As I shake the sand from my journal, images of Cataract Canyon and the unceasing Colorado River flood back to me. I am exhausted and restored. The heat and the river eroded my pride and reminded me of what it is like to be in the land. For six days and five nights, twelve unique bodies and minds experienced the beauty and power of this harsh riparian environment in a course called “Ecology of Residency.”
Pens worked well until sand worked its way into the mechanisms. Slowly, individuals evolved to pencils and a sharp knife. We even painted with them. Look deeply into the land and you can look deeply into the mind.
Like ants, we bumbled our way across the landscape along the trail of our ancestors. We carried our loads and held out our gifts as offerings to our tribe. We met other tribes along the way. Land tribes had strange wheels, some two some four, and they bumbled their way along the path, too.
Last day, the wind pushed hard against our barge and Lake Powell waters swallowed the current. The river clung to us reluctant to let us pass. Someone said “It is as if the river doesn’t want to let us go.” I wonder if the heron, the raven, and the vulture aren’t lonely for us and curious to see us pass. They come out and stand on store, staring at us with dark, archaic eyes. Others wave to us from the cliff sides.
My bath water turns a pale version of the Colorado River. Submerge. Remember. I would like to think the river eroded some of my rougher edges, and it probably did, but I still feel the edge, like a limestone—rich in memories with sharp edges.
