The Traveler Journals

Copyright 2008-All Rights Reserved

 I used to be too afraid to go…to travel alone to a new place. Just before I turned twelve in sobriety, I decided I couldn’t put traveling on hold any longer. I couldn’t wait because I’d been waiting all my life. Waiting for somebody to hold my hand while I stuck my big toe in the water, so to speak, to see how cold the water might be. Waiting for permission to do what I wanted. Waiting. For somebody to go with me because I am a woman and so people would frown up and tell me it’s too dangerous for a woman to be traveling alone. Waiting. For permission. For a proper time. For a proper companion. I was fed up with all that waiting. I felt like I should see and experience the world outside of my “comfort zone.” So I began. I kept journals of my travels because my friend, Maria Lyons, gave me my first journal to write down what I saw, heard, felt, did. I’ve written in many journals since then. What follows is taken, in bits and pieces, from my Traveler Journals.

In Red Rock Country

Red Rock Country is also known as The Four Corners—Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, Colorado. It’s home to many natural wonders in the western United States. I saw some of them. My journal helps me to remember.

July 15, 2001-The Drive to Flagstaff, Arizona

On my Sunday drive from Phoenix, Arizona to Flagstaff, Arizona, I was a bit nervous leaving the rental car place, trying to remember the verbal directions from the staff person. I’d never been in Arizona before and when I emerged from the Phoenix airport, the 101 degree heat slapped me hard. I’d never been in that kind of heat before. It is, after all, the desert, but it had never occurred to me that July was not the best month to be traveling in Phoenix. In the rental car, I turned on the air conditioning quick, fast, and in a hurry, then successfully made my way to Interstate 10 West and to North 17.

Phoenix is at 1000 feet elevation and as I drove, I realized I would be climbing up during the three hour trip. The climb showed me wondrous things. They were wondrous to me because I’d always lived (before I moved to California) in The Midwest and in The South. The land is so much different there. Anyway. In the distance, I spotted brown and black mesas dotted with green, flat-armed cactus. (A mesa is a Spanish word for a sheared off mountain that looks like a table rock.) Lots of mesas along the way. The wind rocked the small car I was driving with strong, unexpected gusts from time to time. That got and kept my attention on the road. I climbed 6000 feet to Flagstaff. (Maybe that’s why I was soooo sleepy when I got to my motel bed.) As I climbed, I saw (and couldn’t believe it) blonde grass blowing in the wind. I laughed aloud. Bleached, silver-blonde grass looking, for all the world, like a woman’s thin, silky hair. What next?

While I drove, I kept telling myself aloud that I was doing fine so that my head’s toxic voices—the monkeys I call them—wouldn’t take off with my self-confidence and scare the bejesus out of me like they always try to do. The monkeys kept me nervous, but they couldn’t take away the exhilaration I felt because of what I was doing. I was alone and I was doing fine, I told myself as I descended into Verde Valley; there, the earth turned from golden desert to green fields flowering with Ponderosa Pine trees. I smiled. Yeah, I was doing fine. Flagstaff and The Grand Canyon weren’t far.

July 16, 2001- Arizona, The Grand Canyon

Who would imagine that the Grand Canyon is in the middle of a national forest of Ponderosa Pine and Scrub Oak? I didn’t. We shuttled on the tour bus up 7000 feet. Once there, the air was cool. Pleasant. I hurried through the trees with the rest of the tourists to the Watchtower, a lookout shaped like a round kiva with a platform circling it. We scurried to the platform, anxious for a first look. It took my breath away. My head kept swiveling round from one place, perspective, angle to the next, trying to take in everything. But you can’t, they say. It’s just too big to take in all at once, all at one time.

The Grand Canyon is a giant gorge cut out by erosion and The Colorado River. And that’s the way it looks. Only it’s the mother of all gorges. So big. It seems to fill the sky with its bigness. Erosion has cut its walls into plateaus, into levels that go deep, deep. The reddish-pink-brown-white stone walls run down so far that you can’t see the end to them from The South Rim above. It’s fascinating to me, this place. A holy place, I’m sure to the Indians who lived here first. Before the White man came and made it a tour. In a way that seems a sacrilege against nature, but if they hadn’t done it, I would have never seen it. And that would have been my immeasurable loss. For seeing The Grand Canyon, I have no doubt—not one—that there exists in our universe a power greater than me…greater than all of us puny human beings.

July 17, 2001- On the Way to Sedona, Arizona

I got a shock on the drive from Flagstaff through Oak Creek Canyon to get to Sedona, a shock when the forest of pines standing along each side of the switchback road fell away. What I saw was so different from any landscape I’d ever known or seen that I almost drove off the mountain trying to get my brain to understand exactly what my eyes were seeing. Like some exotic magic spell suddenly manifesting before my eyes, the red rocks of Sedona appeared, it seemed, out of nowhere. On either side of the road, the pines had been replaced by astonishing, mystical shapes of red rocks, like something out of a fairy tale. In the far distance, I could see the red-orange shape of a mountain of rocks that looked like something designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, the visionary architect. He hadn’t though. No human had. Later I found out that it was Cathedral Rock. Just below it, there was a sweeping panorama of humpbacked mountains covered by green pines and dotted with outcrop boulders.

As I drove, I was so awed and overpowered by the sight of Cathedral Rock that it was hard to concentrate on the road; soon, I found a spot, a park, to turn into. At Sliding Rock Park, I got a chance to really see why people have labeled The Four Corners states as Red Rock Country. The sight at Sliding Rock Park was so magnificent to me that tears popped into my eyes. Although I’d seen the redness of The Grand Canyon only a couple of days before, this was the first time I’d ever seen these weirdly shaped, red beauties up close—mountains that had eroded into walls, buttes, spires. I gaped at them, amazed, beguiled…so many shapes, so many sizes, so many odd designs wrought by the hands of erosion, the hands of wind and of water. Designs so gorgeous that I would never have imagined them. Right then, I think, I fell in love with Red Rock Country.

2002, June 28 - Solitude at Snow Canyon, Utah

I found Snow Canyon quite by accident on my trip to St. Geroge, Utah. I came here to see Zion, Cedar Breaks, and Bryce Canyon. They are magnificent, but Snow Canyon has taken hold of me in a unique way.

I look around me sensing this place—Snow Canyon—in a way that is quite beyond my ability to describe. My five senses struggle to send my brain information to make sense and order of my surroundings. The first thing that strikes me is this. Except for the occasional buzz of a flying insect or a random breeze cutting through the heat to flutter the leaves of a few, young aspen trees, there is, I realize, no sound here. No sound. You hear the absence of sound. Absolute, utter silence. I have never experienced hearing no sound...nothing at all.

It takes some getting used to. Because it’s spooky for me having come from Los Angeles, a city that is thoroughly, stridently urban with all the various and sundry noises: Music blasting…jazz, rap, mariachi, golden oldies—music and the sky filled with airplanes whistling in for a landing, helicopters whap-whap-whapping, bus engines roaring, car horns blaring, people chattering in the street, on cell phones, via radio talk shows—having come from such unrelenting, ever constant noise to complete and unbroken silence unbalances me for some moments. It’s as if I’m experiencing a break with reality. That there is, in this day and time, a place such as this where you hear no sound at all is almost unbelievable. It seems a “fantastic” place to me. A fantasy out of a movie. Otherworldly. Alien. And in a way, frightening.

The thing that floods my senses, my sight is Redness. On the horizon, there rises one massive, white, limestone mountain… a lone, ghostly white figure surrounded by a forest of red, stone giants. Everywhere I look I see the color red. Everywhere. Red is the landscape. Red is cross-bedded into sandstone mounds that rise from the ground. Sometimes, bands of white limestone are imbedded within the red. Underneath my feet, the sand is red, too. My tennis shoes are covered with the red dust. I wonder how everything could be naturally so red? Blood red. Scarlet red. Orange-red. Red of such vivid hue that it seems unreal, as if someone took a brush and painted the rocks, the sand, the mountains.

In this place called Snow Canyon, I actually see my tiny-ness—see that I am so small…so insignificant beside the MASSIVENESS, TALLNESS, BIGNESS of the mesas and mountains. It’s overwhelming. Humbling. These rock formations that make up Snow Canyon—walls, mountains, buttes—are a massive presence. At first, I feel awe in the presence of such as this…where age and time seem to have no meaning…where change is majestic, visible. You see and you sense that change is an ongoing, natural force. Something you cannot alter. Something you cannot stop. Something entirely beyond your pitiful, human delusion of “control.”

Here and there slender desert plants with lacey green or gray arms reach out of the red rock landscape, reach out to grasp onto something to survive. Scattered about—as if some giant of old accidently spilled them onto the red, red ground—I see pieces of black lava coal changed now into solid rock from the scalding, hot liquid spewed up from volcanoes that lived here before time began.

After a while, an hour or so, I begin to feel at home with the solitude. This is a place that allows me the silence to reflect on what is living…what has lived before me and will live after me. The things of this place…lava beds and buttes and mesas and rock mounds and sand are the ancient ones. Old beyond measure. And alive. This canyon because it forces me to recognize how temporal my physical being is… that my birth, life, and death are a blink in the universe. It is disconcerting.

Yet somehow reassuring.

(end)

Southern Sampler - Atlanta, Georgia

July 10, 2008

Thunder rumbling. White streaks of lightning. Sporadic rain: spatters or showers or sheets of it coming down like manna from heaven. Though rain has been coming for the last week, has come every day this week, and is expected for the next seven days, it’s not enough to stem the drought Georgia is in.

It's hot. Hot that feels smothery because of the humidity. Hot with water hanging in the air. Steamy. Thick. Clammy. I get used to it fast enough because I lived in the midwest for years. In fact, the heat-humidity here reminds me of Indiana. Thick pine trees crowd the sides of Georgia's highway. You can’t see past them. They obstruct the skyline, my vista—my long, far view of the land.

I do miss the unobstructed vista that Los Angeles presents to my eye. Miss that long view sweeping my eye west to the ocean, sweeping it north to the mountains, or east to the deserts. When I compare Atlanta to Los Angeles, it’s safe to say this: It’s another country here. At night you can hear the cicadas calling—rubbing their legs together to sing each other a song. My friend lives in a suburb outside of Atlanta, in a place that reminds me of a forest. Her back yard disappears into a thicket of trees and underbrush. It’s green here. As green as Seattle. As green as fine emeralds. Or the sea in Hawaii. Life-giving green.

Atlanta. December 17, 2008

Being outdoors delights me. I’m an earth sign so maybe that explains my affinity for the outside. Not long ago, I found a park near my friend’s home. Because of my childhood, I developed into a sort of solitary soul and I’m used to doing things alone though I do love the company of my friend.

But she had to go to work, so, today, I went walking in the park alone. For the past couple of days, it’s been unseasonably warm. In the mid sixties and humid. The sky has been a patchwork of gray. Today, the clouds knit together in a kind of quilt with outlines of little or no definition. Instead, clouds of various hues—milky gray, slate gray, blue bellies, and angry, thunder gray—seem to flow one into the other.

I’ve brought an umbrella on my walk, just in case. And at one point, the jaws of heavens opened to show a faint, baby blue sky with a gloriously bright bauble pinned to its chest. Ironically, tiny drops of rain spattered down as the sun glowed and glimmered for few moments, but the rain wasn’t worth my opening the umbrella I was carrying. It refreshed me for a few seconds, and, then, along with the sun, disappeared.

I looked at the trees and ground as I walked. It’s winter and the grass, so green last summer, has turned dishwater blonde. At its roots, you can see red, red dirt. Iron-rich red. Very much like the red colors of Red Rock Country in the southwest. The trees are bare now. They’ve dropped leaves that cover the ground in layers of browns—cinnamon, sandy, beige. The leaves look like little brown hands to me…some with 5 fingers, the middle one being the longest… some with 7 rounded fingers…some with tipped, pointed fingernails. I don’t know if these are maple or oak leaves. Maybe neither.

But I do know pine trees. I look up at them. Tall, regal, they, too, have done a strip. Their remaining pine needles only crown the tops of their heads. Without the thick branches of pine needles in the middle and near the bottom, I can see through the groves of trees to spy previously hidden homes that snuggle the park’s perimeter.

It takes about thirty minutes to walk the whole park, unlike the huge Kenneth Hahn park at home. You pass a large pond as you go the two mile (or is it a mile?) trek; you pass two generously large, fenced dog runs; you see that they’ve made a space for kids to jump, climb, swing, and spaces for tennis and volleyball courts; there’s also something that looks like a giant gazebo that’s under construction. A nice park, this one. Quiet. Clean. Serene. It’s a favorite.
(end)

Original Myths I- Clouds

Copyright 2007-All Rights Reserved

Clouds- An Original Myth

1. No Rain



Long ago—before the White Man came to North America—before we told the stories of The People around campfires—before we made our way down from the snow-capped mountains and green forests to make our home here on the plains in the Shining Sun Place—long, long ago—before remembering time, a ragtag band of disgruntled and unhappy animals, birds, insects, and fish gathered at the Mohave Desert in council to talk of their desperate situation.

It was very hot. Hotter than it had ever been to everyone’s recollection. The sun beat down relentlessly, burning everyone’s skin, fur, scales, and feathers. It felt like an furnace; waves of incandescent heat rose in the air.

“This,” Turtle said, “will not do. It’s too hot….”

“And dry!” interrupted Spider who was attempting to weave a web that kept breaking for lack of moisture.

“It’s dusty! I need water!” moaned Walrus, who liked sand, but needed surf as well.

“Where is the water? We need water!” shouted Frog, hopping about in a fury.

“We have no water because there is no rain,” groaned Panda. As he shook his big, white furry head, he blinked sad-looking eyes encircled with black fur. Panda was worried because he lives in the rain forest. But there was no forest because there was no rain.

“Without rain, no trees will grow and sprout branches for me to land on when I’m tired of flying,” said Robin with a fair amount of alarm.

“Without water, there will be no flowers to pollinate,” exclaimed Butterfly. “What is the Red Goddess thinking? I cannot be expected to do miracles. That is her department!” She was a bit of a diva—very fussy and pompous.

“Oh, my! Without rain, no lakes will form for me to bathe in,” squeaked Hippopotamus in a frightened voice. She needed water for her health and to relieve her from the heat.

“This is a disaster! Without rain, there won’t be rivers and oceans for me to swim in,” cried Fish, who had panicked because she had to use her fins to walk around on and they were pretty bruised and swollen since fins are not made for walking.

“But why isn’t there any rain?” roared Lion, “I demand to know right now!”

Everyone fell quiet, some thinking about the question, but most just quaking with fear at Lion’s roaring. No one wanted to cross Lion. If he were in a snit, he would just as soon eat you as not. And nobody wanted to be eaten just because Lion was in a bad mood. Everyone stayed quiet while the sun shined like a gold coin in a sky of pure, unadulterated blue. No clouds floated across this bluest of blue skies, only the sun was there, a ball of fire endlessly scorching the earth.

Monkey kept staring up at the blue sky, shading his eyes with his paws. Finally, he broke the silence. “There’s no rain because there are no clouds,” announced Monkey with a flourish. Monkey was proud of his ability to reason things out and he liked to show off his intellectual skills to his peers so they would know that he was far from being an idiot even though some of them assumed he was.

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Mistress Falcon, one of the wisest of the council. “Raindrops form in clouds and there aren’t any for that to happen.”

A general murmuring went round the group. This was the fault of the Red Goddess. She had created the land. It was too hot and she should be the one to change it. But the Red Goddess was quite proud of her handiwork. And her temper was legendary. Nobody wanted to offend her.

“Who will tell the Red Goddess?” asked Falcon.

“You, Mistress Falcon,” said Turtle.

The crowd agreed. Lion took the floor. “You must go and speak to Red Earth Woman, the Red Goddess, of this immediately.”

“You must do it delicately, without offending her,” offered Turtle, ever the diplomat.

Butterfly was not to be outdone by Turtle or by Lion ordering folks around. She didn’t care if Lion was claiming to be the king of the jungle. Her pollinating job was more important. Everybody knew that. Besides that, there was no jungle. At least not yet. Of course, there weren’t any flowers to pollinate yet either, but Butterfly chose to ignore that. “The Red Goddess is at her sister’s sky lodge. You must fly there right away,” insisted Butterfly.

“I will be the one to speak for us,” Falcon said, “if everyone agrees that I should.”

When the council affirmed Falcon as their choice with shouts and cries, she flapped her wings and took off, gliding up, up, up on the air currents, intent on carrying out the council's urgent mission.




2. Two Goddesses




Sacred Sky and Red Earth Woman were sister goddesses. Each sister looked different but both were regal: Red Earth, striking in her flame-colored buckskin threaded with gold, her black hair woven into elaborate braids; Sky, the ebony-skinned Blue Goddess with soft, corkscrew, graying curls, was magnificent in blue buckskin threaded with silver. Both goddesses carried out certain important duties.


Sky tended Sun’s eternal fire all day, throwing cedar onto the logs from her buffalo pouch, fanning the fire with a huge fan of eagle tail feathers. Sometimes, when Sun became tired and out of sorts from endlessly traveling east to west every day, Sacred Sky would entertain him by beating the sacred ceremonial drum and singing Sun’s favorite songs.


Her younger sister, the copper-skinned Red Earth Woman, had an equally important but, perhaps, more creative job. As the earth goddess, it was she who created earth’s magnificent landscapes. With her fingertips, she’d stirred the magma beneath earth’s mantle to bring forth temperamental, hot-spirited volcanoes in the Ring of Fire, like Lassen Peak and Mt. St. Helen’s. With her red shield, she’d uplifted the majestic La Sal Mountains and its sister peaks, the Colorado Rockies. Later, the goddess walked around, stomping her feet here and there, crushing the red earth into the Coral Pink, the Rainbow, and The Great Sand Dunes. In some places, because it pleased her to do so, she’d used the arrowhead to sculpt and chisel the red rock land, on various continents, into wondrous-looking rock formations—mountains, buttes, arches, cylinders, hoodoos, and pinnacles—that pointed at the sky.


The Red Goddess was quite proud of her work and she liked to brag about it, from time to time, to her sister when she went to visit Sky. Today, as the two sisters sat chatting in the lodge of Sacred Sky, they were smoking the sacred pipe of universal peace, harmony, and balance; smoke rings escaped from the top of the tipi as they visited with each other.


Mistress Falcon, now on her urgent mission, flew higher and higher into the sky. She looked down at the council, but could hardly see them as she went up and up. Soon they disappeared, along with the red earth. Falcon had never seen the lodge of Sacred Sky, but she’d heard of it from her sisters, the eagles and hawks; she knew it stood in a high and remote part of the sky where only the mighty birds whose wings could carry them higher than high might find it.


Falcon was a bit worried about her mission. She had to be very careful about how she would present the problem of no rain, and the need for clouds to Red Earth Woman. Falcon would have to present herself and the council as her subjects who needed the wisdom and power of the mighty Red Goddess. Falcon could not afford to let slip a hint of slander of against the Goddess’ handiwork. If she did, all would be lost.


Falcon remembered the famous story of what had happened because of the goddess’ anger at being defamed. Once, at a banquet for the gods and goddesses, Moon, the Silver Goddess, had pulled aside one of the astral goddesses that drifted in Moon's wake to say, in a loud whisper: “My dear, those Ring of Fire volcanoes created by Red Earth Woman are verrry dangerous and sooo unnecessary. Their fiery creation represents the kind of monumental vanity that only lesser goddesses need to indulge in, don’t you agree?”


The Red Goddess had been infuriated by the comment. To keep her from hurling herself at Moon in a fit of rage, Sun had to step in and calm the situation. Furious, the Red Goddess stomped out of the banquet. Overwhelmed by anger at Moon, Red Earth Woman had slammed her fist into the red earth of the North American continent, gouging out a gorge so huge, so deep, so wide that it was known by all as the legendary Grand Canyon.


Yes, Mistress Falcon would be very careful with her words in speaking to the Goddess. Flapping her wings, Falcon went further and further up into the blue, looking for the lodge of Sacred Sky. Finally, her sharp eyes spotted a wondrous-looking tipi made of white buffalo hides, sewn with threads of silver, and decorated with quillwork, blue-green turquoise, and white abalone shells. Smoke rings floated from the top of it. That magnificent lodge, Falcon concluded, could only belong to the Blue Goddess. Following the trail of smoke rings, she flew directly toward it.





3. An Urgent Mission



Inside the tipi, Sacred Sky was smoking the sacred pipe while Red Goddess fanned the fire’s embers. Just as they finished, they heard wings flapping outside the lodge.


“If you please, Red Goddess,” said Falcon a bit nervously, “I have come on an urgent mission. Please, a moment of your time.”


The Red Goddess stepped out of the tipi and extended her arm; Falcon landed on the goddess’ arm gracefully, dipping her white feathered head in supplication. Falcon folded her beautiful brown-tipped wings and began her petition. “My Goddess, it is without question that your creations on earth are magnificent to behold. Every creature is awestruck by your wondrous inventions. We speak of them every day. What imagination! What talent!”


The Red Goddesss smiled broadly, enjoying the flattery she felt she so richly deserved. Her subjects appreciated her but some of her peers were woefully short of compliments when it came to praising what she had done for earth’s beauty.


Falcon continued. “There is one thing, however. Your subjects beg you to consider adorning the earth with luscious flowers of every hue and green plants that would grow into trees with branches for birds to nest and rest in. And if, my goddess, you could create water in streams, lakes, rivers, and oceans—”


Falcon broke off her litany because could see that, as she spoke, Red Earth Woman had begun to smolder. Her black hair had turned a deep auburn shade, like embers in a fire. Her copper skin had become as red as a cardinal’s feathers. And her eyes had turned into deep pits of golden flame. “Are you criticizing my work, Mistress Falcon?” The goddess asked in a dangerous tone of voice. “Do you dare to tell me how to create, what to include, and why I should alter a caliber of artistic work that has no equal in the universe?”


Aware that she had stumbled onto shaky ground so to speak, Falcon back pedaled to clean up any statements that had offended Red Earth Woman. “Of course not, my goddess. Nothing could be further from my mind. Your work is beauty beyond compare. I only meant that Moon and the other goddesses would be green with envy if you created some brilliant additions with water.”


Falcon peered at the goddess to see if her diplomacy was working. It was. Red Earth Woman had boiled down to a simmer. And she seemed to be listening to Falcon’s words. Falcon said: “The goddess, Moon, would be quite outdone if you created a restless, surging ocean. Certainly, it would be sweet revenge if you made sure Moon would not be able to resist the ocean’s tide…that she would be attracted to it and it to her, like lovers drawn by each other but unable to fulfill their longings.” Falcon glanced at the goddess. Her interest had perked up considerably.


Thinking it over, Red Earth said, “Yes, I can see your point, but how could I keep replenishing the water in the oceans?”


Falcon whispered one word into the goddess’ ear. “Rain.” “Rain? But where do I get this…this thing you call rain?” She asked, a frown creasing her brow. “You must create it,” Falcon prompted. Still puzzled, but not wanting to show it, the goddess murmured, “Ah, yes, but how do I do that?”


“Clouds,” Falcon said. “You’ll need to create clouds that make rain.”


Red Goddess smiled brightly, the red aura around her head pulsating with excitement. “Of course. So simple. I will use my creative powers once more to design these clouds.” She quickly stuck her head inside the tipi and told her sister, “I must get back to work. I have to create clouds so I can get rain for my earth.” Before Sky could reply, Red Earth Woman was gone in a wink.


Back on earth, Red Earth Woman contemplated the desert landscape of black, red, yellow, and pink sand dunes rising up around her. The council members gathered at a respectful distance. The goddess didn’t mind; she liked to show off her talents before a crowd. Falcon swooped down and landed on her shoulder.


Red Earth Woman had begun to rely on Falcon’s advice although she would never admit it. “Now, where shall I put these clouds, Mistress Falcon, in the middle of The Rockies, at the bottom of The Grand Canyon, or ---?”


“In the sky, my goddess. They should be above the earth, not on it.”


Red Earth Woman frowned. “Are you sure? The sky is really my sister’s specialty, but… all right, I’ll begin right away.” Tapping her index finger on her lips, she mused, “I think I’ll use sand from the dunes. There’s more than enough here to make clouds for the sky.”


And so saying, she pursed her lips and blew. The goddess’ breath lifted up a veil of sand that rose up into the sky. Her breath became blowing wind gales and the sand twisted and turned, rose higher, and got thicker, blocking out all sunlight. The council members standing at a distance were blown about. Lion was almost buried by the whirling sand; Panda and Hippopotamus were tossed about like leaves—that is, if there had been trees with leaves to toss about. Soon, a ferocious sandstorm swept over the land, but it did not stay up in the sky to become clouds, Red Earth Woman noted.


After thirty minutes or so, the goddess stopped the storm, having surmised that her plan was not working. Though she said nothing, Falcon observed that she did not look pleased. She obviously was not used to failure. “Perhaps I took the wrong approach; this time,” she announced, “I will use the earth’s minerals to make clouds.” So saying, she strode off to the La Sal Mountains and used her red shield to dig deep into the earth’s crust where she brought forth red sandstone encrusted with turquoise and pyrite, shiny chunks of quartz, and clusters of sparkling diamonds.


She scooped them up and tossed them into the sky, expecting that they would stay there. Of course, they did not, for they were too heavy. As fast as she threw them up, they all dropped back to earth, thudding down on the heads of the council members who tried their best to scramble out of the way. Turtle, the slowest of the group, was struck several times before he could take cover.


This plan was not succeeding either, it appeared and, finally, Red Earth Woman stopped, concluding with more than a little annoyance that the diamonds and other minerals would not stay put in the sky. “Mistress Falcon!” Red Earth Woman shouted. “This is not going well!” The goddess was out of sorts because of the two failures; obviously, her temper was getting the better of her. Having shouted her angry displeasure, she stomped away, her feet hewing out gorges and valleys as she went. At the entrance to her tipi, she turned and gave Falcon a nasty look.



4. The Quest




Falcon dropped her head, taking the blame and brunt of the goddess’ temper. After the goddess disappeared inside the tipi, Falcon considered the situation. She could not give up. Her mission was too important. The goddess had to continue her quest. But how to get her to do that? Falcon thought about what she knew of Red Earth Woman. The goddess was the most brilliant and creative of all the goddesses. Falcon thought of the ferociously awesome volcanoes in the Ring of Fire that Red Earth Woman had created, the shining beauty of the La Sal Mountains, the curiously compelling hoodoos, arches, and pinnacles that dotted the landscape of Red Rock Country. It was said that earth was a most wondrous place because of her sense of originality, symmetry, composition, and convergence.


Yes, Falcon thought, Red Earth Woman was a resplendent goddess with awesome powers. Proud of what she had created… and, some might say, vain. Quite susceptible, if rumor was to be believed, to adulation. If one could believe goddesses had weaknesses, one might surmise that The Red Goddess’ weakness was to be found in flattery. It might be the key, Falcon concluded, to getting the goddess to come back and try again.


Falcon flew near the tipi’s entrance, careful not to invade the goddess’ privacy. Then she spoke, “My goddess, I beg you to listen to me. Your designs are so splendid. So unique. No one can match your sense of originality, beauty, harmony.” Falcon paused, but the goddess did not stir, nor did she say a word.


Still pouting, Falcon thought. She hovered closer, studying Red Earth Woman’s tipi. It was made of soft brown deer hides, sewn together with copper threads; the hides were studded with chunks of amber, rubies, and gold. White-tipped eagle feathers strung with cascading diamonds hung down the sides of the tipi. Falcon decided to take another approach. “My goddess, no one can come close to achieving what you can by design. Just look at your lodge. It is far more beautiful than that of your sister. And what you’ve done with our earth’s landscape! Splendid! Such genius! Why, it’s so obvious that your talent and creativity are boundless. For the sake of your subjects, please, put your ingenuity to work and bestow this new gift to the creatures of earth.”


As she stepped outside her tipi, the goddess was glowing with pleasure at Falcon’s words. “Your words are too kind, Mistress Falcon. I will do it. I will give the poor creatures of earth this precious gift. To achieve it, to make these clouds which will bring rain, I will use one of my volcanoes.”


So saying, she strode off to Lassen Peak to tackle the task of cloud-making once more. Some of the council members followed; others, like Panda, Walrus, Hippo, Lion and Turtle, stayed behind, leery of the goddess’ plan to use volcanoes. After all, her other ideas had backfired on the heads of the bystanders.


With Falcon on her shoulder as she stood in the midst of black cinders, at the edge of a volcano crater, Red Earth Woman began. First, she slowly lifted her arm which caused a row of lava fountains to erupt along a fissure, creating a curtain of fire rising up from the crater in dangerous majesty; then she took her finger and punched an eruptive vent on the side of the volcanic cone. At once, molten lava, gases, large rocks, and minerals spurted up and out of the vent. While the goddess was working, Falcon noticed that the sky had turned crimson in the glow of fiery, liquid, molten rock bubbling and arching upward.


In the midst of ash, steam and smoke billowing to the sky from spewing fire fountains, Butterfly and Robin flew away as fast as their wings would carry them, fearful of being burned to death. The goddess watched the volcanic explosions expectantly. Out of all the things being thrown up into the sky, she was sure that one of them—rock, lava, steam, or ash—would stay up to become clouds. But alas, none did.


By this time, Falcon could see the whole enterprise was hopeless. Red Earth Woman’s concept of clouds was all wrong. Of course, she could not say that to the goddess. What to do? Falcon wondered, watching the steamy clouds rise.


Meanwhile, Red Earth Woman was thoroughly frustrated and angry. She had never, ever failed at anything. The thought of failure made her livid. It was inappropriate for a goddess to fail. Unheard of. Whoever heard of a goddess failing? She looked around for something or someone to blame. Her eyes glowed dangerously as she remembered that this had been Falcon’s idea. She shook Falcon from her shoulder. “What is the meaning of this, Mistress Falcon?” Her eyes were fiery sparks. “Nothing I do works to make clouds. I am the earth’s creator! How can it be that I am not succeeding? Is this a trick you have set to embarrass me?”


Falcon knew that she was in trouble with the goddess, but watching the clouds of steam had given her the germ of an idea. With luck, it would do. Now she had to convince the goddess.



5. Rain at Last


“How clever of you, my goddess!” said Mistress Falcon. “What a master stroke! To experiment with the steam clouds from the volcano. You have seen that these steam clouds are quite like the clouds of smoke that float from the top of Sacred Sky’s lodge.” Falcon clapped her hands. “So very ingenious, my clever goddess!”

“Of course,” the goddess assented though she hadn’t the faintest idea what Falcon was getting at.

Falcon knew the goddess didn’t have a clue and so she prompted the goddess by saying: “I am guessing that your plan somehow involves smoking the sacred pipe and the clouds of smoke that will come from it. So you must leave for your sister’s lodge, right away. Am I correct?”

“You are, but you must come with me, Mistress Falcon. The plan requires your presence. You will explain it to my sister, Sacred Sky.”

Consenting, Falcon bowed her head. “As you wish, my goddess.” And in the blink of an eye, they were inside Sacred Sky’s lodge where the Red Goddess had Falcon explain the problem and solution to her sister. In her explanation, Falcon was careful to give Red Earth Woman the credit for the final solution for making clouds.

“But I am not sure,” began the Blue Goddess, “that it is proper to use the sacred pipe to make clouds. What will Sun say about this?”

“How can it not be proper,” responded her sister, “when these clouds will take their place in your sky along with Sun? If you and I decide it should be done to bring balance and harmony to the earth, then this is a good thing, and, surely, Sun will not disagree.”

Blue Goddess nodded, listening, while she fanned the fire. “I have been wondering about how to give Sun a day off. He becomes very weary, having to work every day. He could rest when the sky water—what did you call it?” She looked at her sister.

“Rain, Sky,” said the Red Goddess.

“Yes, rain. When it falls, Sun will have a day off to rest,” she reasoned, “and that will be an excellent ’s good you say that clouds will make it come about?” This time Sacred Sky looked at Mistress Falcon.

Falcon only nodded, knowing it was wise to let the two goddesses do all the talking.

“Then we will do it.” Sacred Sky said, taking up the sacred pipe and an ember from the fire. “Come let’s go outside.” Once outside of the lodge, the Blue Goddess offered the pipe. “Take it, my sister.”

Red Earth Woman demurred. “No, I believe you should smoke the pipe, Sister. I have other important things to do.”

Sacred Sky nodded, put her lips to the pipe, and used the burning ember to light it. As she puffed gently, a string of smoke rings glided into the air. Meanwhile, the smoke rings change their One by one, their shapes changed—some formed small, fat balls and others elongated into thin, wispy filaments. As the began changing, the Red Goddess pursed her lips and blew at the feathery thin filaments so that little by little, they linked together and became a soft, milky quilt of clouds gliding in the azure blue sky.

Above Sacred Sky’s head, circles of smoke rings floated away to form white clouds with scalloped shapes, fluffy shapes, and plump, round shapes. The wind breath of the Red Goddess carried some of theses cloud shapes to the blue-gray La Sal Mountains where they kissed the peaks and turned into swiftly moving, dark scud clouds. Now, the sky was no longer clear blue, but had become a patchwork of white, downy fluffs and dark, gray thunderheads full of water droplets.

All at once, Red Earth Woman reached inside Sky’s lodge and pulled out another large, burning ember, which she threw far across the horizon into the dark blue, thunderhead clouds that tickled the mountaintops. As the ember fell into the thunderheads, it became a blanket of brilliant lightning that sinking into the clouds that now quilted the sky. When lightning flashed, embroidering a zigzagging line across the darkening sky, the Red Goddess reached once more, inside the lodge. She drew out the sacred ceremonial drum and struck it hard three times. The sound became thunder growling and rumbling down the peaks of the La Sal Mountain. Lightning streaked the sky. Thunder rolled loudly. The two goddesses nodded to each other, stopped what they were doing, and clapped their hands together three times.

Then, at last, water droplets formed in the clouds and fell to the earth, first, in a gentle mist, then in a steady shower, and finally the rain became a heavy downpour. Falcon gave a huge sigh of relief. She had accomplished her mission. As for Red Earth Woman, she was almost beside herself with happiness. She had done it! She had created clouds, which gave birth to rain, which showered a very parched, and dry red earth. Rain! How clever she was to have thought of it! Sacred Sky was delighted with the results. Already, she could see that the weary Sun was making its way toward her, glad of a time to rest. He would have no objection to the newcomers—clouds, rain, wind, thunder, and lightning—for they were going to provide him with a day off for the first time ever. Now, he would not have to shine and shine and shine each and every day.

When rain hit the ground, the council members, who had been worried that Mistress Falcon and the goddess might not succeed, raised a heartfelt cheer. The ragtag band of disgruntled and unhappy animals, birds, insects, and fish had cause to celebrate, for their situation in the Mohave Desert was desperate no more. Panda, Lion, and Monkey made off for South America where a lush, green rain forest would soon rise from a dusty plain. So did Spider who would have moisture now to weave her beautiful webs. Butterfly, such a fussy diva, was quite happy that, now, clouds of rain would bring forth flowers for her to pollinate. Walrus wasted no time either. He rushed off to a dry gulch in the west, which was rapidly filling with rainwater that would soon become the Pacific Ocean. Hippo and Turtle quickly followed him. Now, there would be sand as well as surf for them. With rivers, lakes, and oceans to swim in, Fish could finally use her poor bruised fins for swimming, not walking. In the sky, you could see that Mistress Falcon, who had flown back to earth, had joined Robin and Butterfly to soar, loop, and glide joyfully high above the earth. They knew that, soon, the rain would bring the trees and branches they needed for roosting and resting to their hearts’ content.

Everyone was happy. For now, up above earth, in the blue, blue sky, floated the thing that everyone needed: Clouds.

The End