The Mass of Men Lead Lives

2009-08-13T00:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Ms. Cunningham...

2009-08-09T02:45:00.000-07:00

I heard of your recent passing and felt a personal loss, even after these 15 years. John Donne’s "Death Be Not Proud" has been replaying in my head over and over... I memorized it for your class. I still have it memorized. There is something I need to say:

Ms. Cunningham, I remember you.

Do you remember me?

I was that awkward boy, the reticent one with the big glasses

And the oh-so carefully parted hair sitting lucidly in the last row.

I was partial to the back row,

Always rooted in that farthest furrow of chairs

Where I was cultivated by your careful intent.

I was a quiet kid then…but that was okay in your class,

Because you said 'Still waters run deep'.

Remember me now?

I was caught in my turbulent teens,

A time of sturm and angst…but that was okay too,

Because you said, 'Rough seas make good sailors'.

As adolescent quandaries and questions milled through my mind

I knew that I would find my way through,

Because you taught 'All the darkness in the world ...

Can not extinguish the smallest candle.'

When I felt the draw of society to become a widget

In its great scheme to norm and conform… I aimed higher.

Because you read 'Be not simply good, be good for something.'

You were to us eight who created a Dead Poets Society,

The Emerson to our Whitman…

We were simmering, simmering, simmering…

And you brought our minds to a boil!

Remember me?

It has been a long time, since I heard you read:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

I know now what your darling Mr. Shakespeare meant.

And maybe it is true for some that all our yesterdays

Have lighted fools the way to dusty death.

But not your life,

You, were no walking shadow,

You, were no poor player, strutting and fretting an hour upon the stage.

Your life and influence was humble yet palpable

A desire to open our minds to the classics

By becoming All things, to All student, that by All your means

You might teach some.

Do you remember me now?

I wrote that scratch-paper poem while helping my dad.

I almost threw it away on my way to your class,

Because I could smell my father's employ on the paper

But you didn't care that I was a pig-farmer's boy.

You said I had a real ‘faculty’ for poetry, and asked for another.

I was doubtful when you said the two would win and be published

—but you were right.

Now you remember me...

I’m sorry that I was sick when you arranged my poetry reading

You knew I was faking didn't you.

It was such a large crowd, of Have-it-Alls, and Know-a-Lots.

But I have learned not to be afraid of such hob-goblins anymore.

I am sorry this letter did not make it to you sooner…

but I am not hindered by your death

Just as you are not hindered by life anymore.

But I wanted you to know…

I find my waters run deeper.

Life's rough seas continue to strengthen me.

The love of classic literature you passed on

Still keeps my mind at a boil.

Our paths may have intersected for a finite moment

But, know this Ms. Cunningham,

You made an infinite difference in me.

The Birthmark

2009-07-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

"You look at a star from two motives,
because it is luminous and because it is incomprehesible.
You have at your side a softer radiance
and a greater mystery, Woman."
-Victor Hugo

Just recently, I had the chance to read the short story titled, “The Birthmark” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Here is a story written in the mid 1800’s that seems to accurately pin-the-tail on the Jack Assian ways of today's society. Husbands and wives that are critical of each other’s imperfections, the love of personal wants and comforts over the love of a spousal needs, technology outweighing humanity, gaining self worth through following personal or cultural notions of physical perfection…and the list goes on and on. A real gem of a story for numerous reasons... but just one of all these themes hit me while reading it this time around.

The story takes place during the late 1700’s where we find a man of science, named Aylmer, who marries a beautiful woman named Georgiana. Now Georgiana is the most beautiful girl in town and many men consider her touched by an angel or charmed by a fairy, because from birth has had a small light birthmark on her cheek in the shape of a miniature hand. Men who admired Georgiana liked the birthmark, and thought it made her all the more attractive. Aylmer knows he has obtained the most prized and perfect woman in town, maybe even in the world...well, if it were not for that birthmark but he is willing to see beyond that.

Shortly after their marriage, Aylmer asks his wife one morning if she has ever considered removing the birthmark from her cheek. This obviously upsets Georgiana and catches her completely off guard, since she wants to please her husband and has never considered the birthmark as anything but a beauty mark. As time passes, Aylmer is more and more bothered by his wife's birthmark; in his mind it is the only thing holding her back from perfection. His obsession with Georgiana's one flaw is so pervasive that eventually, out of her respect for his opinion, she begins to hate the cursed mark on her cheek as well. One Evening, she overhears him dreaming of cutting deep into her skin to remove the blemish, so the next morning she asks him to use his knowledge of science and technology to remove the birthmark and make her desirable once more.

After several attempts he finally concocts the elixir that he believes will work--but there are risks. After she takes the potion, she falls asleep as her husband watches her birthmark hold fast as if gripping her soul, then it begins to pale. Aylmer is extremely joyous at his accomplishments and wakes Georgiana momentarily to exclaim, "My peerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!" She looks in the mirror and sees that the birthmark’s blemish has almost completely disappeared, but then Georgiana feels her life beginning to fade as the birthmark fades, only to quietly die as she is released from her imperfection.

Now my summation of the story does not begin to do justice to Hawthorne's ability to tell a story...so I put the short story's link below. Sometimes, and I am sure I am not alone, I focus too much on the flaws of family members around me. Being married, sometimes the things that we husbands and wives once thought cute or endearing about a fiancé have become great annoyances in our spouses. Now I am not talking about anything specific, just the general combination of imperfections that every individual, including myself, has. But I do recognize (as many men sooner or later do) that I truly married out of my league--Tami is a bona fide angelic being. We each have a spark of divinity with in us, and we should approach that aspect of our loved ones more often. Upon visiting a few Sihk elders within one of their temples in Toronto, they greeted me with one word "Namasté", which means "I greet the Divinity within you". How much more necessary it is to greet the divinity within our family than within a stranger. At some point we husbands have to say, “If the only way to keep my sweet angel from floating back up to heaven is to allow her to keep a little dirt in her pocket to weigh her down, then so be it.”

So I did something about my new realization, my new awakening...I went up to Tami, sat her on the couch, held her hand, and while looking deep into her eyes, I said...

"Namasté"

To which she responded, "Bless you...That was a weird sneeze. Are you coming down with something? Where is the hand sanitizer? Better not get me sick!" as she walked away to rummage through the medicine cabinet. I guess this is one of those Mars/Venus things right?

The Birthmark by Nathaniel Hawthorne: READ IT HERE

If you have 5 minutes, you will like the story better from Hawthorne.

Favorite Short Film

2009-07-01T17:05:00.000-07:00

More

"MORE" a short film by Mark Osbourne, tells the story of an inventor who lives in a drab, colorless world. Day by day, he toils away in a harsh, dehumanizing job for an unappreciative employer...his only savior being the memories of the bliss of childhood. But at night, he works secretly on an invention that could help him relive those memories and spread their joy to everyone in his despair-filled life.

When he finishes his invention, it changes the way people look at the world. But his success changes him, for with it, he loses the most important part of himself by forgetting his pursuit of happiness in his persuit of 'MORE' and 'More'.

2009-06-29T01:54:00.000-07:00

Listen closely...18 month old Keagan says "Go ASU!"

Tempus Edax Rerum- Time, Devourer of all Things

2009-06-28T23:00:00.000-07:00

Yes... it has been awhile since I 'blogged', but my feeble mind and my hunt-n-peck fingers have been very busy over the last several months with an intensive writing course, the loss of a career, then getting my career back, etc, etc, so no need to worry about my seemingly vegetative state, I have been just plain busy. A ROLLER COASTER--the only description adequate for 2009 so far.

But I did have a moment and I wanted to share a poem by Carl Sandburg I recently re-discovered this spring semester--first reading it some 16 years ago. Back then there were eight of us juniors and seniors that would sneak up into a small forgotten room in the high school library where we had determined to hold weekly Dead Poet Society meetings. We barely fit in that little dusty room at the top of a very steep and narrow stair way above the library’s periodical and magazine section. Too small for a classroom, this oubliette might have been the office of the old Snowflake Academy's headmaster at one time. Being called to the office would be like a call to the gallows by having to pass through this poorly lit, narrow staircase. Once reaching the top of the steep stairs, beneath one's feet were solid wood plank floors and countless etchings left by the scrawling wear of each generation's passing. To the right, shelves holding National Geographic magazines from the early 1900's advertising Model T Fords and showing the latest horse harnesses that would be used to dig the Panama Canal. To the right, in a corner one could find parts from old typewriters and the funnel to a phonograph. Stacked like a chord of wood ready for the burning, there was a set of maps no longer correct since the reboundrification of Europe after both World Wars.

Sadly, we were soon discovered (after whispering troll-like through the floorboard vents into the room below and freaking out some freshmen girls) so we began meeting out by the old F Bar stockyard where a solid bridge of quarried sandstone blocks had been constructed across a ravine. We built a campfire pit at the base of the bridge, brought a few small benches, and would wax and wane from philosophic to comedic until very late at night. This is where I first heard the lyrics to Pearl Jam's song "Jeremy" as one of the boys drove his truck on the old tracks over head, threw open the doors, and cranked up the volume. This is where I committed in front of everyone to ask a particularly cute girl from St. Johns (we’ll call her Talisha) to a New Years dance…and the place I vocalized my pissed offness after the dance in overhearing three girls in my own grade tell Talisha that she should have said ‘no’ because I was shy and wasn’t popular. This is where I first experienced a truly terrifying ghost story--the kind that makes you feel as if the very haunting-hour of night is upon you, and that one more word would cause graveyards to gasp at what we dared whisper that moonless night. In the Dead Poet Society, nothing was off limits for discussion. We often spoke of matters personal, political, ethical, or social--things most teenage girls find tedious and that most teenage boys find counterproductive in their constant pursuits of finding a Willing Betty to fog up windshields with.

I needed these outings. I now know that most of the townspeople regarded me as a "sober child", so it probably would not surprise many that I was easily bored of conversations about putting a larger V8 in the Ford Falcon, which cheerleader was seen getting out of Joe Athlete's car at 3 a.m., or why Hobie shirts were out and No Fear shirts were in. I didn't give a crap about what all the cool kids were in to, yet cared too much about what they thought of me.

Luckily, I was not alone. Our group of eight consisted of nerds and jocks, introverts and extroverts, some of whom could sit on "The Wall" as part of the 'in crowd' and some of which could not. Despite our diversity, we were equals when we met to discuss our unique and individual views on things. I miss those days from time to time. Why? I miss the added perceptions to life. I can only liken it to playing baseball. With only one eye, you lose depth perception; it is harder to judge the distance and speed of approach of a ball. Imagine how much easier it is to catch or hit a ball when you are using both eyes, having two vantage points to judge distance and speed. The analogy is this, what a benefit having eight distinct vantage points when life hurls one of her curve-balls at you. Around that campfire, I learned that every man, simple or complex, has his own story...his own unique perspective rooted in his experience, interests, education, and world view. Even a person's failures have inestimable value and become his triumph when he is able to caution another from a poor path he had already erringly traveled down.

When I re-read the following poem again after so many years, I wanted to be at that campfire again. I feel that I have a strong grasp on Sandburg’s general message, but that I am missing something sublime that one of my fellow Dead Poet's had mentioned. Something that I once was told but can not remember it now. Maybe it is just my being so keenly aware of how, like in the poem, Tomorrow will soon be Yesterday...that all previous great empires with their powerful men and gifted women are nothing but lore and ruins now. If I were at the campfire now, I can imagine one friend saying, "Sandburg seems to believe this is the eventual fate of America, that rats and crows will make their homes in the ruins of our cities like they did in Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome." Another Dead Poet would express, "I think it is a cautionary warning to every organization, be it a religion, a political group, even a small family--celebrating your greatness rather than pursuing greater greatness is the beginning of its own end. You know, "Pride proceedeth the fall?'" But what would the others say?

I might say, "American's have forgotten that every freedom is based on certain responsibilities...if we are irresponsible with our freedom of speech, freedom of press, or irresponsible with free enterprise and free trade--they mutate (with the help of both political parties) into counterfeit forms and false versions of freedom that actually oppress individuals. Then the government feels the need to regulate our freedom. Is Sandburg saying eternal principles such as Justice, Ethics, Ingenuity, Compassion, Fairness, and Humility, the true structures in a free society, lie in ruins around us, and that WE are the rats, lizards, and crows, that have taken shelter in a broken system that use to be the American Dream?”

A deep thought, and that is when Talisha says, “Hey… those girls were right...he is a dork.”

So friends, family, and Dead Poet's, what do you think of the poem?

Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind
By Carl Sandburg

1. THE WOMAN named To-morrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.

2 The doors were cedar
and the panels strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.

The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where the golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.

3 It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women to warble:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.

And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened …
and the only listeners left now …
are … the rats … and the lizards.

And there are black crows
crying, “Caw, caw,”
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest
over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.

The only singers now are crows crying, “Caw, caw,”
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now
are … the rats … and the lizards.

4 The feet of the rats
scribble on the door sills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.

And the wind shifts
and the dust on a door sill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled: Nothing like us ever was.

Los Abrigados in Sedona

2008-12-28T23:22:00.000-08:00

We usually go up to Sedona every other year to see the massive Christmas light displays at Red Rock Fantasy and hopefully see some snow too. So when Tami got (she hates it when I use that word) obtained ...an awesome deal on a room, we skeedaddled to Sedona. (Oddly, she likes that word...I just never know).

However, our 3 day - 2 night much needed stay in Sedona was cut short by 1 day and 1 night... but we managed to get some pictures taken while we were there. I had to take Keagan for a late night drive the first night to get him to fall asleep, then again at 3am when he woke up screaming like he was scared to death (probably because he did not know where he was at). The second attempt to quiet him was futile as was trying to make him lay down. We would try to make him lay on the coach, since we left his pack-and-play, and he would scream so loudly that we were sure the neighbors were calling the authorities. We took turns watching him destroy our room as he ran back and forth around and around trying to stay awake while the other one tried to sleep. Pretty hard to catch some "Z's" with the constant, "Keagan...take that out of your mouth, leave the TV alone, yucky yucky, don't touch the phone, NO! HOT HOT fireplace!"

At 7am, I loaded this little bundle of energy up to go get some McD's for breakfast and I did not even get out of the parking lot before he was out. After getting breakfast for the three of us, I brought him in our room and laid him on the couch. Tami and I had to get ready for the day because we had to go talk to some real estate people in lower Sedona, then shopping, so by the end of the day we were zombies. But not Keagan. We knew it was going to be a repeat of the previous night so we packed up and called it quits early. Only thing better than getting away from it all is crashing in my own comfortable bed when it is all through!

Keagan after getting back from McD's

Keagan thinks "Time to get your coat on" means "Wanna wrestle?!"

Taking in the view from our back patio.

Cute! An even better view!! Kinda looks like he is going for a punch though...

Keagan wanted to roast his toes like daddy after all the shopping.

Christmas- Keagan 14 months old

2008-12-26T05:47:00.000-08:00

Cogito ergo sum - I think, therefore I am

2008-12-25T02:43:00.000-08:00

There is something about the Christmas Season that causes me to reflect more so than any other time of year. Maybe it’s sheer proximity to the new year and all the resolutions we must make--and break. Maybe it’s the recognition that another year has passed and as human nature would have it, a personal accountability comes into play:

“What have I done with my time? Where did the year go?”

Ten years ago I assumed I would be completing my doctorate by now. Back then I would have been surprised to find myself presently married to an attractive city girl, I never planned on getting married until personal academia and my all-encompassing desires to discover the world had been mollified. I would have been surprised if ten years ago I saw myself owning a couple of houses, I never intended on living in the Phoenix metro this long. What I imagined ten years ago does not even resemble in the slightest, what my daily life holds now. I think most people can relate to that.

Ten years ago this Christmas I had saved up enough money during the semester to fly to Oklahoma for Christmas. Shortly before buying the ticket, I found out that a friend of mine had decided not to come back for her final semester at EAC because she did not have enough money for tuition. Since it was about the same amount as my plane ticket, I decided to anonymously pay her tuition with my savings and just stay in Thatcher for the whole Christmas break. I had planned on a white Christmas in Oklahoma, planned on spending time with my family, intended on a much needed change of scenery. Instead I found myself alone…several days before Christmas…and everyone, I mean EVERYONE, in Howard’s Trailer park had gone home.

Life has a way of taking us away from our plans. But I could not help think of the simple but profound advice given to me by my grandfather when I first went to college. He said,

“Be where you are suppose to be and things will tend to work themselves out, do what is right and let the consequences follow.”

I sure couldn't see the purpose in me spending the whole Christmas break alone but it seemed like the right thing to do. I would just walk to work and back, a different path each time to switch it up and smell the roses. Truth be told, I had this habit of plucking a miniature rose from various yards to give away on my way home. Since no one was in town, I'd put it on a shelf in a bedroom waiting for someone deserving to return, and this seemed to be my only purpose in the day. (Yes, I was a naive and hopeless romantic in those days.)

For the most part, a couple of slow boring weeks but Christmas Eve was brutal. I had the day off, the game room was closed, we could not afford cable in our apartment, and I was too restless to read. That’s when a stranger knocked on the door. He wanted to know if a friend of his, a girl that lived a few trailers down was in town. When I told him no, he was a bit discouraged.

He explained that he had thrown some of his belongings in his car and left the deep south in a hurry and did not have a chance to tell her that he was coming. In short order, I found he was one of the most interesting and funny people that I had ever met. Oddly though, he would stand up about every 5 minutes, start pacing, rub his forearms, fidget about, sit down and then repeat, but what an interesting character! We talked for hours, until 1 or 2am on Christmas morning. I could tell he was down on his luck and could not help but ask him if he needed a place to crash for the night. He declined, probably to avoid wearing out his welcome. I begged him to come by the next morning because I knew how depressing it would be opening all two of my presents that were set under the little tree. We hung out Christmas day for several hours, and the day after that. I am fairly certain he was sleeping in his car before he final started crashing on my living room floor.

We would stay up late and when the conversations would get religious or philosophical, he would become very intent and for a short time, he would hold very still, speak very solemnly with a gritty eloquence all his own, before going on with the quirky fidgeting.

Soon, everyone began returning to college. As he made new friends he started going to church with us, something he had not done in a while. After lining up a job and a place to stay, the normalcy helped him to settle down. When we baptized my roommate, this seemed to have a profound effect on him.

One day he confided in me. He told me that when he came out to AZ he was running from his old life, friends, and habits. When we met, he said he had just given up alcohol, cigarettes, huffing, and worst of all, heroin. He said if he had not made new friends when he showed up unannounced, he would not have known where to go and might have ended up in another state with friends that ran in rough crowds. Then he said he finally called his dad and told him where he was at and had a conversation the two had been hoping for in years. Half smiling and in a sheepish way, he pointed to his car and asked me if I wanted to meet his dad.

As I began walking over, his dad got out of the car and began quickly walking over to me. I started to introduce myself when he wrapped me up in a tight bear hug, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Thank you… for being here for my son.”

I realized then that I had been in the right place. Like many people out there, today I find myself somewhere other than where I had previously planned on being. But there can be greater purposes at work. I may have not received that doctorate yet, I may still be living in the valley, and sometimes life and family responsibilities keep me from conquering the world. But that's okay, because I do strongly feel…I am where I need to be. This does not mean I have given in to a sense of resignation and I am just going to sit on the path choosen...after all, he who finds the right path and just sits on it will soon be ran over. I must walk it, because happiness is the journey, not the destination. There is a peace that comes from this knowledge that invites us to do what is right not knowing where the path may lead and let the consequences follow. And at the end of my years, when I return to report, I hope that God’s response is a tight bear hug and…

“Thank you…for being there for my children.”

Oh, And then if He can forgive me of all my student loans that I am about to incur and probably carry to my grave…that would be awesome too!!!

Merry Christmas Everyone...you might just be where you are suppose to be, so do some good while you are there!!!

2008-12-07T00:56:00.000-08:00

Some Pictures of Keagan from Picture Day...Double-click to enlarge.

Keagan now officially wears more expensive jeans than me.

Awww...check out his blue Peepers!

"You're coming back to get me right, Dad...okay, this ain't funny"

Keagan practicing his sweet break-dancing skills...

Darn Chiggers Caught Me in My Unawares...

2008-09-28T22:09:00.000-07:00

Sept. 2001
It was getting dark fast and for a day and a half we had no fresh water in sight. We had been going off water from a cow tank midway across Buzzard Roost Mesa and we could still taste the brackish aftermath it left behind in our mouths. As we came to the edge of the mesa, we found a steep cliff and could glimpse in the evening shadows, a verdant and fertile valley below. We could hear the water running and see a strip of what were probably tall sycamores and cottonwoods running through the valley. The sun had gone down and to find a way around the cliff would take hours in the dark. We did not have flashlights, only homemade pine-pitch candles, so finding a way down the cliff face was out of the question.

To my surprise, little Jessica who was seemingly nonreligious said, “Lets say a prayer.” We were all a little surprised. Ashlee looked at her for a moment almost as if to say, “Did I hear you right?” Jessica had just turned 14 a few days earlier and must have suddenly felt she should take charge. “Come on, were wasting day light. Fine...I’ll say a prayer.”

So there in the fall twilight hours, the four of us knelt at the cliffs edge amongst the sacatone and sage. Jessica prayed as best she knew how.

“Dear Jesus, We’re like in a real fix. We can’t find a way down on our own, but we know that with your help all things are possible. Please show us the way….Oh, and bless the food we are going to be cooking when we get there.”

Suddenly a spindly old cow came bursting through the manzonita bushes at the cliffs edge. Where did she come from?! We looked and sure enough, slightly over-grown very sketchy cow trail zigzagged down into the shadows beneath. I guess all things are possible.

Jessica dropped to her knees. “Thank You, God! I knew you were listening!”

We quickly made our way down the steep rock face. We were moving so fast that we hardly noticed the deep cuts and scratches we earned bushwacking through all the thickets of catclaw. We trudged and tripped our way through them. I was breaking trail in the lead so I took most of their barbed fury. I did not know if my forearms were wet from sweating or from blood…nor did I notice the hole that was torn in my food bag and the flour pouring out of it.

We made it to the stream and set up camp in a grove of sycamores. To my delight, we made it down safe and had fresh spring water. This greatly outweighed my concern about losing a good portion of my corn meal and flour on the way down. The girls offered to share but I knew that they would need every ounce of food they had to make it through the week. I knew I was going to have to get a little primitive from here on out and try to substitute edible plants and maybe catch a rabbit or quail.

The next morning I said a prayer that I would have a little help in finding something to eat. I started collecting wild black berries, water cress, sour dock, and canyon grapes along the rivers edge as I akwardly hop-scotched form rock to rock. Then I saw movement at my feet under the placid water glaring in the early dawn light—brown trout and blue-gill fish darting up and down through the river rocks into a pool. As chance would have it, the week before, I had collect 3 or 4 barrel cactus needles that were curved back like hooks-- I had heard that the Sinagua and Mogollon Indians used them to fish with.

I made a fly-swatter of sorts with some yucca fronds and went about whopping grasshoppers and bumble bees for bait. With a stick for a pole, sinew for string, and live bait, I caught 14 small fish with the cactus needle hooks in about 2 hours. Before cleaning and prepping them for cooking, I found a secluded spot, and followed the example Jessica had set and thanked my Father in Heaven for the abundant catch.

I apologize but my story now takes it's tangent. I tell this story as a precursor to another. You have to know the back ground to know why I constantly feel the urge to go back to that valley at the head of Buzzard Roost Mesa again and again.

You see most people never have a chance to live the primitive life--never have the need to wonder how they will get through the day. I don’t live it now. I live a life of luxury and ease in comparison. I have just about everything I need at my beck and call. In town, if I come to a road block on the way home, I merely follow a detour like a mindless sheep until I eventually get home. Not a calorie extra burned on my part. If I was low on food, I would just run to the store, or if things were tight, I guess I could ask my parents to spot me some money until pay day. Worst case scenario, there's food stamps, soup kitchens, government programs. If I was sick or hurt I could whip out the old cell phone or drive a block away to the nearest Urgent Care.

Often times in the wilderness though, things can quickly escalate beyond one's own ability and the terrifying realization sets in…there is no 911, no doctor’s prescriptions, no homeless shelters, no soup kitchens… there is only one source to turn to--God. Yet in the city, it is too convenient to turn to our golden calves of technological advances and government aid. So why has society become more godless? One reason, social constructs and bureaucratic agencies have become our savior.

So this is why I go back to Buzzard Roost Mesa as often as I can. It’s a place so rugged and remote, one must face hardship head-on. Often enough, even meeting these hardships squarely on, it is not enough to rely on my own strength and skill.

A couple of weekends ago I found myself needing some answers and direction in life--I needed to clear my mind. A friend and I arrived at the same cliff with our 40lbs. packs just as the sun was setting. We quickly found the obscure cow trail and started the switch-backs down. The brush was extra thick on the way down due to all the rain and snow this year. After the arduous hike down, we finally made it to the valley below, and found a spot that the cows had cleared out under a juniper tree.

I pulled out my brand new Coleman blow torch lighter to get a fire going. The wood was a little damp from the constant monsoon rains that had been falling for the last two weeks. No worry though, I have a blow torch! I set up my kindling and twigs, clicked the torch…about 2 seconds of flame…and then it went out. Not a single flame after that. So I went primitive.

I took a shoe lace and a mesquite bow, a piece of dry saguaro, a yucca stalk, a stone socket and made a fire-starting bow drill. Problem was this, even if I did create a coal off of the friction, everything was so wet. I tried anyways, several times actually, to no avail. Then it dawns on me, “This is the place that I learned a valuable lesson in prayer with Jessica. Why have I not prayed yet!?”

We knelt and asked that we would be able to get a fire going because we needed to cook our food. Most of what we brought to last for 3 days and 2 nights needed to be cooked. There was also the rumblings of thunder and the distant flash of a lightning storm coming...we could use the camp fire light to make a shelter out of our rain ponchos.

After the prayer, our faith was high, and I went back to the bow drill. It has to work...I caught 14 fish last time...with a cactus needle! But two hours later my arm was too cramped up to even hold the bow anymore. I was doing everything right, why was the fire not starting!? We set up a shelter made from our ponchos in the dark, and shortly after, every square inch was being put to the test. He slept dry and warm. The next morning, everything was so wet that we knew there was little chance of starting a fire. I did not want my friend to hate my guts making him stay so I suggested that we could climb out and drive down to a dryer climate. As we climbed out, we ate juniper and manzonita berries to give us energy to carry our heavy packs out. By the time we made it to the top, our legs were shaking as we wobbled to my truck.

I couldn't help but feel a little let down that this place of miracles in the past had now failed to deliver. Was I still going to want to return now that the place had lost some of its magic? Was it me? Have I lost it?

Two days later I noticed I had a few chigger bites around my sock line and a few on my back and chest. Chigger bites are the worst and you usually don’t know they are around until 1 or 2 days after they bite. It’s like having a mosquito bite, but when you scratch it, it feels like a hot needle is stabbed in you. I had about 12 bites and they were painful and annoying. I called my friend.

“Hey, you notice any red bumps on your body.”

“Yeah, did we get into some poison ivy?” he asked.

I told him about chigger bites and that they were probably going to hurt like crazy for the next week.

“I have about 12 bites, how about you?” I asked.

“I quit counting at 85. I am covered....I'm hurting pretty badly, I already went through a bottle of that pink lotion!”

I suddenly had a realization—we had been in danger. If our prayer had been answered, if we had started a fire, we would have camped there for 3 days. Imagine how many chigger bites we would have had after that. Get bit by enough chiggers and a person can have a urticarial reaction. Our shelter was the only warm spot in the entire valley. Even more chiggers were headed for our shelter with out us even being aware.

I realized that it was still a special place but even more so now. This valley at the head of Buzzard Roost Mesa that once held so much enchantment for me because of miraculous answers to prayers now had a new dimension…the miracle of unanswered prayers.

Angelus Es Keagan Asher-

2008-09-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following poem for Tami and Keagan just before he was born.

A cherub in Heaven so soft and so small,

pouted and sighed, "Am I last of us all?"

"Oh Father, Oh Father is it my turn on Earth?"

"I promise to serve well from the day of my birth."

"Your vineyard needs tending, I am up for the task.

What must these little hands do, Oh Father just ask"

"I don't know what I have, that you possibly need

But I'll do anything!" the little angel did plead.

"My Child, My Child, precious you are in my sight,

I have held on to you … with all of my might."

"You are blessed, and chosen, to do great things

But I ask only this...your soft cherub wings. "

"But Father, Oh Father, wings protect me from harm.

How will I be sheltered from Wind and Storm? "

"Faith... My Child, Sweet Child, you will not be alone

Parents I give you, they prepare you a home."

Away sadly the little angel floated, feeling weary and weak

"But I love my wings, Father. I need a moment to think."

Meanwhile on Earth… a young woman calls her mother

"Mom, Oh Mom! ... I just felt a strange flutter! "

"Did I do something wrong, is my baby all right,

What I just felt will keep me up all night! "

"Daughter, Oh Daughter, it's the nature of things,

An angel...your angel, just gave God his wings."

By Aaron Peterson

Hiking...actually no,... Swimming Down Salome Creek

2008-08-25T22:58:00.000-07:00

I had a friend call me up and ask me if I wanted to go back to Salome Creek this year. Last year our wives went with us and they braved the rapids incredibly well. Still, Tami was almost washed away in the current of 3 Blind Mice Falls, was almost detopped be another water spout, and was shivering so hard at the end of it all that her lips were blue. Brandon's wife almost did a face plant into a 6 foot granite bolder. I am still amazed at how well they did and how they had fun the whole time. But this time I said I would go if I could find a water sport helmet and if we left our wives safely at home (now that they are both mommies it did not take much convincing).

Salome Canyon starts at the base of the Sierra Anchas where several peaks combine to make a singular path to lake Roosevelt. Over the years there has been some incredible rock formations made and the scenery is incredible. There were some changes in the canyon too since last trip. That 6 foot boulder I mentioned earlier...it was about 6ft wide and 6ft deep as well. It has moved about 3 feet, so if a solid chunk of granite is around 4600 lbs per yards cubed...there was enough water during a flood to move 36,800 lbs. If a flood came through right now...we would be like lint in a fire hose.

With that in mind, we crossed our fingers that the life insurance premiums were paid and jumped in.

This is were the canyon starts and the only place to get in.

The water was extremely cold from melted snow runoff so we wore wet suits.

In most pools we could not touch the bottom of the canyon floor.

Brandon and I just before the first water fall.

The Narrows have been carved out by centuries of flooding. Due to the narrowness and the sharp decline in elevation, one missed place foot in the water can yank you down the many falls.

There were several water falls that were wide enough that we could just slide in.

The water was so cold that Brian's wedding ring fell off his ring finger and we had to dive for it for a half hour before he finally found it.

The drift wood was deposited by a 15-20ft rush of water during one of many flash floods. This is an area that you need to know the weather miles away up stream so you don't get trapped in the canyon.

The last waterfall we chose to repel down.

The end of Salome Canyon and the start of Salome Creek. See the Sierra Ancha Mountains in the background above the canyon.

We did not dare take a video camera down with us but I found someone that did...along with his Kayak! Watch below...

CLICK HERE: SALOME CREEK IN THE SIERRA ANCHAS

Fortunam Temptans - In Search of Adventure

2008-08-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago, Riley and I went up into the Bradshaw Mountains. Tami and I had gone up a month or two ago but did not get a chance to do much exploring. So when Riley called saying his work was paying for two 4 wheelers in order to get some water samples from a stream that ran through an old gold mine...I was game. It was a very rough road but very scenic. Here I am crossing a stream somewhere between Button Mine and Oro Belle Mine.

This is one of two Diamondback Rattlesnakes that struck at us as we drove by. We just had to investigate...

Keagan Asher Peterson Pics

2008-08-18T23:27:00.000-07:00

Newborn

One Week

One month

3 Months

5 months

6 months

7 months

8 months

9 months

Family Pics

2008-08-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

I Went To The Woods To Live Deliberately...

2008-08-18T22:07:00.000-07:00

I have been running and walking a lot at night. It seems when ever I establish a routine, and I get to the point that I could do that routine thing without thinking about it, I really get lost in my thoughts. Well maybe not so much lost, more like high-centered, stuck on a memory of a place or an event, or even on a person in the far past. Then I just spin my wheels in it trying to get the most traction out of that memory. I hate forgetting things. I've got to remember, was it spring or fall? Was the air thick with moisture before a monsoon? Was it Box Elder or Sycamore leaves that crunched under foot? What were his exact words about this? Was she standing or sitting when she teetered with laughter about that?

I have led an adventurous life, married late in the game and now one extraordinarily lovely lady, my wife, has tamed me of my Jack Kerouac ways--almost. Yet I wonder what happened to certain people that helped contour my character along the way. I wish I could find them all, find out how they are doing and let them know how they influenced me. I think some would be amazed to find out they had an influence on me at all.

About 3 hours ago, a song on the radio brought back a memory most poignant and acute when I left for a run. I can remember the teary brown eyes and a streak of soot in her brown hair when we said our goodbyes. It was like saying goodbye to your little sister, knowing you would never see her again.

"Don't remember me like this, I never cry, Don't remember me like this!" Jessica said.

I met Jessica about 6 weeks earlier up in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness. It is a very rugged area to survive in and tends to bring out the worst in people when they first starting hiking in it. After a few days in the cactus and agave everyone gets a little grouchy at first.

-------A lot of rough terrain to go through in order to get up into the pine trees and streams, few people know about it.-------

At first glance she did not like me, and I could tell that from a glaring distance. She was only 13 but was more alert and confident than most 20 year olds. She had lived a full life by that age. She had ran away several times, had been adjudicated by the court systems over and over, and knew 'Juvie' hall better then her own neighborhood. It seemed as our small group of 4 chatted around the camp fire that when she addressed me, it was with slightly barbed comments. She thought I talked slow, my shoes looked old and cheap, I smelled like smoke, and she was sure if I took my hat off that I would be bald underneath.

"So, okay… so you're not bald, but you sure have a lot of forehead!" was her response when I took off my hat. I was starting to think—what a brat. This is going to be a shoddy 2 weeks for both of us. No wonder she is in trouble all they time. That night as I thought about how she probably treated every authority figure this way, I suddenly realized that I was about to start to treat her the way every authority figure had treated her in response. If I was to make a difference, I had to approach her differently than others.

--------------------------------------------Workman's Creek at the heart of the Seirra Ancha's--------------------------------

The next day we hiked for about 7 miles, pretty far for a 13 year old with a 30lbs pack. We collected canyon grapes and mulberries along the way. We were not the only ones; there were fresh bear tracks all over the canyon. We told ghost stories that night but the one that really seemed to hit home was a bear story.

----------------------------------------------Black bear tracks along Spring Creek--------------------------------------

"A young girl in one of our groups unwisely put Tang and Pine sap in her hair to try and make dreadlocks. A black bear smelled the scent, came into camp, ever so quietly, placed it's gapping jaws around the girls entire head and started gently tugging at her like a melon on the vine. Long story short, the girl thought it was someone playing a prank, swatted at the perpetrator only to hit a massive black runny nose. She screamed, then everyone screamed, and started banging their campfire cups so loud that the bear probably still has not stopped running."

Of course after this story the girls wanted to know how I got the bear claw on the necklace I made.

Looking uneasily from side to side I whispered, "SHHHH! Bear's still looking for it!

When the group got ready for bed, I took some coals from the fire and went a little ways off and started my own little fire. As the only male in the group, it was proper to sleep out of camp. As I got up, Jessica wanted to know if I was going to be up for awhile.

"I have the night watch tonight…so I will be up all night."

"Well that sucks!" finally showing her more compassionate side.

"I don't mind, gives me a chance to think."

"Tomorrow's my birthday, I don't want to think about it, you know, about what I am missing."

"14 years old huh, what do you want for your birthday?"

"A birthday cake and a pony ride" she said sarcastically, reverting back to her hardened nature. But I think she realized her rigidity in the silence that followed.

"Hey Homz, I like your stories. There hella cool." She blurted as she went to her sleeping bag.
"Good, I got a lot more for tomorrow."

That night I stayed up making mulberry and grape jam in my large camp fire cup. I cleaned out the cup and made 3 attempts to bake a muffin with the wheat flour, cornmeal, Tang, and baking soda that we were issued every week. The third attempt was a success. As the early morning sun came up, Jessica awoke to the 3 of us caterwauling 'Happy Birthday to you' with a big muffin, smothered in homemade jam, and a little tree pitch candle on top. She was ecstatic!

Later that day, we hiked across Buzzard Roost Mesa. Imagine pine trees on all the mountains around you and a huge grassy plateau with one or two lonely cedars, just miles of green grass and wild oats about a foot tall.

-------On top of Buzzard Roost Mesa in spring when the grass is just starting to grow. Squaw Butte is in the background. -------

As we hiked across it, suddenly four horses, one very large gelding and 3 healthy mares, came running at full gallop about thirty feet from us—nostrils flaring, manes tossing, playing some game of catch-me-if-you-can. Not another human in site. No drum beat is as exhilarating as the sound of hooves pounding the earth. We all stood transfixed by the site, all except Jessica.

----------------------------------------------------Good luck catching one of those "ponies"! -----------------------------------------

"I want to ride the pony, I want to ride the Pony for my birthday!" she yelled as she jumped up and down. But her hopes faded as they ran far off into the distance, disappearing over the ridge.

It was getting dark so we decided to camp on top of the mesa. The next morning, the girls went down to an earthen cow tank we found to get water. Having kept watch all night for bears again, and knowing what business cows do when they are standing in cow tanks, I was in no hurry to get up and get water. Even with my tattered hiking boots as a pillow, I still heard the clip-clop rumblings of a half dozen horses approaching.

I got up quick and grabbed my pack rope in my right hand and a handful of oats in my left. One of the horses was branded, and another had horseshoes so my guess was they were not wild. As I approached though, it was obvious they were use to roaming freely and wanted nothing to do with me. The large gelding was curious though and approached cautiously.

When he sniffed the oats and started to nibble, I knew I only had one chance. I gently ran my hand up around his neck and dropped the rope down the other side slowly. I couldn't make a noose, simply because if he took off, he would have my only pack rope and I would have to make one from grass or yucca fibers, a daunting task I did not want to endure. Suddenly he realized what I was doing and he lurched back immediately, but it was too late. He had been caught by a barefooted hiker.

He calmed quickly as I one-handedly put on my hiking boots and walked him over to a tall rock. He was very tall, I had no hopes of getting on him bareback with out a little help. My grandfather had shown me once how to make a hackamore harness of sorts with a rope, complete with reins, so I did my best. I looped around his nose and back around his neck. I pulled the rope reins tight, grabbed a big handful of mane, and jumped from the rock to his back and held on for dear life. One of my ancestors was killed after being bucked off in Death Valley so I was well aware of the dangers I was placing myself in. He didn't even flinch. "This is going to be easier than I thought."

Meanwhile, as I later was told, the girls down at the cowtank were laughing and filling up canteens. One asked the other adult in the group where I was, but before she could answer, Jessica chimed in,

"Probably petting a bear by now. I swear that guy is going to come riding through the trees on a grizzly."

At that very moment, with impeccable luck and perfect timing, I come riding through the trees, bareback on that big gelding and yelled,

"I HEAR THERE'S A GIRL WANTING TO RIDE A PONY!"

And so in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness, on Buzzard Roost Mesa Jessica got her birthday wish....Her own birthday cake in a cup, her very first pony ride.

Where is she now? Did she go to college, get married, have kids? Does she still want to persue a law degree and become a judge? Did she start any more fights, return to old habits, did she get locked up again? She thanked me for many things she learned and awesome adventures in the month and a half that followed, but did I thank her for her brutal but succinct honesty? Like many little sisters have done, some of young Jessica's advice actually motivated me to venture from my rogue-like lifestyle after my year long bitter hiatus from dating. She listened to all my dating stories and just laughed...I began to laugh at them too.

Her advice: stop falling for the girls that come to you when they need some stabilty in their life.

"Aaron, you're like a pair of crutches. Soon as their on their feet again their going to leave you leaning against the wall. And then their mom is going to be like, 'Hey, why don't you take better care of these crutches' and the girl is going to roll their eyes and say 'MOM!?' and like totally not remember how you helped them get by. I know cuz I have had crutches before and I treat guys like that all the time
."

It was around this time that I met my wife and ask her out on a date (a gutsy move since Tami was way out of my league and had no need for a crutch).

There are so many people like young Jess that are interwoven into the fabric that is becoming my life's tapestry and they may never know it. Childhood, high school, Oklahoma, mission, college, road tramping, and beyond. But to all of you reading this that know me, no matter the era or the angst I was in…take with you this: Your friendship—past, present, or future, it means something--or mends something in me.

Lux et Veritas Floreant- Let Light and Truth Flourish

2008-08-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

Tami had to work on her yearbook deadline, Keagan said he was too small for a long rugged hike, Tyler wasn’t feeling well, Brandon called to cancel after hurting his back Friday, Riley and Noel were out of town, and Ashley was out camping. I have gone hiking alone many times before but it is definately more safe to hike with someone. I finally got my sister Lindsey recruited but did not get her message that she left me at 2am until I was sitting at her apartment complex at 5:30am. Well that was a waste of gas.

I think one major reason I have had many adventures and never seem to run out of stories to tell my Sunday School class is best put by Henry David Thoreau:

--"The man who goes out alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait ’til that other is ready."--

So like many times before I thought, "Well, I could go back home, sleep in, hang around the house, and try again next week; or I can go by myself this morning and next week I can venture on an entirely new path." When I read Thoreau’s Walden several years ago, I decided by adopting his mentality, I would accomplish twice as much in my life as if I choose to wait for others.

It brings to mind the words of Robert Herrick in his poem immortalized by The Dead Poet Society when he advises the youngsters to make the most of their time and youth.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying."

I am dying.
This should not come as a shock to anyone, because so are you. Each breath taken and every beat of our heart brings us one step closer to its last beat. I have been sobered by this fact enough to be very aware of the slightest gestures of friends, the most subtle of colors in nature, the smallest of details around me. And even though I have come to peace with knowing that death is not to be feared, but a new horizon to explore, I still wander about certain things.

In the next life, will I still like the way that sunlight feels on my skin? Will I be allowed to keep my scars...some of my life’s hardest lessons have been engraven upon my body through scrapes and stabs. Will I know everything, or can I still wonder--an imagination might be seen as a habit of the lazy in a place of omnipotence and all-knowing. Will I still be amazed by sunrises more than sunsets? Will there be sunrises and sunsets?

Greater light and truth of eternal things...these are the things I thought of for 4 hours as I spent time with the best traveling companion I have ever known--Solitude.

At the end of my hike, I came down a few steep switch-backs along beside Miner’s Needle. The whole hillside was bathed in the colors of desert blossoms. Whites, blues, purples and pinks--but most noticable was the yellowing of the slope by the California poppies that seemed to pervade the landscape in their motionless march up the hill. A very bright and palpable yellow.

When I thought of the color yellow, C.S. Lewis came to me in a whispering. I remember reading him remarking how our finite and limited minds tend to ask questions about infinite and eternal concepts. Our understanding is so limited, and we get frustrated when we receive no answers to our questions. Yet, too often, the very questions that we pose to God are flawed and unanswerable...like asking if the color yellow is square or is it round.

He wrote in "A Grief Observed" the following:

"Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask -- half the great theological and metaphysical problems -- are like that."

Combine this with Emerson's thoughts on the greatest minds in poetry, philosophy, science, and politics.

"But the highest minds of the world have never ceased to explore... For we are not pans and barrows, nor even porters of the fire and torch-bearers, but children of the fire, made of it..."

I thought on this as I walked through the desert blooms and I came to two conclusions: First, "Here I am questioning how to carry greater light and truth in regards to the eternities. But in the life to come, if I have any hope of eternal reward, I will need to be made of truth and light--not merely carry it. I should be asking how to become part of that greater light and truth rather than merely a vessel for it.

My second conclusion, I think I know why everyone else bailed on me last minute. What kind of a psycho hikes with a bearclaw and snake vertibrae necklace, a machete strapped to his hip (very manly), and takes pictures of flowers while pondering his mortality (very girlie). Everyone must think I'm schizophrenic...

Ad Medullam Mea Fidei- To the Marrow of My Faith

2008-08-01T21:50:00.000-07:00

(Old blog from another site)

Well, it has been observed that I always put quotes, lyrics, and lines from quotable sources on my page but that it has been a while since I wrote any thoughts of my own. The last thing I want to hear posthumously at my headstone, is accusations that I lacked any original thoughts of my own, so sit back and enjoy me… mulling over me.

(Actually the last thing I want to hear at my grave is my old roommate Evan making good on a threat he made years ago...claiming he is going to run up to my grave shirtless, wearing a leather vest and dog collar, and in the most effeminate voice he can muster, say "Good night sweet Prince! I loved thee well!'' …and then sob, uncontrollably. But I digress… )

There is no all encompassing word that could ever describe every branch, leaf, and bloom of one's personality; however, get to the root of a person and one will find singular all-encompassing traits more apparent. The root of a person is found by detecting their motives from which all behavior and traits stem. Behavior alone can be a sketchy vantage point for forming an opinion about another person. Find the motivation for that person's behavior, and you are getting to the source from which all things beautiful and ugly grow.

In evaluating a plethora of choices and actions taken in my life, one will hopefully find only a handful of motives.

~At the root of me, I am constantly seeking independence. Not in the way that most quasi-independent minds do. After all, I can follow other people's advice, happily live by rules not created by me, and sometimes I march to the beat of others' drumming. I am fiercely independent though when it comes to relying on things outside of my self or abilities. I tend to think that if something should be done, I should learn to do it on my own. Whether it's building my house, doing my taxes, cooking my food, re-stitching a seam, or cutting my hair, I should know how to do it so I am not dependent on others. I hate being at the dentist for this reason, not because I am in pain, but I can't see what he's doing or how I can do it too. Then I end up running home to practice on someone (Sorry about the bicuspid Tami).

Maybe that's a bad example, but my point is this: Two hundred plus years ago, many of our founding fathers were polymaths. Thomas Jefferson gained great recognition as an architect, archeologist, horticulturist, paleontologist, author, inventor, university founder, and united states president. Is there a Da Vinci today? Where are the Renaissance men? We have become so specialized at what we do in order to earn a living that we have evolved into self-diagnosed idiot savants. People may call me a "Jack of all trades, master of none", but I think specialization is for insects. I say they are the drones of humanity.

Being independent obviously doesn't mean accepting every trend, but it also does not mean rebelling against every one either. I have worn mismatched clothes before, not as a statement against fashion statements, but simply because the pants were clean and the shirt was…ironed-like. If they pass the "ol' Smellaroo Test", why not. I have never dyed my hair some radical color, never went to the mall wearing all black and a trench coat, never took a liking to something just to stick out in a crowd as different-- unless it was Frat night with the boys of I Phelta Thi who would rather dress up to play RISK rather than chase women. To me, selling out to some counter-culture way of life is the same as selling out to the accepted dominate culture. Both are tiring and enslaving, both the Emo and the Goth would disappear as quickly as the tiara girl if no one was watching them be them. Marilyn Manson and Paris Hilton are as different as night and day but if they were forced to dine together, their tête-à-tête would leave them knowing that their basic motives are strikingly similar—and so is their underwear.

I am aware of the common fallacy in our society to think that moral guidelines hold one back or tether one down from obtaining his or her independent nature. Does the well-grounded string hold the kite down, keeping it from being free; or does it hold the kite up, allowing it to soar higher as long as the string is taut. When has a kite ever continued upward by breaking all its' restraint? At times I have found my self tossed by the philosophies of men, or twirling in personal angst and loathing, and my human nature grumbles, "Dagnabit, Someone just cut my gall dern string", only to find I am the saboteur holding the blade. Why my inner voice sounds like Uncle Jessie Duke of Hazzard County is another story.

~At the root of me, I work hard to be honest, ethical, and moral in all my dealings. Sadly I fall short of this daily. But when I stumble, like a toddler learning to walk, I try to fall toward the ideal or essential morality instead of falling away. For me this morality or truth I seek is God, He who endorses fierce independence—as long as it is kept in bounds or tempered with morality and ethics. Yes, I said it... Some people are now leaving this blog. There is no way that something so perfect like the earth…or Jessica Alba, just happened. I also think that God has a sense of humor, why else would he allow things like Brut cologne or American Idol to come into exsistance. I do realize there is a limit to humor, and that some things are sacred, I hope my weaknesses and wit never diminish that.

~At the root of me, I enjoy that which is simple. For good or for bad, the happiest times of my life have been when I know what everything around me is, how it all works, where everything can be found, and why I am there to begin with. The simplest my life has ever been was when I lived off the land for a year in the desert. Drop me off in the desert now and I can tell you which way is south by the lean of the cacti, where to find water depending on the terrain and habitat, build fire with out matches, shelter with out tents, what can be hunted, where can be gathered.

Once I laid on my back for two days in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness until someone picked me up and drove me to the hospital. I hardly worried about my circumstance. I was puking and heaving the whole time but thought optimistically to my self, "Arizona deserts give me the heaves...but atleast it's a dry-heave".

A few months later, I fell off a cliff, was stabbed by a branch on the way down, and it broke off in my leg. I found an obsidian stone, chipped a razor sharp piece off for a scalpul and tried to cut it out of my leg (again something I should have left for the doctor). I made a crutch out of a century plant stalk, and hiked out of two canyons to the nearest road to hitch a ride to the emergency room. It was simple and clear to me what had to be done to survive. It is not that simple for me in the city—survival here deals with the cell phones, interest rates, credit scores, 401K's, and PIN numbers. Until recently, I thought a 401K was one hell of a long marathon.

The desert was my crucible. It was a refiner's fire in every sense, separating those precious essentials needed for human happiness, from the weightier luxuries and distractions of the world. This does lend credence to the observations and claims of my intellectual buddies that I am an anarcho-primitivist. I am a capitalist by birth, have a good paying career, and now enjoy many luxuries—like toilet paper instead of sage brush. Imagine the emotional (and some physical) scarring after that.

But after the desert, I know what is essential and what is excess. I now know that happiness is the small delicate things we trample over in our pursuit for something more. In other words, Happiness is missed when we choose to just kill some time by playing Playstation until 1am and can't wake up the next morning to hike the nearest mountain peak and watch the sunrise. "How can you kill time with out injuring Eternity?" And how many men are slaves to their possessions? For once in my life, I own very nice things, but... they will never own me.

Unless Jessica Alba walked through the door with a six pack of Dr. Pepper and a bag of black licorice of course… Then she would own me. :-)

2008-08-01T21:43:00.000-07:00

"I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor-such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children, perhaps-what more can the heart of man desire?"

-Leo Tolstoy

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."
- Chris McCandless

2008-08-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

(For years people have wondered who was the inspiration behind the character 'Tyler Durden' in Fight Club. Some say he is half Henry David Thoreau and half Attila the Hun...others say...He is 100% me.)

"I see in you the strongest and smartest who have ever lived --

an entire generation pumping gas and waiting tables; or they're slaves with white collars.

Advertisements have them chasing cars and clothes, working jobs they hate so they can buy crap they don't need.

We are the middle children of history, with no purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. The great war is a spiritual war. The great depression is our lives.

We were raised by television to believe that we'd be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars --

but we won't.
And we're learning that fact.
And we're very, very pissed-off."

"This is your life, good to the last drop; it doesn't get any better than this. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. This isn't a seminar, and this isn't a weekend retreat. Wherever you are now you can't imagine what the bottom will be like.

Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.

Nothing is static, everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart.

This is your life... it doesn't get any better than this.This is your life... and it's ending one minute at a time.

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are all part of the same compost heap. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

You are not your bank account.
You are not the clothes you wear.
You are not the contents of your wallet.
You are not your bowel cancer.
You are not your grande latte.
You are not the car you drive.

YOU ARE NOT YOUR FREAKIN' KHAKIS.

You have to give up. You have to give up. You have to realize that someday you will die. Until you know that, you are useless.

I say, 'Let me never be complete.'
I say, 'May I never be content.'
I say, 'Deliver me from Swedish furniture.'
I say, 'Deliver me from clever art.'
I say, 'Deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth.'
I say, 'You have to give up.'

I say, 'Evolve, and let the chips fall where they may."

2008-07-22T00:54:00.000-07:00

Keagan and his Daddy playing in the front yard of the Bed and Breakfast in Snowflake. We went up for the annual Pioneer Day celebration and joined family in all the festivities.

Below are pics of the Osmer D. Heritage Inn that Tami and I stayed in. I highly recommend it!

The front yard .

The Breakfast is the absolute best in town.

This is the room that Tami and I stayed in.

Water fall in front of the temple.

Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non conprehenderunt

2008-07-22T00:07:00.000-07:00

In January, I found myself at the top of a ski run in Flagstaff, giddy as a child. I had not been skiing since I was about 13 and boy did it take me back. And here I was, slightly hesitant to go, but excited to conquer this mountain. Have you ever just let yourself go, sacrificing every caution and hesitancy to the speed of the slope? The slight tickle in your stomach as you start to gain momentum, the burn of each snowflake as it hits your face, the wind ripping through your hair? And as you cut from the left to the right, your movements become natural, innate, instinctive, as if you were born to soar with the yeti gods and snow angels. Have you ever felt that way?

Well neither have I.

Truth is, I went about 15 feet before I had my face pile driven into the snow with one leg up like this and one arm down like that. The sound that my knee made as it did a 360 was my body's way of saying, "What the hell were you thinkin?!" It seemed like everyone was slowing to look at me like I was a wreck on the freeway. "No blood here, keep moving along." I even noticed a crow up in a spruce tree seem a little too interested in my distress and probably hoping for my demise. I tried again.

I managed to stay up a little longer before going into some convulsive "Dance, Dance, Revolution" routine. SMACK! Flat on my back, sliding head first, complete with a complimentary snow wedgie. Oddly enough, now there were two crows watching. "No bully mountain is going to give me a wedgie and live to tell the…SMACK! CRACK! BANG! TWANG! And there went my knee.

So as I humbly hobbled down the mountain, you know, to the flat spot were they teach 5 year old kids how to ski. I told the others to go on to bigger better slopes and I would practice on my own. The crows must have liked that idea, because now there were 5 or 6 and they followed me all the way down. I wonder if they always follow someone who looks like they are trying to kill themselves on the slopes.

But I found myself alone for 3 or 4 hours.

The old me may have been mad or disheartened by this. I may have been bitter because of all the potential fun that seemingly had gone to the dogs along with my knee. But I thought it was all pretty funny. I actually had a lot of fun chilling on the outdoor balcony of the lodge--thinking and soaking in the ambiance. I could not wait to get home and tell Tami, facial gestures, body contortions and all, of how I screwed up my knee.

I seem to get that way a lot now…which is surprising since I really am a loner by nature. It has always seemed like when I am alone time slows down. I have all the time I need to be introspective and prune away those aspects of my life that are a waste of time. Like a tree, cut back the lesser qualities to leave room for the greater ones to grow. According to the sophist, Philostratus the Elder, "On wild trees the flowers are fragrant, on cultivated trees, the fruits."
If this was true, what better way to prune and cultivate ones self than to cut loose some of the fragrant and ever-blossoming distractions of society in order to lead a more fruitful life?

I remember having my roommate drop me off at the foot of the Pinnaleno Mountains and telling him to come looking for me in 3 days. He thought I'd go crazy after a couple of hours not having someone to talk to...He did not realize my good friend Thoreau was in my backpack. In one of my lone journeys across the American west, I slept on a bench in a park in downtown El Paso. After hitch-hiking in from Amarillo and I watched the low clouds turn red as they drifted over the city lights. I remember then, wondering that night, if I was even capable of feeling lonely since that had become the norm for me. Months later, I remember sitting under a palm frond umbrella at 1 o'clock in the morning on a Mexican beach. Sea salt in the air and my mind racing every bit as fast as the storm that was approaching from the west. I sat hoping that I would be normal again, rather than resolutely numb to my constant solitude. But I was so happy alone—no one seemed to grasp the awakenings I had gone through over the years. So I kept them in shadows. I was so happy alone—as long as I had something to write on and something to write with, I had all that I needed.

It was a couple years after this that I was sitting next to the podium at church. The Bishop had asked me to speak for about 15 minutes about some of my experiences, probably thinking that a person that had not slept on a bed for 14 months probably had a story or two to tell. That's when I saw Tami walk in to the congregation and sit down. I had never wanted to ask someone out so bad in my entire life. She seemed far too lovely to ever be audience to my awkwardness…but unlike others who I never gave a chance to really get to know me, I wanted to find out if I could let her in.

There is only one way to describe the influence she had on me...

Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non conprehenderunt

"And the light shineth in shadows: and the shadows did not comprehend it"

I almost backed out of our first date. My stomach was in knots. I had not been on an official date in over a year. I was so nervous and more than aware that she was out of my league in more ways than one. I could not understand why, but by the end of the date, after just opening up and swapping story for story, there was more than a glimmer of hope for us. The darkness and shadows were no longer necessary protections and I welcomed the light from her openly.

I still find myself alone from time to time, like up on that snowy ski slope. I still like to get out and do things on my own that are self-cultivating and I have some solitary hobbies that Tami does not share. But these things in themselves never bring as much joy, as when I run home to Tami, to tell her of the days activities. I have known women that have made me weak in the knees before; but she, like any true love, makes me feel stronger than ever before. I know that the truest glimpse of what I really am will be seen in her eyes as I learn to cherish her as she should be.

I hope all that are reading this have someone in their life that is their 'true north'—someone that gives you your bearings when you feel lost at sea. Life is too short to not find someone to adore before they are taken from us. Life is too short to not tell them so.

Especially with all these dang crows still following me...It was just a spranged knee...nothing fatal, give me a break!

Ad Astra Per Alia Porci - to the stars on the wings of a pig

2008-07-21T22:25:00.000-07:00

(Old Blog from another website I posted in April)

Let's just say it has been an interesting month. Strike that…that's a huge understatement. April was the crappiest month I have had in many years. Just name something bad that could have happened, IT HAPPENED! Family issues, baby issues, health issues, employment issues, money issues, school issues, etc. If karma is legitimate, then I must have been Attila the Hun in my previous life, 'cuz something cosmic has got it out for me I am certain. I need to take out a butane tank and shoot it.

Gals…Don't try to understand. When a guy gets to feeling this way, we can't talk it out, a self-help book won't suffice, no Rorschach ink blot test will diagnose. We have to get out of the house and burn something, shoot something, blow something up. If we don't, we just might evolve more and more into one of those metrosexuals that society is so into right now…and you don't want that. Here is why.

A girl once told me, "There is one thing that men and women will always agree on…never trust a woman". So you may think you want a man that is into pedicures and hair products, well think again. He just becomes more sneaky...he becomes your competition. When you find your tweezers for the fifth time this week lying next to nose hairs stacked like a cord of wood on the bathroom sink--be forewarned that next the nail file is missing, all the eye-brow wax is missing--then the pumis stone is wore out. Before you know it, your high heels are stretched a little too big for your feet…because your husband… (that Biatch, he didn't even ask!) was just curious how his calves look in your shoes. The only thing more difficult and competitive than the Mars/Venus thing is the Venus/Semi Venus thing. But I digress…

Manly men need to get out and vent in a destructive way. It's not a bad thing; call it Constructive Demolition if you will. We need to "Sound our barbaric yawp over the roof tops of the world". Luckily my wife knows this and she would rather let me go chase, stab, kill, burn, or blast things, than to wallow in my own quiet desperation or ruin another pair of her stilettos. Her only rule: be as far from the house as possible.

So I talked to an acquaintance last week and he pays me to take him and some of his colleagues out into the desert to teach them how to live off the land for 3 days. But he gets sick and his wife calls and cancels at the last minute...the pansy. So...What to do now.

I could have invited myself to go on a road trip that some of my friends must have 'forgotten' to invite me on weekend before last. Imagine their surprise if I climbed into their car at an Apache Junction on-ramp on their way out of town! Wait, when I said surprise, I actually meant horror. I guess the sight of me clambering in the window with a machete at my hip and me covered in blood and leaves from some shortcuts I took might be kind of shocking (By the way, why is there so much razor wire surrounding things in Apache Junction?! I mean, what are they protecting, it's just a reservation for white people!)

Even uninvited and slightly deranged, I know that my friends' annoyance would soon give way to resignation after an hour or two dozen. I used a similar tactic with dating. I called it "The Wear-Down"…how else does a guy like me get a knock-out wife like Tami? By being around so much that someone just gets use to your presence, no more like they get comfortably numb to your presence. Remember it…The Wear-Down. This would explain why when I proposed, Tami rolled her eyes and sighed, "Hhh-h-h-h...Fine."

But back to the venting thing. I needed to get away but I was stuck at home, where I am not aloud to exercise my philosophy of Constructive Demolition. My wife took pity though. Maybe it was the fact that she saw me slam dunking the kitchen trash into the trash dumpster…six times. Maybe it was me running around the house with her bra wrapped over my head with the cups over my ears like a biplane pilot, an arm load of sock-bombs, all this complete with propeller noises and the rattle of strafing machine gun fire. What ever it was, she took pity on me.

"Aaron, darling? What do you say we go camping up in the Bradshaw Mountains? It's old rugged mining country up in the pine trees. We can even rent some quads, go fishing, and cook in your Dutch ovens if you want." Suspecting a trap, like the last time she had me committed to Happy Acres Asylum, I looked to my right and then to my left to see if those burly guys dressed in white smocks with the big butterfly nets were hiding near by. With my innate ability to debunk any spousal tricks, and my absolute navigability and command of the English language…I unequivocally posed the question… "Huh?"

She told me about this little mining town called Crown King. I took off my bra-helmet now that she had my attention so that I could hear her better. Twenty some odd miles of washboards, you say. Main Street is a remote dirt road, Check. One gas pump in town, Liking it. Dodging quads when you cross the street, Even better. Scroungy natives, the smell of dust and oil, exploring mines, cooking in dutch ovens, Freakin Awesome! I mean this place is so far off the beaten path, that they don't even have a garbage service so you have to pack your trash up in bags and bring it back down the mountain. Sounds like America's version of Rocky Point to me!!! (Minus the big pool of whale and dolphin piss known as the Sea of Cortez, but that's another rant.)

So we went to Crown King last weekend with my in-laws and it was a blast. Seriously, a cool little living ghost-town if you are as into odd places as I am. It was surprisingly a nice get-a-way and I didn't have to break or destroy a thing. You might ask how my in-laws could stand being with me for 3 days and 2 nights. I already told you, it's called…"The Wear-Down".

And do you know what I did when I got back to the city, I slam-dunked the trash bags we brought down the mountain, but only did it once.

From this forest service tower you can see the San Fransisco Peaks in Flagstaff and the Cardinal Stadium in PHX.

Okay, so we didn't really rough it that much. We stayed at this little Bed and Breakfast in Crown King. But I did cook in dutch-ovens!

The oldest operating saloon in Arizona...and they do have Sasparilla! (Root Beer...Jeewiz!)

Autumn Approaches

2008-07-15T00:25:00.000-07:00

I always know when autumn approaches

The paths seem to stretch farther,

The cocoa mugs on the porch table empty faster.

And the sky dawns her crisp red velvet.

A time I tend to linger in, as if I lost something

On the dusty road back to certain friends,

That I left in Time's care.

Our intersecting paths passed too quickly

In pursuit of finding my ultimate parallel.

Life, delicate petals that are always crushed

In our crusade for something more.

Somehow friend, I have a different hope.

Not that you and I should Be today or tomorrow,

But that when I look inside--

Might I find part of you.

--Aaron Peterson--

The Birds and The Bees...

2008-07-14T23:54:00.000-07:00

Well that got your attention!

The other day I was speaking with someone and they were surprised to find out that I have voted as a Republican, Independent, and Democrat. They could not believe that someone as unwavering (I guess that is the nice way of saying stubborn jackass) as I can be, could be so transient in my views. especially with the current presidency and the Christian Right bringing so much religious excitement to the nation's surface.

"So are you a Right-wing or a Left-wing?" She asked.

I did not even have to think. I am very conservative in my political views, but very liberal in others. I make a poor Republican and an even worse Democrat. One party seems to promote what ever is financially good for the country as a whole, is good for the individual. This mentality has made us inept at self-sufficiency and we depend on unstable 3rd world countries to grow our food, make our clothes, and provide us with oil. When we sent our businesses to other countries they were suppose to sell those goods and services back to us at a discounted price since they had the cheaper labor...but they didn't, and big business got richer. The other party seems to promote elitists in their altruistic ventures to save the poor and uneducated from "The Man" that keeps us down. As long as there are a bunch of us that are uneducated and unempowered and require handouts in order to make it, we will empower those few that make a living off of dumbing society down. This mentality has no concept of the mantra, "Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime." I could go on and on with both parties but this will suffice for now.

Also, I am religious and a Christian. Let me also add, long before the Christian Right made it popular to be Christian. One would think I would get excited to see such religious fervor, so many bumper stickers, window decals, and various churches popping up everywhere. In many ways I am... it's about time the government and the media had some balance. However, I am nervous at the same time.

I know Truth by itself is rarely popular—and I hope that my religion nor Christianity ever becomes "the in thing".
Let me explain why:

Love has always been an essential truth to be practiced.
The 60's movement made Love popular…
and then STD's, drug abuse, teenage pregnancy, and the breakdown of family values was ushered in on Free Love's coat tails.

Religious fervor? More like a religious pop-culture...with it's own singers, dancers, and movie stars. Is the tattoo of the crucifix really necessary to show your devotion? If there is any truth to the Prosperity Doctrine...if so, why did every person that made any real improvement in Christianity have less and less worldly wealth as they went along?

Dare I say, it's almost like the Christian Right has made a graven image of Hollywood for themselves. I think too many people are clamoring to find truth that fits there lifestyle rather than changing there lifestyle in order to know truth--Clamoring to find a God that fits there lifestyle rather than changing there lifestyle in order to know God. How much reflection, commitment, and devotion to the Creator or to humanity is required by "Church of the Coffee Break". Yes, that's an actual church...and I am sure their coffee warms the hands ...and the soul?
So, to answer her question, am I a right-wing or a left-wing?
I think a bird or a bee that flaps with just his right wing flies in a circle. Same if a bird or a bee flaps with only his left. If he doesn't flap at all, he's a fence-sitter. But as for me, I have gone far by flapping with both.

You had to know about the birds and the bees didn't you.

Veritas ad Deum ducit - Truth leads to God

2008-07-14T21:59:00.000-07:00

After my first year of college I had a chance to go up to Toronto for a short time. I remember sitting on the east-bound subway car, peering through my own reflection in the glass at a west-bound subway car next to me. A young couple, probably still in high school, entered the other car hand in hand just before the doors shut. She touched his slicked back hair, he recoiled, she laughed. He flicked at the hem of her school uniform skirt, she dodged, he laughed...then they both laughed when they felt my amuzed gaze.

They teetered together as their car began its momentum forward.

After a few cars went by, for what ever reason, the train began to slow. Here again, I looked into the subway car across from me, and another much older couple sat next to each other--he with thinning gray hair slicked back and her in a long grey skirt and a large scarf covering her head in Russian babushka style. Age had furrowed its deep lines across his forehead and weathered the corners of her eyes.

Now I know it was not the same couple, but for a moment, it was like watching the young couple age and go fast-forwarding into the old, each car that had past being a decade of their lives, and finally pausing a moment on their last chapter. I suddenly felt a little cheated; I wanted to rewind and see what I had missed in the car before, and the car before that. What had kept them together over the years--what of life's secrets had they learned--what did they know of joy--what had gotten them through their pain--what might they have to teach me? Then my train darted off in the opposite direction.

I feel that way now. It seems that over the past six to eight months I have bumped into many people from my own far off past. I catch little snippets from our brief conversations, emails, or blogs --mere glimpses through the glass before our lives are hurried off in different directions.

I bumped into a friend of mine that I had not seen in 14 years. His daughter was born with some major medical issues. The medical costs brought the wolves to his door. He lost his job when the housing crunch hit, lost another when the economy sank, lost another when the employer sold to a larger outfit. It seems the wolves at his door just had pups.

Three different friends that I attended college with are going through terrible divorces, custody battles, and legal proceedings. With lives turned upside down, one hand rocks the cradle while the other pulls back the curtain to see if the slam of a car door outside means trouble. I know so few details with all these stories, yet I wish I knew how they all came to these current crossroads.

The list goes on, and again and again I am reminded that despite my awareness or involvement with friends and family, Life kept moving on for them. I am reminded that I once held an important place in their lives and feel to a certain extent, that I might have abandoned my post when they most needed a friend or family member near.

Some might accuse me of only being interested because I am nosey. Others might say that I think I am capable of counseling or coercion saying to themselves..."Humph!... Aaron, a wannabe psychologist for sure. Why else would he want to be audience to someone else's pain?"
Well, I will tell you why.

Several years ago, a small group of boys and I hiked from Cherry Creek over the Sierra Ancha divide. This climb was several thousands of feet in the late summer. It had been a dry year, it was a particularly hot summer, and we had a late start that day. The first watering hole we came to was dry, the second was a spring that according to the map was suppose to run all year, but it wasn't. We were out of water and the only place within a days hike was a remote muddy cow tank. By the time we arrived, our forty pound packs seemed to be cutting through our shoulders. A small bug flew into Mason's mouth; he tried to cough it up. After several attempts, he soon found his mouth was to dry to spit, so he found it easier to just chew and swallow instead.

The cow tank was two inches of brown sludge with a thin green layer across the top. A few tadpoles gulped at the green clouds that the wind shifted on the water's surface, hoping their legs would appear before death did.

One sniff and everyone agreed we needed to find another source of water. Several of the boys were to weak to continue. Mason and Steven being the oldest said they would help scout for water. It was getting close to sun down so we had to move quickly. We ran to the edge of the valley where there was a ragged cliff. At the cliff's base, two small rocky ravines split up the hillside; Mason went left and Steven went right. I climbed straight up the cliff so that I could hear either one call back their findings. I told myself to be careful, everyone was counting on me, I can't make any mistakes now. My footing slipped again and again, my arms were heavy, and my grip was getting clumsy--signs of severe dehydration.

After about twenty minutes both boys shouted back that they had found nothing. I really began to worry as the sun began to set, I asked the boys to head back to camp. I frantically peered from the top of the cliff across the valley, no windmills, no cottonwood or poplars, nothing that might indicate water. I am all alone--it's up to me to find water.

Suddenly, a very strong impression hit me. Like a voice with out sound or a sentence without words, I felt as if someone ask me to sit down and watch the sunset. That's crazy...I have got to save these boys...I haven't got time to rest. I stood there as if in shock, weak as I was, and it came again softly, clearly, but with even more strength in its invitation.

"Sit down, watch the sunset with Me."

I looked around me, then sat at the cliffs edge. With legs dangling and breath caught, I looked at the sunset, and in all my worry, I had not noticed how beautiful and awesome it was. It had colors, it had shapes--it transformed the rocks and hills in its fiery red. As it engulfed me in its hue, something else engulfed me too. I smiled a little, as the last drop of moisture in me formed at the corner of my eye; it felt cool as it trickled down across my sun burnt cheek.

Of all God's creations, worlds without number, and children far more deserving than I, He asked to watch the sunset with little ol' me.

He knew my needs and circumstances. In all my worry and panic...and He just wanted to watch the sunset with one of his children. He knew that what I needed more than water was the reminder that if I trust in my own ability, I will be left in my own ability. As I watched that sunset, I knew that all things were possible by Him, and that I needed to trust Him more by asking directions, and handing over the reins from time to time, rather than trying so hard on my own.

Some might think that this is far too simple of an experience to give any credence to it. This is not for you. But for the others--others who have lost their bearings and have no true north; I caught a glimpse of where I was in the cosmos. I, one who has known the lonely obliteration of intellect as it gobbles a chaotic black hole in the mind, was reminded that despite being a mere speck in the sands of time, that I am greater than the Earth and stars. In that moment, everything was clear, everything made sense; for a split second, I saw myself as He sees me. Some think that a sea must be walked on or a mountain must be moved in order to qualify as a miracle--but that day an impenetrable mountain was moved in me.

I sat and lingered, watched in wondering amazement, until all the colors were extinguished from the sky. I stood up awhile and began to look for a way down to camp. As the breeze often does for a short time at night fall, I felt the smallest breath of wind coming down from the ravine to the right. With it, it carried the pleasant smell... of wet grass!

With excitement, I quickly climbed up the ravine going deeper into the hillside. Probably two minutes farther up from where Steven had turned around in frustration, lay a big pool of clear water trapped by a cropping of granite on one side, and grass growing in silt on the other.

Had I not taken the invitation to stop for a moment and watch the sunset, I would not have been there to catch the scent of wet grass on the breeze.

So I ask again, Why do I wish I was more involved with friends and family? Is it so that I can try to fix their problems? To recommend a twelve step program? No.

It is simply to share my belief that no matter how bad things have been, how terrible things are now, or how devastating things are going to become, the Savior knows us and our circumstances... and will help us to not only endure, but to prevail.

"Behold, I have engraven thee on the palms of my hands and thy walls are continually before me." Isaiah 49:16

Like when I was without water...He knows us and our circumstances all too well...

Like the high cliff... we must elevate our hearts and minds to a place that will transcend us above our worldly cares and attitudes...

Once we are elevated above our own nature, we can purify ourselves enough to be guided by Him, to see ourselves through his eyes... it was only after forgetting myself and handing over the reins that I discovered water.

So if anyone out there is feeling overwhelmed, beat down, or that their prayers are not being answered... well there is this one place in the Sierra Anchas I can recommend...and don't worry about bringing water.