Code Talker

Seeing Chester Nez this week affected me profoundly - I feel the emotional impact of his life every time I think of him, even as I write this. At 91, Chester is the last living member of the original group of twenty-nine Navajo Code Talkers who helped the United States defeat the Japanese during World War II. In a wheelchair, accompanied by his grandson, who appeared to be in his fifties, Chester exuded an air of modesty and quiet dignity while the co-author of a new book* about his life, Judith Avila, shared his story with the audience. Her presentation was creative. She asked audience members to imagine themselves as a young Navajo boy, whose mother died when he was three, being raised on a reservation by his grandmother who had a flock of three hundred sheep. Judith guided us in experiencing life through his eyes so we could appreciate how Chester acquired the perfect skills and character traits for becoming a Code Talker.

The fact that the Navajo language is very complex and based on oral, rather than written, tradition required that he develop his memory, become a keen observer and use his intelligence. To illustrate her point, she explained there are three verbs in the Navajo language meaning "to pick up." Selecting the correct verb depends on the object being picked up at the time. Chester’s physical fitness and stamina developed from the age of five when he began herding his grandmother's sheep. The high desert’s sparse vegetation required walking 15-20 miles a day to find suitable grazing. He could run for miles and became a great shot. Taking responsibility and working cooperatively were essential to his family's economic and physical survival. The flock grew to 1,000 sheep.

In boarding school, Navajo children learned to obey authority. They were punished - hit, kicked and beaten - when they made mistakes. Chester learned to work under tremendous pressure with perfect results. In the military, these skills enabled him to transmit coded messages in battle conditions when the accuracy of the message could affect thousands of lives. Despite the fact that they knew no English when they arrived at boarding school, children who spoke Navajo had their mouths washed out with naphtha soap, soap made from a petroleum distillate, similar to gasoline or benzene, used as a solvent or fuel. How ironic it is their speaking Navajo helped end the war in the Pacific, a great service to our country.

When Chester was thirteen or fourteen, the government Bureau of Indian Affairs decided Navajo “overgrazing” was contributing to Dust Bowl storms, so they dug trenches on the reservation, herded 700 of his grandmother’s sheep and goats into the trenches, poured accelerant on them and set them afire. Many of the animals had individual names and were pets. Judith Avila’s voice was choked with emotion while sharing this information. She told us it was extremely difficult for her to talk about it. I cried. It broke my heart. Between 1932 and 1944, the sheep population was reduced from 1.6 million to 400,000, completely destroying the Navajo economy. Some families received $2 - $3 a head for their livestock when market value was $8 - $14 a head. Chester was unsure if his family received any compensation. The Navajos never received an apology.

Just a few months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Marine recruiters arrived looking for young Navajo men who spoke fluent English and fluent Navajo for a special project that would benefit their country. In his book, Chester says, he had been born to the warrior tradition, seeing himself inseparable from the earth he lived upon. As a protector of what is sacred, he was eager to defend his land. He and his fellow Navajos were sent to Guadalcanal where they developed a doubly-encrypted code, the only code never broken in the war, a code which even Navajo language speakers could not understand. During a question-and-answer period after the presentation, Judith Avila was asked if the Army or Air Force also used the code. She answered, “No they rejected it because they didn’t think Navajo Indians were intelligent enough to develop a good code.” In 1924 Native Americans became citizens. In 1948, three years after World War II ended, they were given the right to vote. After twenty-five years, the project was declassified, and Chester could finally tell his family what he did in the war. In 2001, forty-seven days before 9/11, Chester and his fellow Code Talkers were presented with the Congressional Gold Medal, the highest civilian honor Congress can bestow.

Several current events address similar, resonating themes. Stephen Spielberg’s new movie, “Lincoln,” depicts the struggle to choose a consciousness of unity rather than separation, equality rather than discrimination, acceptance rather than devaluation, cooperation rather than polarization in passing the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution as a follow up to the Emancipation Proclamation. Our own recent, very-close voting, just like that of Lincoln’s day, asked us to choose the vision for our future. By a narrow margin, the choice was made. Spurred by changing demographics, a critical mass has finally been reached, freeing us to move forward. Yesterday, 60 Minutes featured “Children Helping Children” an organization started by a 12-year-old seventeen years ago when he read about a Pakistani boy his same age, a slave in a carpet factory, who was murdered when he escaped to lead a campaign against servitude. “Children Helping Children” is now a $30-million-a-year organization with two million volunteers, building schools and educating children in Africa.  A recent rally was held for 20,000 people under the age of 18 who want to make a difference in the world. On Super Soul Sunday yesterday, Oprah featured three new spiritual leaders in their thirties who are shifting consciousness through their blogs, books and coaching. The end of one consciousness is the beginning of another. Perhaps this is the end of time chronicled by the Mayan calendar. I believe it is. Our choice is whether we will live in love or in fear. There’s still a lot of work to do, but more and more people are choosing love.  

*Code Talker: The First and Only Memoir by One of the Original Navajo Code Talkers of WWII  by Chester Nez with Judith Schiess Avila

Invitation to Reclusion

“The Artful Recluse: Painting, Poetry, and Politics in 17^th Century China” is an exhibit of fifty-seven works of art, primarily scrolls, currently on exhibit at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art.* The featured “Dia de los Muertos” celebration my son Grant and I went to see there during my recent trip to California was of no interest to us once we arrived, but the scrolls captivated us. Viewing them was not only exquisitely pleasurable but also intriguing since they prompted contemplation of “reclusion,” a word I had never before encountered in that form.

Reclusion is the act of shutting or the state of being shut up in seclusion; the condition or life of a recluse, a person who withdraws, who lives in solitude to devote himself to prayer and meditation. Political turmoil during and after the collapse of the Ming Dynasty created a group of dispossessed elites, scholar-officials who had mastered painting, poetry and calligraphy. They disengaged from society and retreated to nature to practice their art forms. Some of the scrolls, which often show landscapes of mountains, deep-cut gorges, caves, foliage and spiraling paths, include barely visible, small, robed figures of those in reclusion. In purposeful solitude, they could communicate their most important inner feelings during a time of crisis. One artist, Xiang Shengmo, included with a forty-three-foot scroll twenty poems that explore disengagement as a way to reengage. In one, he asks: “Who says reclusive living need be remote?”**

Disengagement as a way to reengage. Reclusive living that need not be remote. What timeless ideas these are. When put into practice, what refuge, rest and restoration they can provide us in our busy, demanding lives. Reclusion need not be for years and years, or for a lifetime. It can be for several brief periods during one day. It can be sitting down quietly, alone, with a cup of hot tea, outside, watching clouds move across the sky. It can be a half-hour walk by oneself in nature, looking across fields to the mountains, seeing cottonwoods change color, watching their leaves fall or silently keeping company with Sandhill cranes as they feed on tractor-flattened rows of grain. Dedicating time to such moments of reclusion is a gift of love, not only to ourselves and our surroundings, but also to the people in our lives who then encounter the restored version of ourselves.

“An artist’s date,” author Julia Cameron calls this kind of alone time experiencing something interesting, exciting, different, new. Experiencing new sounds, new sights, new smells, new tastes is a variation on the theme of reclusion. In her book, The Artist’s Way, and in her workshops, she assigns an artist’s date each week as homework. The artist’s date is to be taken alone, not with a partner or a friend. She also assigns two, twenty-minute walks a week, alone, not with a pet. These are contemporary practices of reclusion. Each week, for twelve weeks, she checked to see if the assignments were completed. Often there was resistance. Often there was noncompliance. Why? We had the opportunity to contemplate that. She invited us to continue going on artist’s dates after the workshop ended. I have. People who have lived in New Mexico much longer than I are amazed by how many places I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve done. Often it is more than they have. They ask how I find out about places and events. I read the weekly independent newspaper and choose things of interest that sound like fun. I find it refreshing and renewing to do them. 

This week I went on a two-hour crane walk offered through Oasis around the perimeter of 138 acres of open space owned by the city of Albuquerque.  Migrating Sandhill cranes began arriving the beginning of this month. I strolled around a holiday arts and crafts fair in Placitas, a community north of here. I attended a book reading and signing by Sherman Alexie, the award-winning Native American writer and the screenwriter of "Smoke Signals." He's described as "mordantly funny," and he was. Held in an auditorium on the UNM campus, the event was free. There was an overflow crowd. People were turned away. I had priority seating because I purchased his newest book, a collection of short stories entitled Blasphemy, at my local independent bookstore. I learned of his appearance while on another artist's date to the KiMo Theatre for my birthday. The bookstore representative there told me when Alexie was coming. Reclusive living need not be remote. Nor is it limited to artists or writers. As my artist friend's answering machine reminded us last week, "Your life is a work of art." Artist dates can include solitary excursions among others, can be non-denominational reclusion. 

Should you practice, and actually enjoy, reclusion, Julia Cameron offers an extended version as an assignment - media deprivation. You can push the envelope for one week in silence with no music, television, internet, radio, movies, speaking or reading. Years ago I spent one week deprived of all the above. . . except reading. I knew about the exercise, but I never thought I could do it, so I didn't try (that in itself was a revelation!). When I attended her workshop in May, Julia assigned media deprivation as homework. Being accountable, I had to report that I didn't do it. She assigned it again - for the following week. Then again, to those who still didn't complete it. I was glad I succeeded the second week.  

Time spent in silence, in solitude, in meditation, in contemplation, in nature, on walking, on artist’s dates, in some form of creative expression can renew, restore and re-energize us by bringing balance to our lives. I never knew it was called reclusion, but when I saw the Chinese scroll exhibit at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, I understood it. I resonated with it. One scroll is titled “Invitation to Reclusion.” This week, the Spiritual Adventuress extends that invitation to you.

*   through January 20, 2013

** Los Angeles Times: Santa Barbara Museum of Art reflects on “The Artful Recluse,” by Allan M. Jalon (November 11, 2012).

Reservation Creation

“Your life is a work of art,” the answering machine of a professional artist friend reminds me when I call. Navajo rug weavers know this. They literally live it with every fiber of their being. On my return from California this week, I attended the Crownpoint Navajo Rug Auction on their reservation in the northwest corner of New Mexico. The day trip was offered through Oasis, which provides continuing education opportunities for adults over fifty throughout the United States.

I boarded the tour bus with thirty other people in cold, winter rain for the two-hour ride. The group leader explained how the auction would work, passed around a rug he previously purchased and explained the most desirable qualities of a hand-woven rug: tight weave, smooth surface, the same symmetrical design on both sides, straight edges, sharp corners within the design and creativity. He then showed a DVD about the Navajo culture and weaving.

Navajo women weavers literally weave elements of their lives into their rugs. Originally nomadic raiders, the Navajo, or Diné (“the people”) as they call themselves, became sheep raisers, grazers and herders in daily life. Wool sheared from their sheep is washed, carded, spun, in some cases dyed, and woven into rugs. Natural grey, white, tan, brown or black wool is commonly used. Rugs colored with vegetal, or plant-based, dyes are usually considered more valuable than those made with commercial, or aniline, dyes.

The Navajo Reservation, largest in the United States at nearly fifteen thousand square miles, can be divided into thirteen weaving regions, each producing a characteristic rug with a distinctive style, pattern and color. For example, black, white, grey and brown geometrically-designed rugs are woven in the Two Grey Hills area. Known for their fine quality and high thread count per inch, a piece twenty by thirty-two inches can be on the loom for fourteen months after forty-five days are spent preparing the wool before weaving begins. Patterns and designs are rarely diagrammed, and even the youngest weaver is taught to plan her designs and colors in her head – to visualize the complete product. Symbols for "falling rain," "rain far-off," "mountain," "turkey track," woven into the rugs connect their creations with their lives, to their land. It can be said the meditative nature of weaving grounds them and contributes to their peaceful nature. The Crownpoint Weavers website, www.crownpointrugauction.com, explains that Navajo weaving is constantly changing: “Frequently we see a swing away from the old ‘regional’ design concept. Serious weavers are doing their own thing. They don’t want to be bound by tradition and are creating new and marvelous designs. Vegetal weavers are working with colors. Pictorial weavers are creating new landscapes and whimsical settings.” Each handmade rug is unique, literally one of a kind.

Auctions are held the second Friday of every month. Rugs are available for inspection before the auction begins. Navajo women weavers of all ages line the back and side walls of the Crownpoint Elementary School gymnasium as potential buyers swarm around the rugs piled on cafeteria-style tables. The Crownpoint Rug Auction gives buyers the unique opportunity to purchase Navajo rugs directly from the weavers themselves, at prices well below retail. For a small weaving the size of a placemat, bidding will start at $30 - $50, and it will sell for $80 - $100. Room-sized rugs can sell for as much as $1900 – $2200 or more. The night I attended, most rugs sold in the $300 - $500 range. A Navajo blanket sold at auction by Sotheby’s in New York for more than $100,000 in 1983 and a chief’s blanket in 1997 for $350,000.

Election Day dictated that I return from my California trip three days before the rug auction, by Tuesday, November 6^th, so I could vote in person. Reflecting on both events, I see parallels between Navajo rug weavers, Americans collectively as a nation and each of us individually. For each, our lives are a work of art. We weave our own creations from the elements in our lives. Changing demographics in our country required embracing a diverse national coalition to create the next administration. Regardless of how we voted individually, collectively we have chosen a vision for moving our country forward. Our dream for our country and ourselves embraces all demographics, including youth, women, Hispanics, African-Americans, white males, blue-collar workers. Collectively we have chosen to move forward into the unknown, releasing what no longer works, letting go of our fears.

Individually, we accept our wholeness, all the diverse aspects of ourselves represented by those demographics. Outer form represents the consciousness within. What part of you is a dreamer seeking education? What aspect of you longs for freedom beyond borders, unlimited opportunity for self-expression? How is self-determination part of your heart’s desires? How will our individual lives reflect sustainable green energy that respects the Earth, improved healthcare? What part of our own infrastructure needs and awaits repair? How will we create inner energy independence? Adjust to climate change in our lives within? What must we do to balance our own budget – not just financially, but energetically, qualitatively? How do we move our life vision forward, create our grand design?

The past is gone. Collectively we’ve committed to the new, to inclusion, to diversity, to working together, to honoring our oneness, to realizing, or making real, our wholeness. What will that look like individually and collectively? We don’t know yet. We’ll create it. Our life is a work of art. We’ve taken the first step by saying we’re committed to it.

Crystal Skulls

Crystal skulls, AKA “The Mysterious Crystal Skulls,” (oooooo…..), how could I resist a FREE lecture about them at the Albuquerque Museum of Natural History and Science by Benjamin Radford, investigator for the Skeptical Inquirer, a bimonthly magazine published for “science and reason” by the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry (CSI)? Especially at Halloween. Timely! Now there’s a man who knows marketing. Radford’s new book, Mysterious New Mexico: Miracles, Magic, Monsters in the Land of Enchantment, with one entire chapter dedicated exclusively to crystal skulls, will be published by University of New Mexico Press next year. I had to go. Even if it took time away from my online completion of 45 units of continuing education to renew my California real estate license, or perhaps, especially if it took time away from . . .

Claims have been made that crystal skulls, pre-Columbian artifacts from Aztec or Maya civilizations, exhibit paranormal phenomena. Reportedly used to cast spells, see the future, will death or heal, they are often accompanied by an elusive perfume, tinkling sounds, changing colors, auras. There’s one in the British Museum (fact). However, none of the specimens made available for scientific study has been authenticated as pre-Columbian in origin. Investigations carried out on several skulls at the British Museum show that the indented lines marking the teeth were carved using jeweler’s equipment developed in the 19^th century. The type of crystal used was exclusive to Madagascar and Brazil, not obtainable, or known, in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. The study concluded they were made in 19^th century Germany from Brazilian quartz. A detailed study of skulls in the British Museum and the Smithsonian was accepted for publication by the Journal of Archaeological Science in May 2008. Researchers concluded the skulls were made in the 1950s or later. None of the skulls in museums comes from documented excavations.

Crystal skulls have become very popular, appearing in sci-fi television series, video games, books, and in Stephen Spielberg’s 2008 movie, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. The completion of the Maya calendar cycle on December 21, 2012, ties in with the legend that the re-uniting of thirteen mystical, crystal skulls will forestall a catastrophe predicted by the ending of the calendar. In Serpent of Light, author Drunvalo Melchizedek writes that he “came across indigenous Mayan descendents in possession of crystal skulls at ceremonies at temples in the Yucatan which. . . contain souls of ancient Mayans who had entered the skulls to await the time when their ancient knowledge would once again be required.”  Timely!

Dan Akroyd, actor, musician and entrepreneurial purveyor of spirits, sells his Crystal Head Vodka in clear-glass, skull-shaped bottles, with the bottle neck and cap on top of the head (adding a look of authenticity), at $39.95 and up. . . and, skull-tini glasses (set of two) for $30. . . and, Limited Edition skull cufflinks (buy now!) in rhodium for $79. . . and, in sterling silver for $149. . . . and. . . He’s really got the marketing down. The vodka is “pure spirit” made with pristine, deep-glacial-aquifer water of Newfoundland, Canada – quadruple distilled! Free of additives, it is triple-filtered, then triple-filtered again (really) through Herkimer diamonds (I couldn’t make this stuff up!) making it as ‘PURE’ as Vodka can be. According to his website, Akroyd is a Spiritualist, a believer in what he calls the "invisible world" where otherworldly presences are a "form of reality as valid as our normal reality." For a fun time, visit www.crystalheadvodka.com. Radford autographed a bottle of Crystal Head Vodka, brought in by a fan, at the end of his presentation. Photos were taken.

In New Age Sedona, Radford states, crystal skulls have become a cottage industry. People pay $100, or more, per hour, to be in the same room with crystal skulls and meditate. For more fun, visit www.crystalskulls.com, the epitome of cottage industry – ancient, old, contemporary, activated, or Mayan crystal skulls are available. There are links to crystal skull theory, history, research, news and events. You can even “Get your own Indie crystal skull (exclusive offer),” or own a “real crystal skull activated by the rare Tibetan crystal skull." Googling “crystal skulls” reveals more exotic fare: crystal skull essences, jewelry, wands, advisor pendulums, and an adoption sale (yes!). All manner of skull crystals, with balancing, cleansing, healing properties, are available, from tourmaline to zebra jasper, tiger eye to sugilite, moonstone to moldavite, small, medium, large or bestselling, blessed by Atlantean, Peruvian, or Star-being aliens “from space” to “bring money,” “make dreams vivid,” “support empaths,” “avoid over-thinking,” so you “enjoy life in the now.”

One of the most notable crystal skulls, the “Skull of Doom,” or Mitchell-Hedges skull, was reportedly discovered by Anna Le Guillon Mitchell-Hedges, step-daughter of a British adventurer, who claimed she found the skull beneath a collapsed altar in a temple in Belize. Others present at the time have not confirmed the skull’s discovery. Nor have they confirmed Anna’s presence at the dig. According to her, she was told, by the few remaining Mayans, that “the skull was used by the high priest to will death.” She said her skull could “cause visions and cure cancer,” that she saw in it a premonition of John F. Kennedy’s assassination and used it to kill a man. Anna toured with her skull on a pay-per-view basis until her death in 2007, when she was in her nineties.

The closest the Spiritual Adventuress can come this week to connecting spiritual principles with crystal skulls is imbibing spirits from them. Happy Halloween!

Piedras Marcadas

Discovery, learning, (ad)venturing forth into the unknown – Piedras Marcadas Canyon offers all that. Wonderment. “Marked Rocks” Canyon is part of the Petroglyph National Monument on the west side of Albuquerque. Six volcanoes erupted along the Rio Grande Rift Valley about 150,000 years ago, flowing lava toward the east. It eroded into an escarpment, or long cliff with a steep slope, of basalt rock. More than 20,000 rock carvings can be found along this seventeen-mile-long ridge. Some of the symbols are recognizable – hand or foot prints, bees, dragonflies, lizards, but many remain cloaked in mystery. For indigenous Pueblo people, the entire landscape is sacred. Traditional ceremonies still take place within the monument.

The “Walking Albuquerque” class did two-miles of just that this week in Piedras Marcadas Canyon. The experience left me feeling a bit unsettled. Signs at the monument entrance juxtaposed ancient and modern ideas. A quote from a Native American said, “…the rocks are alive - they carry messages from the ancestors,” while a notice from monument staff informed us, “…cell phones can be used for a park ranger audio tour.” Those at each end of the time spectrum would be amazed by the world of the other. It felt somewhat disorienting to have a foot in each world. A cement-block retaining wall separated the back yards of new Pueblo-style tract homes from ancestral Puebloan ceremony sites. A short walk up the trail, modern civilization is left behind, only desert wilderness remains. On my own, I would never have stumbled across the small public parking lot, for the piedras marcadas, hidden in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

The husband-and-wife hike leaders, high-tech equipped with portable microphone headsets, warned us not to molest the rattlesnakes then explained that “desert varnish,” or the dark outer layer of weathered volcanic rock, was pecked away with a rock chisel to create the petroglyphs by revealing the natural, light-gray basalt rock beneath. On smooth rocks nearby, ceremonial food offerings were ground. Prayers were said. After the class ended, I continued walking by myself for an hour, spending time in the timeless. I’m haunted by the ancient/modern juxtapositions I felt as I walked on the land.

According to the Petroglyph National Monument website, Pueblo people today believe when their ancestors died, their spirits would travel from villages along the river up to the volcanic escarpment, “The Place That People Speak About.” There, the spirits of their ancestors would leave this world through the rock images and go to the next. They believe the images are as “old as time” and that the images choose when and to whom they reveal themselves.

Perhaps, while walking, I sensed energetically what I just read online in a 1990 L.A. Times article. Headline: “Petroglyph monument faces a rocky future. The ancient Indian drawings are threatened by Albuquerque's growth, trash dumpers and vandals.” The article described the nation’s newest national monument at the time as a vast gallery of sacred images. Ike Eastvold, President of the Friends of the Albuquerque Petroglyphs, stated, "It is still an outdoor church to the Pueblo people. This is still a spiritually active landscape." According to Eastvold, who inventoried the symbols for a state research project, a few of the monument's petroglyphs are 3,000 to 5,000 years old, some are from the Spanish colonial era, but most date from 1320 to 1680.

Since the city of Albuquerque is bounded by mountains on the east and Indian pueblo lands on both the north and south, future development has long been earmarked for the west mesa, where the petroglyphs are located. Although economic conditions and a building moratorium diminished the threat of development for a while, Eastvold explained the petroglyphs could still be vulnerable to deliberate destruction. He showed members of a Smithsonian Institution tour group where contractors had dumped hundreds of tons of construction debris while building neighboring subdivisions and pointed out bullet-pocked rock surfaces where marksmen had used petroglyphs for target practice. I’m wondering if my inexplicable feelings are from encountering the intensity of such starkly contrasting pairs of opposites reflected by the history of the  site: protection/destruction, ancient/modern, developed/undeveloped, respected/disrespected. . . all the contradictions we embody both individually and collectively as those who are human and divine. It's a familiar discomfort that parallels living in this country and this world at this time. The spiritual practice is to know the pairs of opposites are just two sides of one Earth rotating on its axis toward or away from the light.

You Could Have Come No Other Way

“While nothing could prepare me for my son’s life-threatening experience, everything in my life prepared me for my son’s life-threatening experience,” I wrote recently in the manuscript of A Caregiver’s Journey: Supporting an Adult Child with Cancer. I then explained that two real estate clients of mine and a car accident impacted my life in ways that altered my interaction with my son. One client introduced me to metaphysical thinking and set me on the path of spiritual development I still follow. Another client and I shared her journey with cancer before Grant was diagnosed. The car accident I was in occurred before he was born. In writing about these things, I have been able to see my life as a tapestry in which all the seemingly-separate, colored threads are woven into a perfect design. Some of the threads only revealed their part of the design after more than thirty years.

“You could have come no other way,” one of my spiritual mentors, Edwene Gaines, likes to remind others. Everything that has happened to us has made us who we are now. It is a wonderful way to re-frame or re-vision what we consider those not-so-wonderful events in our lives, to view them from a larger perspective which reveals the purpose they serve, the good they contain. Over thirty years ago, I certainly didn’t appreciate our car being rear-ended by a school bus at a red light, having my forehead split open, then lying flat on my back for nine days with a concussion. But when the inch-long scar on my forehead from the accident disappeared due to a friend’s prayer, and it helped heal my son of cancer, I saw the accident as part of a greater picture, a divine order. It’s like examining the brush strokes and details of a gallery painting up close, then stepping back and viewing it from a distance. How satisfying to accept the perfection of divine order now without having to wait for hindsight to reveal it.

Divine order is revealing itself to me more and more quickly now that I believe in it. I recently hung three abstract, contemporary paintings by a dear friend, Johnny Garcia, in my new home. They are channeled paintings from the Divine Mothers, or feminine aspects of God, embodying healing colors and energies. Since Johnny is out of the country, I have been storing his work. With his permission, I am enjoying his art. Out of fifteen paintings, the three I selected are revealing their purpose. In the entry hall is “Gratitude,” resembling green, organic bamboo on a golden background. Within the past week, my meditation CD repeatedly skipped from track one to track four. Accepting that this is happening for a reason, I have been starting there – with a “gratitude” meditation based on chanting the word “om.” Start with the end in mind. It is done. Thank you. The book is already written and a success. All I have to do is get it down on paper.

"Service,” is hung in the dining area off the kitchen where I write at the table, being of service by sharing the light through writing. Last week’s blog entry described Meher Baba’s comparison of selfless service to the sun which shines on everything, unaffected by results. “Service” brings the yellows of the sun to my dining area. It feeds my soul. The pink shades of “Peace," hanging in my bedroom, bring loving, restful sleep to my nights. I didn’t really think of the titles, colors or symbolism when I chose which paintings to hang or where to hang them. I just picked my favorites and put them up. They are revealing their significance in my life and home at this time. With each experience I have, my faith and trust are deepened. I increasingly experience the interconnectedness, or oneness, of everything. Is there something in your life right now that you consider “not-so-wonderful” that might be divine order in disguise? How might it be serving you?

King of Its Kind

"News from Afar" continues to arrive, as foretold by the fortunteller's card - not only “Happy Birthday” calls from Washington, Massachusetts and California, but also news from further afar - a singing telegram from the universe in the keres language sung by two members of the Zia Pueblo dressed in full regalia. Along with birthday gifts from the universe. It doesn't get much more "afar" than that!

It was a surprise. Several weeks ago, I thought about the “The Milagro Beanfield War” and wanted to see the movie again. So the Universe decided to give me that for my birthday. . . and so much more. A friend in my water aerobics class told me there was going to be a party, put on by the city of Albuquerque, to celebrate the 85^th birthday of the KiMo Theatre downtown. It opened on September 19, 1927, as a magnificent Pueblo Deco style “picture palace.” Not only has it been beautifully restored, it has recently been designated as a state landmark and added to the National Register of Historic Places. Commemorative plaques would be unveiled, and (wait for it. . .) “The Milagro Beanfield War,” written by a New Mexico author and filmed in Truchas, NM, would be shown. Author of the 1974 book, and co-writer of the 1988 screenplay, John Nichols, would be there. Celebratory cake and sparkling cider would be served. All free. 

My first gift was arriving at the downtown parking structure, seeing the sign that read “Have your permit or $6 parking fee ready,” holding out $5 and $1 bills to the attendant, telling her I was attending the KiMo event, then hearing, “Oh, then there’s no charge. It’s free.” Thank you. A block away, on the sidewalk in front of the theater, the event is ready to begin.

Two members of the Zia pueblo were establishing the consciousness for the evening. They wore knee-length, beaded moccasins, porcupine-quill-like chest plates, headdresses, silver tinwork armlets, to one of which was fastened a brown, furry paw, and feathers in their shiny, black, braided hair. I wondered if the paw was previously attached to the narrow, brown fur pelt hanging down from the back of the older man’s head past his knees. He raised a flute to his lips and greeted the four directions with music. Then he welcomed everyone, about 150 people forming a semi-circle around him, on the sidewalk. Acknowledging the importance of the day we are born, he mentions the theatre then asks if anyone there has a September birthday. Two of us do. Called forward, we stand next to him as he sings his father’s birthday song, in his native language, to the theater and the two of us, accompanied by the beat of a drum. Throughout the evening, total strangers continue to wish me “Happy Birthday.”

There are 19 pueblos, or villages, of different indigenous people, in New Mexico. A bystander next to me didn’t know which pueblo the performers came from, so, after the welcoming ceremony, I asked the younger one. “Zia pueblo,” he answered. How perfect. They were not from one of the 18 other pueblos. They were from the “Zia” pueblo, the one whose symbol is the sun.

The Zia Sun Symbol, a red circle with radiating lines on a yellow background, is featured on the New Mexico state flag. Its design reflects their tribal philosophy, the basic harmony of all things in the universe. The four sets of four lines that extend in four directions from the sun represent the four seasons, the four times of day, the four directions and the four stages in the life of a person. My life purpose is “Share the Light.” Just like the sun. In the morning meditation CD I have used for more than fifteen years, Meher Baba, the Indian mystic and avatar who spent 42 years in silence, uses the sun as a simile in describing “selfless service”: 

Selfless service is unaffected by results. It is like the rays of 

the sun that serve the world by shining alike on all creation, on

the grass in the field, on the birds in the air, on the beasts

in the forest, on all mankind; on saint and sinner, rich and 

poor, strong and weak – unconscious of their attitude toward

it.

The universe knows I am a symbolic thinker and delights in giving me a gift filled with symbolism. Much of my life has been dedicated to service. I now live in New Mexico due to a spiritual calling. The quality of the light in the high desert, closer to the sun at an elevation of 5,000 -7,500’, is noticeably different and has long attracted artists and writers.

Once the welcome and plaque unveiling are complete, the architect who supervised the theatre restoration leads a walking tour, pointing out and explaining the renovations. There are 39 cow skulls, with glowing red lights in their eye sockets, lining the proscenium and walls. Murals depicting the Seven Cities of Cibola accompany theatergoers up the stairs. From one of the trailers preceding the movie, I learn that “KiMo” means “King of Its Kind” in the tewa language. It resonates nicely with my last name. 

An author’s table is set up in the lobby for book signing, and the local, independent bookstore, Bookworks, conveniently sells John Nichols’ books, including his newest one, and The Milagro Beanfield War. I buy a copy. Nichols takes time to talk with each person in line and writes a personal message in each book he signs. He wishes me great success in writing A Caregiver’s Journey. He’s quite the raconteur when introducing the film. He shares humorous tales about working with Robert Redford on the screenplay and concludes with a self-deprecating anecdote. At one award presentation, he received a lamb. He says, “As soon as it is placed in my arms, it pisses all over me. I’ll leave you with that. Enjoy the movie.” In addition to the movie, popcorn and soda are free. Later, when given a choice of birthday cake, I select the one with icing on top. “Happy Birthday from afar, Terranda.” Thank you!