Standing

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I know a man who never moved. Grew in the same place for multiple human lives…

Arms raised since before the Spanish came through, before the Hohokam left their marks on the canyon stone.

He doesn’t explain himself, because he has no voice and no mouth to tell the story…

The wren built a home in his left side and he said nothing. The hawk used his shoulder for thirty seasons and he never complained.

I’ve seen him at dawn when the Sonoran turns pink and the quail move through the brush like little thoughts you can’t quite hold.

He was there.

He’ll be there when I’m not..

That’s the thing about the desert. It doesn’t need your witness and was here before you. But it will let you watch if you’re quiet enough.

Braffits Creek, A Thread in the Great Basin

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Braffits Creek is a thin green thread stitched into a country most people only know from the airplane window; a wash of brown and sage and distance. Up close, the place smells like dust warming in the sun, like willow leaves and wet stone, like something living quietly where life isn’t supposed to be. The water doesn’t boast. It moves with the patience of old stories, slipping past cottonwood roots and basalt bones, keeping its voice low.

The thing about the Great Basin is this:

it doesn’t drain to any ocean.

Everything stays.

Water falls as snow or rain, wanders awhile through creeks like Braffits, sinks into alkali flats or vanishes into salt, and never leaves. The land is a bowl that keeps its memories. You feel that weight when you’re there, the silence isn’t empty, it’s layered. A long geologic listening.

And the West Desert, that vast sweep of basin-and-range country stretching from the Wasatch front out toward Nevada, might be one of the loneliest geographies in North America. Not dramatic like Zion or Yosemite. Not photogenic in ways that feed the calendars. It’s slow land. Subtle land. A place where your mind stops shouting because there’s nothing to shout over. Where a single pickup passing on a distant dirt road becomes an event.

In spaces like that, scale becomes a teacher.

A single creek, narrow enough to step across in places, becomes a world. Grass gathers. Birds arrive. Insects hum. Deer print the mud. The line between survival and emptiness is as small as the line of water itself. You start to understand why the desert holds meaning the way it does: because life here is never guaranteed.

Braffits Creek feels like a nerve running through the land. Touch it, and something deeper responds.

For those who carry personal history into a place like that, questions, griefs, hopes, half-formed prayers, the silence doesn’t echo back so much as absorb. You’re left with a sense that the land heard you, and the water carried the moment a little farther downstream where it could rest with the others. You don’t need to explain it. The desert doesn’t ask for an explanation. It just asks you to tell the truth and stand still long enough to hear yourself breathe.

And so the Great Basin remains, a country of long roads and few people, of military ranges and forgotten towns, of playas that shine like mirrors after rare storms. A place our culture has often written off as wasteland. Yet hidden in it are small green seams like Braffits Creek, where the world remembers how to whisper.

Some places don’t shout their importance.

They don’t advertise themselves.

They simply wait for the right pair of feet to walk beside them, the right pair of hands to cup the water, the right heart to recognize that even the quietest landscapes are full of witnesses.

And once that happens, the map of the world changes; not on paper, but inside you and the West Desert is never just empty again.

Related: About this Desert Rat | My 44 Year Old Hands

My 44 Year Old Hands

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25 years this blog has weathered space and time and it was offline for a couple years with no backup. Thanks to an older backup XML file and the Wayback Machine, I’ve been able to restore the original journal that spans a quarter century of my life. This poem is a time warp from the poem I wrote, which is in the archives, titled: My 22 Year Old Hands…

My 44 Year Old Hands

These are my 44-year-old hands.

Desert hands.

Sun-cured. Split. Salted with years.

They don’t move fast anymore,

but they move like water in a dry wash —

only when it matters.

There are canyons in the knuckles now,

thin arroyo lines where old grief carved through

and never quite washed smooth.

The bones creak like truck springs on a washboard road.

Weather talks through them.

These hands have gripped a steering wheel at 2 a.m.,

held a camera like a compass,

picked through rusted towns and shuttered doors,

lifted stones just to see what lives beneath.

They’ve bled on sandstone.

They’ve shaken with anger and mercy.

They’ve held people like fragile relics

and buried things that never came back.

I don’t use them to reach for everything anymore.

The desert taught them restraint —

you carry only what you need

or the road strips you clean.

Now they know the feel of wind,

of heat that hums in metal,

of prayers sent up with dust devils

instead of pews.

My 44-year-old hands aren’t pretty.

They’re honest.

They tremble less from wanting

and more from remembering.

And when I finally lay them down —

sand-cold, still,

done —

I hope the earth knows them,

like a long-lost stone

rolled back into its riverbed,

and trusts

that they tried to hold this world

without breaking it.

by Nathan Arizona

Related: Braffits Creek, A Thread in the Great Basin | Sonoran Spring with the White Wings

Sonoran Spring with the White Wings

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The White-Winged Sonoran Spring
By Nathan Cowlishaw

In the desert sun, where the cacti grow,
And the winds of change, forever blow,
The White-Winged Doves, they come to know,
The secrets of nature, that ebb and flow.
Their wings a blur, as they take flight,
A symphony of grace, in the morning light,
Their destination clear, and in sight,
To pollinate the saguaros, with all their might.
They land on the spines, with a gentle touch,
Their feathers ablaze, with the desert’s hush,
And as they work, it’s almost too much,
The beauty of nature, a sacred crutch.
Their beaks dip in, to the nectar’s hold,
A moment of bliss, in the desert’s gold,
And as they feed, their love unfolds,
A dance of life, that never grows old.
The chicks will come, in due time,
Their parents’ care, a rhythm divine,
And as they grow, they’ll learn to climb,
The cacti’s heights, a scene so sublime.
The White-Winged Doves, they’ll stay a while,
And in their stay, the desert’s smile,
For they bring life, with every mile,
A gift from above, that’s worth the while.

by Nathan Arizona

Related: My 44 Year Old Hands | Turquoise UFO

From Liberal to Conservative to Decolonized

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I was Liberal until I became educated & that turned me Conservative until I learned more and realized the whole damn thing was bullshit. That’s when I started to unlearn over the next two decades and realized everything I had ever been taught, indoctrinated with, and fed was BS – So I started breaking the windows of everything I knew, or thought I knew, and that’s where the beginning of the real education started. This unlearning is where true #Decolonization began, which is a positive term for me, because it was a re-awakening! Two decades later, I’m still deprogramming and rewiring as I learn the real truth of the bigger picture. That’s how F-ed up the Western Vulture is! Yet the members of that dominant culture think they know something while their science tries to discover things… Weird. Photo by me, captured in the #Bootheel of #NewMexico of an old abandoned christian church!

Donald J. Trump is Propping Up Evil

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Trump is maintaining PURE EVIL. He’s propping up the same settler regime every single president has ever defended. An immoral empire of lies will continue to spawn immorality until truth prevails. Immorality can only begets more immorality.

All of the corruption common people speak of regarding child exploitation and human trafficking, and the most vile darkness, is due to this colonialism. Trump props it up as he demonstrated brazenly at his appearance at Mt. Rushmore which was a slap in the face of Native People who revere the Black Hills as sacred.

This long history of child abuse, people speak of in the United States in 2020, was utilized as a weapon of cultural genocide and dehumanization against Native kids in Native American Boarding Schools. Various church denominations engaged in the same evils and abuse in assisting the Settler Colonial Regime in its vision of Manifest Destiny. Christians, including Catholics Priests, are some of the worst perpetrators, monsters and abusers.

The largest minority of missing and murdered women and children are Indigenous Women and Children who have been silenced by the colonial regime that TRUMP OR BIDEN continues to prop up. It doesn’t matter who you vote for in the 2020 Election, because the Settler Colonialism is always the winner 100% of the time. That’s the truth.

On an end note, I post a favorite image of the great #Lakota Mystic #SittingBull. He knew about these Wasicu Invaders and the greed in their hearts. This hero gives me a spiritual connection to the past, and what was truly marvelous about the real First Nation that continue to survive American Colonialism. It’s a nice counter-intuition to the negative and evil darkness that is the United States.

Western Culture & White Privilege

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The majority of Americans or European Americans enjoy this little thing called, White Privilege. I will call it Wasicu Privilege or Colonial Privilege. Anglo Americans are all super privileged because we are on the receiving end, as recipients, of a centuries old unjust and illegal occupation – enjoying the fruits of our labors in the Stolen Lands of First Nations! The are still here, surviving and still fighting for a real voice in that system which gives them no actual representation in 2020. That is privilege, my friends! That’s the truth as I see it in YOUR Empire of Lies and Denials that continue to benefit YOU. Welcome to the same old America!

Hovering Up The Canyon

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Middle of the night

during a dripping light storm

Clouds dense like soup

with a smooth humid stench

permeating the mossy August air

it came to me in the early morning

around 2AM with a lowly hum

shortly after orbs were playing tag

which stirred me out of the deepest of sleeps

They danced like ancient spirits

and shimmered

above the New Mexico pines

near the Colorado line

in a place off the road, I encamped

on my way to Dulce

on Jicarilla Apache Lands

it was an old growth forest.

It was where I saw the triangle craft

hovering up the canyon

above US Highway 64

rotating on its side like a wagon wheel

before climbing into the moon soaked

cloud quilt above

and vanishing.

Poem from my UFO Encounter in 2014

by Nathan Arizona

Deeper in Metaphysical Southwest of Mars Arizona

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This morning my maroon-headed humming bird friend with the inch long beak was sitting on the oleander outside my window waiting for me to say hello. For a month before he was following me on morning walks in North Phoenix. I purchased two nectar feeders and I think that’s what he wanted from me? Now, it’s his turf and pesters me when the syrup gets too thick or runs out. In the same area, I have over thirty columnar cacti, mostly Trichocereus types; Bridgesii, Cuzcoensis, Peruvianus, Pachanoi; growing near the window. In my room I have three grow lights with 50-60 cactus plants and succulents from all over the Americas; Ariocarpus & Turbinicarpus plants to Saguaro seedlings growing at 2-3 inches in hight. The goal is to secure some land or find a way to get it and get my cactus friends a permanent home in the beautiful earth somewhere where I can look up at see the Milky Way at night. Obviously, that wouldn’t be the city, correct?

Times have been rough. I’m living in Phoenix Metropolitan Area right now and we are now four months into the Covid-19 Pandemic (Dystopia) which shelved my job as an Arizona based tour guide to the local parks and monuments and I’m currently rethinking that line of work. Coronavirus killed Tourism in Southern Arizona for the time being.

The weather has been paradise in what locals call The Valley. I’ve been in Arizona for about a year and acquired more plants than I ever intended to collect when I moved here. I mention metaphysical in the title of this post because intuition led me here. This is the next step after a period of healing in my former life in Utah. I’m supposed to be collecting cactus now and my ambitions have changed since moving deeper into the American Southwest leaving the Beehive State in the dust. If I move once again, it will be New Mexico; probably the Southern end because this collection of plant nation ‘friends’ have to go with me wherever I wind up because they count on me for their survival. I would not want to build a great big greenhouse at higher elevations, so the goal is land and finding the money to buy it.

The Shadow Man: The Visitor

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I’m hearing the voices from the far distant past from a time when earth was on a different sphere

I could see them roaming the empty landscape underneath the constant turquoise sky. And the valley floor went on forever beneath the bright hum of sun accompanying massive cloud ships. The calmness of the wind whipped up silent dust devils that soon hid their view.

I now can hear their footsteps in the forest but something else walks through the undergrowth. I cannot spot his shadow even though I have always known who he is, because he came to me! He disappears in the rays of filtered sunlight that drift through the skinny pines.

This shadow man constantly dances with me even in the lively flame of my red warm fire; both the fire and the shadow man against the black night – flickering off the trees under the twinking stars. . . those infinite star systems as far as the eye can imagine.

In the early morning the smoke is still rising from what’s left of the smoldering embers and I can catch the wisp of slight burning juniper, maybe a little sage.

I have never forgotten this man – The Visitor who came to me in a deep sleep when I was a 18. His face still haunts me with beautiful flashback memories. This thing, the spirit, the entity, this old man killed my greed and healed my heart.

By Nathan Cowlishaw

December 31, 2017

Tonight, They Arrive

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Tonight, They Arrive!

They came pouring through the portal
like fiery stars
speaking in eternal languages
beyond our threshold
waking me, in the middle of the night
and awakening the soul
to the biggest thrill of a millennium.
Never thought this was possible
or even close to real but
it’s happening
I’m leaving
I’m gone.
Going back into the portal
heading for closer
to the far-away
listening to the little people
singing their strange themes
inside these cobweb tunnels
descending back in time
forward in a backwards sense
All beauty ripping loose
from the seams of surreality
This, a dream coming true, unfolding
a reality, beyond a vision.
I welcome you
Into this mystic.

By Nathan Cowlishaw

The Real Narrative: Freedom and Liberty vs Authoritarianism

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Donald Trump is another plant. My intuition tells me one reason they installed him was to pacify the right-wing fervor that was growing to expel Federal control in Western States of public-lands. They knew Trump’s TV personality would make great theatrics. Talk about Fake News and politics. What’s going on in the South is another indicator.

The False-Narrative is Trump vs The Establishment and the National Security State. The actual reality and narrative should be: Liberty vs Authoritarianism because they continue to divide and conquer us!!! That’s where none of us are getting with the program. That’s how Trump will continue to empower those behind the curtain.

Let’s not forget that #DonaldTrump wants #EdwardSnowden executed. That contradicts the #Trump vs #establismment spin.

All of this is just food for thought but I’m willing to bet this outlook is correct.

I Want to Burn My Past

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My “higher” self is really wrecking havoc on me today. A part of me wants to burn everything associated with my past and only look forward. This has nothing to do with my family. It’s all my regrets of past decisions affecting me in the present.

I was sitting in my storage unit today where a leak in the ceiling had rotted a few of my old boxes of stuff and mildew is beginning the decomposing process. It affected some of my junk. As I started to sort through some of it, my past came back to haunt me. Things that I’d rather not remember. I had to step out, take a break and clear my head. The day is coming where I am going to toss a lot more.

For now, I’m back home, rested and just cooling off. Maybe I need to start writing more, and reconnect in like fashion.

The Affinities that Plague Me

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Wish I knew myself better than I do; I have no clue why I have so much affinity for certain things but it’s more of a curse than a blessing sometimes and it feels maddening because there is nothing that easily enables me to connect the dots, like tonight! 99% of the people I have shared my thoughts with cannot interpret or decipher much of what I feel, see, or have experienced. But certain things/triggers/moments make me feel an undeniable connection that brings comfort; such as dancers in any sort of ceremony that I’ve been invited to… Sometimes, all I can tolerate is the wind and being by myself out in the middle of nowhere. It spells temporary relief. I’m going to sleep and will continue this long journey when the sun comes back up in the AM. lmao.

Such is, the journey of life for me. It is good but bittersweet.

Fresh from the Transfer

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Mind Opening Portal
exploring the possibilities
as infinite as they have become
as soon as I had broken the windows
of everything I knew.

Then, as if divinity stepped in,
there he was with all the
beauty that he brought with him
to give to his chosen
unconditionally.

Sentient spirits came from
out of the thundering abyss
from the deep billows of the storm
and down below
all was calm and mesmerizing.

Somewhere out of this chaos
came a powerful peace that predates
our time and place
that came into our space
and brought us together.

It’s quite extraordinary,
this unknown scheme
that is more natural and mystic
than earth-made systems
And into this unknown we venture.

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Aliens in My Early Life

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In my early life, not sure exactly when – some source of intelligence came to me when I was a child. It was not traumatic. It was nothing like being abducted or taken against my will and I was not violated and nothing questionable was committed against me. I have a definitive connection to the Universe outside of our planetary world here on Earth as a result. Whoever they were, wherever they came from; somehow they were involved in my upbringing. I have to give credit when it is due; they had profound influence during my development. There is no other way to explain why I am on this UFO/ET Road, now. I didn’t wind up on this path obsessively until 2013 – when I started witnessing real UFOs in the sky, especially one that was a triangle craft in close proximity on the boundary of the Jicarilla-Apache Reservation Southwest of Dulce, New Mexico in 2014. These events caused earlier memories and recollections in my life to resurface. They are basically telling me, “We Are Still Here!”

Like Humanity, there is good and evil throughout our history with examples like Hitler and the Third Reich, and righteous individuals like Jesus Christ. All these individuals were prime sources of influence on mankind and polar opposites of good and evil. We often blame Lucifer, the Christian Devil as being the source of these evils, and Lucifer is also an Intelligence. The ones I speak of exist both in human and non-human form and when asked whether these intelligences are good and noble or evil and hostile – I respond that they are all the above. Like humanity, there is all sorts of good and evil in all of the Creator’s Universe and I attribute the “Most High” of the Intelligences as the Creator – or what Christians would call God and Muslims call Allah!

We are not alone in the Universe and I think the Creator intended it to be this way. We are being visited and influenced by other intelligences whether they be of light or darkness; there is a balance along with the many shades which accompany these BEINGS. Some of them use technology that is far more advanced than what is available to Humanity’s disposal. Some of this tech has been gifted to us as well, only to be locked up in secrecy.

All I know is that I am barely scratching the surface and I have a lot to learn and there is a lot that I do know about but do not fully understand yet. I have seen some some of these Intelligences, beings, and some of their technologies. I’m comfortable acknowledging this in a very grounded way. Their influence in my life has been very positive with no malevolence but there is a lot of it steeped up in uncrackable mystery. I get a feeling that in due time, more information and knowledge will come to me along with many others who have had these experiences or events that are closely related.

In my teen years I was backpacking solo into the hills. A few of my friends thought I was either suicidal or crazy but I was quite the opposite. While I was out there in the desert, or the mountains, all by myself, powerful things happened to me. These experiences changed my life forever, and the course of my destiny. It made me who I am today. There’s an Mormon adage/scripture that says; “By their fruits, ye shall know them,” and these beings brought about changes in my life that were for the better. Sometimes these episodes left me spooked, startled, completely at a loss and deep in fear but when I came to grips with the experiences, I quickly realized that these events were teaching and preparing me for who knows what? It was something that is coming at a future date. The truth is though, I am an artist, photographer and writer because of these beings and intelligences and their visitations.

If you read through this journal and go through some of my poems/pros written years ago, the words will shed more light on what it is I’m talking about.

My Life with UFOs

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I have noticed how many UFO Buffs get interested in the topic for a short while then get bored. Since 2013 now, I’ve been steadily dedicated to Ufology because of three unique close encounters that I witnessed with UFOs (or should I say intelligences?) that began in 2013. This didn’t make me a buff – it forever changed me into an obsessed researcher and the phenomenon haunts me these days. These incidents changed my life for better or worse. I believe my friend, Travis Walton’s story and many others who have either endured or were enlightened by these events. Many of these people are telling the truth and my experiences are going to stay with me in a very strong way for the rest of my life because these sightings forever change reality and the soul. It really doesn’t matter what other people might think or how they judge others like myself with their neolithic “flat earthed” prejudices because the bigger picture of this reality is eternally more infinite than many of us will ever comprehend. As an LDS Mormon, I never realized I would be proclaiming to see God’s face in this phenomenon and I’m not totally sure how it’s all tied to the religions of our planet but I believe the Creator himself has a hand in it. Millions of people are seeing these objects and a chosen few are witnessing ETs in person. I believe it’s both Universal and Inter-dimensional and I’m definitely seeing the smoke rising on the fringes of the reality of Mankind.

They Are Returning

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hey Are Returning!

As I was driving out on the highway tonight
outside of town
watching the sun disappear behind the mountains
with night settling in
crimson slivers of light
igniting the bottoms of cloudships

I felt the warm November winds
of the snowy high desert plateau
in an unusually hot winter

It has been a decade since this mystery
paid me a visit
but the hills of juniper and pinion
are calling me
I could hear them
as they distinctly whispered

Tonight was a desert dance of red fiery
with a light rain upon the snow
and the stillness of the clouds
and the slightest breeze swirling
around me after halting the vehicle and listening

My dreams of the old ways are returning
I felt their strong embrace
not sure what it is exactly that is haunting me?
but the taps of the rain hitting softly on the tin roof of my Suzuki
alerted me to the presence

Things that remain unknown to most
are returning to me as of late
a multitude of eternal intelligences
that provide the shrouded glimpses into the infinite
beyond this life

By Nathan Cowlishaw

My Inter-Dimensional Self

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This heart of mine dreams
because I have a really beautiful soul
that knows and feels the mysteries of the Earth
And recognizes the most subtle light in the canyon
and the complex and simple sounds of the Unknown.
I’ve prayed to my Creator, daily
verbally and in thoughts,
and ponder about
The Creator of the Universe, daily
and wonder if he can really hear me, still?
Somewhere, I’m out there in interstellar space
listening to those far-distant stars
and down in the trenches of the darkest
parts of the Earth’s ocean –
And I’m up there with the traveling snow
being swept off the highest peaks
and down in the desert bottoms where
the whirlwinds whip and roam.
Love cannot be this timeless,
but it still hurts this same heart
because I am human when my eyes are open
But I’m capable of endless visions…

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Finding The Other Person

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These days, I see other people posting deep things on social networks like Facebook, and I start to think how vain it is to put important content or anything with a more serious personal tone on a place like a corporate social network. Have we become such frail and hollow beings that we no longer find independence? This is why it is important for me to have a journal and a space to pen my more personal and intimate thoughts with a maturity that no social network is worthy of.

While stating the obvious above, here’s what’s on my mind…

I cannot change who I am for anyone but can be supportive and caring and understanding of someone else who is different. Yes, I have my struggles but the Creator knows what’s in my heart. We all have a purpose and a mission in this life. I’m trying to make sense of mine.

I would like to find someone who is wise beyond their years, with a deeper spiritual awakening about the world, and the universe and all of creation, but doesn’t care so much for our secular society where all the mundane norms become overbearing. There would be a strong affinity between this individual and me that comes loaded with absolute certainty neither of us could deny; something confirmed by a Higher Power. The Universe/Multiverse is infinite and I am aware of it as I dwell in the corners of God’s imagination. Love is simply being content and grateful for what God, the Creator, has given you. Love, through all of it’s expressions works in mysterious ways with an intelligence that even becomes eternal.

Writing a journal through these technologies enables a sturdy place for record keeping. Every day, the internet is being recorded and archived for future generations. Keeping this record let’s those who read it in the future know what was going through my mind, historically. Really, though, sometimes a serious thought and introspection is worth writing and then contemplating on.

I was inspired to say something meaningful! I’m happy in my own skin as I have matured over the years while facing the music. As an individual, my happiness comes from within and my desires and needs have changed over time. I’m still young, with so much life ahead. I hope the Creator helps me determine a destiny and guides me on where I need to go and lets me know what needs to get done.

The Western Vulture Has It Backwards

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I’m anti-secular and I don’t mean in the simple religious sense but in a deep spiritual context that involves the entire physical universe and reality as we know it. I truly believe that science cannot even begin to fathom or comprehend just how beautifully supernatural our waking reality is. Our entire Earth and all creation is full of countless intelligences. Rocks, trees; anything composed of matter/atoms are intelligent. I believe many Native nations had a scientific and intricate knowledge of this but the Western Vulture has it all backwards…



Honey-lit Afternoon

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Dreams of a honey lit aspen afternoon
Smiles full of laughter
Trying to keep a straight face
Lost in the reality of it…
In the simplicity of your dignity and grace

Coming off the mountain
And meandering off the desert mesa
With you nearly by my side
On a sunny summer afternoon
Singing folks songs…

And I look back on it all
And it all comes back to me
In the moment

By Nathan Cowlishaw

Real Beauty

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Real beauty surpasses the physical realm
and is eternal.
There is a reason we change worlds
while this life is short.
Our evolution is infinite
even though we all must face death one day.

by Nathan Cowlishaw

Date with Jazmin

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The wind softly
sliced through pinion branches
while the sunset’s crimson fire
burned the rock face
Imprinting trees in shadow.
As purple monsoon clouds shifted.
in the early August air
The chorus of insects sang ancient
flooding our senses
with ethereal sensations.
Somewhere, between
reality and dream

Looking For Answers

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Due to lack of sleep last night, I’m feeling somewhat mixed-up on this fine Friday. We had a string of car burglaries on our street late last night, and luckily my buddies and I happened to be in the right place to call the police and they were busted pretty fast off the cuff. This is not a big deal because I’ve already got enough excitement to exceed my daily dose this whole week.

I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind because I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Things are all up in the air right now. I’m getting ready to move from Cedar and I’m trying to consider the things that are most important to me. It would be nice if there were more of a real job market in Cedar City, but 45 miles south of my hometown is where the economic reality lays in reach.

I’ve had an amazing week with so much to describe that I don’t know where to begin or what I should do? Because of this cross-roads, I’ve divvied this down to the very moment, the present. Meaning, I’m not going to worry about the past or future but just try to live day-to-day and see where it takes me and see if there’s something that I can do to adjust the outcome of my destiny or what happens.

The important individuals in this moment can have a real impact on the outcome of how this will play out for me. Based on circumstance, anything is possible concerning heart-felt dreams. Some of these thoughts are too personal to share on a public blog. So I’m thinking of what I should do, and how I should go about doing it. Wow… All I can say, is live life to the fullest and have a lot of faith. Believe in yourself and hope for great things to come to light.

She is my new muse… An artist is she…

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I can hear the soft whisper of the wind as it gently brushes the window blinds and evening starts to set-in… The Robins are singing in the late afternoon summer. Fine sediment is blowing in from the dust bowl west of town. And I’m just thinking… thinking about a lot of things.

Life is full of beauty with the simple, if you just let. them. be.

Originality in a Sea of Carbon Copies

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When looking for jewelry, watches, stuff like that, it’s hard to find ONE piece that stands out in an ocean of carbon copies at all the pawn shops, thrift stores, and jewelry storefronts. Human beings are very similar. It’s hard to find someone with the attractive nature of being a rugged individualist. So have the confidence to be different and separate yourself from the sheeple. I’m looking for the perfect timepiece with imperfect characteristics that compliment my beautiful turquoise watch band. 🙂

A Relentless Rant and Endless Beauty

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How do you show contempt for someone in such a satisfying way as not to start hating them? I don’t know, but I’m very angry. For now, I’ve got the the sun-baked shadows in Moab to keep me calm and focused. An air-conditioned hotel reminds me of the lavish excesses of American civilization; I’m tired of the complexity associated with soothsayers, snake oil salesman, and uninformed minions & consumers of American fat.

Why should I fear saying what’s in my heart without reprisal? I don’t fear. It’s no loss of mine to keep my soul and reject the vanities of reckless stupidly. I’m tired of all this deafening excess of fat-eaters with their hollow sophistication. It’s not art, it’s not beauty. They are killing their souls with their greed. Money & greed, and all these pigs make me grieve. What happened to country simplicity? Did it get lost in the translation of money spending? Some people lose their soul to luxury. Culture is not the heart of greed. Rugged individualists never get offended at the thoughtful witty curve balls that pigs can’t stomach. Pigs are those on the receiving end that get offended at every slightest inconvenience or opinion. These things bring disharmony to my life the same way laziness does.

Words are powerful, and my soul sings a hymn against the pigs while they wine and dine in all their filth. Let me be who I am without trying to kill my spirit with your excesses. Let me discover a love so true, for someone who understands me somewhat… and loves me until the day I die. Please, Creator, deliver me from some of these wretched confines. I dream of beauty. I dream of life. I want peace.

The land speaks to me and I cannot expect much from uninformed masses, except to keep teaching those that will listen. For the pigs, I’ll let them be, and I will let myself be reborn. I don’t know how to get away from it, them? If I knew my heart wouldn’t break again and again, I could return to my roots but I am lost, innocent, confused, betrayed because of my kindness. I’m learning that being kind leaves one to be exploited. Lonely are those who are sincere in a charlatan empire.

With faith and hope, the Creator guides me in the desert. In the town of Moab, all things are bustling in the oven of arches, cliffs, cloud and shadow. The beauty is stark and untamed. I just wish I could be as eternal as the geological landscapes and canyons but give me true love for a short while for someone I can trust. An unconditional-untamed love could tame a fiery heart like mine.

Yanny Country: Bluff, Utah…BEWARE!

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It’s late at night. The crickets and gas station lights are buzzing into the darkness. There’s hardly any street lights through Bluff. We ate at the Twin Rock Cafe just up the road before sundown and I think the Yannies are out, tonight. Just across the San Juan is the Navajo Rez. I’m staying in the tidy little Kokopelli Inn, writing a few brief thoughts and getting ready to go for a nightly run which feels a little intimidating…

There are ghosts roaming the night. Little people move up the arroyos somewhere out on Cedar Mesa, south of Bluff, busy in their cobweb tunnels. Some lone old bearded man is coming off the mesa into town after passing the rim of the Goosenecks between Bluff and Monument Valley. He can also sense the uneasiness of the night and what hides in the bush beneath the stars.

Crickets buzz, the gas station is burning the darkness like a shining beacon, a light house in a Sandstone sea. There’s barely any traffic up and down the road, maybe a car every 30 minutes on their way to Four Corners and onto Cortez, Colorado. In the little Sinclair station in the belly of Bluff, I’m visiting the two funny Navajo ladies running the register, asking them questions, and just chatting and joking. The buzz of the gas station hums against the eerie night. The neon sign of the from the motel shines into the black, buzzing, and burning away with a Kokopelli playing the flute, but the bright light doesn’t get reach very far into the blackness. The crickets are very loud and the sound is growing, being amplified. It’s like a scene out of a movie. Something out there is moving in the darkness, looking at me and the people in little station.

Most towns in Utah don’t feel like this. Bluff is strange, weird, eerie, comforting, and even unsettling. I’m attracted to the spook of it. It’s an ancient aesthetic and beauty, apart of this rugged little hidden town buried in hoodoos, waterholes, arroyos, cliffs, canyons, toadstools, balancing rocks and the white sandstone that adheres to the sacred Rio San Juan. It’s a river that’s deeply rooted in Navajo folklore, and history. As it snakes around in the goosenecks, in the darkness, off to the South as I write this. I can feel the river, the crickets, the glowing neon.

It’s the middle of May and this is my life. It is beautiful. I’m getting ready to go for a run out in the darkness. Toodaloo! 🙂

When You Leave This World

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You see, I love my friends, and making new ones. In the end, when you leave this world, it won’t matter what you did for yourself in this life. What will matter is how you treated others and whether or not they’re going miss you and remember you!

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