The Grand Canyon

This entry is long, thanks to the beauty of the Grand Canyon!

I started my Grand Canyon time by spending 3 days at Havasu Canyon, which is part of the Havasupai Indian Reservation, a ways west of the National Park. I had heard about the beauty of this river canyon from numerous people over the years and decided THIS was the time to visit. The little native village of Supai (where about 500 people live) is an 8 mile hike (or mule ride) from the rim, deep in the canyon. The campground another 2.2 miles beyond that. WHEW! A long hike on a really HOT day, but the vertical elevation isn't so dramatic as in the national park (only about 2000 feet) and the Havasu river is the most incredible color of torquoise, the pools and waterfalls along the river are unbelievably beautiful and the water temperature the most perfect dipping temperature you can imagine. So the long walk was well worth it for the incredible beauty. Some of the falls are really high, one of them higher than Niagra Falls. Beaver Falls, in contrast, is a series of terraces only a few feet high, about 8-9 of them in a row, each of them with a torquoise pool after the falls. Needless to say, I was dipping in and out of the river the whole time I was there, jumping off the rocks into the pools and generally relishing the incredible beauty and the lovely water on hot, hot days down there. I hiked out in the late afternoon and into the evening/darkness on the 3rd day, the Full Moon, feeling more and more exhilarated with the 10 mile walk on such a sweet evening surrounded by sculpted canyon walls.

October 1st: Unfortunately the grief/anxiety demons have been stalking me again today, though they have eased their grip on my heart chakra after a bit of weeping and a great meal. Just when I thought I had left them behind in Utah—UG! I just keep breathing into and through the feelings, trying to stay present. For now it has passed. I begin to worry that this grief is a bottomless pit and it will stalk me in moments of beauty and soltitude for the rest of my life. NO!!! Day by day I will deal by staying in my here/now practices. I don’t know if there is any “reason” for these weeks’ bouts: Is it still adjustment to the loss of the job and the break-up with my former boyfriend? I dunno. And really, it doesn’t matter. One reason flows into another, so why waste any time on reasons. The root of it is an identification with my small self, no doubt, rather than being fully embodied and present in the moment. But such a visceral feeling and it seems to come in despite my being in delightful circumstances. So what is it? Maybe it’s the shadow side of my pollyanna self, maybe its related to peri-menopausal hormones, maybe it’s the collective river of grief and I tap into it somehow unknowingly. What the hell—I DON’T KNOW! Enough on it for now!

A Poem for Miss Lonely Hearts

No matter how far I go
I keep finding myself in this place,
A pit I fall into,
Or a demon that catches my heart in its grip
After stalking me in the shadows,
Unseen, without warning.
Suddenly my heart is heavy and dark
Grief catches up with me like a flashflood
And my losses overwhelm me like boulders
Carried in the flood.

This is the pain of the motherless child,
The woman whose husband left her for another,
The worker who finds she is no longer important,
The lover discarded rather than cherished.
A woman now alone for the first time
In mid-life.

The light goes out then as I wrestle,
Weep, mourn, release.
No matter that I’m in a bright, warm paradise,
Surrounded by “all my relations”
All I see is the darkness of this pit,
All I feel is the clutch of grief
Around my throat,
All is know is the chaos of this floodwater.

For 6 years now this demon has stalked
But the pit had been dug long before that,
Back when the girl-child was neglected,
then abandoned to strangers
who called themselves servants of God
giving beatings instead of love.
Back when my bright, energetic spirit
Was forced into hiding by punishments
And my body and mind were
Splintered from each other,
from Mother Earth and Nature’s ways.

It is a long road out of this pit,
A mighty struggle to release the grip on my heart.
One part of me knows the truth of
My connection and deep love with all, so
Over and over I step out alone,
In trust and vulnerability,
Asking Spirit and Nature to guide me
Back to wholeness,
Knowing the losses are doorways,
Floodgates that release
Grief,
My grief,
The grief of sisters, mothers, grandmothers.
Grief that has become a demon
Because it has been blocked up,
Dammed for many generations.

I am a woman
Growing into my priestess strength at mid-life,
Hiking alone in this ancient canyon
I remind myself of the LOVE
That embraces me like these canyon walls.
Nowhere to run,
Nowhere else I can find it.
I face the flash floods,
Let them sweep me up,
transform me,
Carry me
Back to Mother Ocean,
The Source,
Home.


There is a waterfall very close to here that is amazing in its sculpture and grand-ness. I guess the water dissolves calcium carbonite as it runs through the limestone, making the water this incredible color and also laying down its own layer of drapery-looking rock called travertine. The hike down Mooney Falls goes through tunnels in the travertine and is so steep they’ve imbedded spikes and chains to hang onto as you climb. WHEW! Then at the bottom is a huge pool of turquoise water. Beyond that, another little creek canyon enters. I went up it a short ways and was stunned by its loveliness: watercress and maidenhair fern abound; the sweetest canyon and stream!

Talks with relations has been a great teacher. This morning as I meditated I opened to the spirit of the cottonwood I was sitting beneath. Below me, her root system; above me her branches, in front of me her trunk. Later I connected with prickly pear. Last night I was visited by 3 raccoons who were climbing in the tree I was sleeping under, waking me up with their scratching on the tree. I sat up, turned on my light and tried to engage them. They ran off. I am still in too much motion to truly hear the languages of nature, but I am willing and interested and perhaps moving slower and quieter each day. I do believe I saw another fox as I drove here yesterday (3rd one on this trip). Wild turkeys too.

October 2nd: I left home 4 weeks ago and today feels like a turning point in that my meditations, both last night and this morning, are deepening my awareness and connection with the moment, with formless Spirit, and I feel a shift in my thought paradigms. I feel to be in a slightly altered state, in fact sinking beneath my usual mental chatter. The sounds of this rushing river I’m sitting beside seem to be merging with my own body’s pulse and the pulsing of the cottonwoods. A long meditation last night as the darkness descended and the full moon’s light moved down the canyon walls which left me feeling a rush of sensuous energy from the warm winds’ caress and the connection with the trees and I had this sense of making love with the canyon walls, the trees, the breeze, the sound of the river, the full moon and all that is in this place at this time. I felt wakeful and blissed out most of the night. I also heard my neighbors yelling at and throwing stones at something, probably the raccoons. Ironically, their stuff was tied up much more securely than mine and they were in tents, not sleeping in the open as I was when the raccoons visited me the night before. Yet they were making all this fuss to chase them away. Strange how our fears make an enemy when truly there is none.

I hiked out of Havasupai in the evening so as to enjoy most of the day in that splendid place. I got to my car around 9pm and was so energized that I drove the 3-4 hours it took to go from the trailhead at Havasupai to the National Park entrance (only 60 miles as the crow flies but no direct route, so it was 180 miles!!). The moon was so incredible, the air so warm and sweet and the place so awesome, I was energized aplenty, despite the 10 mile hike out. Two elk crossed the road in front of me as I drove--a thrill to see in the moonlight. Arriving around 1am, I camped just outside the National Park, awoke shortly after dawn and re-packed my pack and was back on the trail heading into the GRAND Canyon by mid-morning.

The Grandview Trail is STEEP, dropping about 4000 feet in 3 miles. I was really glad I had brought along the old ski poles to use (thanks to Emily Mansfield for the tip) for steady-ness as I descended the steep trail with a heavy pack with 5 days of food in it. That day I hiked another 6 or 7 miles, descending about 5000 feet, ending up along a little creek in a canyon below the "Red Wall" and the vistas were just incredible the whole way down, much more grand than the Havasupai views, in the shadow of land-forms named "Rama's Temple", Sheba's Shrine" and "The Tabernacle".

October 3rd: Today’s hike was a long meditation requiring much attention to my feet and the steep trail, not much looking at the spectacular vistas unfortunately. I wonder about the ancient ones who have called me back to this Grand Canyon several times over the past 30 years. I want to be open to their teachings and the language of all my relations who are at home here. I will stop writing soon and listen and settle into the darkness of the night embraced by the Stone People. Clan Mother of the 2nd Moon Cycle, Wisdom Keeper, is the keeper of the stone libraries, the historian of all earth records. “She reminds us that all history is kept in the libraries of the Stone People and that to access that history we must hear the voices of the Rock Tribe who record the remembering for the Mother Earth.” If ever there was a place to read their histories, it is HERE. Blessed be me—I am grateful to be here again!

October 4th: I am along the Colorado River now, which is cold and green and a huge presence with its roar from the nearby Hance rapids. The Stone People are also quite ancient here, the books says they are 1.7 billion years old, too old for my little brain to imagine! Where I am looking, across the river, are layers of reddish-orange and on top of that, layers of reddish-maroon rock, which is why this place is called Red Canyon. I’m not sure what they are but they look like layers deposited by a stream bed or a sea bottom millions of years ago. The sun and heat are so intense I cannot move. I like this spot except for the ant people who seem to have put out the alert about my lunch crumbs because their numbers seem to be growing. Their hole is on the edge of this space, so I’m not sure I can sleep so close to them but maybe they’ll settle down eventually. I gave them an offering of cookie crumbs on the other side of their hole with a request that they let me be here without too much torment from them. In any case they don’t bite. A squirrel has discovered the crumb offerings so has joined me here too. Along the trail today I saw a snake, a big lizard. I also found a tiny malachite bear-charm on the trail. Goddess knows how it got dropped there and how I managed to see it, but it was clearly a gift from Spirit! I also found feathers of a blue jay that was eaten by something so I have more feathers for my collection. So many gifts!

Musings about the river:
What is a river? It’s waters are always changing, there is no “fixed” nature to it. The river banks are always shifting too, though they are certainly more permanent than the water itself which changes every moment. Yet without the water, there would be no river. So the river bed and banks are not the river. Water is FLUID, nothing static, never the same water in the river, from one moment to the next it moves (unlike a lake where there is the illusion that the water there yesterday is the same water there today). The river is like the life-force within me. My physical body is like the river bed and banks…always shape shifting over a lifetime, but recognizable from one day to the next. But the river itself is like the life-force within that shapes the body and is always changing, fluid, an energy force, not something that can be grasped, concretized, stopped, figured out. Water, air, fire are our models for formlessness. Water and fire have many different forms and air is something we can feel when it moves. Yet all three of them point toward the formless. Why is it we are so attached to permanent form when only one of the 4 elements (earth) reflects that? Even earth forms are always changing as this canyon’s many layers of rock remind me. Changed by water, fire, air. Yet we humans want to believe form is fixed and are always so surprised by the changes when they come. I want to deeply penetrate the truth of the transience of forms, and connect with the everlasting life force that underlies my form and all forms. I am here among the ancient teachers, the Stone People. I open to the language of the river waters and the Stone.

I spent 5 days in the National Park. Along the Colorado River it was so HOT I slept nude with no blanket and the cold river water was the only relief for the heat mid-day. On the 4th afternoon thunderheads began to show up over the canyon . Then there were thunderclaps, lightening and gusts of wind tearing through; still very warm and it was very exciting and I enjoyed it immensely. However, I had NOT brought a tent with me and when the drizzle (and lightning and thunder) continued into the darkness, I realized I had to figure something out for sleeping, so I managed to make a little lean-to out of some shrubs and the old space-blanket I had brought as a ground cloth. By the grace of goddess, I kept mostly dry despite the near-steady drizzle; certainly hypothermia was NOT a threat so I figured it was OK in any case, just an uncomfortable, not very restful night. The drizzle let up so I had a great morning meditation and singing and flute-playing in the canyon.

I have just emerged from a long, deep meditation. I do sense a deepening, though my need to analyze seems to be as big a detractor from settling into a “not-two, one-with-all” space as my restless chatter brain that skips all over the place in random thoughts. More and more the truths of all those zen sutras I’ve been chanting for years are clicking into resonance. Form and emptyness etc. There are moments when I can feel my body’s boundaries dissolve and the opening to pure awareness, but all too quickly my mind jumps in to make note of it and then I see “me” again and know I’m off track. It’s a process; 30 years of meditation and this is how far I’ve gotten. I will keep pointing myself the right direction and TRUST. Patience, practice and enjoyment of each moment is the best I can do, and I am feeling a fullness and emptyness, all good, here and now.

On Sunday afternoon as I began hiking out, I had a moment of panic when I stopped at the magical place called Page Springs. I realized I had no agenda for the upcoming month, no dates to structure me; I didn’t even know where I was going to sleep tonight: should I stay another night in the Canyon or hike out? Instead of feeling a great freedom, I felt fear about the OPEN-NESS. Of course, another voice came in and reminded me what a gift this opportunity is. So I settled into the moment and began singing and playing my flute, honoring the spirit of the Springs and sending a song of healing to echo off the canyon calls and spin out into the world. The “mood” evaporated.

Then I began hiking again and when I got to Horseshoe Mesa, the threatening dark clouds blowing over the South Rim made it clear that I should hike out and plan to bed down in Flagstaff indoors. So I said thanks to Spirit for making my course for the upcoming night so clear. And immediately I heard Spirit respond: “It’s ALWAYS this clear when you are truly living in the moment!” So I am learning to let each day unfold without a plan.

Learning to Live Alone
I am learning to live
In the fullness and wholeness of
My aloneness,
My vulnerability.
The skies look dark and threatening and
I did not bring a tent.
I am learning to trust
In the shelter of my at-one-ness.

The ravens and trees,
Squirrel and ants
Are my neighbors.
The looming canyon walls my home,
The river and streams remind me
Of the life-force within me.
The warm breeze caresses me
Like a lover and the
Melodies of bird song and leaf rustle
Are my lover’s gift to comfort me.
All of Nature
Welcomes this daughter into Her.

Sometimes rain threatens and
I feel exposed,
falling into a pit of loneliness and grief.
I become a small woman imprisoned
In a little place,
Isolated, frightened.
But the lowly flies get me up on my feet
Swinging and dancing,
Mother Earth calls me out to play,
And I grow into the
Vastness of this ancient place.
Like a miracle,
A woman’s song wells up from my heart,
Spills out of me
Echoes on the canyon walls and
Takes wing on the wind.


I hiked out of the Grand Canyon, arriving at the south rim at dusk after 8 days, 52 miles and 7000 feet elevation down and back up of hiking. I was gifted with an incredible sunset colors and shadows across layers of canyon walls and distant plateaus as I hiked up the last greuling steep miles, feeling exhilarated with the vistas and all the aerobic exercise. Good thing I did, as more rain has been gracing this dry part of Arizona and I was snuggled in a bed with sheets (first time in a month) in Flagstaff at my friend Mary Ann’s house after a great shower! The peaks north of town had fresh snow on them the next day. Amazing the contrast between the heat of the inner river gorge and the high plateau above.

And the aspen are turning golden! Mary Ann and I took two wonderful hikes in the Peaks while I visited there. From summer-time heat to autumn's golden leaves to the first snows of winter: Northern Arizona had it all in the same day!