Desert Diva

The “Fire on the Mountain” that I’m familiar with is a fiction book based on a true story by Edward Abbey.

Abbey based his plot around actual events in which a New Mexico rancher named John Prather who fought government attempts to confiscate his land to make it part of the White Sands Missle Range. Considering the time when this book was written, following the era of McCarthyism and the onset of the Cold War, Abbey was especially bold in putting forth the philosophical preposition that an individual has a moral and ethical responsibilty to protect the land against its despoilers, whether corporate entities or even the US government.

Check it out sometime - it’s an excellent read.

The onset on autumn has been a busy time for me. I just printed, spray mounted, and matted twenty photos to enter in the Southern New Mexico State Fair. The cost incurred was much more than I would ever recoup if I even won, but it’s a great learning experience to “take your photo” all the way through the process. I’m also working on submitting a few photos to the annual New Mexico Magazine Photo Contest.

Saturday evening, I attended a gallery opening of an El Paso Photo group entitled “Megapixels.” As I stepped from my car to go the the little coffee shop where the exhibit was, “Fire on the Mountain” is what I saw. A few minutes earlier I was driving over Transmountain Road, (a faster shortcut to get to the other side of town) and stopped and photographed the twilight sun over the city. I wanted to stay longer and get the sunset, but I had somewhere to be. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in my job and personal “trauma” that I forget how beautiful life is - if only we have “eyes to see.”

The current tragedy is that my teenage nephew in Indianapolis was recently diagnosed with lymphoma. I’m not going to lie, my youngest brother and I are like “oil and water.” We disagree on many issues, and just don’t see “eye to eye.” However, I’m so sad that he as a father has to see his son go through this trauma.  Still, he’s my brother and in our own private ways, I know we care about each other. Please say a prayer or send positive thoughts for my nephew J. I think he’s going to need them for the battle he’s facing ahead.

I like to read. Usually, during the school year I read a few pages nightly before sleeping. However, traveling in the summer in my RV, I indulge myself with reading. I rely on the “karma” of the thrift store selection to find what I’m going to read next. Sometimes, I feel I hit the mother lode - as in Eugene, Oregon recently.

One of the books I found is a compilation of essays entitled “This I Believe.” Where have I been? I obviously didn’t know about the NPR series, nor did I realize there is a website with the collection. I suppose I have “lots of feelings” about what I’ve read - not only in the current writings, but the ones from the original collection fifty years ago.

As humans, we all have our beliefs and personal stories. It’s the retelling of these that hold power and help us to formulate our personal truths. I stand in awe as I consider my own…

Several years ago, I read “The Road Less Traveled” by M. Scott Peck. He opens the book with what he deems to be a “universal truth.”

Life is difficult.

This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we know that life is truly difficult - once we truly understand and accept it - then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.

Uh, yeah. Unfortunately, I don’t have to go very far to see that truth - not only in my own life, but in the lives of others. In recent months I’ve felt overwhelmed by my own struggles. At the same time, others around me are struggling - just in different ways. Blogging, I’ve seen a woman struggle with her husband leaving her because of infidelity, and another who’s relationship is in “limbo.” Talking with my brother I found he recently lost his sister-in-law, and a year ago a friend to alcoholism (I knew B., he was always kind to me and a seemingly “nice” guy.) For the past two mornings on my way to a coffee shop, I’ve noticed a man in a power wheelchair on the street wearing a helmet. His limbs are “curled” with what I recognize as cerebral palsy.

The other day I “put back on” a gold and silver filigree cross that I always wear. It’s an iconic “touchstone” for me when I’m anxious or stressed. I had taken it off the day broke my wrist to wear a “glitzy” necklace to the tea dance and went for months carrying it around in my billfold. Deep inside I know that it wasn’t because I didn’t believe in God anymore - it was that I was incredibly angry. My anger wasn’t just directed at God, it was at the universe. Some days I felt like I hated everyone and everything.

I’m somewhat “back to normal,” whatever that is. I again formulate prayers (such as they are) and thoughts for myself and others. Cali and I took a long walk last evening along the beautiful path along the Willamette river. In the whispers of nature we saw the setting sun, a mother and her ducklings, and a lone crane through the trees in our three mile trek.
Our lives are formed of dreams and hopes of “what we want.” For now, I’ll settle for “what I need.”

I’ve always been fascinated by the vocalizations of Queen - especially Freddie Mercury. Overlooking the performances in “tights,” he had an incredible voice range. In this particular song, the band members duplicated their amazing harmonies over and over to produce a sound much like a one hundred voice gospel choir.

“Somebody to Love” presents itself armed with themes of faith, hope, despair, exhaustion, and longing. So, with a glass of Pinot Noir I “sang along” for awhile…

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Each morning I get up - I die a little,
Can barely stand on my feet.
I take a look in the mirror and cry,
“Lord, what are you doing to me?”
I spent all my years in believing You,
But I just can’t get no relief, Lord.
Somebody, oh somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

I work every day of my life,
I work ’till I ache my bones.
At the end,
I take home my hard earned pay all on my own.
I get down on my knees and I start to pray,
‘Till the tears run down from my eyes, Lord.
Somebody, oh somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Everyday - I try and I try and I try,
But everybody wants to put me down.
They say I’m going crazy,
They say I got a lot of water on my brain.
I got no common sense,
I got nobody left to believe.

Oh somebody, oh
Anybody find me somebody to love?
Got no feel, I got no rhythm.
I just keep losing my beat.
I’m ok - I’m alright,
I ain’t gonna face no defeat.
I just gotta get out of this prison cell,
One day I’m gonna be free.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

My relationship with the Divine lately has been nonexistent. I have a gold filigree cross that I always wear (well, not since I broke my wrist) that is somewhat of a “touchstone.” Stubbornly, I’ve refused to put it on again. I carry it with me in a small compartment of my purse, but the feeling is that I’ve “lost my faith.”

There have been too many struggles lately (and throughout my life) that I’ve gone through alone. Thankfully, my wrist wasn’t one of those instances. However, when I think of communicating (some call it prayer) with God I feel empty.

Saturday, I went to a women’s heath fair at the convention center in El Paso. As I walked from where I parked my car to the convention center, I had a thought - “You’ve got to give me something God.” Much to my surprise, the screenings were “excellent” (well, at least the ones I was able to do since the lines were long). The most striking was the cholesterol level. A little over a year ago it had been high (250) even though the good and bad cholesterol levels were excellent. In October it went to 189, and on Saturday it was “normal” being close to 150. I basically don’t eat cheese and eggs anymore.

Yesterday, a guy that I often dance with at the country club (who is an electrician) came over and did several little repairs on my RV that I would have had to pay to have done. He’s a nice guy (albeit a little quirky) and my “payment” was to take him to Outback for a steak dinner. I told him that during the time the external fixator was on my that I thought I was going to “lose it.” His response was, “Why didn’t you call me?” Obviously, I’m not good at asking for help - or solace.

I’ve lost some weight, there are a few more lines on my face, and my wrist is uncomfortable painful. (I still wake up during the night in pain and it’s really stiff in the morning.) At times, ordinary activities are “challenges.” However, I’m OK and stronger that I give myself credit for. Most amazingly, I feel that God gave me “something”…

It’s another Sunday morning as I attend the “Cathedral of Spirit Winds” - a local coffee shop. Strange as it sounds, this is one of my favorite places to “just be.”

Lately, I’ve been thinking of how much life is a “balancing act,” and how difficult it is at certain time to achieve the appropriate balance. Daily duties and responsibilities sometimes lie heavily upon our souls. The lives of others sometimes interact with ours to trigger memories - more about that later…

The practice of Yoga has certainly been a “learning curve” for me. It involves balance, commitment, and discipline - things that don’t come naturally to me. At the end of the last session I was lying in “savasana” when my eyes caught the red EXIT sign in the darkened room. Yoga seems to be a metaphor for life, and no I’m not ready to “exit.” However, that doesn’t mean that the practice (and life) aren’t difficult from time-to-time.

My ten day “introductory special” was completed and I had to make a decision to “plunk down” the money. (I decided upon a 50 visit pass for $299.00.) As I pulled out my charge card and my driver’s license for I.D., the (male) instructor looked at the I.D. and me and commented, “Wow. you actually are really pretty.” Granted, I wasn’t at my “best” after sweating like a pig for 90 minutes, but I felt “insulted.” It reminded me of being in church as a child when two old “biddies” commented within earshot about how it was “too bad” I wasn’t pretty like my older sister. Don’t people have any sense of the horrors that pop out of their mouths? WTF?

On another note, a dear “Flickr-ite” Susan - a.k.a. auntsmack4you just lost her father to the same disease my father had. She bravely and lovingly recorded by photo the last days of her father’s journey here on earth. I don’t think I would have the courage and resolve to do so. Having lost my father so many years ago, it conjured up memories of abandonment, despair, and loss. If you “Flickr,” please go offer Susan your condolences…

Life is meant to be lived, but sometimes the “living” is difficult. However, what can one do but to keep “balancing?”

Sundays are always the days that I try and reflect and “recoup” my spirit.  Truth be known, it’s usually over a latte at the local coffee shop and taking in the “life” around me.  The part where I consistently fail is that I know how to care and nurture myself - I just don’t.  I’m sure that it’s a combination of reasons such as time constraints, emotional attachments, and feelings of self-worth.

No, I’m not going to “spill it sister,” (well at least not all of it) but this week was difficult.  Please excuse the cryptic and vague details, but I don’t want to identify anyone or give a piranha food for a feeding “frenzy.”  Monday, I had lunch with someone that I both love and respect.  She spilled out her heart telling me about a trauma that she endured in an environment that you would always expect to be protected and safe.  The “trauma” has colored her life with a veil of black depression and suicidal tendencies.  I had no idea she had gone through this.  My shoulder (I probably have a pinched nerve, but massage and yoga seem to help) was hurting that day and I went home to my microwave heating pad.

As I lay stretched out, silent tears began to fall as I grieved over my friend’s sense of loss.  More tears fell as I connected her experience to some of my own.  Thankfully, I was able to overcome the moment and went to yoga.  It’s not just exercise - it’s the mind/body connection, and that the “spirit” (whatever you perceive that to be) is within you.

Later in the week I had a couple of medical appointments that merited two Xanax each to even get me into the office.  I’m fine and I’m grateful to God.  However, the oral surgeon probably thinks I’m crazy.  He extended his hand after examining me and I got out of the chair and hugged him.  We have a “history.”

So, last week I rode on an emotional roller coaster.  This week will be better…