A Mysterious Grandmother

The cloud shadows pass through my mind, through my spirit like flickering light. I venture into a trance-like day dream, somewhere quiet, deep into the dreamer’s wilderness. There are no cities, no structures, except black desert shadows trailing from the hot sun. The planet is a hearth of quiet suspension. I can meditate on what happened so long ago. There is nothing in my existence more powerful then the turning wind, and the flow of natural elements. Neither is there anything more great than the turquoise sky, and the deep sandstone canyons. Except for the image of an old rusty grandmother, shrouded in mystery. Through my eye, I see her in long sleeves and skirt, moving about, gathering corn, or the eggs from her chickens. She’s nursing the doggies as they struggle to survive. I see her moving around on a dusty afternoon, on some desolate ranch, working hard and long, until dusk. Her deep eyes gaze into mine as she smiles every now and then, and every time she passes by. Her image quietly fades away… I ponder the deepness of rivers, and of deep sandstone canyons, and the sweet smell of desert rain.

I think about the previous worlds of long ago, and the sight of this grandma. She didn’t speak to me, but she gave the most incredible smile. Way out in the boonies, where no one ever goes; there is something waiting to take me to another place, where wisdom never stops, where people have been on the journey of life much, much longer.