Time Warp

These are writings from earlier in my life, that I include for the permanent archive

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 …

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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 …

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The Ghosts of Braffits Creek

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I spent a day in the silence of our ranch, reliving some those experiences that still lurk on the outer edges of time and space. A supernatural wind howled and groaned, pushing cloudships across blue sky, and causing the empty ranch house to creak. Alone, I felt an intense euphoria as if something from the deep hills had come to pay me a visit! There’s a canyon nearby, Win Canyon, and Braffits Creek trickles down the left fork. The brush and undergrowth chokes the creek bottom, all the way up into the aspen and pine forests above. Braffits Creek may …

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Heart of the Great Basin

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The stars stand bold against trees. The fire is dancing. The smoke drifts in my direction and soaks into my skin. This is a quiet moment in the Great Basin; where the little people roam the night. These individuals are knee tall. They move through the juniper mountains like ants. I can hear their whisperings, as they work in busy networks… preparing for what may come this way, someday… The thunder storms of summer claim these valleys and the thunderheads are in control. Bolts of lightning draw near, and slam the earth. At night the sky seems to clear, but …

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Dreaming of the Afterlife

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A boy sat outside the village looking at the grave yard at the mesa’s edge. “What ever happened to the dead?” he pondered. “Are they living some where else far away?” Skeletons walking around after the day turns to night inspires the boy to dream of the darkness and deepness of rivers. “Are the dead living somewhere else?” Out on the mesa edge he prays every morning. He prays, waiting for the sun to come up; to come over and talk to him. Every night, he dreams of the medicine that will make him dead. He wants to go see …

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The Early Morning

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dark rain clouds wander the blue sky making the dream come alive a vision of the land singing Then cries the raven from its hollow in the knarled tree that twists its branches into the ancient wind Thunder echoes way across the desert yonder farther than the eyes can see The black rock was the blood of that ancient beast that was slain so long ago the locust begin buzzing and an eagle heralds the dawn when that sun peaks up over the rim of mountains the clouds catch pink-red rays The old man pulls up his trousers because of …

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Changes

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I am wondering through what beauty is left… There is hardly a place to go where man has not intruded. Everything is changing. I dream of what happened long ago. What was Earth like then? There is a divine power today, not all is gone. I believe that the sky and the landscape will change. People will have no part in it, if they are not worthy. Strange things come to me on the wind. The sun in this quiet world is talking to me. The Earth is helping me dream too. The ravens are excited, and chatter the news …

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Voices of the Past

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“The mountains are the last things that are remaining old and undisturbed, but even now we are building things into them. I still can go in them, camp out and watch the stars; sleep and dream in the night by an old fire; and wonder some where else other than this realm of confusion. It truly is something simple, easy, and very righteous. It is being alone and hearing the voices of the past…” I composed this in my late teens, around the time I turned eighteen and was graduating from high school. You could say I was pretty lucky …

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There’s An Owl In My Tree

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Avoiding the coyotes and the other things that creep and crawl upon the skin, in the darkness of the earth, he follows the whispers from the mountains. He follows them to the source. He sits there with the rain falling into his hand from the black sky above and cups it carefully, staring into the liquid. His crystal eye is full of passion for the Creative Powers. Where the old trees stand strong and the sandstone is red, he hides in the shadows. Where his bare feet wonder those ageless stone lands, silence bears full witness. This boy travels the …

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Fire of Silence

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The uncanny feelings slither through this cavernous vista like the lonely fire that burns within the phantoms and faded shadows that once had casted forth The living trance would once long ago in the ancient times, howl and clamor a deep declaration from the coyotes in the flourishing, rolling hills of eternal rest The emotion of blazing skies would burn the candled nights beneath the green, talking cedars. The clouds shattered by so many ages without a footstep never even faded. Truly the soil, and the blue skies of this ripe sphere was a rest and a haven to give …

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The Treeman

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 I found this red story with a voice, that was full of instructions, given to me by the forest walker. It is where I bathed in strange conversations with the tree man. His mind made of wood, his heart, full of the place around him. The forest depths are like his purity. But I feel his restlessness. I am headed for his power. In the darkness my headlights go out. It is the cabin in the wilderness, I find him. By a lake where the big beast lives. Where monsters walk on two legs. Where the clouds and wind never …

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Blue Sky People

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Out there in the wilderness, where the Blue Sky People wonder, walk, and sleep; is where the old eternal hills rest. The cold winter passes, and in the summer, noon drips off ancient trees. Junipers, and pinions cover the Plateaus. Brush poppers hide, such as the rabbit, the coyote, and the deer. Eagles and Ravens share the blue palace….

Younger Ponderings

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I am lonely sometimes in the way that I feel about life. Hardly any one I know agrees with me. I feel sad because I find a beauty that I can never put down. I carry it in my heart. My spirit can not be broken because I have found my place in life. I cannot go back to my past. My future will be radical. I have found my song. It is in my soul that I can stir up the old way.

Desert of Dreams

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All over that country I drive that junker wherever it will allow me to go. Out to places without any incredible features, to places that are starving without the green beauty. Areas that are flat and deadlike, and have their own loneliness. Out there in the desert the dreams, and ghosts pass by bottomless mountain ranges under blue sky. The Creator created this place for me to love. I love traveling a highway for 100 miles without services. In three days I might only see one other car or truck. The power of the sky and the desert, I cannot get it …

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Smell of Smoke

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In the night, the smell of smoke from some old fire reminds me of forgotten traditions. The sky is filled with candled stars that make the desert glow. What is it that makes the fire of silence burn so hot? My spirit will not stay shut up. I will find the ways of truth. The sky and earth is where I search.