Standing
at the gaping maw of a dry and desolate wasteland, I pause teetering between
past and present. Behind me, the lush verdant landscape perfumed with breezes
of cedar and pine, and the soft focus of salty sea air and misty fog. Where my
soul was once nourished by the gentle sustenance of dear ones, beloved kith and
kin, and my heart was light and carefree as an indolent butterfly in fragrant
field of wildflower. A dread now set upon me of knowing what a fool I was to
ever leave such a splendor and that awareness set a tonnage upon my feet so
that I was weighted immobile in my sullen and dreary reminiscence.
My
companion touched me gently on the shoulder bringing me back to the task before
us. I tore myself from that cherished landscape, the way one tears oneself from
a warm and comfortable bed to face the cold light of dawn. Now I saw the
blinding glare of a hot and caustic sun scorching a withered and barren terrain
scattered with stones pale and dead like the bones of pre-historic beasts.
“I
am weary,” I say to my companion.
He
smiles indulgently, and allows me rest in the shade of a withered cottonwood
tree. The parched, noxious air smelled of wet dog. We shared a less than
refreshing drink from a too-warm canteen.
Cruel
and unforgivable it was to have caved into the circumstance that brought us
here, proffering a blind trust in the unforeseen misrepresentations. Yet,
knowing full well that little choice was in the offing.
“It
feels as if we’ve been abandoned in hell’s hottest half acre,” I bemoan.
A
momentary hope flares up within me as a dying fire’s ember ignites a spark to fly, an unreasonable hope
that we could just turn back, that my companion might allow himself to be
persuaded, that we might spare ourselves the agony of this grief as if it were
a bad dream. Yes, why not? Wasn’t it a thousand times more beautiful in the
place we’d just left. How under appreciated it seemed to me now! Could he not
see that I was more fragile than I’d thought, still clinging to my childlike
awe and wonder and deserving of some small measure of happiness back in my cozy
cottage, with its window box roses and lilac flower? How I longed to return and
cease to play the hero and martyr! I would never complain again if I were
allowed to return to that enchanted splendor.
Already,
I was growing faint from the triple-digit heat.
“We’d
better keep moving,” said my companion. “We’re likely to get a heat stroke if
we hang around here much longer.”
He
stood and offered me his hand and gave a knowing smile; there was neither
contempt nor sympathy in that smile, neither harshness nor compassion. There
was nothing but an understanding, nothing but a shared knowledge. His smile
said: “I know you. I know your fear and how you feel, and I have by no means
forgotten the failed hopes and dreams we shared.” He could reach into my soul
and into every rabbity ruse of cowardice and every feigned gratuitous daring to
unearth a brighter side of such rugged desolation.
For
three days into this journey the near gale force winds had been blowing
non-stop down from the stony mountain, whistling through the mostly abandoned
dwellings that dotted the dreary landscape, scooping up sand and small pebble
and pelting us with stinging bitterness. We fought against the mighty headwind
like intrepid nomads. I hated him and loved him as one condemned loves and
hates his executioner. More than anything else I hated and despised his
stalwart leadership, his unfailing knowledge and ruthless conservatism and I
hated everything in myself that rebelled against his rightness, the wish to be
more like him, that unquestioningly followed him.
My
companion was now several yards ahead of me and was moving deeper into the desert
and toward the distant mountains that lain ahead of us. His steadfast
willingness, a duty bound certainty to reach the mountain before nightfall was
the fuel that propelled him. I, on the other hand, was content to linger
passively, noticing a scorpion slowly winding his way across the sand, or
stooping to grasp and admire a rock with dazzling flecks of gold. The wind in
my face forced me to tuck my head down and to lean into the wind with my
shoulder.
By
the time we reached the foot of the mountain the crepuscular sunlight had faded
and sunk below the horizon painting a flame work of color in the sky. In this
faint light the ruddy mountain appeared somewhat less menacing but there was
not a moment to spare as we traversed up a creviced ravine into the belly of
the mountain to make a shelter for the night. By the time we found a shallow
cave where we could fit our sleeping mats, darkness had overtaken us. My
companion had the forethought to have gathered enough dry sticks and twigs to
set us a small fire.
Unloading
our packs it became immediately apparent to me the fundamental differences in
our respective preparations. My companion’s pack was loaded with supplies
essential to staving our hunger and for the unforeseen emergencies that are
part and parcel of such a journey as this through an unforgiving wilderness. My
own was packed with sentimental trinkets, a photo of my children, an heirloom
necklace passed to me from my late grandmother, little books and paper and pen.
He shared his store of crackers and dried fruit with me and we prepared for
sleep.
The
Milky Way winked at us through the cave opening and the quiet of the starry sky
brought a sleepiness over us and we settled down speaking only what words were
truly necessary. I passed the night in a restless dream filled sleep fighting
off the fears of such an unfamiliar and disconsolate sojourn. I dreamed that a kaleidoscope
of bright blue butterflies encircled and covered my head and lifted me into the
night sky. I flew higher and higher into the sky and felt as light and carefree
as a bird and I was able to see the full scope of the path behind us and before
us and just as I came crashing to the ground I came awake.
I
woke to the rustling sounds of my companion packing. The winds had died down in
the pre-dawn hours and in its place were large cumulous clouds heavy and dark.
A rumble in the distance gave a foreboding to my companion and I. As I quickly
packed up my sleeping mat, the pitter pat of raindrops began to fall upon the
mountain and the dusty trail.
“We
need to get to higher ground,” he said flatly.
Quickly
we scurried further up the ravine stumbling in our haste. Lightning split the
distant sky and a clap of thunder shook the ground. Just then the dark sky
cracked open and fat raindrops began to fall. Within moments the path before us
was muddied and our footing was made even more irksome.
“Stop!”
I shouted, so full of fear and frustration that I wondered if this was yet
another dream and if it were a dream then I should wake myself with my shouts.
“Stop!” I bellowed. “I cannot do this. I cannot go on.”
My
companion stopped and looked at me with an all-knowing glance from his rain
soaked face.
“Would
you rather we turn back?” he asked, and before he had finished speaking I knew
full well that I could not say the word that I so desperately longed to say.
“Yes, say yes, say it,” my whole being begged of me. But logic and
responsibility held me fast like a leaden weight.
“I
will. I will, I will!” my companion gave retort to my silence, in his first
display of emotion since beginning this journey.
Knowing
how far we had come, the treacherous journey that had brought us this far and
the wide abyss of time and distance behind us convinced me that to return was
impossible and I said nothing and continued to take up the journey. My companion
sensed my silent acquiescence and turned on his heels leaving me to follow
behind.
For
over an hour the rain fell in buckets and then just as suddenly as it began it
ceased. Rivulets and streams flowed past us carrying the newly fallen rain down
the face of the mountain. Tiny purple flowers seemed to awaken in its path.
Little puddles of fresh water pooled in the hollows of the rock. We stopped to refill the canteen. Staring into the water’s reflection I could see my face.
Gone was the gentle hope and carefree demeanor of a youthful countenance and
replaced with the deep lines of loss and longing and dark eyes swollen wet with
tears. I hardly recognized it.
Just
then a hummingbird hovered directly in front of me. It seemed to extol a
message of endurance in its steady humming. Levitating its iridescent body with
the ease of its flight, it
glistened and shone in the sunlight with a dancing metaphor of my own
resignation. “I must continue. I
must survive,” was the lesson I took from this holy messenger before it darted
away and upward toward a tuft of desert sage wedged within the crevices of the
mountain.
Now
the climbing was easier and our pace quickened somewhat. A newfound brightness
increased within me and the rocky path smoothed out before us. The blue sky
reappeared and with it the mid-day heat. I tried to exert my will more intently
as the passage became more passable. At times like this I kept pace more
easily with that of my companion
over long stretches. Or perhaps the heat served to slow his efforts. We
continued together now in a mutuality of purpose.
Upward
we climbed past Barrel Cactus and Beavertail Cactus and Crucifixion Thorn
Bush. Up the steep and rocky
slopes we continued arduously climbing higher and higher with parched lips and
glistening, furrowed brows. Along narrow and perilous, tremulous cliffs we
continued our ascent until, at last, the zenith was within view. And upon the
summit there grew from out of the stony abutment a strange and lonely Desert
Willow. Sturdy and squat with many strong branches it reached up unyieldingly
between heaven and earth. And among the branches perched a large, black crow.
With its shiny black crystal eye looking questioningly at us as though we’d
crept into his domain like thieves. And we all conferred with one another in silent acknowledgment until the big black bird began to caw a frightful call.
Hardest to bear was its steady gaze into the very depths of our souls.
Continuing to caw, caw its harsh call that seemed mock our insignificance. And
within that calling I seemed to hear it say ‘you don’t belong here’. All at
once I realized the purpose of this perilous journey, the very realization of
this purposeless hardship. I don’t belong here. I belong nowhere and yet
everywhere. And suddenly the crow with one fluid motion lifted up from the
branch and spread his wide black wings and soared heavenward, circled and then
disappeared into the burnished sun. And then, just as suddenly, my companion
looked into that bright sun and leapt from the summit and into the silent sky.
(c) 2012
Posts
