Will We Repeat the Past?

At the end of the 13th century, the rivers of the Colorado Plateau nearly dried up.  After a hundred-year drought, farming failed and over-population stressed depleting food supplies.  To add insult to injury, tribes entered the Four Corners Region bringing with them war and cannibalism.  In the water-less desert, the Ancestral Puebloan People were forced to abandon their homes, with their prayers left unanswered, in mass exodus.  Are we on our way to a similar fate?

John Wesley Powell proclaimed to the Bureau of Reclamation that west of the 100th meridian was not suitable for large populations after his inaugural trip to map the unknown regions of the Colorado River in 1869.  His plea fell on deaf ears as progress took on a life of its own.  The Fathers of Industry directed prosperity while money lined their pockets and the poor paid with their blood.  The Transcontinental Railway became a feat of the Industrial Revolution.
 
After the Mexican American war in 1848, Santa Ana’s second defeat, Manifest Destiny provoked westward expansion.  The land of opportunity awaited those ready to weather hardships and pay the price.  The Homesteaders Act rewarded 160 acres of land for $160 dollars with a commitment to improve the land for five years.  What about the Indians?  Need not worry.  Eradicate all savages that stand in your way; they don’t really matter.  The land is yours for the taking.  Did we tell you that there is GOLD in the Hills?    

By the late 1800s, the savages are placated and rounded up into “civilized” concentration camps, Mormons find Deseret, and the bounty of the West gets consumed.  The Owens Valley is inundated for LA water, the 1920 Colorado River compact allocates more water to the upper and lower basins than exists, and the Salton Sea becomes California’s largest lake.  WWI, The Roaring 20s, Prohibition, The Dust Bowl, The Great Depression, Civilian Conservation Corps—Build more Dams!  Hoover Dam, Lake Mead.  WWII. The Baby Boomers arrive.  We need more recreation…  Glen Canyon Dam, Lake Powell (he rolls in his grave), Navajo Dam, Flaming Gorge Dam, and too many more to mention.  We become a Dam-nation!  Add more families, add more homes with less water.  The Salton Sea becomes too salinized for freshwater fish, stock Tilapia.  While you are at it, add a straw to San Diego, they need more water.  Vietnam.      

Expand, expand, expand.  Lakes stagnate, sediment builds behind man-made walls, water levels drop.  Let’s pump more water into booming desert cities in the name of progress.  Don’t worry about the chemicals, fertilizers, mine tailings, oil and gas pipelines spills in the water.  Those downstream will die soon, they don’t need access to clean water.  The temperature rises and we need more water for the affluent.  Las Vegas, Tuscan, Phoenix, St. George, Los Angeles along with all of California demands more water.  If Lake Mead drops too low, Arizona gets cut off of their water rights.  Build more homes, more golf courses, more pools, more lawns, continue on—business as usual.  Consume, consume, consume.  The Salton Sea becomes a cesspool, no fish live only bones are left behind.  The water is fetid and becomes an impending disaster threatening to poison our food supply with its toxic dust.  9/11.

Native Tribes oppose Big Business at Standing Rock to fight for their water and Ancestral Lands that we took away.  They resist their inevitable doom.  Arrested and silenced, their hope crushed and later poisoned as we fail to look into the rear view mirror.  Add more wars into foreign lands in the guise of democracy, add more chemicals, more fertilizers, more frequencies, more GMOs, more bio-weapons, more geoengineering, more, more, always more.  Take as much as we can get and leave nothing behind for our children or our children’s children.  Our water is under siege.  Only debt remains.
 
Ah yes, but you have everything you need.  There is nothing to see over here.  Enjoy your cell phones with endless live stream data, McDonalds, Pepsi, Facebook, sports, entertainment, recreation, and travel.  You are not happy?  Take this pill, you will be fine.  This is freedom, right?  You need more money, no problem.  The shackles get fitted yet no one seems to notice they are in perfect lockstep.  Sovereignty usurped, none the wiser.  Dead pool status.

The stage is set to tighten the chains on the duped masses, a pandemic erupts.   A virus plagues the collective mind on a global scale.  How best to distract us from the world crumbling down?  We are commanded to lockdown, quarantine, social distance, be compliant.  Wear a mask or you might infect everyone around you, get a test, report your neighbor for violating orders, stand in line for your shot, do what you are told.

No touching, no kissing, no hugging, no dancing, no playing, no sitting, no standing, no shopping, no worshipping, no resisting.  

We will turn off your utilities if you step out of line.  Listen to the authorities, science knows best.  Divide and separate, chaos and fear reign.  Riots rage in the streets.  The climate gets hotter and the water dries up. 

Welcome to the digital age my friends.  Get your digital identification, digital passport, digital currency, and your digital code to get your gallon of water per day.  Do what we tell you to do and you will be rewarded.  Be happy, you have everything you need.  Do not worry about the toxic environment, do not worry about our social experiment, do not worry about the where your food comes from (we grow it in our labs), do not worry where your water comes from and what we add to it—we have your best interest at heart.  Welcome to Second Life, your data is our commodity.  Artificial intelligence takes over.  Digital police enforce law and order.  Water is under lock and key.  We get uploaded into the machine…

How did we get here?  How did we not learn from those who came before us?  The circumstances of our worlds may seem unparalleled, yet we may share a similar fate.  Will we have to leave our world as we know it behind?  As we stand at the precipice of our world dissolving, I reflect on the failed attempts to change our course.  Did we not realize the impacts of our consumption or did we get programmed not to see?  How have we stood by and watched our world become imprisoned and our humanity get enslaved?  When did we fail to remember that we are not separate from that which we have extracted?  How did we forget that water is life?  Our fortune may not be far from the Ancestors’ prayers echoing through the canyon walls…. 

Rock Art Living...

There are many Native People that believe that the art painted on canyon walls, remnants of the Ancient Ones, are living entities. Respect and reverence for this belief changes the way we may experience what was left behind by the Ancestral Puebloan and other Ancient Tribes. I am no expert to decipher the code written in stone, nor am I an authority of such. Rock art still tells a story. It may be a map, a prayer, a clan symbol, a census, a rite of passage, a hallucinogenic vision of a shaman, symbolic protection, or written history. We interpret what was left behind painted on desert walls for ourselves. I try not to speculate what rock art means out of respect to the Ancestors, but I will take a few liberties to explain some patterns I have seen across the Southwest.

It is hard to date rock art as it is invasive to the living being concept and there is much controversy of dating methods. I have seen some of the oldest rock art in Texas (7000-8000 years-old), Ancient Barrier Canyon style (2000-4000 years-old--depending on who you talk to), and Ancestral Puebloan/Sonoran/Mogollon (800-1300 years-old or so). There are common symbols and elements throughout all times--The spiral being one of the oldest. Figures of kokopelli and big horn sheep are prolific throughout the southwest, maybe symbolizing a prayer for survival or celebrating good fortune? The universal hand print may be one of my favorites, a sign of who was here 800+ years ago or so. Hand prints are mostly pictographs (painted) instead of petroglyphs (pecked) into the rock. Hand prints were commonly created by painting hands with red dye then pasting them in place. Another technique is to transpose hand prints with an outline of white (bird poop)+ sprayed through a reed. Hand prints may have been a census for who lived in the area or a signature of the artist.

Pigments that make pictographs were compromised of various flowers, roots, insects, minerals, urine and lard depending on the region. Yucca fibers may have been a universal paintbrush for most tribes. Most rock art has lasted into modern day by being protected from the elements under an overhang or inside an alcove. They may have also been preserved by the same arid climate that caused mass exodus out of the region. I continue to wonder why some areas have rock art while others do not. Maybe time will tell, maybe not.

With all rock art there is an element of mystery. There is a creation myth of the Hopi that the Ant People saved them from the floods of the third world by taking them underground to safety. They re-emerged though a sipapu (hole in the Earth) on the Little Colorado into the fourth world. Is this intervention explained through rock art depicted by spirit beings without feet, alien looking characters, or figures with antenna? Or is it a vision of the sacred Datura and magic mushrooms by the shamans? This is pure speculation on my part and one of the reasons I enjoy exploring canyon country.

There is one story that has been past down into our guide culture. On the San Juan River there is a panel called the Desecration Panel. There is a long rivalry between the Navajo and Hopi Peoples, many believe this may have been over territory or past grievances (this is a topic for another time). The legend goes that there was a family that lived close to the panel and they all fell deathly ill. The shaman of the village attacked the art on the walls and chopped their heads off. The family's health returned yet they moved away from the site. I have not seen this panel since the river braids away from the bank where it is located. Is there an eerie sense left behind in the rock walls? You decide! The Navajo protect themselves with a charm and go to the shaman to be cleansed after visiting a site.

As caretakers of this history, it is important not to touch rock art or embellish it in any way. The oils from our hands break down the pigments that have lasted the test of time. Do not leave your own mark. It is not historic, it is vandalism and punishable by law. Enjoy the stories left behind and let your mind wander into meaning. Pay homage to the peoples that survived and thrived for hundreds/thousands of years in this arid region. And remember to respect the living...

Exodus...

7 miles and 96 degrees in the shade, a venture well worth the effort, gave my Sol Journey mate and I a glimpse into the mystery left behind by the elusive Anasazi.  What happened in Keet Seel over 800 years ago awaited our discovery, a question so many had asked while walking the same path we did through Navajo Territory.  We were on pilgrimage to this sacred spot, devotion in each step. There was something larger than life that lured us into the depths of the canyons to bare witness to a story told to the few who could endure the voyage.  We walked for our love of Anasazi heritage and for those who could not make it to the ancient ruins themselves.  Only 20 people a day may enter Keet Seel in a 3 month window of time and sometimes the passage closes if there is rain due to flash flooding.  Even though it was hot, we picked a perfect time to explore this slice of paradise. 

The wind pulsed through the pinon and juniper calling us home as we prepared for our walkabout.  Sand blowing into all our cracks and crevices while slowly carving the rocks of time, we heard the ancestor's prayer to protect this land and their ancient dwellings, a feeling present in each step along the way.

The sun beat down on us as we carried everything we needed on our backs for an overnight stay.  Fully loaded we made our way down to Tsegi canyon where spring-fed water flows year round--a welcomed attribute in this desert landscape.  We traded our hiking shoes for flip flops and plotted our course up the water way to Keet Seel Canyon.  At times the sand and water massaged our bare feet giving us some reprieve on our long journey to our destination.  We continued to walk for a long long while...

Water smooths the stone and cools the overheating mind. One of the waterfalls on the trail washed the dried sweat from our bodies and cooled our core temperatures amid the 100 degree assault. In this moment there was no rush, nothing to do, rather a simple communion ensued.  A deep breath and a moment remembered.  Refreshed and purified, we continued our trek onward to the ancient dwellings of our unwavering attention.  

Keet Seel was discovered by the Wetherill Brothers in 1895 and the Navajo National Monument was established in 1909.  The Navajo Nation became stewards of the site allowing respectful visitors to enter their territory to experience the treasure left behind by the Anasazi on two conditions: there would be no money exchanged and visitors would stay on the trail defined by white posts along the way.  Two stipulations easy to agree to, yet  not as easily understood by the anglo-mind.  Where can you go to a place for free and additionally not have the freedom to veer off the trail to explore the bend of your heart's desire?  We found the place... and ARRIVED with so much gratitude for our passage through this sacred land!

150 rooms and 6 kivas make up Keet Seel.   There is a retaining wall, a unique structure to this complex, that allowed expansion of this village in the height of it's existence.  Agriculture sustained the ancient ones between 1250-1300 until the "great drought", broken dams, and unanswered prayers caused a mass exodus from this arid region.  

Our guide, Steve, was the grandson of the archaeologist who excavated and restored Keet Seel as it stands today.  His father along with 31 other workers also assisted in the process.   Steve had a palatable reverence for the ancient and current cultures that inhabited the canyons surrounding this anomaly.  His expertise was bar none as he patiently answered all of the questions that bubbled to the surface of our contemplation and shared the unforgotten story.

One of the things he explained was the forbidden "Anasazi" term.   He used the label freely and debunked the myth of the Navajo translation "Ancient Enemy".  Anasazi as explained to Steve by a traditional Navajo woman meant: An ancestor that is not of Navajo origin.  A term used in honor not of degradation.  
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Steve also shared the story of the last stitch efforts the Ancients made to preserve their lifestyle and alignment with the Creator of all things.  They built new kivas, one with a Macaw from Mexico embedded inside one of the stone walls, to reach the graces of the Gods.  To no avail, Keet Seel was abandoned completely by its last inhabitants by 1299. 

​​Climate change, challenged agriculture, and natural erosion caused the movement and relocation of this band of farmers.  The Ancient Puebloan people did not disappear as so many have guessed, rather they morphed into the established Hopi, Zuni, Navajo, and Ute tribes that still exist today.  The spirit of the Ancient ones continue to live on through oral tradition, our adventure, and the broken pieces they left behind.

Leaving Keet Seel, I felt the mix of emotions that the Ancestral Puebloan people may have felt as they left their home behind.  The land and their lifestyle was unable to sustain the bands of tribes that populated  the alcove and surrounding areas.  I can only imagine the feeling of defeat as they walked away with only what they could carry on their backs.  They may have felt desperation for their fate yet hopeful for survival as they walked into the unknown. This is pure speculation.  I honor the gravity of their choice to make an exit and survive against all odds.

I relate this decision to my personal story as my lifestyle can no longer be sustained in the current climate of today. Something must change and as the Anasazi made the choice to move from the comfort of their creation, so must I.  Who knows what will be around the bend or where the path will lead?

I have been inspired by this trip into the Ancient Heart and know I am capable of letting go of everything that no longer serves me in order to open to life in a new way discovering a new expression of myself.

On my way out of the canyon a rock fell at my feet upon the canyon floor.  I looked up and saw 3 wild horses looking down on me. We communicated beyond words and shared an understanding of something much greater.
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​I choose to be a pilgrim of life's mystery and walk with my feet firmly planted upon the earth.  ​I am grateful for the wisdom of the desert, the canyons, and the Ancient Ones.  Today, I embrace a new step in a new direction...

A Sol Journey…

May I be an empty vessel, an opening for the true living Earth to rise through me, so I may deliver Earth medicine to those ready to receive her gift.  After setting the intention to dedicate my life to Earth and asking to be assimilated into the natural order, we set out on an adventure that peeled back the layers of my existence.  

Many questions lingered within my mind as we filled our packs with our food for the trip, cinching our loads to our backs.  I had never spent the night in the backcountry, with all of the essentials on my back within the desert landscape.  Snakes, spiders, and scorpions breaching my sleeping bag was a real fear while the test of enduring a long-distance was another palatable weakness.  One of the truths I live by: the only way out is through.  I knew I would meet challenges, I knew I had enough grit to get through, yet ultimately I knew there would be some pain and suffering as part of the process. 
 
In the photo above, my trusted companion and I dropped unfathomable vertical feet down into the canyon floor.  There was a lightly etched trail where many had passed upon the surface, praying that each step to hold their weight.  We chose the counter-route of the ranger's advice, meeting the traffic of fellow travelers upon their own soul quest.  We met the wary eyes of Lamar with his stories and perspective of our collective adventure, an 80 year old grandfather, a young 10 year-old sprite, and a handful of nameless adventurers sharing the canyons with us along the way.

At every opportunity we  dropped our packs and attempted to find a way to reach Ancient Puebloan sites. The pathways up to cliff dwellings was more of a scramble than a walk in the park.  The people who made the canyon their home were a tough stock.  We found granaries with pottery shards, corn, wood, stacked rock, kivas, rock dwellings, and rock art within nooks and crannies beyond the comfort of the beaten path.  And, sometimes we found nothing at all--mislead by our guidebook's vague maps--more than once.  It is hard to imagine the reality of the previous stewards of the canyons we visited, yet their spirits are alive and well within their remnants that have stood the tests of time.        

The non-existent trail followed a creek bed that carried our drinking water within its banks.  Bouldering with full packs was not in the memo--a slow and unstable route.  Crossing the creek, bushwhacking, recrossing the creek, venturing through wild terrain was the course, each step counting.  I named myself Steady Betty, as I was much slower than my speedy companion.  My legs ached, my feet blistered, by shoulders cried for reprieve, yet there were miles upon miles to make, each bend within the canyon opening its beauty into new depths.  Being present in the moment and witnessing the natural order unfold despite my discomfort was a force that kept me going against all odds.

Another question that took me deeper into my intention was could I humbly release the ego to accept the responsibility of being a living expression of Earth embodied?  Mother Theresa's words paraphrased:  She (the earth) will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in her LOVE than in your weakness. These words carried me through the bending of my mind.  I reminded myself when I would relate to my weakness to stay the course, continue to open to the opportunity to grow beyond my limits, redefining my edge, and return to the earth for sustenance, security and peace.

We stopped 6 miles the first night and made camp, while making 8 miles the next.  Making tea with water collected from the stream, heating up food in our packets of Indian delights, and preparing our sleeping arrangements was our evening ritual.  In the stillness, the wild sang their harmonies with the natural rhythm. We heard owls, canyon wrens, and frogs, serenading each other as the stars dotted the darkening canopy.  Feet sore from improper socks and bodies sore from carrying our loads, it did not take us long to enter into dreamtime.  

Our last evening, I asked to receive a vision from the Ancient Ones.Being a novice, I hung our bag of food near the tent.  There was a weather front blowing through which rustled the tent most of the evening.  At one point in my dream, I thought something was getting into our food.  I opened the tent (in the dream) and saw the biggest black bear I have ever seen coming toward me.  My first instinct was to go out and grab the food and bring it into the tent.  As I huddled inside, I realized my flaw and woke up my friend.  When I looked back out there was a stampede of many animals going by getting out of way of the impending flood.  I woke up with a start and had to check to make sure all was well.  The vision was clear and the meaning continues to unfold.

The last morning there was a beautiful rainbow of color between the canyon walls.  A sight to be seen, yet a warning to the canyon adventurer; rain on its way.  We had 3 miles left yet we had to climb out of the canyon. It was a gradual ascent instead of the abrupt entry, yet it was still an amazing feat with a loaded pack, thank god for my walking stick!  We passed a few dry waterfalls which would be awesome to witness  when the unharness force of water unleashes its fury, us far from its path of destruction. We scaled the canyon walls and passed a cliff dwelling on our way out, a prize for our determined focus.  

When we summited the edge of the canyon and looked back, it was an amazing sight to behold.  We had come so far and received so much. Vigilance,  focus, tenacity, endurance, mind over matter, being present, serenity, peace, stillness, steadiness, healing old wounds/stories, surety, trust, comradery, certainty with each step, honoring limitations, and embracing the wild, undomesticated ancient energy were a few of the gifts from the canyons.   On my wish list, ultra light gear makes it to the top! 

As for integration, this trip has changed my life.  I continue to weave into my life what I learned from the heart of canyon country:  May I have the endurance to withstand pressure and discomfort; may I have the strength to see it through each quest; my vision of the Living Earth resides within those canyon walls--the rock formations etched within my mind; may the energy that comes through me reflect the depths of this experience; may I be present--one step at a time, carry only what I need, and be grateful for what I have--what is offered is a gift--an exchange of an interplay of elements; may my relationship to Earth and All of Creation be my primary focus--all else will fall into place, may I give back, trust the process, trust myself, be gentle, and stay the course.  I am delighted for the wisdom from this Sol Journey, the first of many!