Sunday Morning Service

I wake up at 3 PM. I’m fresh because I took a nap on Saturday to store up some extra energy. I know the moon will be setting soon. I would prefer to walk in the moonlight. Even if the moon is low in the sky near the horizon it reflects a lot of light. But I know that by the time I am prepared and into the desert the moon will have set below the horizon. The waiting dawn will not yet be visible. The land will be very dark. I know that darkness and don’t exactly relish it.

My pack is ready. I have water, and extra layer if it gets chilly, my Love flute. I fix a quick snack and get out of the four walls. I feed the horses as I pass by – half a ration. They will get the rest when I get back. I enter the darkness like going into a dense fog bank. Suddenly I can’t see my feet and barely see my hands. The world is a phantasmagoria of subtle lights. Every shape is vague and distant. Blue-gray is the dominant color.

The dark takes away the known with all it’s built in securities. Now I can barely perceive where I am in space. Chasms can open up under me upon a misstep. Walking becomes an absolute focus of attention. Feeling with my toes and the balls of my feet before committing my full weight to the step. My insecurities surface and must be neutralized or I will fall. I know from past experience that my body can do this if I can agree to let it.

It means doing strange things like walking on all fours. Using my body like my brothers the chimps and apes. Three secure places to balance on before committing to the next move. It’s slow – especially if I allow the mind to want to get somewhere. Then it becomes tedious. I must abandon myself to the now – no future, no past, just here. What comes may.

There are many mountains to climb. Places to go and people to meet and Native American style flutes to play. Will any of that happen? When I left my room I put thing in order knowing that I might never come back. Not that it would make any difference. Or would it? It feels right to me so that is the way I do it. What is the best way I can leave a room? Or leave a life?

The Birds Fly South

The birds have stopped singing and the hot dry has gripped the desert. Now the days are getting shorter. The cool days of Fall are a longed for respite. Even knowing that the cutting winds of Winter are not far behind. The birds have already started to move higher into the mountains in search of food and more hospitable temperatures. Soon some will start the long journey South for the winter. Many of the smart desert plants are dropping their leaves so as to conserve precious water. They will lie dormant until awakened for Spring by the Winter rains – if there are any.

The Desert ecosystem is a master of the art of conservation of energy. As I get older and the vigor of my youth wanes I understand better the necessity of energy efficiency. The impulse to measure my every movement for waste brings with it a certain respect for the limitations that come with physical life. It is a reminder that nothing can exist outside of the Circle of Life and its delicate balance of creation and dissolution, birth, life and death.

How have we managed to lose contact with Mother Nature? We are bleeding her to death to fuel a joy ride that cannot be sustained. Where is the respect for the land that generations before ours took so seriously?

Now I devote myself to making happiness available to a world hungry for a feeling of peace and togetherness. Happiness in the form of a simple musical instrument called the Native American flute. It’s not a grand project, I know. It won’t attract any government funding or a spot on Ophra. But, it’s enough for me to know that every Love flute is making a difference is someone’s life. Somewhere there is a song where before there was none. Someone is playing a tune and others are listening. The world turns another time. The birds start South. Tomorrow I will return to my shop and make a few more flutes.