Comb Ridge
From time to time, this icy beauty is disturbed by a struggling middle-aged jogger dragging his blossoming backside down a ribbon of asphalt in the early morning hours. Bursts of vapor escape his burning lungs, forming mushroom cloud plumes trailing his tortured pace. Wild deer, turkey and the occasional coyote scatter at the slap of flat feet on pavement and the swish of swollen, velcro-encased thighs.
The identity of this tenacious character has eluded me, butt, I mean but, I admire his fortitude, endurance and strong desire to fight the ravages of time and too many chocolate chip cookies. I am sure the spectacular red rock scenery and clean, crisp autumn air help him maintain his concentrated efforts.
During his morning sojourns, this lonely runner must have realized that a connection with the natural world is required to survive in the great American Southwest. For me, that association with the elements is very appealing, and is a fundamental reason why I choose to live and walk in this invigorating landscape.
Not long ago I found myself sitting in church, trying to find a comfortable position to relieve the pressure on my aching backside. I had begun to believe those benches were meant to remind us that pain and suffering are essential aspects of a spiritual life. On this particular Sunday, I was there because my wife and kids are becoming quite proficient at identifying my numerous shortcomings, which they believe can be effectively corrected through fervent prayer and inspired repentance.
As my oldest and dearest friend made his way to the podium, I straightened my posture and sharpened my attention in anticipation of his speech. Wayne is not actually old; we have just been friends a very long time. Although he has more gray hair than I, he is young at heart and very healthy as a result of the lifestyle he leads. In spite of my sore back, because I know how much Wayne dislikes public speaking, I was enjoying the moment. From the early stages of our relationship, we have both found a perverse pleasure in watching the other suffer through stressful situations.
As Wayne faced the expectant congregation, I could see a nerve twitching near his temple. He swallowed hard, as if forcing down an unwanted portion of aged blue cheese. I imagined him sensing a rise in his internal temperature, and was sure I detected a slight, nervous quiver in his voice. He looked like a cornered raccoon, and I expected him to head for the deep brush any moment.
I watched my friend closely, enjoying his discomfort, and silently evaluating which exit might best facilitate his escape. Much to my chagrin, the exodus never occurred. Wayne dug deep into his core and found the much needed strength to proceed with his assigned task. Before my slightly out of focus eyes, a transformation came over my old buddy.
Wayne's continence changed, and he morphed into someone I had never seen. He stood straight and tall, and, in a clear voice, spoke of finding comfort in conversations with his maker. He said he found those interactions more meaningful and spiritually fulfilling when conducted in the presence of nature. Because of its sincerity and reverence, his talk was truly beautiful.
Through his unrehearsed and heartfelt presentation, I was introduced to Wayne's close relationship with his natural surroundings. He spoke poetically and romantically about spiritual dialogs with his creator. As he continued, a coarsely grained, lichen-encrusted rock came to life, and canyon rims, sapphire blue skies and twisted cedar trees sprang clearly into my mind. The smell of pungent sagebrush and rich earth kicked up by his boots invaded my senses as I imagined his journey.
It was truly inspiring to hear Wayne speak. I saw a completely new facet of his psyche that day. It was like the time my wife sneaked her hand into a hot, comforting shower I was enjoying and cranked on the cold water. The sensation was unexpected, and unexpectedly exhilarating.
With Wayne's help, I rediscovered the relationship among heaven, earth and human beings. The cool blue mountain heights are a refuge for our souls, as are the warm weather worn canyon depths. The rain, wind and sunshine scour clean our minds and rejuvenate our spirit. Each life-giving spring; fertile valley of dark, rich earth; and desert oasis reminds me of creation and continuation. We are in the land, and it is in us. Now I understand why that jogger jogs.
Copyright©2004 Twin Rocks Trading Post
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