I’m lucky enough that when my last trip to France, meant to record with Jupiter, was cancelled due to COVID (the fourth trip I was meant to make since March), it actually gave me more time at this other gig, in Mancos Colorado, playing Philedor miraculously arranged for the cowboy band of violin, acoustic guitar, and bass. The project itself deserves its own post, but I’ve been deliriously happy here, using every possible minute to get my work done so that I can spend maximum time outside.
After my recent trip to Maine, which was prompted by a search for ecstasy, for finding deserted spots for contemplation, and for running in the most beautiful places I could find, this gig is a godsend. My first trip was to Mesa Verde National Park, where I toured the east side of the park. Despite its Disney atmosphere—or because of it—I was amazed, and mostly when I got away from the crowds looking at the Pueblo houses and into the depths.
Of course the houses were amazing. 6th century kivas growing, growing, growing, until they explode in the remarkable Mesa Top cliff palaces, that all but speak of a city, from the 12th century. This was an important part of my first trip in, as were the three trails I ran (soda canyon, Petroglyph trail, and more). I interspersed my runs driving through fire fields and listening to Divna. Later, through a trip to Chaco Canyon in New Mexico, a trip to the Needles section of Canyonlands National Park in Utah, listening to Craig Child’s House of Rain and reading the more academic Anasazi America, I learned much more about Chaco Culture and its enormous reach over the Four Corners region, the Colorado Plateau, the San Juan Basin.
But to focus for a moment on my Petroglyph run in Mesa Verde. Yes, I found ecstasy on my run, and I won’t be shy about how it is achieved. Like the Greek oracles, it’s all about holy priming. This was a Sunday so I was well primed with some Christian texts, to open up my mind. Giant fat bowls of weed. The physical exercise of running in the altitude. The fucking views. Almost weeping with joy.
I read from the Sayings of the Desert Fathers in the shade of one of the Pueblo towers, as well as listening to John Cassian’s Conferences whenever I could in the desert. On my second trip to Mesa Verde I did the Overlook Trail as a run. At the top of the mountain, which is absolutely crumbing, I had a mediation on a precarious rock. I found the stroboscopic light that Wim Hof describes for the first time. It felt like touching goad. Look at the rock crumbling, look how it is over the road. You can see the erosion everywhere, perfectly natural and dangerous. You can also see the ancient seashore in a line of sandstone that stretches across the mountains. The more I learn about the geology of the region, the wider my mind becomes.
Whatever is best in Christianity is found in the Desert Fathers. You don’t have to accept Jesus Christ as your lord and savior to find deep and moving wisdom in these writings. I personally don’t believe that. But the writings give me electric feelings every time I dip in. They are ab out humility, more than anything, and discipline. My favorite runs something like this. A hermit is taking his baskets, the work of his hands, into the town market to sell them and buy his week’s loaf of bread. On the way he encounters a legless man who asks that the monk carry him into the market to beg. Of course the holy man does. Once there, he sells a basket. The legless man asks him to use the money to buy him something to eat. The monk sells more baskets, the legless man once again asks him to use the money to buy him something to drink. When he sells the last of his baskets, the legless man asks that he give him the rest of the money for tomorrow’s food. At the end of the day, after having consumed all the monk’s earnings, the beggar asks the monk to carry him back to where he started. The monk does all of this without complaining. When they get back to the road, the legless man becomes and Angel, and congratulates the monk for his infinite patience. I dream of possessing this level of self-control. Another story answers the question, when to rebuke your brother. The answer: not when he insults you, not when he cuts off your right hand, not when he scoops out your eyes. But when he puts his soul in danger.
I will say, after Mesa Verde I understand better how difficult it can be to find a truly DESERT place. It’s hard for we mortals. Sand Canyon is a better example, a place I explored on Ryan Brown’s suggestion. It is more truly a desert, with alien rock formations. Here there are Pueblo ruins too, but without all the fuss, the hand holding ,the tickets, etc. They are just there, to be stumbled over, with a little sign saying don’t get too close. Incredible, ancient, and to live here, in the DESERT.
I get all the way to the deepest part of the canyon, where again I meditate. I have an incredible experience. I think to myself, ok, now I will try to see out of my Third Eye. I hear a voice: you don’t have to try, you just have to open it. Instantly my field of vision is filled with stroboscopic light. Unbelievable beauty. How I would love to spend my whole day here. But I’m a musician, that is how I earn my week’s loaf of bread. But I’ll try to take the desert’s patience back with me.
October 2, 2020
sources:
Childs, Craig: House of Rain (2007)
Stuart, David: Anasazi America. University of New Mexico Press: Albequerque, 2014
Trans. and ed. Ward: The Sayings of the Desert Fathers. Cistercian Publications, Kalamazoo: 1984