Do they leave the mind, to be enjoyed freshly each year? I reflected on what I was now experiencing and what I may not have fully appreciated before. Meditating on beauty, I sat on a cool stone, with my back straight, in a wash of sunlight among the trees. It seemed like a perfect spot. In front of me was a large dead or dying pine. Hence, the reason for the clear spot of light. More gratitude and reverence for the passing giant.

Without is needles, its coat, its trunk is bare. I can see the whole tree. It seems firm and sturdy. This is a good model for my spine as I meditate. I imagine my spine as clear and tall as this pine. Reaching toward the sky and not buffeted by winds. I relax and feel the flow of energy. I smell see hear this beauty and I am introduced to myself anew. My reflection leads me to spiritual considerations and all those years of bible study as a child. I have a sense of appreciation for the story of the man who was told he had to be reborn. Even as a child, it was obvious that he was not being guided to reverse time and re-enter the physical birth process. However, as a child, I had no storehouse of experiences; everything had a freshness. I could not see that I had nothing to lose. In this spot, I sit and recognize the power of allowing yourself to lose all that you know, to allow your faculties of perception the gift of newness. To be reborn is to experience life as if it were new. Another flash and I remember the apostle who said he died daily. I can understand that this was an expression of celebration and not of suffering. Because of this daily death, he could experience life anew on a regular basis. To do this everyday takes conscious choice.

Sincerely, I breathe in new air, humble myself and release what I “know,” even the experiences of each day. With a straightened spine, I welcome the new. With an open heart and mind, I am gifted with the now.