Kiva, Clay Model

I've lately been obsessed with the Morningstar adventure that was fictionalized as the Risingstar, New Mexico, commune  in my novel (the title of this blog)... having made contact with one of the founding members, Pam Hanna (Read), who was the wife of the Kiva's roof designer, Larry Read, I decided to make a clay model of it from memory. I'm just assuming that there were eight timbers, as eight was the mystical number of the eight pointed Morningstar. I could be wrong.  These are pictures of the progress so far as I am now cutting the timbers now for placement on the roof.

The story goes that when the timber's were all put in place, (I heard about it back then and Pam reminded me of how it was done in an email pasted here): "Hey George - Larry was an admirer of Buckminister Fuller & a student of Paolo Soleri for a time.  Hippies built a lot of domes everywhere - Drop City, Placitas, all over Hawaii.  That Kiva was a  sort of Tinker Toy Tech conception.  Was quite a scene when we put it together - no nails.  Big poles held by man at each pole; on signal, they eased the poles into place.  You can do it on a table with toothpicks.  They hold each other up."

All of that took place before I got there. She also wrote: "M*, NM now looks like ancient ruins and only David Pratt's house is still standing.  A guy named Army Joe came thru like gangbusters & tore a lot of stuff down, including the Kiva," 

I was only there for about five months but what I experienced there was a vision of how life can be... haven't quite figured out the how of it but it is a vision of people working together for the common good that stays with me today.

Okies from Muskogee

PASSAGE

We rolled down east through Angel Fire, south to Guadalupita and on to Las Vegas, New Mexico. From there we headed to I-40. No one was talking much. Everyone was hung-over but Dennis; and he was busy driving with Wanda asking why she couldn’t go with us all the way to Jamaica. Dennis tried to explain that it wasn’t going to be easy and that she might end up stranded in Miami. I was concerned that Wanda might get belligerent when she started off with the business of racism.

Stan tried to cut her bitching off, “Hey, I had to leave Debby and Leah behind.”

Wanda was quiet for a few miles before she began putting down Debby and Leah, “What, Debby wasn’t your woman… neither was Leah. They were fucking everyone last night.”

Stan wasn’t going to let her get by with slurring Debby and Leah. “Look, what we did last night was a going away party. We will probably never see each other again. I thought it was damned cool that they put out for everyone.”

“Yeh,” Dennis added, “Lighten up Wanda. We can’t take you with us and we really can’t all stay crammed in this car any further than Amarillo. You agreed a week ago that you wanted to go back there where you have family.”

That was how it went all the way to Amarillo. I did get some rest, nursed a raging hangover and had sort of slept most of the way to Amarillo.There would be silence for a while and then she’d start in again. I figured that Dennis could handle her but it seemed touch and go at times. Finally, when we arrived in Amarillo, I gave her twenty bucks for bus fare or whatever and she had Dennis drop her off at a bar. That made a little more room in the car and a rotation system was developed. Jamie didn’t know how to drive a stick shift… or probably any car at all, so he was exempt from driving.  But I did look forward to getting behind the wheel just for the sake of stretching my legs a bit. Besides, I loved long distance driving.

 I hadn’t paid much attention to the landscape after passing Las Vegas, because I was sleeping or pretending to sleep most of the time. But once I got behind the wheel I loved the rolling hills and arid prairie along the way. I pictured buffalo covering the landscape from horizon to horizon and horsemen following the herds for the hunt; a way of life that came to an abrupt end a mere century before. Comanche, Kiowa, and Sioux… all across these plains: the majesty of the land dictated a humility and even pride in being a part of the drama of the wide open spaces.

I drove on through the panhandle of Texas onto and through the prairies of Oklahoma. A sea of grass and winter wheat as far as the eye could see stretched out, interrupted only by an occasional gully or wash. I envisioned the dust bowl era of Okies packing their belongings on their trucks and cars heading for greener pastures in California a mere generation before. The land had a sadness about its quiet dignity and the tragedies played out on these plains.

Stan took the wheel before Oklahoma City; I moved back to the rear seat and slept some more sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jamie and Steve. Dennis rode shotgun when he wasn’t driving… it was a tacit agreement as it was, after all, his car. I didn’t mind sleeping sitting up, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dust devils seemed to follow along side of the road as we made our way eastward on route I-40. Then, by a spontaneous and unanimous decision, we made a turn north at Checotah to Muskogee. After all, the song was an anthem enjoyed by both rednecks and hippies alike for completely opposite reasons.

Muskogee had the look of Everytown, USA. It could have been in Springfield Illinois or Grand Island Nebraska, Topeka Kansas or any other plains town. It too had a street called Broadway and a Main Street. It had hardware stores, drug stores, used-car dealers and diagonal parking along the streets in front of the shops. We stopped at a greasy spoon to sit at a booth and order a cheeseburger and shake. No one gave us any trouble. In fact, I figured, it was a friendly place where people treated everyone civil until proven unworthy. The middle aged waitress even called us honey.

“Sure, Honey. Would you like French fries or country fries?”

I had no idea what a country fry was so I answered, “Oh yes, country fries.”

A couple of older men in coveralls in the next booth watched us order and one of them asked, “Where you boys from?”

Oh, oh, I thought, here goes… “We’re from New Mexico… we just had to see Muskogee. We’re on our way to Florida.”

“Was it because of Merle Haggard’s song?”

“Yeh, ya gotta love that song.” Dennis acknowledged.

“I’m Hank and this here is my brother Jimbo…”

So they went around the table introducing themselves and feeling welcomed. It was no big deal. These people were authentically friendly. Here were the town folks of the most anti-hippy anthem of the era sitting next to us swapping friendly noises like old friends… Just goes to show ya how wrong popular images can be, I was thinking as I enjoyed the setting and the whole scene.

Muskogee sits in the middle of the country where three rivers; The Arkansas, the Grand and the Verdigris meander and converge. Something about all that water energized me. Id missed the green of the Northwest where I’d grown up although I’d learned to love the high chaparral of New Mexico. I felt as though Muskogee wasn’t such a bad place to settle down. We fondly bid the old-timers in the café adieu as our motley little group piled into the Hillman and headed back down south to the I-40.

Georgia Peaches and Southern Comfort

DEPARTURE

            The day of departure approached. The girls and Stan had been up at the cabin with Dad for about a week. It was a beautiful drive up through the forest and into the mountains to the place. Dennis had hooked up with Wanda, a Comanche woman, so his little Hillman was loaded with four guys and one woman. We stopped on the way at a service station in Rancho de Taos and had the oil changed along with air/oil filters. We bought a tire because the Hillman had one bald tire and no spare. We filled the tank and then headed up into the mountains to the cabins. When the Hillman pulled up in front of the cabin the party was already underway. The cabin was on two levels built into the hillside with the living room below and bedrooms and hallway on the second floor that opened up onto a deck. A pathway led up the hill from the deck to an opening among the pine trees with a fire pit and seats of hewn logs around it.

            The girls were in their Georgia Peach Southern Belle dresses and Dad was, in slacks with shirt and tie, looking genteel. Debby and Leah had spent the day making goodies like roast lamb, pies and cookies. There was plenty to eat and drink… a full bar and stereo system with speakers all over the house. Dad just wandered around the place aimlessly… not really talking with anyone beyond a muttered “Hello.” I pulled Debby off to the side at one point and asked her what the deal was with pops.

            Debby explained, “Dad is heavily medicated. He has only been out since last November.”

            “Out of where?” I feigned not knowing anything about Dad.

            “Milledgeville… a mental hospital southeast of Atlanta. You know about mom?” Debby was smart enough to know that I had heard something of what had happened.

            “Yeh, Stan told me a little but I am curious as to how it all worked out with you and your dad. I mean, how did it happen and all that?”

            “About ten years ago: Mom was having an affair and Dad was a pastor, an Episcopalian Priest, in Atlanta. He came home in the middle of the day and Mom was getting it on with a guy in the master bedroom. She had been seeing this guy for some time. Dad suspected it and that accounts for the surprise visit. Dad had a pistol. He shot the guy once but emptied the chamber on Mom. He then went down to the library, loaded another bullet in the gun, put it to his forehead, and pulled the trigger.”

            “Shit… he lived through that?”

            “Yes, it took out part of his skull and what damage that did wasn’t near as bad as the electro-shock therapy in the hospital. Leah found the whole mess when she got home from school.”

            “How about Romeo… Did he live?”

            “He was lucky. Hit the upper shoulder in the back. Dad probably didn’t care whether he’d killed the dude or not. He definitely wanted Mom dead though. So Dad was put under psychiatric care and treatment… sort of turned him into a zombie.”

            The party went on into the night. I started drinking Southern Comfort with Wanda and Leah. Big Brother and the Holding Company with Janis Joplin wailing was the background music for much of it. The girls were out of their Southern Belle dresses and into jeans, making out with the guys and swapping partners every now and then. It was a surreal scene to walk into a room and find Stan and Debby going at it and Dennis with Leah, Wanda with Steve, and Jamie alternatively switching off with one of the girls and all with each other. But mostly it was drinking. That is what I was doing. Everyone else was bouncing around like bunnies in heat but I didn’t have time for sex with all the good booze in the house. And then there was Dad… he was wandering around the property. It mildly freaked me out knowing that the good Reverend might be a walking time bomb with his own daughters slutting it up with all these guys.

            Wanda was the wildest. Everyone had been taking a break from the sexual escapades and were sitting at the fire pit under the crystal clear stars and the sky. Wanda challenged the men to see who could piss the farthest or highest. So then it became a contest to see who could piss higher up on a tree next to the fire pit. To make things fair the girls argued that the guys had to lie on their backs just like the girls. Dennis argued that a man stands when he pisses and that no man can piss from flat on his back. That debate went on for a while but Debbie declared that it didn’t matter… The men didn’t stand a chance: Even standing, no one came near the lowest mark the girls had made.

            Later that night the Southern Comfort sank into my consciousness and I blacked out. I came-to on the front porch of a cabin I thought was the cabin the party was going on in. All the lights were off and I wanted to get in the door to go to sleep. I didn’t see any sign of the Hillman either. Figuring everyone was asleep I pounded on the door hoping to wake someone up. I called out, “Stan!”

No answer, “Dennis!”

No answer again, “Debby!”

“Leah!” Pounding on the door louder…

 “Peter!” Pounding and pounding louder.

“Jamie!” I was getting desperate. What if they all took off for Jamaica without me!

“Hey, it’s me, Max damn it!” I had my boot off and was ready to break a window.

“Max?” It was a female voice… “What are you doing?”

“Debby?” I saw her coming up the steps to the porch wearing a nightshirt.

“We were wondering where you went…” she did look gorgeous in the moonlight with her reddish hair catching a ray of light from between the shadows.

“God, Debby, where is everybody?”… I was still confused. I wasn’t so confused that I didn’t appreciate the fact that I was alone with her on the porch. She put an arm around me for support and led me off the porch.

“This isn’t our place.”

“Wha…?” I didn’t understand it yet… the words coming form her were words of concern… of caring for me the way a mother of a retard talks to her kid.

“This isn’t our place? Good thing nobody’s home or you might have your head blown off.” She explained further. “You woke me up. I was passed out in my bedroom when I heard you yelling and pounding on that door.”

“Shit no… where am I?” I leaned on her and let my hand hit her breast as she Florence Nightingaled me up the hill to the cabin.

When we got up to the cabin Dad was sitting in the kitchen like he didn’t recognize anyone. I noticed the scar where the bullet had grazed Dad’s head. She gave Dad a hug, “Dad, you ought to get some sleep.”

“You think so.”

“Yes, I think so.” And she gave him another more affectionate hug that seemed to assure him everything was going to be alright. He shuffled off into his bedroom and the light went off.

Dennis was snoring on the floor of the living room while Steve and Leah were in one of the beds in the girl’s bedroom. They were passed out and not doing much.  Jamie was curled up on the floor. Debby went straight to bed. I was still very drunk but wanted to make up for lost time and get laid one more time before we left. I sat on her single-size bed.

“I couldn’t help but notice the affection you have for your Dad.” Seeing the sadness in her face,  I realized that she might have been the most sober one at the party that night.

“He is my Dad, you know.”

“It must have been hard for you and Leah the way that deal went down.”

“You know how kids are… they aren’t as innocent and tender as you’d think. Besides, Mom wasn’t a bad woman but she did hurt him… it tore him up.”

“So, you lost both of them that day.”

“Yeh, Dad has been a dead man since then. The brain injury from the gunshot wound was more like a concussion because the bullet missed any major arteries… grazed his skull. He flinched when he pulled the trigger and it knocked him out a few days.”

I was feeling pretty brain injured at this point myself but it tweaked my interest so much that I almost sobered up talking with her about it. Up to that point Debby was just another good-looking red-head. I liked the idea of screwing but something deeper than that was happening inside as she explained what had gone on. Before that it was just another weird story… one I could tell others… the orgy the drunkenness… the going away party… the send off.

“Debby, you and Leah aren’t done with this yet are you?”

“Dad could have recovered okay if he hadn’t had the electro-shock therapy. Of course, he’d probably still be in prison too. Instead he was committed by the courts to Milledgeville. I don’t know what would have been worse.”

This was so much to absorb. “I’m not too proud of blacking out like this tonight and having this fuck-fest with your dad wandering around like a zombie. But damn… is he aware of any of this going on around him?”

“You know, Max, this will be a process. None of us are really aware of what is going on in his head.”

“God, can I make love to you before we go?” As drunk as I was my libido was still strong. Youth had something to do with it but I’d felt an intimacy with Debby and that helped spark it up some. She reached up and put her hands around the nape of my neck and pulled my face down to hers. Her passion was fire and I needed no coaxing but, even though all the lights were off in the room, I was distracted by a shadow… motion

at the door. I looked over to see dad standing there like he was watching an exhibit at the zoo. This caused me to stop and Debby looked to the door too. However, when she did, no one was there.

“He was there,” she said… her face flushed with either orgasmic blush or embarrassment… or both. We passed out afterwards as the morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains over the windows of the cabin. 

The Reading

TRUTH: 

A few days before everyone headed up to the cabin, Brian and Mason took me aside and blessed me with cedar and sage. They told me of a strange man who had been around lately and that I would have contact with him.
    “Don’t be put off by him. He eats only dried fruit and nuts and has a peculiar way of singling out people. Besides, we told him about you.” Mason added.
As the day of departure approached I spent more time down at the Dome. One such day, as we had been lolling about, there he was: a strange, thin, long-blond-haired man with a pouch holding a set of Tarot cards wrapped ceremoniously in a red silk cloth was at the door asking for Max.
 “I’m Max,” I answered.
“Do you mind if I do your chart and read your cards before taking this trip?”
    “Cool, but who are you how did you know about this trip?”
    “Oh, nothing psychic, you just look like you’re getting ready to go somewhere. Besides, Mason told me about you. My name is Truth.”
    “Truth? Well, with a name like that I can trust your reading.” I thought his name was pretentious or at least funny. Stan and Leah looked as though they’d seen a ghost.
    I had seen tarot cards before and I loved the primitive ones. I had no idea what the symbolism of them amounted to but they looked and felt like they held some sort of ancient wisdom. As for his name, Truth, I was getting used to street names. People out these parts invented themselves over and over again so I paid little attention to the name. I didn’t even think it was odd. We sat outside the dome and Truth laid out a blanket where our little group sat around the edges.
    “Are you going to read for each of us?” I wondered, speaking to Truth.
    “No, I’ve only been led to read yours. It takes energy to do this and I don’t like to spread my energy around like it is a parlor game; know what I mean?”
    “I like your attitude. I usually don’t go for oogah-boogah spirituality.” I was serious. I’d seen a lot of miraculous things and wonders I couldn’t explain but that didn’t mean I was buying everything that came down the pike.
    So Truth had me handle the cards, shuffle them and so on… “Focus your attention on the cards and when you feel satisfied you have shuffled them enough, take off the top card and place it face down in the middle of the red silk.”
    It was in a reverential ritualized sense that we respected each other as I followed the instructions. Truth picked up the deck and dealt out a pattern around the center card. The cards were laid down face up and the meanings were not clear at all to me. The pictures of swords, sticks, cups and coins intrigued me. The occasional cards, like the one with a beautiful woman with her hand on the mane of a lion; the ominous card with a skeleton with a scythe; or a tramp in a jokers’ hat hiking off with a hound at his heels; these were interesting too. They were all very mysterious and I knew I would have to study this card business myself to understand the symbolism... if only for curiosity’s sake.
    Truth started talking as if to no one; “The cards are an arbitrary arrangement… completely arbitrary and hold no magic of their own. The magic is what happens between the reader and the questioner.”
    “That’s good to hear. Where do we start?” I was anxious to find what sort of magic was being conjured.
    “We start here with the trickster launching out of a journey. You are the trickster. The trickster doesn’t know where he is going. He is just going. He wills the nine of swords. That is will power over towards dissipation… number nine over the top. I see the trickster imprisoned by late July.”
    “Late July? What do you mean imprisoned?”
    “Doesn’t necessarily mean in jail but it does mean the loss of freedom. And the Death card trumps it.”
    “Death, why doesn’t that worry me?” I was seeing how the cards worked… how they brought stuff out of me: pulled out the arbitrary so to speak.
    “Death means change. See this Hanged Man? You will want to be imprisoned… long enough to read the runes. You will stay until you are ready to go.”
    “Read the runes?”
    “The cosmos… the dance… see her there?” She was the card I found most beautiful. A nude woman with sticks or wands of some sort in each hand and standing on one leg crossed making like a number four.
    “What does it mean? We’re leaving on this trip to Jamaica. Why did you choose me to read the cards? I feel like it is so very important I pay attention. Why?”
    “There is plenty of time to be finding out the whys and all that. This trip is going to change your life… it is the shaman’s quest.”
I had heard a lot of hippy bullshit about “Shaman” and so on from artists and street corner gurus but I felt the term was far too liberally applied considering what a real shaman endured in acquiring occult knowledge. I suspected that it took a bit more of a commitment than taking a few hallucinogenic drugs and howling at the moon. However, I’d learned to never dismiss the serendipitous and arcane when it comes out of left field like this. This was especially so after the events of the past few weeks.

The Eyes of Hoover

The Eyes of Hover were upon us.

... Before night fell, or during a break in the afternoon, I hung out at the Dome. The distant sound of a vehicle coming up towards us on the gravel road could be heard ten or fifteen minutes in advance. On one such afternoon the graveling of tires alerted the four of us and we stood by the road to see who it might be. An ex-speed-freak called Shep came running up to us from where he’d been watching at the point of the mesa facing the valley.
“Hey, it’s the feds!” Shep was flinging his arms in paranoid gestures. “They’re in a late model Ford sedan! It’s the feds I tell ya!”
I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do about it if it were the feds. Shep dashed up the hill towards the mesa and left us wondering. Stan and the girls went inside the Dome but I stayed out front just to see. The sedan pulled off the road in front of the Dome. Two, crew-cut six-foot-plus, men in their thirties wearing suites got out of the sedan. I couldn’t help but notice the spit-shine on their shoes getting dusty. One of them held a binder and approached while the other flashed a badge.
“FBI, Do you live here?” The man with the badge asked the obvious. I wanted to say no but thought better of it.
“Well, up the hill… but not here.”
Stan opened the door enough to see what was going on but was not going to let them in the Dome.
“I live here… what do you want?”
“We just need you to check out some pictures and tell us whether you’ve seen any of these people here.” The agent with the binder said in such a way that I could see he wasn’t asking for cooperation, he was ordering it.
Stan was going to close the door right then and there but I answered first, “Sure, won’t hurt anything.” I had caught a glimpse of some of the pictures and those pictures were not unlike high school year-book pictures. I knew I could honestly say I hadn’t seen any of these folks because this was a collection of clean cut suburban white boys and girls in letter jackets and glee club sweaters: a world apart from anyone on the mesa.
The agent paused on each page as I looked at the pictures, hoping not to recognize anyone on one hand, but thinking of how I could warn whoever it was if I did spot a fugitive from justice, on the other. As the pages were flipped I did recognize one girl, Candy, who had arrived only a few days before. Under her photo was her birthday; May something, 1957. She had paired up with Shep, coincidently, and I knew she was very young. This birthday put her at around thirteen. Shep was only about fifteen or sixteen himself but the girl was… well, nowhere near ripe. I had mixed feelings about it. So many run-away kids were on the streets in those days that a thirteen year old girl with a sixteen year old guy hardly turned a head.
The agent caught me hesitating at her picture and I knew it. I would have to bluff my way out of it if I was going to trip-up this guy. I wished I could get to Shep to warn him but decided to simply shrug my shoulders, “Naw, nothing here… haven’t seen any of ‘em.”
“Are you sure, now?” The agent wasn’t buying it. “You know it is a federal crime to obstruct a federal investigation?”
That did it, “You know, none of these kids look anything like these picture now. If I were looking straight at someone I grew up with I couldn’t recognize them.” I took a deep breath and made like I knew what I was talking about; “Now, this is private property and you are wearing out your welcome… good-bye, sir.”
    I was a little surprised when the feds turned their sedan around and went the other way. I was expecting them to plow further onto the property. I took the same shortcut to the top of the mesa that Shep had taken before the Feds arrived. When I got to the Pueblo everyone was already gathered together listening to Shep.
    “What did they want?” Brian asked.
    “Just showed me some pictures. I didn’t recognize anyone…” I added, “You know, high school yearbook pictures.”
    “Well, anytime some radical bombs a bank in Ann Arbor they send up some agents the next day to see if we have any mad bombers in hiding.” Brian looked at Shep and Candy… “If anyone has any warrants or is on the lam, it might be a good idea to stay out of sight a few weeks.”
    Shep came to me with Candy in tow afterwards. “What should we do? They are here looking for Candy.”
    “What makes you say so?” I could understand the paranoia but the urgency with which Shep asked was not easily dismissed.
    “Her dad is the chief of police in her home town.” Shep eyes were darting back and forth and he was looking over his shoulder as though the government sedan might be pulling up at any time.
    “Whew!” I didn’t want to seem overly alarmed but Candy’s picture was in the binder and I had a strong feeling Shep’s paranoia was well founded in this case. “How old are you, Candy?”
    Candy hesitated but let out the usual lie… “I’m eighteen.”
    “You know that Shep can be in deep shit if you are not telling the truth?” I felt uncomfortable thinking about her age and rechecked the math in my mind. She could have passed for a very young looking sixteen but eighteen was stretching it more than a bit.
    “Maybe we’ll just hike up to the creek and camp out a few days until this blows over.” Shep offered.

Easter Peyote Ceremony

When we got back to Risingstar I was on another plane of existence. I wasn’t sure what I believed in but I was sure that something was happening on that high altar of the earth called Taos. Something was happening and it seemed that the more I tried to define it the more evasive it became. There was a hand in all of this for sure. I couldn’t wait to tell Stan and the girls about it as I rushed to the Dome full of excitement and bubbling with enthusiasm. The peyote hadn’t worn off yet and everything was still vibrating as I related the whole story of the peyote Chief, the rattlesnake Grandfather, the Border Patrol, and the Texas Rangers. Stan was looking at me like I was nuts; I caught myself babbling on and wondered too if I hadn’t completely flipped.

There was plenty to be flipped about too as the Easter Peyote Ceremony was in preparation and the whole area was involved in it beyond the Risingstar commune. I had never even thought of peyote as being anything but a drug like synthetic psilocybin, mescaline or LSD. The trip to and back from Laredo gave me an insight into the spirituality of the drugs and the manner in which I’d approached their use. As I talked with Mason and Marcos I also thought about the implications of my casual attitude towards the spirit world. Respect that bordered on awe was evoked. On the ride back Marcos looked at me as though he’d read my mind and said, “There is a creative spirit… ride with it… don’t resist it.”

The customary ritual of the Peyote Ceremony broke from the Native American Church’s tradition not only in that white people were to be the principle participants but that women were also going to be allowed to participate in the tent. Traditionally, women prepare the breakfast for the men who participate. In this case the ceremony would have one guide from the Taos Pueblo to make sure the ceremony is conducted in accordance with ritual tradition although he would have no role in the observance itself. Still, many women preferred not to attend; but to prepare and serve the breakfast instead. Though some of the prayers would be in the native language most of the prayers were to be in English so that all in attendance would be able to participate.

I was able to fast three days prior to the ceremony and I was happy to find that fasting was not all that difficult for me. Getting up at first light, I drank a tea from sage or juniper but after that, the thought of food was mostly a habitual urge and easily dismissed. As the evening approached my enthusiasm grew. The tepee filled as people filed in before sunset. I took a seat on the left from the door. Brian, who was the eldest of the folks at Risingstar, sat at the head opposite the door behind the chief button placed in the center on the crescent mound just past the fire pit. Marcos, as Roadman, sat on his left and Samuel’s woman, Sandra, sat on his right. She was the natural for her size alone but her matronly carriage commended her for the leadership role of the women and I supposed that is why she merited the honored seating. Brian explained with a few comments from Marcos how the ceremony was to proceed. Mason was the Fireman whose duty was to oversee, not only the fire, but also tended the door flap and seating arrangement. Mason laid out sticks for the fire in a V pointing to the Peyote Chief on the crescent mound away from the door.

 Brian started things off with a prayer in Native language accompanied by Marcos; whereby they beat the drum in a steady unvaried beat as they chanted. When they had made their invocation with a prayer cigarette, Bull Durham wrapped in a dried corn husk, the drum was passed. The beat of the drum was also carried by the Thunder Stick. The Thunder Stick was a walking-stick adorned with feathers and a string of bells wrapped the length of it. It was held vertical and pounded the ground chinging the bells to a steady rhythm of ching-ching-ching along with the drum. The affect was quite hypnotic as these instruments were passed with each person offering an introductory prayer. I wondered when we would eat the peyote as I saw the large bowl with peyote buttons cut up in it just sitting there. A bowl of peyote tea with gourd ladle preceded it. I soon forgot about it as the prayers and the beat reverberated in my head, replacing almost all anxieties and concern for when in the hell we were ever going to get high. These sounds reverberated steadily via the drum, the chants and the thunder stick for at least an hour before I realized that I was high already and I hadn’t eaten any peyote yet.

There were prayers for healing; there were prayers for prosperity; there were prayers for spiritual guidance; and there were prayers for any and everything. Some prayed to the “Great Spirit”; some Prayed to Jesus; some prayed to no one in particular and another hour passed. After the prayers and the drums made a complete circuit of the tepee, the tea was passed. The drum, the Thunder Stick and the prayers continued as the tea and buttons were passed. Mason placed more sticks on the fire. I noticed the arrangement of the sticks; a “V”, the crescent mound, the peyote Chief’s button, took on the resemblance of drawings I’d seen of a Thunderbird.

One fellow, David, who had been staying in the kiva, was known for his Bible thumping. When the bowl with the tea got to him he stood and, holding a Bible open in front of him, he began preaching; “Satan is in the drum. Satan is in the bells.” The drum and the Thunder Stick stopped. “Satan is in the Tea. Satan is in the Peyote. There is no chief but Jesus. There is no salvation but in the Lord. You are all damned to hell unless you repent!” and he went past Mason out the door…

Perhaps he’s expecting us to follow him out the door or sacrifice him to pagan gods? I thought.

Marcos’ eyes had a look of grave concern.

Mason asked, “Can we continue with the integrity of the circle broken?”

Marcos nodded.

Brian’s eyes followed suit, then he lifted his gaze and spoke, “Father, we thank you.”

The drums and the Thunder Stick started up again.

A bucket also followed the bowls of buttons and tea for vomit. Mason made sure everyone was able to have the bucket as called on in an unplanned but beautifully choreographed ballet. At another point in the night the flap of the door opened to a tall dark man with a lever-action Winchester rifle decorated with painted patterns and adorned with beads. It was so incongruous that I felt a tinge of foreboding after the business of the last interruption still fresh on everyone’s mind. Was he sent as an angel of death?

 Brian spoke, “Welcome, Angelo.”

Angelo didn’t answer. His intense gaze went around the tepee. He locked eyes with each person… one by one. I was curious as my eyes met Angelo’s.

He spoke, “Playin’ cowboys and Indians, eh?” He then departed out the door without another word.

Mason grinned: “This Bodhisattva moment has been brought to us by the Cosmic Construction Company.”

And the drum picked up where it left off. The distractions of the Bible Thumper and the Bodhisattva interruption melded into the vibration and reverberation of the constant drum beat. I had expected some sort of wild hallucinations and was eager to lose control and allow the spirit of peyote take me, ala Castenada, where it willed. However, there were no Don Juan spirit types, malevolent or benevolent, visitations for me. I halfway expected to find myself naked, wandering the mesa, babbling incoherent revelations from on high. But what I got was an increasing clarity with each chant and a transcendent love for the participants in the tipi. The first light of morning came as Mason scattered the ashes in the fire pit and Brian led an invocation ending the meeting.

I stepped out into the dawn of the day; a special marriage of earth on my bare feet greeted me simultaneously with sweetness in the air that I could taste. Over at the Pueblo tables with roasted blue-cornmeal and honey was served to break our fast. Prickly-pear fruit and pinion nuts greeted my taste buds but I had very little appetite for food at this time. The sunrise colors across the sky radiated as the light changed. It was mostly a revelation of love like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was universal. I saw the Bible Thumper, David, and I loved him and his agitation. David was busying himself with haranguing the women serving the breakfast as I approached him asking, “Tell me about Jesus.”

“You ate the peyote?” David queried.

“Yes.”

“You must repent of this idolatry.” David hardly paused.

“Tell me about Jesus.” I asked again.

“There is nothing but Hell and damnation ahead for you unless you turn away from this paganism and accept Jesus into your heart.”

I was drawing David away from the tables and but this was not my intention. I had no intention. I loved David in that moment and wanted David to know he was loved and appreciated. “Tell me about Jesus.”

“You know about Jesus. Don’t tempt the Lord your God.” David answered bitterly.

At least he recognized the question, I thought. We were walking away from the Pueblo now and towards the goat pasture, far away from the tables. The women were no longer being harassed. “It makes no difference what I know about Jesus. I don’t know what you know… so, tell me what you know about Jesus.”

Holy bullshit! I thought; this guy is stalling and very probably knows nothing about the God he so sorely wishes us to fear. About that time Charlie sauntered over to David and David put his hand out to scruff Charlie’s head between the horns. Charlie gave a push and David pushed back… Big mistake… Out of love, I might have warned him but I knew David wouldn’t listen anyway. Charlie pushed back, bowing his head down and putting some weight behind with all four legs planted firmly to the earth.

“I know God loves you….unnngggh!” he was leaning into Charlie with all he had. Charlie hadn’t even begun yet. “So much that he gave his only s…. so… son of a bitch!” and Charlie gave him a thrust sending Davis back… “How do you get this fucker to back off!” He shouted out his despair.

“You don’t.” I answered, knowing full well that poor David couldn’t even surrender at this point. “You are in it for the duration.”

“The duration of what?”

“Step aside and let go as fast as you can and run like hell to the fence!”

David did just that… Charlie lunged past where David was standing but David was too slow getting to the fence. Charlie was right there behind him lowering his head and putting his horns to good affect, lifting David over and out of the yard by at least ten feet. David never followed me out to the goat pasture after that day.

Sunflower .. A Revelation

Down at the Kiva the group had gotten together to introduce the new folks to meditation. We all went down to see what it was all about. I was slightly buzzed from the wine and so was Stan as we sat there with the group watching and listening to Samuel, sitting in the lotus position, as he spoke, “When we greet each other we ask, ‘How ya’ doin’?’ and so on. We hardly give it a thought and answer automatically; ‘Fine, I’m doin’ just fine.’ If the truth were known we might not be doin’ so well at all. In fact, things might be fucked up worse than ever… but we say ‘fine’. We can’t be authentic with other people because we aren’t authentic with ourselves. Meditation isn’t about navel-gazing as much as it is about uncovering the layers of the onion through the unconscious by means of chanting and focusing on our breath.”

It went like that as Samuel taught about the word, “OM”, and how to say it correctly without trying to sound pretty or melodic; but rather to let it out from the belly….aaaaahhhhh, OM… and then he went into a bit on chanting. He brought up the Nichiren Buddhist chant of “Nam-Yoho Renge Kyo” that I had been introduced to in Hollywood. Samuel was a good teacher and I absorbed most of what he had to say… even sobered up a bit. Surprisingly, Stan was soaking it up too.

When we got back to the A-frame, Stan brought up the subject of women again. “You know, there ain’t any available girls around here.”

“Yeh?” I wondered where this conversation was going but I knew Stan well enough to know that he was earnest.

    “What if we chanted for pussy? Eh?” Stan was grinning, “Let’s see if this crap is bullshit or not.”

    I scratched my head, “Hmmm… How would we do that? Say we just chanted the word, Pussy?”

    “That sounds good to me… Pussy!”

    We were both laying there flat on their backs with our hands clasped behind our heads… I said “Pussy!” and then Stan said, “Pussy.” I answered with “Pussy.” And we went on like that for a good fifteen minutes… in unison and back and forth: “Pussy… pussy… pussy… pussy… pussy… pussy… pussy… pussy”.

“Do you think it worked?” Stan asked.

“Do you see any pussy here… now?” I answered.

Stan was puzzled, “Maybe we didn’t chant long or hard enough.”

Such faith, had Stan really expected two women to show up out of the night there after fifteen minutes of chanting?

We rolled over in our bags and went to sleep.

The next morning we awoke to the usual breakfast of oatmeal with raisons. We noticed a new red and white VW van in the parking lot. After breakfast we went over to the Pueblo where there was music coming from one of the rooms with the door open and several people inside. I walked in the door to see a gorgeous brown-eyed, jet-black-frizzy-haired, dark-skin, girl playing a twelve-string accompanied by a long-straight-haired redhead playing a mandolin. I locked eyes on the dark, frizzy-headed, one and she stopped playing to ask me, “Do you know where we can get a bath around here? We’ve been driving all night to get to this place.”

“Yeh, sure,” Stan jumped on it like a lightening bolt… and looking at me, “Chanting does work.”

“There is a pond a bit from here, but it is cold… still got ice on most of it,” I ventured.  "The hot springs are a longer hike."

One of the peculiarities with the high desert was that it might be freezing with snow on the ground in the shade but, in the sun, if protected from the wind, you could actually sunbathe.

“Let’s go to the closest one then,” Frizzy introduced herself, “I’m Sunflower and this is my friend, Debby.”

I had to admit that I was slightly dazed as I led the group down to the pond. Once there the girls immediately put out a couple of blankets and stripped down. Stan followed suite as I hesitantly stripped down. I was in awe of being in the presence of such beauty. The sunlight played with reflections of water glimmering off goose-bumped flesh as wondrous and anything else in nature’s display. I quickly headed for the water and dove in while the others tested the water one toe at a time. The icy cold of it was a shock but I was not one to prolong agony. Swimming vigorously back to the bank, Sunflower dove over my head and into the icy water. Coming up from the dive... screaming-gleefully-shocked, she grabbed me from behind. When Stan and Debby dove in behind her, I felt her perky chilled nipples press in against my back as I fell back into the pond. There was no escaping the thrill and the ecstatic chill of it.

Yes, there was sex. There was talk of this and that. I had not been so fulfilled since the Pillow Shack with Mary. I wasn’t about to allow the moment to go unappreciated. Making love in the sun out under the New Mexico sky was more than sex for me. It was a holy moment in time, forever sacred in the open delight of sense for the sweet quality of it. This, I thought, is what making love ought to be… for I was making love… creating love... in spite of the casual nature of it. I was in, on and above love as the passion mounted and subsided... surrendered to time and the yam-yum timing of it.

Sunflower hung out with me and the rest of the folks there in the Pueblo for awhile. I began feeling like I wanted to cut her away from the herd to keep her for myself. She played the twelve string guitar in the small room where we’d first met, sweetly strumming and falling into a rhythmic flow of words and images unlike anything I’d ever heard before. As I watched, I pictured the bucolic life of the two of us standing barefoot in corn fields and making babies together. Back in the A-frame we made love into the night.

“How long do you plan on staying here?” I asked, thinking of corn fields, bare feet and babies.

“We are heading out first thing tomorrow.” She nuzzled her nose into my neck by the shoulder.
My mind raced… my Gawd! Thinking of the scene in Easy Rider where Fonda said he had to be moving on… the commentary in my head said her choice was too much like Fonda’s character as Captain America; his last chance to be human and settle down before going off to New Orleans to meet his fate, “Do you know there are alternative universes where you stay here with me?”

“I would like that… I really would, but I have a boutique on Sunset that needs my attention.” She turned serious.

“But…”

“No… don’t argue.” She rolled on top of me. “This is a special moment. Perhaps in the alternative universe you speak of we are already in it and doing it… hmmm… but I need to do what I am doing, Max.”

I understood and I certainly knew better than to argue while my lingus was bodily engaged in her holy of holies.

The warmth of the little hearth filled the A-frame as we lay there afterwards. She explained further, “When I saw you first walk in the door of that room in the Pueblo, I saw that your spirit occupied the whole room. I had to make love to you… I just had to. But I can see now that you are trying to make your spirit smaller to accommodate me…”

Sunflower left the next day leaving Debby and Debby’s sister, Leah. I hadn’t noticed that Debby had a sister with her. Leah had spent the day before visiting an old friend at the geodesic dome next to the road on the way up. There was no chance I would have seen her, even had I not been so busy with Sunflower. I went back to the A-frame and the goats while Stan moved in the geodesic dome with Debby and Leah. The friend Leah had been visiting at the dome left for L.A. with Sunflower so Stan had the whole dome and the two sisters to himself.

I was okay with the A-frame and the goats. Out there it was impossible for me to feel anything but humble in the wild landscape that gave me pause to wonder about the whole miraculous coincidental merging of the chant and the arrival of these goddesses. I felt a strong indication that it was the workings of something I hadn’t understood, let alone acknowledged, until this journey into this holy place.