I have ponderosa sap stuck between my teeth. Night is clear. No one needs to know where I am. But I might as well tell you anyway. Grants, NM – cowboy town. Down and West from Cochiti, San Domingo, San Felipe, Santa Anna Pueblos. Left early this morning. Slipping out in silence. Into my own atmosphere again. Returned. The spirit of adventure I forget to indulge. Playing coy. But not so. My nature is untagged and roaming. I am more wild than I thought.
So I get to Grants, headed for Mount Taylor or Tsoodzi/ pronounced Tsoodshishl. The sacred Navajo mountain of the South. The turquoise mountain. Takes me almost two hours to find the trail to the peak, after a three hour stretch from Santa Fe. Drive down route NM 139, dirt road until I am unable to overtake a snow-packed mogul. I retire. Find a perfect camp spot. Make an offering. I imagine rolling out my sleeping bag, under the stars, small fire, freezing cold, away from it all. Alone. With bears. And coyotes of course. I feel the fire in my chest burn. Eyes reveal how rabid I am. Take me to the mountain! Turns out I end up on Lobos Canyon. Apparently, I want the other NM 139. Hhhusp. (That was a patient sigh). Lets just say cheers to the men of roadside maintenance. Half hour climb, canyons emerging, praying my blue boat makes it up snowy mountain roads, trying to ignore the bumps and scrapes I hear below from rock debris. I admit looking back every so often to make sure no UFOs have been left for dead out from beneath the car.
Finally make it to the trail. Only a small sign indicates the entrance through the woods. Car parked. Alone. Almost 1:30. I cleanse with Florida water. Bright sun on my arms, cool air. My feet shuffle through snow, following footprints, dog and deer tracks. Not straight up, but steady climb up 2,000ft more. A bird welcomes me. I call back. He calls. I call. I smile. Carry my rakau – my sacred stick from New Zealand – making up for my sprained ankle. I wear turquoise around my neck. Out of shape at high altitude. Frequent stops. Higher up. Getting cold, no jacket. Each hand cups an ear while I huddle by a tree. But not so bad…Sun still filters through the aspen and pines. I carry on. Big boulders and prominent rocks covered with turquoise lichen. Everything is alive. Silent. I meet no one else. But I have me. And I will always be straight with myself, and considerate, honest, gentle, and play at my own pace. It is good to have someone holding space. I hit what I suspect as the 3/4 mark up the mountain and I feel the faint contraction of will, telling me to stop. Too hard. It is good enough. I honored the mountain already, didn’t I? But what was once humility, bowing out with grace when it is time, I am now just being weak. It can be a challenge to admit when you hear the voice reminding you how noble it can be to quit when it becomes a game. I always know the truth behind this voice, but this was a breakthrough of strong-will power, enabling me to pull through.
I ask for some medicine to help me. Then I notice a Ponderosa Pine with crystallized sap crusted to the bark. I pull of a small piece and eat it. I chew and chew. Minty, sweet pine flavor with the texture of wax. I feel a resurgence of energy. I make my way to the top. Filled with pride, gratitude, freedom, elements, health. Blood pumping. Out of breath. I see a vulture fly close by with a bald head. And I climb a rock to meet a summit. I make a tobacco offering with my prayers. A view for hundreds of miles. Sun warm. Hands numb. Infinite energy for transformation. Every story fits within the wings of the butterfly. I stand and am happy. Wind blown hair. Eyes see you and love you. The mountain tells me about roots, sap, and animals. Medicine. I become bear. Medicine Woman. I calculate the sun dropping and climb down from my perch. A “caw” from above. A raven flies! Over my head and descends low doing dips and patterns. A ceremonial presentation. I caw back and somehow it sounds just like Raven. Over and over we joyously call to each other. Sisters. She swoops low and then ascends until eventually drifting away. I received a rock on my way down. Then the same small bird chirps at me as I emerge from the edge of the woods. I love this mountain. I do not know what the Navajos say about the mountain, I call it Holy Medicine. I give thanks. Driving home. Powerful. Precise. Welcomes without condition or strain into the home of Dzi/ Tsoodzi/. Pink clouds over the town through I40. The roses bloom above this evening. Not in my mind, but my heart.
you are beautiful :)
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