Walking the desert, north of the Apache lands, Arizona
Out in the scrabble, the high light of the desert highlands — the cactus plains, I thought about the ancient ways, the long walk.
These journeys — seeing the Navajo, out in the middle of nowhere — I recall their figures, simmering in the mirage heat. Walking — wherefrom? Wither to?
It reminds of of other journeys — traveling the roads round Kailash in Tibet, where pilgrims wander the sacred ways in absolution, walking — and prostrating themselves — in a purification cycle of lifelong yearning.
It’s the long walk, the long way. The Beauty Way.
Traveling with Dawn, she’s there — climbing a spire — that casting glance sailed far off the horizon, the high nimbus, rolling like thunder warriors across the scrublands, washed with sand, stones and saguaro cactus — standing like sentinels, guarding the landscape.
The sky beckons, surging onwards — spire, inspired — a new vista in the bright wash of heaven.
Out past, anything.
Out passed, everything.
Tim | Navajo Country, Arizona
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