According to the Navajo, the gods had walked this land we
now call Monument Valley and their karma has been left behind in storied rock.
I saw it first on film. It starred John Wayne and was
directed by John Ford. And there were several titles but the plot was always beauty
within the valley of the rocks.
But as we drove onto the set that mid-March morning, its
simple actuality diminished every technicolor, panascope, and universal film
school trope.
It always is that truth of truths. Experience is always
greater than the sum of your beliefs. Now is never then, and then was never.
We take a tour. I scramble up a sandstone bluff and crawl
into an Ancient Pueblo space and peer through eyes that look like windows.
O one that walks with beauty! there is no separation between
nature and self, desert and thunder, sky and source, this land and who I am.
The tour guide answers every question. Even global
warming is the great intent of evolution while good shepherds feed their sheep.
I find myself cross-legged on the desert floor surrounded by
the acts of gods. Unlike the Hopi, Navajo take pictures. Here I am, truly a
butte.
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