A Continuing Series
March 25th, 2015
“The desert is in bloom now,” I silently hear myself say, as I walk into it on the stealth path.
I keep my head down mostly, watching each step; I know that a rattlesnake could be lounging under a bush next to the trail. I had cleared the brush just enough to allow enough sight to leave no places for that to happen. That was a need for its construction. This was a good test for that objective.
Watching the ground, I take inventory of the flowerings.
A Dainty Pin Cushion in Bloom
They are not quite as abundant as I expected. The tunas are forming on the prickley pear. The tiny leaves on the paloverde are turning color ready to fall off, making way for the masses of yellow flowers that contrast so beautifully with the turquoise blue clear sky. There is not much evidence of the rains that came a few days ago. It is dry, but definitely not parched. Animal tracks and pieces of cholla and prickley pear have made it back into the trail like litter. I take note that this is something else to watch for, as I take each step with care and awareness. The pink fluffy blooms that had delighted me earlier are all but gone, replaced by another group of flora. The brittle bushes that I had trimmed back, now are covered with bright yellow florescence, spanning out into the path.
Brittle Bush on a Hill
They brush my leg, or my leg brushes them in their caressing way, as I pass through.
The stealth trail is working well. I pause for a moment, or two, to gather my direction, just up the hill from the large saguaro. Then, having gathered my bearings, I continue. I have taken a deep breath in that opportunity, looking out to the massive Catalina Mountains. I smell the fragrances of springtime on the desert.
As I near the crest of the hill, I begin to think about the javelina. Will they be present today? Have they moved on? Maybe I should, quiet my steps? I listen to the noise being made by my shoes stepping into the sand and diminutive pieces that have broken off of the crumbling granite. “Maybe I should wear the other shoes out here?” “Will they hear me?” “Which way is the wind blowing?” Light gusts rip by on occasion, other than that, there is little sound and the air seems to be swirling around my bare body, without a general direction. The hills do fascinating effects to the currents. My naked body has been as an instrument, gathering information, as I passed through this trail, over the weeks. In a time of silence, I am startled by the sudden flight of a turtledove rushing out of a tree near me. The little thing’s wings create what seems a thundering sound as my body reacts to it, as if a threat. “Only a dove. Maybe it wants to distract me from its nest,” I ponder all in a moment, as I return to calm.
I slow down at the crest, stepping on bare rock to bare rock, to avoid the crunching noise of the sand, more slowly, and I listen. As I round a bend to step up on the bridge of sharp boulders to Hav-a- rock, several javelina jump and scurry away. They are still calling this spot home.
I look down at a flat rock and try to remember if I am to step in the forefront, or the other side of it. One side makes it teeter with noise and one side stands firm. I choose teeter; there is a deep noise as it rocks. Several more of the furry beasts hustle off, their hooves creating a distinctive sound. They sound heavy, big. They have disbursed, but haven’t run far. Just thirty feet, fifty feet, into the next group of bushes, or their other favored spot. I remember to send them greetings with deeksha. The energy has worked twice before. They stop their flight and appear to relax and then begin eating as if I’m not there. This time they have already stopped without much distance, even before my attempt to dissipate the disturbance that I caused with the vibration of transpersonal energy.
I stand and look for them. It is as if they have disappeared, but for occasional grunts, the sound of a hoof step, or the movement of foliage.
There’s a Javalena creeping around out there.
I sit naked on THE rock in silence, still placing my piece of the universe in the hands of the deeksha energy, hoping to pacify any alarm.
Thoughts are, “How does one go about being accepted around these skittish peccary.” More thought passes through as I lean back on the comforting warm rock. It occurs to me that it would be their nature to be skittish and distrustful, they need that. It is who they are. It may not be at all possible with these animals. Maybe, they shouldn’t get comfortable in the presence of the naked one.
There is this reoccurring message across Hav-a-rock each time I return. Someone is placing a line of debris across its high point.
A Message Written on Havarock
At first I thought it was a packrat behavior, but this is not random construction. I suspect the javelin, the rodents, anyone who can climb up here. The debris is always dead prickery material. This has happened five or six times. Each time I have swept the material away, so I don’t lay and attach it to my hand, as I stretch. It is piles of dried javelin scat, bundles of staghorn cholla prickers, and sticks. When I have not swept it, it remains the same. Across the bridge of rocks that I cross, similar pieces debris are found. It is found where my foot steps must fall in order to make my way, the small flat surfaces.
I’m there on Hav-a-rock. I had intention to take advantage of the sun, to deepen my tan in the mid-day light, to prepare for further longer time in it. I had noticed a harsh heat baking my back on the way there, something that I hadn’t had since the last warm season.
I lay there, feeling this, listening to flies and bees on the blooms around THE rock perch, the twisting wind sometimes blows through. I catch the scent of javelina as it passes and then disappears, sometimes the sound of them here and there. They are all around in all directions. There is movement.
I roll onto my side placing my back to the sun for exposure. It is relaxing. This bolder is as if made to lounge on. One furry one has crept back. It watches just over ten feet away. I watch, too. It must be one of the more blind ones. Its nostrils aren’t moving particularly. It is making sure that it is safe to return. When I roll on my back, my skin makes a sucking noise, kissing the rock, causing the cautious one to bolt and snort.
I may have more opportunity to observe this tribe. I had walked among a dozen at the Canyon Ranch, others had taken up residence in a neighbor’s backyard under that citrus tree, there is potential for being able to lie about on Hav-a-rock and just be a part of their lives. “Oh it’s the naked human? He’s okay.”
There is peace, and then suddenly a strong being of wind quickly descends the hill, blasting through the bushes. It is as if being attacked by something at a gallop. I look to the side in the direction of its passage and swear that I saw a dark cloudy being burst by. I’m apparently not alone in my perception. A javelina runs in fright from it across the gulley, as well, chased. It feels like shades of Carlos Castaneda’s Don Juan meeting with a Nogal.
After placing my toes back into their slots in the VFF shoes, I begin back, taking one last scan of the neighborhood. It is a beautiful wonderland. The turtle dove bolts from the same tree as earlier. It is a male being a decoy for a nest. A Spring swarm of bees floats by purposefully, not far away…thoughts of lunch.
The Free Range Naturist 