I'm back from my trip to New Mexico-all that I've heard about being able to touch the sky out there is true...the vistas out there give credibility to all the stories I've heard about raising spiritual awareness, seeing UFOs, having a richer psychedelic experience-but to a sober, untainted (well, at least untainted by chemicals) mind, the experience of being out there is truly humbling...and touching the sky did seem a very real possibility.
Cara and I visited the Sandia mountains (via cablecar), Bandelier National Monument, Petroglyph National Park, Tent Rock National Park, not to mention Taos (thought this town quite schlocky), Santa Fe (fake in the sense that everything catered to the upscale tourist), Albuquerque, Madrid (almost a repeat of Santa Fe, but dustier-there were actually people that lived here-this place reminded me of Woodstock, NY from a long time ago), Cerillos (ok, we never got out of the car, but this place will stay forever in my memory-imagine dirt roads with tumbleweeds blowing through the place-everything there seemed closed down-a proverbial ghost town-very poetic...a place that if revisited would probably trade its uniqueness I found there for a coarser reality-one establishment that stands out, especially because it was "open"-there was a light inside...was Mary's Bar-wooden, tumbledown, authentic)...We drove through Los Alamos and I can't say that it left me with a strong impression at all (not that you asked!).
Tent Rock monument stands out as one of my favorites...on leaving, we met the fellow in the photograph, who, much like the defiant skunk, seemed to think that he (or she) owned the road and challenged our Hyundai for dominance. We had gone to Petra in Jordan 2 years ago and Tent Rock reminded me of the place-ancient oceans and rivers had cut through the rock here, leaving a tortured and twisted path, not to mention the "tent rocks," which are boulders that, being harder than the ground underneath them, perch precariously on top of pyramids of earth until they eventually topple.
Seeing the ancient Indian paintings on rock was inspiring -somehow, I felt in my element-that I was among not only artists, but the artists that I most revere-ones who just grab whatever is available and, for no good reason, start working spontaneously. I know that it's not how today's Indians like to think of their ancestor's paintings, but these inscriptions reminded me of graffitti-although, if there was anything that had the content that you might find on today's public bathroom walls, it totally escaped me. The paintings were mysterious and (perhaps) personal-but all that I saw was painted so that it could be seen by eyes other than the maker.
Hurt my foot on one of the trails, so I've been hobbling around. For the first time, I've been using a cane-amazing how much more respect you get from folks-this was not unappreciated by yours truly. My whole life has been switched around by the pain I feel in my foot-which not only has slowed me down, but has caused me to think more economically with my movements...
Can anyone out there recommend an Arthur C. Clarke read (besides 2001)? I want to buy his book of essays and reread Childhood's End, but I was wondering what else could be equivalent to those books mentioned.
More later-time to hobble over to the coffee.
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