The
Introduction to Spurs Magazine talks about our purpose in creating Spurs. Our intention is
to present work that will be rewarding, satisfying and enriching.
Some pieces will make you laugh. Others will move you into higher
realms. Others will be sad or painful. This is a piece on the
"sad and painful" scale moving into "uplifting
and higher realms". I'm sharing this true tale to illustrate
that in life, you get to play the hand you're dealt. Unlike
hands from casinos, life's bad hands offer great rewards if
you play them with eyes wide open, all the way through.
This
story is a loose companion to Robert
Mirabal's Taos Tales. When I posted an article on Robert
Mirabal in 1998, I was pleasantly surprised to receive an e-mail
from him thanking me for what I wrote. He described life on
the Taos Pueblo as "very much the same culturally as when
the ancestors" were around, but changing. His current project
was "about this death and birth" That project was
Taos Tales. While Robert was creating the album, our family
was having the experiences that lead to this composition. The
themes of the two pieces are related; how we got them, far apart.
You may want to read Taos Tales
after this or take a peek at
Mirabal's Website.
A
NEBULA
CONVERGENCES
& ERUPTIONS.
Do
you ever feel that something is weaving your life into a fabric
you couldn't foresee? That unrelated currents pull the threads
together, threads that would never meet but for some power you
can't explain? That's called "synchronicity", a term coined
by the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung. Synchronicity is weird.
Sometimes spooky. The convergence can be subtle, like vast rivers
merging, remaining separate for miles until their different
colored waters finally join. It may take years to see the design.
My family's journey to the Taos Pueblo in October 1999 had that
mythic feel.
The
threads of my life were steaming-- smoking, maybe-- back in
1998. My life includes lots of threads, lots of directions,
all with deep emotional roots. Big challenges. I've been trying
to protect California's oaks from being mowed down by wineries
for a couple of years. (Oaks & Vineyards)
I've been writing a family of books (thrillers) since 1995.
(Writers' Corner) And
I'm a mom, grandmother, wife, horse rancher... I was busy enough
when ---
BOOM!
Mount Vesuvius erupted.
Early
in 1999, five people--some of my dearest friends and family
members -- were stricken with horrible diseases. A brain aneurysm.
Third stage ovarian cancer. Advanced breast cancer. And worse.
Great challenges for my loved ones and myself. Sustained
pain. In yoga, we call this "tapasya". Literally, "burning".
Hard spiritual work. A trial.
How
to describe this year? Years ago, I carried my daughter along
the beach. She was 3 or 4 and could sort-of swim. We picked
our way around big rocks in the sand. I was in water just above
my ankles. A wave approached. Not too big. A nothing wave in
California. Except I wasn't in California. I was in Hawaii.
That knee-high wave hit me like a linebacker, throwing me in
the air. My little girl was torn from my arms and thrown into
the surf. I struggled to get up, and watched in horror as my
baby was dragged out to sea, tumbling end over end through rocks
and foam. I shot after her and grabbed her, pulling her from
the ocean's mouth. She clung to me, too scared to cry. Too full
of water. We clawed our way back to dry land, changed forever.
The wave revealed the harshness of the natural world. It receded,
taking our innocence with it.
That's
how this year has been. Struck by a plague, unforeseeable, unavoidable.
Tossed and thrown like bits of seaweed. Inconsequential. Powerless.
Wanting to help, make people better, heal them. Not being able.
Not being able to fix it/them/me. Learning what emotional support
means. Support means being present heart and soul when all you
can do is that. When you can't make the grief and pain lift
or the disease go away, you can only be there. True support
means letting go of every construct you have about what matters.
Life
matters. Love matters. That's it
***
SOMETIMES, LIFE ISN'T MUCH FUN
The Last Judgment, Fra
Angelica
***
In
the midst of this, I became obsessed. Have you ever had something
grab you so you can't stop thinking of it? I did. I became obsessed
with tropical fish. Yes. I wanted to go away with my
husband and relax. I wanted it all to end. I wanted a vacation.
Palm trees and tropical fish.
I
like to snorkel: To lie on the breast of the sea, the mother
of life, and let her rock me while I view her creatures. A stone
that sprouts legs and walks away. Darting silver schools. Day-Glo
fish ogling me back. A huge fish, longer than I am with a mouth
wide enough to swallow me, eyeing me like lunch.
Vacation.
Escape. Let this be over. Please.
Did
you know that your consciousness is powerful? That whatever
you think about will come to you? Tropical fish began to show
up all over my life: Tanks in the lobby of the UCLA Medical
Center. Wallpaper in a hospital emergency room. In magazines
in doctor's offices. Fish, fish, fish. Not the kind I wanted.
Something
with a very nasty sense of humor was playing with me. I continued
to hope that things would clear up so I could hit the beach.
I deserved a vacation.
I
GOT TROPICAL FISH, BUT NOT THE WAY I WANTED.
***
Time passed. Things were clearing up. That vacation seemed possible.
I
went in for a routine check up. My doctor found a little lump.
"I'm sure it's nothing. We'll do a biopsy."
It
wasn't nothing. "It's cancer. High grade. Extremely invasive.
About to spread."
And
I thought I'd been having a rough year! Hah!
***
Months
later and missing part of myself, they say I'm cured. I am physically,
and still in process in every other way. Breast cancer is very
difficult to handle emotionally. No one told me that.
I
got better. Things got better. We scheduled that vacation. A
vacation to a completely different place. No tropical fish.
As I healed from surgery, something grabbed me and turned me
around. Certain doors closed, and others opened.
Something
called to me. Land. The Southwest. Specifically Taos. More specifically,
the Taos Pueblo. I'd never been there, but a hand reached inside
my chest, grabbed my heart, and said, "Go there. There's something
there for you there." I've had those feelings before. You follow
them. So we booked those cheap-o, non-changeable tickets. Our
oldest daughter would fly in from Massachusetts to join us on
her college break. A family vacation in Taos and Santa Fe in
October! All set. Happy times were here again!
I
joked, "Well, we've gotten through all this and haven't lost
anyone yet!"
SITTING
BULL: WAR CHIEF AND MYSTIC,
NOBILITY IN THE
FACE OVERWHELMING ODDS
Portrait
by Lily Nathan
As
1999 passed, I reflected about my experience of cancer and all
that happened to my friends. How would I describe it? The word
"ordeal." popped into my mind. Perfect. Ordeal is defined as
"A trial. The state or fact of being tested. A visitation."
It's when you're put into a pressure cooker and reduced to pulp.
Not
much fun-- but fun isn't what life is essentially about. Life
is about becoming human, becoming who you really are. Suffering
isn't necessarily bad. It's bad if the prolonged pain crushes
you, leaving you bitter and defeated. A living country western
song. That's not good. Everything depends upon how you handle
the pain, what you do with it, mentally and emotionally. If
you have the skills and awareness, the fortitude and strength,
the support from your friends and world, an ordeal can be the
best thing that could happen to you.
For
instance, there is nothing like cancer as a motivator.
I talk about that in the Writer's
Corner. I finished my book 3-1/2 weeks after
surgery. I'd been fooling with it for four years, it and a series
of sequels. Had parts of maybe 5 books done, but nothing ready
for publication. I got cancer, had the sucker done in a few
weeks. It was smokin' out of me. Smokin'. As is the sequel.
I finished book number one and leapt into two without a day
off. I work so hard that my right arm aches from being on the
computer.
Why?
Because the nature of an ordeal is to strip what's unnecessary--
which is almost everything we cling to-- and to bare what really
matters. An ordeal gets you right down to core values, pronto.
When my doctor said, "You have cancer," I heard, "I am going
to die." This is good. In Eastern thought, Hinduism and Buddhism,
the visceral realization that "I am going to die" is the entrance
to real life. Real human being.
Is
it? Oh, boy, is it. I don't know if I would have ever
finished my book if I hadn't gotten cancer. I would have probably
messed around for another year, getting involved in one stupid
diversion after another. Cancer ripped all that away-- painfully,
but so what?
I
remain flaming. My surgeon has found this, too. After a career
treating cancer patients, Dr. Lebovic found that women who survive
breast cancer are empowered for the rest of their lives. Their
lives become expressions of what they really want and value.
They accomplish much more than previously, unafraid to put express
their truth.
The
value of an ordeal.
THIS
BEAUTIFUL COSMIC EVENT HAS A BLACK HOLE IN THE CENTER.
***
Everything
was cool. Almost normal. We were gonna leave for vacation in
New Mexico the coming Saturday.
My
mom called. She had just come from the doctor. He found a massive
aneurysm. She would go into surgery Tuesday. She's 78 years
old. "The doctor said it's serious," Mom sounded calm.
Shock.
I had joked earlier, "We haven't lost anyone yet." Oh, no. Not
my mom! Please, not my mom!
The
year's agony swamped us. Can you feel it? Faces of beautiful
friends, wracked with pain. Me struck, knocked flat. And now
my mother? Body blows. Boom. Boom. Boom. "We've survived so
much. Why this? Why now? Why would a loving God send all this?"
Well,
there it was, on our doorstep. Our family huddled, traumatized.
My daughter is scared when I leave the ranch. I'm afraid to
say, "What next?" because-- seriously-- What next?
***
HANG
IN A LITTLE LONGER--
THINGS SEEM DARKEST JUST BEFORE THE DAWN.
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
***
A
life-threatening ordeal. Let's look at the definition of ordeal
again. "A trial. The state or fact of being tested. A crucible.
A visitation." It's a test where we are refined until only the
gold remains. The yogic definition of "tapasya"-- burning, hard
spiritual work.
Such
testing used to be common spiritual practice. In the old days,
the sages in India practiced "austerities". Fasting,
going without sleep, staring at the sun, chanting and praying
for long periods, as well as the ever-popular walking on hot
coals and sleeping on beds of nails. Ascetics all over the world
did similar things. Read the lives of the early Christian saints.
Read how the monks scourged themselves with whips to drive out
their negative tendencies. Native American religious practices
include the Vision Quest, Sun Dance and Sweat, all of which
might be described as ordeals.
Why
do these spiritual types do this stuff? Are they masochists?
Crazy? No. What you get out mastering your fear, pain, etc.
is connection with the world outside (or far inside) human experience.
Ordeals are entered into for the purpose of contacting God,
or the Higher Power, or whatever you want to label It. Why?
For guidance, a vision, or an insight which will benefit the
seeker and the world as a whole. For strength. Power. Purity.
The ability to endure.
***
Have
you ever been attacked in a bookstore? Had a book leap off the
shelf and demand that you buy it? Happened to me last week with
Leonard Peletier's new book, Prison Writings, My Life is
My Sundance. One of those synchronicity things. I was writing
on the subject or ordeals, transcendence and survival, and who
should appear but an expert. The author presents his experience
like you were there.
Have
you heard of Leonard Peltier? Mr. Peltier is a Native American
activist who was convicted of killing two FBI agents in 1977.
He's been incarcerated for 24 years now, for a crime he says
he didn't commit. Lots of people agree with Leonard. His attorney,
Ramsey Clark, former Attorney General of the United States,
is one. In his Preface to Prison Writings: My Life is my
Sundance, Clark outlines the subornation and perversion
of the U.S. Justice system perpetrated by the authorities in
Peltier's trial. This includes distorting evidence, intimidating
a "witness" and other travesties.
Even
the FBI doesn't think Leonard murdered their men. In 1985, one
of the government prosecutor's admitted, "We have no idea
who shot the agents." [Peltier, op. cit. p. xx] Amnesty
International has taken up his cause. As have such persons as
the Dalai Lama, Desmond Tutu and the European Parliament. Their
clemency pleas to our President are ignored.
Meanwhile,
Leonard rots in jail, having had another really bad year
in 1999. Even worse than mine. Conditions at Leavenworth are
exactly what you would expect: Leonard lives in a tiny cell
furnished in the chic minimalist style, often with a fun room
mate. He partakes of the joys of prison life: Delightful cuisine.
Charming and friendly guards. Great medical care. Cheerful companions
and wonderful recreational opportunities. Plus a helpful and
service orientated administrative staff dedicated to fulfilling
his every need.
***
How
to survive in hell? How to keep from going crazy?
Peltier
credits his religion, specifically his experience via the Sun
Dance, for his survival.
Let
me try to summarize Mr. Peltier's description of his Sun Dance
experience. He says that the physical pain of piercing is felt
in its entirety-- No spiritual entity comes and lessens that.
But somewhere in the pain, the mind splits. The Dancer becomes
separated from it, while totally aware. The separation allows
the soul too look up and experience Light, Revelation, in its
pure form. This limits and contains the physical pain. Eventually,
the conscious Light takes over, and the Dancer is given the
vision of pure Being, the universe as it is. The unity of his/her
life with all creation. This Light becomes reality.
Peltier
says that every pain after that opens the doors to this mystic
revelation-- and has allowed him to survive hard time for 24
years. [Peltier, op. cit. p. 11]
The
value of an ordeal.
AUTHOR SANDY NATHAN IS THE WINNER OF EIGHT NATIONAL AWARDS!
SANDY NATHAN
Click to go to sandynathan.com
IT'S OUT! New from SANDY NATHAN!
Sandy Nathan's NEW book NUMENON has WON TWO NATIONAL AWARDS before publication!
Click here to hear Sandy speak on Fascinating Authors.
ECSTASY:
THE FRUIT OF PURIFICATION
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ORDEALS AND SPIRITUAL
LIFE
For
an ordeal to be spiritually useful, you have to be conscious
and or get conscious fast once the ordeal appears. Mindless,
unconscious suffering serves your spiritual growth not at all.
For instance, you can go to a bar and get drunk. Get in a fight,
get good and beat up, and suffer like crazy. You can repeat
this as many times as you want and never experience the unity
of all creation. The only way such behavior serves you is it's
possible leading to the moment when you pick yourself up from
the gutter and say,"I'm not doing that again."
The keys to obtaining spiritual value from an ordeal that I
can identify are: Consciousness, commitment, dedication,
& communication. Let's look at Leonard Peltier's Sun Dance
experience and see how it illustrates these principles. Mr.
Peltier freely chose to participate in the Sun Dance based,
I'm assuming, on his internal guidance: His soul told him to.
He was conscious of what he was doing. The Sun Dance
itself is highly conscious: It's a structured, centuries old,
religious ritual with a specific process and outcome, managed
by experts. Peltier talks about being absolutely lucid during
the Sun Dance. Feeling the pain undiluted or diminished. He
also experiences everything else associated with the Dance full
strength: The transcendence, bliss and unity. The change in
his life.
Other
elements of ordeals that further spirit-- Commitment and
dedication. Mr. Peltier's ability to withstand not only
the Sun Dance, but his daily life in prison, is the result of
his dedication of his life to something larger than himself.
In his book, he describes a moment of spiritual awakening. An
elder cries,"Where are the warriors to protect us?"
He realizes he is a warrior, and protecting his people is his
mission. An"Ahah!" A moment of recognition. Leonard's
life is changed: He's committed to serving his people. More
than that, he's committed to his religion and traditions, and
deeper than that, to his experience of God and his true Self.
Everyone
I know who is seriously committed to spiritual life realizes
at some point that their life is not their own. They belong
entirely to God and always have. This is a distinct experience."I
belong to God. Not only do I belong to God, so does the whole
universe. It always has." Realizing the equation's other
half may take more time,"God belongs to me". It's
a two way deal:"I belong to God, God belongs to me."
With
commitment comes dedication, also known as focus or one-pointedness.
"My actions are directed toward You. Understanding You.
Being with You. Serving You on this earth. I listen for Your
command with all my heart." One does one's duty. When I
walked into hospitals this year, I walked in consciously, knowing
what I was going to see. Knowing it would be painful. Knowing
it was my duty to do my duty-- and doing it. As I visited my
sick friends and relatives, I communicated with God like crazy.
Praying,"Please, help me. Please, let me be useful. Please,
let the right words come. Please, give me strength to do this."
Repeating my mantra. The best three words in any language. My
mind and soul were directed to a higher level than the physical
plane, not on the carnage before me.
Sometimes,
when things were really bad, I prayed with great concentration,
great one-pointedness, "You @#$%! You're supposed to be
all powerful. Well, if you are, why don't you use your
power? Do something! Get down here and deal with this! I'm doing
my part! Why don't You handle this mess... A housewife
could do a better job than You!" On occasion, God and I
have slug outs. God wants us to be involved, have a personal
relationship with It. Strong feelings about It. (To me, God
is not male or female. More like a tidal wave or a volcano.)
It doesn't want to be ignored, so It sends the stuff that will
make us pay attention. You know, life. The world. I've found
that getting really mad at God is very useful. Every time I've
done it, something's shifted. Me. The situation. Something.
Consciousness.
Commitment Dedication. Communication. These ingredients
can turn a disaster into a potential for ecstasy. The form you
use to get there depends upon your life. Leonard Peltier and
his people use the Sun Dance. In my tradition, we use everyday
life, which provides plenty of pain and suffering, uniquely
tailored to our individual needs.
The
important thing is, when the freight train hits, look up.
THE
NATARAJ
The
Dancing Shiva represents the dance of the universe,
of which we are all a part.
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
***
We
must train for ordeals like an athlete. That's the reason I
was able to get through all I did this year. I've been training
for 24 years. I bet that's how Leonard Peltier makes it. Life
demands that you be a warrior of spirit.
We
do not send untrained troops into battle for "on the job training."
A
woman I know was having a terrible time. I suggested that she
try meditating. She said, woebegone and getting goner, "I
tried to meditate. I went to a class.... once...."
Sad sniffles. "But I just can't do it now....I'm too
upset..." Of course she can't do it now! You meditate
before the storm so you can call that state to you when
the hurricane is tearing down your house.
You
do boot camp before hitting the battlefield.
Life
is your spiritual battlefield. Start training now: Perform
some spiritual practice. What is a spiritual practice? Something
that trains your soul so spirit comes to you when you need it.
Lots and lots and lots of spiritual practices exist. Pick one:
Tai chi! Hatha yoga! Martial arts! Meditation! Prayer! Reading
sacred texts! Hanging out with people who know something about
spirit! Do whatever fits you and your tradition. But do it!
For
all you know, Leavenworth may be on the way. Or breast cancer.
***
I
meditate. I talk about meditation in this site a lot. I've done
it for 24 years now, and counting. Truth be told, I am a lousy
meditator. My mind is a manic rodent. I'm inconsistent in my
practice. I have no natural ability. My inner Self once spoke
to me as I sat trying to still my mind. (Like tranquilizing
a field of drunken ground squirrels.) A laughing, but kind,
inner voice said, "I've never seen such a lousy meditator!
You're unbelievable. You've been doing this for 24 years.
You're terrible!" This hurt, coming from my inner Self,
the real me. An instant later that gentle voice continued, "It
doesn't matter...." Whoosh! Something hit me, and I was
flying in the unitive bliss Leonard Peltier talks about. Absolutely
ecstatic.
How
good you are at a spiritual practice doesn't matter. Purity
of heart matters. Spiritual practices-- all of them-- are powered
by grace. Human achievement will not get you through an ordeal.
You mind or physical strength will not get you through an ordeal.
Grace does, with you cooperating. That's why you do the practices:
To purify your heart and mind so that grace will come to you.
One
of my doctors said he couldn't get over how well I've handled
the cancer thing. (From where I've sat, it hasn't seemed so
well, but I guess he's seen more people than me.) All I can
say is after 24 years of spiritual practice, when I'm in pain,
what Leonard Peltier describes in the Sun Dance happens: Part
of me separates out, watches the pain, watches what's coming
down, deals with it, and the other part reaches up. Grace comes.
Light comes.
I wouldn't be who I am but for the ordeals.
STELLAR
WIND
from
the Hubbell Telescope.
The
thing about grace is, it can come when you need it, even if
you haven't trained. Say you're in your living room on your
hands and knees, screaming because a hurricane is tearing your
house apart. Walls are flying. Furniture's whipping off into
space. Your people are gone. All that's left is the carpet,
and it's flapping around you. You didn't do any spiritual practice
beforehand, forgetting about hurricanes.
If
you look up and ask, scream, beg for help from that which hears
all prayers, grace is probably gonna come. Your piercing cry
of the heart and a little faith, just a glimmer, is all you
need. Grace can come and lift people out of situations so bad
that there's no reason in the world they should survive. It
can lift them up and hold them tight, carrying them forward
until it's safe. Then grace will put them down, softly, gently--
to begin healing on the earthly plane. People can survive the
most hideous things and end up strong, moral, loving individuals
with a good life. I know this.
Maybe
that hurricane was the universe's way of getting your attention.
Starting you on a spiritual path and motivating you to keep
going. Motivating you to ask, "Who am I? Why am I here?
What is life about?" And keep you asking until you find
out. Maybe that's the only thing the would work.
The
function of an ordeal.
ABIQUIU,
NEW MEXICO, VIEW
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
AUTHOR SANDY NATHAN IS THE WINNER OF EIGHT NATIONAL AWARDS!
SANDY NATHAN
TAOS:
TALES, TAILS AND TRAILS
HAVE
YOU ALREADY READ THIS ARTICLE? OR DID YOU JUST READ IT AND WANT
MORE? I VISITED TAOS PUEBLO AGAIN IN JUNE 2005. WAS IT CHANGED?
DID IT HAVE THE SAME IMPACT? WHO WAS THERE? READ THE
JOURNEY RENEWED: TAOS TODAY
AND FIND OUT.
All
this while, a man I've never met or spoken to, Robert Mirabal,
was working on a CD about his home and his people, Taos Tales.
He already did the CD "Land". "Land" moved, nudged and haunted
me when I heard it a few years ago. And now I was heading in
that direction full speed. Recovering from cancer produced a
deep swell of feeling for the earth. The virgin land. Wilderness.
Authenticity in all forms.
I
began to think about-- New Mexico. The whole state, but specifically,
Taos Pueblo. And the other Indian Pueblos in Northern New Mexico.
I'd never been there. Something was calling me. And I was answering.
I read about Taos. I read about Robert Mirabal's new CD, Taos
Tales. I read about the Taos Pueblo. Inhabited for 1,000 years.
1,000
years. What does that mean, a structure inhabited for a 1,000
years? What souls lived there? Died there? What vibrations were
left behind? What energy? What would it be like to come from
that place? I wanted to lay my hand on the ancient adobe and
listen. Was it a place where souls sport like fish? Diving and
cavorting. Dancing a dance of history.
What
place was this, calling to me?
ABIQUIU
CANYON,
NEW MEXICO
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
***
After all this, we almost didn't go. My mom came through her
surgery, but the doctor found many more problems than he fixed.
Stricken, I spoke with the surgeon in the hospital corridor.
"We've got a vacation planned. Tickets we can't change. Should
I cancel it?" "No, but leave us your phone number."
I
could take a week off, couldn't I? Just a week? The land was
calling me. Heartsick, I wavered. My mom...
Well,
family was arriving. It would be all right to go.... The family
was there...
***
Do
you remember the Waltons? That old TV series about the prairie
family that ran during the 1970's or 80's? That's how my mind
thinks families should function. The young hero, the handsome
and charismatic St. John-Boy Walton, guided the family through
a series of interesting and significant situations. Such as:
"How to achieve lasting world peace in one show." And: "World
hunger: Just wish it away." The elder members of the Walton
family offered St. John-boy kindhearted and gentle tips, in
case his usual divine revelation wasn't enough. And-- all the
family problems photographed beautifully and were solved in
an hour! Wow!
Isn't
family functioning sometimes more like the meltdown of the Russian
nuclear plant at Cherynobl? Where titanic, invisible forces
that could destroy the universe collide? When the disaster is
finally controlled, the authorities stand around going, "I didn't
do it! It was him!" Pointing at each other over the wreckage
of innocents. Innocents marked by the incident, genetically
altered so that their offspring will repeat it, and theirs and
theirs? Isn't that more what family life is about? More than
St. John-Boy Walton?
Why
do I cling to the myth?
FAMILY
RELATIONSHIPS CAN BE COMPLICATED, EVEN TWISTED.
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
A
TALE OF TAOS
How
to stay human in this stew?
We
went to Taos. What a charming place! We drove our rental car
down the crowded streets, past swarms of tourists dressed like
Southwestern dolls, past more art galleries than I'd ever seen.
"Oh, look at that! It's so adorable."
Taos
is, too. We stopped at a light. "Look!" A atmospheric building
that sloped in at the top. Heavy curves. Walls two feet thick.
The building looked like it had been there forever. Just darling!
(As we Californians say.) I looked up. From where we sat, you
could see the back of the building's facade, projecting higher
than its roof. The facade's rear showed new 2 X 4's and
plywood-- unmistakably new.
The
building was a fake, made last year to evoke a feeling, not
express the truth. The town of Taos isn't what called me to
that part of the earth.
FARMS
NEAR CHIMAYO, NM
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
TAOS
PUEBLO
We
finally got to the Taos Pueblo.
Most
writers just put you in a scene and smother you with atmosphere,
but that isn't how life is. When you go somewhere as a family,
you all crowd into a car, bickering and forgetting things. Just
getting in takes about 3 hours. Then you drive around and get
lost, maybe 6 times, even though you've got a map and everyone
in the car is really smart. Plus there's signs everywhere. You
finally find your destination and get out of the car. In Taos,
the sun blazes through the air, which is diluted to about 1/3
normal strength by the fact that you're higher than the Andes.
Fortunately, someone has sunscreen. You should have brought
a hat. Maybe oxygen.
Families
never just go anywhere. You have to park the car, find the bathrooms.
Wait in line. Straggle through an opening with all the other
tourists. Wait in another line. Laugh because a guy working
at the Pueblo is so smitten by your daughters that he's practically
levitating. Sniff a bit because you can remember what it was
like to look like them. Fortunately, your memory's shot, so
you don't recall much. Walk through the gates hoping your bad
knee will hold up.
This
is normal family functioning, as far as I can tell. A whole
bunch of trivial mush, then... Wham. Something happens. Then
more mush.
We
shambled into the Pueblo, paid our fees at the entrance, and
spilled out into the open area like sleepwalking sheep. I broke
through the crowd and looked to my left. "Oh, my God! Look at
it! It's beautiful!" A guy working there cracked up. He must
have heard that a million times. My family joined me, gawking.
Yes, the Taos Pueblo deserves to be a world monument like the
Taj Mahal.
Those
were my last words for while. For once, I was speechless. The
Pueblo is beautiful.
TAOS
PUEBLO
Photo:
Zoe Nathan
We
hunkered around after the very interesting and informative guide.
We split up. I swarmed over, around and through everything and
everywhere I was allowed. The tourists thinned, growing weary.
Heading for the nest like twilight birds.
I
stood alone in the middle of the clear area by that big pole.
Feet planted wide. The sky burst around me, sun screaming, pelting
me with awareness. Warm brown adobe filling my eyes. Space all
around.
The
awe got me right there. Seeped up from the ground. Permeated
my feet, headed up my ankles, planning on a complete takeover.
Awe spilled out of my shoes. I couldn't move. I looked at the
big buildings, struck dumb. How to describe them? What to say?
No words. They came later.
***
The
only words that could describe my experience:
