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Short of Crazy

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Well, I left Southern Utah, and I didn’t think I could. I left those familiar surroundings behind. My family is back in Utah, and I have no relatives in Northern Arizona. It has finally become quiet in my life. What I become absent from, I grow fond of. But my patience is strong, and I love a new start. If the good old AZ becomes my home, then so be it. My junk car cannot go off this mountain, because I’m afraid it wouldn’t make it back up. There is the desert below, that I want to see. There are …

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My Second Week in Flagstaff

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In Flagstaff, Arizona, I’ve been taking a Navajo History class at the college. Tonight I learned one of the original names for the San Francisco Peaks. The Navajo call them Dookoosliid, and yellow is their color. The peaks are sacred. Dookoosliid is the western boundry of Dinetah, the homeland of the Navajo People. Tonight, radiant yellow clouds glistened above the San Francisco Peaks. They were yellow, and then dark orange. Soon, everything turned into a soft purple glow as the sun disappeared. I want to hear the wind whip and howl through the pines, through the darkness of these woods. …

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A Night in the Kiabab

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The fire ignites the oily wood cracking and echoing into the forest. Infinite candled stars glitter in the black staircase above the trees. There are whispers in the Quaking Aspen in the dark grass. Faraway from the settlements A Great Horned Owl sings in the tallest Ponderosa. With every hoot he becomes a shadow. The ghost soon stops? as I enter into the darkness. I hear the fire behind… Eating the pitch, snapping and casting orange ribbons of light. Deeper and deeper my footsteps go into the black labyrinth? creating excitement mystery, courage, tears, and dreams. This was long ago. …

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In the Forest

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There in the sky’s cathedral, in the white painted aspens, where the land is still untouched; is a place where I can go to get away from the ignorance of the world. In this space is the space in which I tick. This miraculous landscape is alien to its own existence. It’s unlike anywhere else. Like the song of the hidden valley, where no one ever goes. I sit beneath a living tree, below the foot of a large sleeping hill. Now from this place, the Earth Mother speaks to me in dreams. In the sun soaked clouds, those dreams …

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Untitled

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In the dark mansion of space I ponder the old ways of this world. Will we ever return? What are humans without? With every traffic noise and every humming car The silence remains there afterwards. A silence greater then humans. The pine tree quietly waits, the forest is waiting. The mountains keep covered secrets. There is a greater cause weaving into us, illusions or truths. With every lifestyle and luxury, Death eventually comes to everyone. Death converts humans to the quietness… of the flowing river, and the natural flow. I’m waiting for the mystery to carry me away over vast …

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Moving to Flagstaff, Arizona

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I have lived a total of six days in Flagstaff now. I don’t know what to think of this place yet? I love the singing Ponderosa Pine that engulf the sprawling town. There are so many trees, that I couldn’t even find my way around. A few times, I got lost. This town is actually environmentally friendly; at least when compared to the towns of Utah. A lot of ravens take up residency too. It’s a quiet place, except for the trains. They sound their horns at all hours. It isn’t bothersome though. Compared to Southern Utah, this area is …

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Towards Them Hills, I Go

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In a heart beat, I’d rip down the walls of square existence, and all of civilization, in exchange for simple beauty. My own shadow speaks. My enemies are those that destroy beauty. I leave town with pop in my jug and the cool wind coming through the window. Towards the rolling hills I go, covered with dense Juniper, and Pinion Pine, where cloud shadows twist and roll. My pop jug is full of Mountain Dew; and I’m feeling the cold air hitting my face. I?m happy and humble. The desert clouds hum above my car, as it travels down the …

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Black Shadow

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I thought I heard the unseen, while sleeping? Nothing opened the door, but it remained closed. Yet, Nothing walked in and I heard him jingling his keys! I also heard him punching the code into the key pad! Again, no one came through the door. The door remained closed. I see an ungodly shape on the wall. The inanimate black shadow watches me without eyes.

Introspection: Am I a Hermit?

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I was talking with my grandpa today, about hermits, those bearded men that still seem to haunt the mountains living in makeshift huts or sheep camps. He said I ought to take my camera and go photograph the few that I’ve come by and try to capture them in their routine. Of course I’m wandering if this would be considerate or respectful towards them? I assume that these folks live in the hills because maybe they don’t want anything to do with civilization. These individuals truly live in the quiet places, yet, I don’t quite understand where they may be …

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Scaring the Beast

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I’d been hiking through sage, and sand for hours. The sky was blue and calm, but small clouds soon grew thunderous. I brought my two dogs with me on that afternoon excursion in July. The wind wailed, and whistled through stone crevices. The cloud shadows began to merge, and soon rain was falling. I was hours away from my vehicle parked on the highway’s edge. After spending time at a petroglyph site, I was able to find a small cave, to wait out the storm. Lightning clapped and echoed through the canyon… As I reached the entrance of the cave, …

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Peering Into the Unknown

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Stars and quasars burn forever, like candles, in the stillness of the universe. Beyond the earth’s atmosphere, the universe is teaming with hidden activity. Undocumented life forms dwindle and cluster in the dark crevices of outer space. Their intelligence sometimes exceeds ours and they play with our imaginations. They have always known us and they visit the earth like tourists and vacationers. Every now and then, strange lights are seen on the desert, and appear when they think no one is near. Aliens have been coming to the earth for a long time, always leaving us with mystery. The desert …

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Recognize the Beauty

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When humanity becomes too noisy; forget the contests and debates of human existence. Venture into the shadows of this quiet world. If you go to the farthest boundries of the wilderness, or into your own imagination, always remember, that you are lucky to be in a beautiful world. It never leaves your side. The Earth, the forest, the desert, is an entity that cares for you. Whether you’re lost in the confusion of some conflict, or basking in the moments of peace, you are always valuable, and indispensable in the face of the Creator.

Lightning and Snowflakes

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Thunder rolls across the sky in winter time. How strange that the lightning would spark on the last part of November, while snow is falling. Oh, that powerful thunder echoed across the dark valley as I was heading home tonight, with snow flakes smashing into my windshield. Beauty is everywhere in this world. The desert is so beautiful, with the deep sparkling snow covering the valley, and covering the mountains above.

White Painted Aspens

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With the wind, Aspen leaves clap in cheerful crowds. Yet, their yellow bodies barely cling against winter air. The Aspens creak, like rusty wooden doors, wood screeching against wood. With the wind, the trees move in waves as grass in meadows. Leaves clap and fall from white painted branches. The forest sings like rivers.

The Yellow Sandstone Canyon

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An aged river slithers through the yellow sandstone canyon. For millions of years it has. The clouds are passing through the sky, like there is no human existence. This world continues without the presence of humans. We should be grateful to be here, we should try harder to protect it. I am sitting out here, with everything washed in a soft glow. The blue sky is gentle, not rough. The clouds are majestic, old looking, yet they constantly shape shift. The water in them is ancient. The water flowing in the river, carrying the canyon’s sediments, is ancient. The Earth …

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Blue Gems

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I hold a blue mineral colored as the turquoise sky like an azurite dawn before sunrise. or even the deep blue night holding a silver moon. A polished cabochon of Chrysocolla emanates the early spring morning glow or a dreamlike trance that clouds traverse. My grandmother’s oxidized silver ring, is inlaid with Robin’s Egg Turquoise. She purchased it in Kingman back when Highway 66 was in its prime. The blue of the turquoise resonates her own beauty, and her age. Pieces of Chrysocolla Turquoise, and Azurite unite shades of dense blue minerals. The earth painted them from her soul of …

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The Twisted Link

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I wonder the lonely electric, internet abyss twisting with uncertainty while sifting through uncanny piles of restless information. Raw data wants to reach sheltered minds. Screams are muted in the static of internet space choked by joyous or horrible manifestations. Religious or progressive fanatics stretch forth leery hands to offer weary hopes. In a shattered world, tangled up in magic power lines nothing is really safe. Cities sit next to dark oceans towns next to old landscapes. The internet motor continues to purr. I am waiting for the lights to go out. For the story-telling TV to shut down. For …

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I am the Wasteland

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I’m the sandstone cliffs, that overshadow cottonwood trees. I’m the dark basin valley that engulfs your little cabin. The shrieking wind is my soul. I am the wasteland that gives you access to sleepless dreams. My age will outlast human eras. My heart will sustain life forever. My wisdom will never die. My grace is endless, eternal beauty.

The Snowy Forest

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Just before dawn, Pink colors glow on the mountain peaks. The snow storm has passed, leaving everything frigid and silent. The pink reaches the forest bottom, Mixing with the brown shadows of queer trees. Their trunks rise up through snow, exposing dark textured bark, the skin of ancient monsters. I love their phantasm The mountain talks with mysteries. Long ago, some old man passed through these mountains, on a horse, headed for Santa Fe. He came right through these old pines that kiss southwestern skies, and catch desert wind. *I recently watched Ron Howard’s film, The Missing, and the landscape …

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Southern Utah Rock Art

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Rusty, painted figures animate on yellow sandstone pallets- made from red ochre that endured forty centuries. These supernatural beings dance across the pallet. They are living, breathing souls. Trees grow from finger tips, Antennas and tangled hair sprout from alien heads I feel the beating heart of the canyon. I can feel their ghostly patterns. What are they doing when nobody draws near? They look without eyes, Whisper at night. Painted humans travel across the rocks. Headless human beings hold hands, or connect feet. I leave a gift, a coin, Or something.

Eddie the Hobo

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Eddie was the old banchee-like man with a twisted, hairy face. From town to town he went- singing quiet to himself along yellow grasses and highway. Eddie says he’s the Bigfoot Man. At night-time he sings, while watching the ancient moon rise. Over each belt of cloud, and dark mesa dream.

If I Had to Leave

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If I had to walk away, and never look back, Here are five things I’d take with me: A piece of Turquoise, My grandpa’s old cowboy buckle, A small pocket book of family history, A Jar of my grandma’s peaches, And the first quilt my mom ever made me.

The American Illusion

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“Money controls too many decisions in the world today,” says my brother, after discovering our parents have been forced to leave home, for better paying jobs! They seem like poor cogs in the wheel of civilization. Poor mutes that depend on the beast to merely survive. What would happen if all the little workers stopped working, or supporting the beast? Would it really spark any biblical end? No, the sun would still come up the next morning. The way of the Beast, is a dead end, since the beast will go belly-up, when fuel runs out. America and the material …

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The Deepness of Rivers

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An elderly woman sits above a sandstone canyon, looking at the moon, in the shape of a cow’s horn. Thin and silver, its rests behind clouds. She deserted her home, before her children arrived to haul her away to the rest home. Looking into the darkness of cottonwoods below, She listens to the tireless flow of the river, traversing an ageless path towards the sea. Her own children betrayed her. They ignored her dreams, with their busy cell-phone lives. This canyon overlaps her age, or the wrinkles of her skin. Her mind became wise from listening to the wind. She …

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My True Nature

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I WILL NOT accept the things I cannot change. I’ll break the windows of everything I know! I’ll listen to passionate dissidents. I want to deconstruct civilization. I’m tired of frivolous squares forcing circles to become squares. I’m sick of Uncle Sam the greedy pig, smoking his cigar on top of Mother Earth. I’m sad, because I’m sick of the beast. Squeezed by the left and right to follow their political lead. All I want, Is the safety of thunderstorms and gentle rains and windswept red deserts. Give me a horse, or a mule. I’ll become an old hermit With …

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Faceless Creature of the Desert

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I’m waiting in autumn for you. I’m freezing in the snow, waiting for the unknown to dissipate, so I can witness a dream untold. Somewhere in canyon country, you are waiting. I see your crystal eyes reflect off canyon pools in summer, but nothing is there… It rouses me, like weeping. Only the howling wind is heard. Sharpened trees, slice the wind. Sunglow illuminates their flickering leaves. The earth pads my tired feet. Everything on the outside, is stirring inside. Something sensual and dark hides in the bushes and rocks, in the infrared clouds. Deep from within Mother Earth, the …

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Random Images of a Canyon

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Chipmunks eat Starburst’sweet, fruity, and sour. It’s not quite like regular seed! They enjoy the hiker. But shy of humans, ravens plane the cliffs looking down on the hiker in suspicion. Junipers yield naked bluish berries, hard like steel between the teeth. The sandy creek winds its way cutting through banks of fine sediment. Boulders sit in rock slide piles, coming in endless shapes. Some without faces. Some frown, or smile, to show glittering, sandstone teeth. There’s the canyon’s shadowy ghost, it doesn’t mind the human, either. Clouds travel the September skies. The hiker shouts while finishing lunch, his voice …

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Dancing Cottonwoods

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In moonlight glare, Cottonwoods sing in the wind. I see silvery branches, glowing. Camp sits between the beauties, near the sandy creek running chilly and cold. The Cottonwoods tilt their trunks, waving their arms-back and forth beneath the moon. Heaven is here. Dancing Cottonwoods, creak their wooden limbs.

Conjuring the Past

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Something isn’t right, it’s never right! I don’t know whether I’m depressed or just restless? However, I am enjoying school very much. Finally, I have classes that I can relate to, and people I can discuss political issues with. But the begging landscape keeps pulling me away from civilization, into the shadowy wilderness of Juniper hills, and deep filled canyons of silence. As I am walking home through the campus, after classes, I’m enjoying the blue sky filled with small white clouds. It’s hot outside, but there isn’t any desert wind. Walking under campus ponderosa, the sun sifts through pine …

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For Grandma Millett

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I treasure your advice. You were the wisest of humans. No matter how things evolved, you knew faith and endurance worked. You were the toughest of the brave with those swollen hands of arthritis. I’ll always remember your soft-spoken eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, hidden behind thick grandma glasses. I would hitch-hike from my town to yours, just to come and stay. That highway would stretch for miles, and I walked for hours, waiting for a diesel to stop. Our surreal conversations would start in the early afternoon and head clear into the night. During summer the mocking birds impersonated every …

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