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Magical mystery jump
It was just another night in el Norte. The fuzzy gray-white balls from outer space rained down upon the unsuspecting vastness and fastened themselves to the lichen-covered rocks along the gorge, but no one heard or saw a thing. That's the way it is out here where the sky's so big, a thunderstorm the size of Guatemala is just another cloud.

I found them the next day at the end of an hour-long hike, the farthest I had ever walked along the West Rim Trail. Their intentions were peaceful, I assumed, and decided to take a picture. As I lowered myself carefully down the few feet to the rock outcropping on the lip of the cliff, my camera case came undone and landed only inches from the edge. Two years of constant opening and closing had shot the Velcro all to hell, and now the nylon Nikon case was trying to kill me. I took my shot, then slowly bent down to retrieve it. Oops!

The case was now another four feet below the shelf on which I stood, hung up in a place that dared me to step down. Very calmly now I did just that, then saw an even bigger hairy ball! Well all right, then. This time I got my picture, then put the case between my teeth to climb back up. "Be careful!" my wife had admonished me before I left. "You're not in such great shape today," and she was right. At least I hadn't forgotten, not even in the excitement of discovering the alien fuzzy things from outer space.

On the long hike out, I'd only seen one other person. It was easy to see how people disappeared out here or ended up 600 feet below. The hole is just so big, the emptiness an invitation: not to die, but to fly into the mystery. The last person who'd vanished was a jogger, a champion female athlete from the Midwest who had everything to live for. They searched for seven days, then sent a raft of volunteers to run the rapids, and someone found an arm -- the next raft through recovered the body and carried it downstream to where a helicopter could safely lower a rope and haul it away. Everybody wondered what had happened, but I was pretty sure I knew, back then, and now I had no doubt.

Take me to the mountains*
My dreamworld and "reality" had lately merged and overlapped. The veil is thin here anyway, and no one knows what's real and what is not. (It's all the same, of course, but don't let on I told you so.) The other day I woke up from a dream about remembering a place I'd been to in another dream that I'd forgotten! The scene was of a road that led into a wooded mountain wilderness. The road grew gradually more narrow and the pavement disappeared. Eventually it led to someplace no one else has ever been, a place of something beyond naming and so far removed that I felt indescribable relief ...

Walking back I noticed how here and there, the sagebrush bushes had new leaves. I stripped some off between my fingers and crushed them in between my palms. The aroma was staggeringly strong and felt like food. I knew I needed more. I rubbed the bits of leaves across my face, the tops of my hands, and all around my neck. A little farther down the path, I found a special plant that stood off by itself and had much thicker clumps of new growth than the others. Kneeling down, I plucked a handful of fresh leafy twigs and stuffed them in my rucksack. I stood up, remembered to say a silent thank you, and proceeded on my way. By now I was a walking sagebrush aromatherapy bouquet and loving every minute of it.

As I strode along, completely by myself in a landscape spreading to infinity in all directions, I suddenly began to sing. I'm just an Irish-Welsh-French-German white boy from America, but I began to sing: "Hi-ya-ya-ya, hi-ya-ya-ya," or something like that, quite melodic actually and vaguely Indian, that came right out of nowhere and matched my breathing as I walked. Then all at once I was walking in my dream! I was on the road that led into the wilderness, and also on the West Rim Trail. About the same time all the chatter in my head went silent, leaving only sage and song and motion. I topped a rise and saw a flash, then heard a fluid, easy laugh that didn't sound like me at all: the snow-capped peak of Mt. Blanca, maybe 80 miles away, had slapped me in the retinas. I laughed again and recognized myself this time.

Damn, boys, dammit-damn! From boulder-bait to pure being in less than two hours, and not a pill in sight ...

Next stop?
Well, I just don't know. There's been so much exploitation of the negative by the sneering spokemen for the New Rome, it's been hard to get out of bed some days, much less write happy thoughts about my favorite computer. I wish there was some way to get the whole country to take a walk, but the West Rim Trail would get a little crowded, and I know at least a few would fall in. I originally wrote a lot more than this little bit here but took it down because I don't want to spoil a certain uplift I've felt in the air this past weekend. It was the same thing I felt in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, when it seemed like the world was ready to come together in shared sorrow and heal the wounds, not just of everyone affected by the tragedy, but all the wounds, you know what I mean?

So I won't end with a joke or a poke this time. My wife wanted me to take a picture of the little bookshelf altar scene below, though she had no idea I'd goose the curves and stick it in my column. (The figure inside the tin Mexican shrine is a Black Madonna, by the way.) In any case, I just want to send everyone a jolt of hope this week. Take it easy, take some time off for yourselves, and take a walk:

It surely couldn't hurt. 

 

 "Grack!"

Senior Applelinks editor and columnist John H. Farr is happy to hear your praises and complaint and reminds you that the last five editions may be the best ones yet. Go see!

* Spencer Perskin! And don't you forget it. If anyone can get me the LP below (1970, Capitol Records) or burn a CD of it, I'll pay ($). I also really want a copy of "Kaleidoscopic/Song for Peace" (1968), the first single, and don't remember if those songs are on that album or in another collection. Note the cover art by the inestimable Jim Franklin. And [gulp] note the similarity of the image to my immediate present-day surroundings. Egad!

Getcher ebooks right here:

Like pictures of el Norte?

Other stuff by John H. Farr:

And don't forget the special photo-essay, "What It Is About El Rito," a very personal look at a very special place,. There's also info about some property for sale (not mine! :-) ...

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