Not Really Dangerous

There are many legends associated with the Twin Rocks, the massive stone towers that loom above the Trading Post. Over the years, many Navajo people have told me stories about the monuments. These include tales of how the spires represent the Hero Twins, Monster Slayer, and Born for Water; that they are prayer sticks, transmitting requests to the heavens; that they signal an extremely sacred location; and that at the time one or both of the monuments fall, Earth, as we know it, will cease to exist.

Since I work directly beneath the Twins on a daily basis, I am confident our Navajo friends are correct on at least one count, my world will end if the rocks tumble. When customers ask what I will do if I hear crashing boulders, I usually lift my left foot, place it on the counter, and exhibit my sneaker. "Running shoes," I explain. Then I say, "Oh, well, it will be over quickly, don't you think?" Most of the inquisitors just nod, realizing I will certainly be smashed to bits in the event of a downfall.

Although I do from time to time consider the implications of a calamity, for the most part I ignore them and take comfort in the knowledge the formations have stood an extraordinarily long time, and my tenure on this planet will be comparatively short. I believe the odds of me escaping a fall are actually in my favor. That does not, however, stop me from gazing up from the base of the Twins and questioning whether I might one day experience the fall.

A few days ago, I decided the porch needed a thorough cleaning, so I rounded up the electric blower. Although I generally have an aversion to them, out here Mother Nature perpetually pushes large deposits of sand onto the walkway, so I have decided the only solution is to blow it right back. I have engaged in this endless battle for many years. As I pushed the red sand around, three semi-tractor-trailer rigs pulled into the parking lot.

After the drivers had properly positioned their vehicles and hopped down from the cabs, I overheard one say to the others, "Well, I hope those rocks don't fall while we're having lunch." At that point, I felt compelled to comment. So, as the drivers walked toward the cafe, I waived my hands and shouted, "Hey, you guys may want to move those trucks. These rocks do fall and I wouldn't want your rigs to get damaged, unless you have good insurance. I have, from time to time, had to put them back up after they smashed a car or two. We have never had any crushed trucks, but you never know. Our guests don't enjoy calling AAA or the rental company to come get them. It's a long way from Denver, Albuquerque, Salt Lake City, or Phoenix, so replacement vehicles don't arrive quickly."

One of the drivers hesitated as though he were going to heed my advice and relocate his semi, but Rick stopped him in his tracks. "Don't worry, he's not really dangerous---crazy, but not dangerous." The other drivers acted as though they knew all along that I was only joking and could not really lift those rocks.

There are times when the blower goes a little astray and my hair begins looking like Einstein's, but insanity is a whole different matter. As the truck drivers continued on their way, I heard one say to the others, "Well, he looked mostly normal." One of the others replied, "Yes, but you just can't tell anymore, maybe he just needs to be medicated."

Although Rick may have a point about me not being dangerous, he is definitely wrong about the crazy part. The older Navajo people assure me the Twins have strong curative powers, and I have felt that energy on more than one occasion. Like the convert at the revival, I have been healed. Rick and the rest of the bunch at the Trading Post and Cafe would certainly have driven me mad long ago had it not been for the power of the rocks.