Been sitting on this one for a week now. This story has a prequal; an incident, nearly three years ago, when a van came crashing through my living room wall. I was sitting at my computer on a peaceful Monday morning when the van presented itself, within inches of my chair. But that's a different story.

Last Sunday morning, July 30th at 6 AM, I was again sitting at the computer. There was no traffic at all outside, but there came a tremendous sound that at first struck me as that of a lion's roar. Got my soft sole mocassins on and headed out to see what had happened. Looking down the highway, I saw a large dust cloud along the curb, so I followed the dust and came to the neighbor's house, two doors down. Their front yard is a tight space, fenced in and cozy. There, next to the pumpkin patch and the wishing well, sat a small black pickup truck, upside down with tires spinning and steam billowing from the radiator. It was one of those surreal moments as I regarded the scene and thought, "Hmmm, that doesn't belong there".

I could write at length about the following three hours, but concise will have to do for now. The irony was in the fact that this was the third house in a row, along this side of the highway, that had been assaulted by errant motor vehicles. Neighbors came out to see what the fuss was. Before the State Police arrived, I was standing near the truck while a group of others gathered a bit farther down, where the ground transformer had been ripped away by the out of control truck. I heard the moaning first, and called 911 for the third time to request an ambulence.

The man that crawled out through the flattened window was covered in blood. One man tried to get him to sit down and relax, but the driver hightailed it out back of the house and disappeared into the orchard, then over the back fence. He came back a while later, but again disappeared, outrunning a State cop. No one has yet heard if they ever found the guy, but one of the cops had a vehicle registration, knew the guy who owned the truck, and the guy matched the description I gave to the cop.

The driver had not used the brakes as the truck veered off of the road and over the sidewalk. It took out half of the US Mail cluster box, plowed through the transformer, missed the gas meter by about ten feet, and rolled over upside down as it slid across the fence, laying down some trees as it slid. It's position in the yard looked as if it had been placed there intentionally. The whole thing was just plain weird. Mom even unplugged herself from her food pump, donned her robe, and came out to hang out with the old Spanish men and discuss what had happened.

It was one of those odd reminders of just how delicately balanced life is. Of how swiftly things can change, of how swiftly life could come to an end. I'd experienced that when the van came through into my living room. Only 30 yards away, and three years later, another wayward vehicle had raised similar doubts in my mind. I'm still scratching my head over this. Luckily, this is a peaceful little hamlet on the outskirts of town. Weird.

I'm still camped out on mom's living room floor. This morning I got back from an appointment at the family clinic (sinuses) to find a nurse from the home care company interviewing mom for enrollment in hospice care. The nurse asked when the first diagnosis of mom's cancer was made. Early May of this year, it was. She marveled at how much had come upon us so fast. I still marvel at that same thing.

One day she couldn't swallow food. There had been months of treatment for acid reflux but nothing to indicate something more severe. So the doctor ordered an endoscopy, which turned out to be the test through which the cancer presented itself. In retrospect, I can see how the disease has been simmering for years. The concept of how the cancer "presents itself" came from an oncologist on the team that came to treat mom's miseries. The term "miseries" came from a different oncologist on that same team. It was a bright spot of humor in a pretty shadowy journey, when Dr. Greenfield looked at mom and said, "You've got yourself a case of the miseries!".

So the tumor became known through an image while it's nature as cancer was revealed in the biopsy that was done with tissue taken during the endoscopy. When I took mom back to her physician he quite somberly released her care to the oncological team. The appointment was two weeks away. Mom lost another ten pounds in that time, although she was still able to swallow liquid. I got her an organic powered full spectrum food mix but it didn't do much in the face of all the trauma and worries.

When we finally met with an oncologist he immediately arranged for her to go into a regional hospital in Santa Fe, where they did a CAT scan and implanted that food tube, peg tube, that I have come to know so well. It's a flexible plastic tube that goes through her abdominal wall and into her stomach. This allows us to pull a fast one on that nasty donut shaped tumor that now fully chokes her esophagus.

I was called down to Santa Fe on the third day of the hospital stay. The oncologist wanted to meet with me. I walked into her room at the hospital to find her looking very haggard and somewhat wild-eyed. The duty nurse came soon and informed me that mom was quite agitated. "Does she drink?!". Mom had given her fits the day before, when after swallowing some cherry jello mom celebrated the swallowing by slipping into the bathroom and lighting up an American Spirit non-filter cigarette. They obviously had butted heads over that transgression, and mom had taken to calling the nurse Nurse Rachett, as in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". "No", I told the nurse, with a chuckle, "It's been 20 years since she drank any alcohol".

But arrangements were made for me to bring her home the following day. The oncologist, in spite of the difficulty he had in relaying the prognosis, was impressive in his organizational assistence. So when I got to the hospital the next day there were six cases of canned liquid medical grade food - Fibersource - an IV stand, a state of the art digital enteral pump, plastic feed bags with the full paraphenalia attached, IV sponges, syringes, and tape. Included was an instruction manual for the whole system, highlighted in yellow where pertinent information was to be located.

I was fully dazzled by all of this!! Ninety miles from home, seeing my mother as near to death as I could ever have imagined, and me being plied with large amounts of information as to where we were to proceed from there. The oncologist had impressed me as well, with his somewhat cocky demeanor, and also with the telling of how his own father had succumbed to a similar situation - after 18 months of tube feeding. The cancer, said the doc, was not what killed him. It was inadequate nutrition. Fine! I loaded all the feeding supplies into my car then met mom at the hospital entrance where a fine young orderly had wheeled her out into the beautiful morning. "No smoking in the car", the young man said. Then with a wink he added, "At least not the legal stuff".

In addition to the sustainence IV they had also kept mom downed with morphine. So she was well into the borderlands of the Dreamtime as I drove her back north toward home. As we passed beyond San Juan Pueblo with their little casino, and on toward the place where the highway enters the Rio Grande Gorge, mom began to tell me about all the many dead birds she was seeing along side of the road. White birds, on their backs, with their black legs and feet pointing up towards the vast blue sky. I looked but saw no such things - it sounded like cartoon images to me. Chills scurried across my skin as I realized that dreamtime images were appearing to her. She was having a vision, and I felt it might mean that she was close to death. What I did not realize was that a brush with death is only a brush. Weeks later, after a day of testing at UNMH in Albuquerque, we again passed by that prairie place where mom had seen dead birds. Scattered across that field, entangled in the sage brush, were dozens of common white plastic grocery bags. The morphine dreams had allowed her to see these bags as dead birds.

I've no doubt that she was close to death that day. My fondness for the adventure of the Dreamtime notwithstanding, it was a vision that was to color my perception for weeks to come. I got her home that day, and a home care nurse showed up that evening. Together, we went over the instruction manual. That is how I learned to administer artificial food to mom. I've been camped out on her living room floor since then. Tomorrow she becomes enrolled in hospice care. The rigors and trauma of the multiple tests at UNMH turned her attitude around. She'd had enough of the modern medical showcase. Said she'd rather stay home and see what nature has in store. Her health is pretty good, considering.

Two months lapse in attention to this blog. No slacking either.

Something happened.

That makes me think of Mark Moscowitz, in the film "Stone Reader" talking about Joseph Heller's book Something Happened . I saw Mark's film but never read Heller's book. The film was one of those inspirations that defy description of the feelings it evoked in me. A writer with something to say, getting something new to write about. But that something new is so overwhelming that it leaves no time to write. That's what happened to me. I got busy with a situation that prohibited me from seeking distraction, or expression in this blog.

Mom hadn't been feeling well. It was nothing new. You get used to such things, and assume inevitability, encroaching old age, and easy things of that nature. But one day she found she could not swallow solid food. This was something new.

A trip to her personal physician set the wheel into motion. Endoscopy, discovery, biopsy, more discovery, referal to an oncologist. She had to wait two weeks to meet with the oncologist. In that time liquid food kept her going, but she lost at least ten pounds in the process. The meeting with the oncologist renewed the overwhelming motion.

Now - nearly two months later - she sits in her recliner, hooked up to an enteral food pump wich shuffles medical grade liguid food through a plastic tube, through her abdominal wall, and into her stomach, just below the shadowy distrubance that they like to call a tumor. They dress it up with fancy words like "neoplasm", "carcinoma", and such. I accompanied her through all of the tests at UNMH. The experience was fascinating, to say the least. World-class medicine practiced in a fancy place. But in simple terms they call it cancer.

She sits in that chair, writing on a notepad, while I sit at the computer desk. In her home. My apartment sits gathering dust. I've been sleeping here on the living room floor, while, each night, she sleeps in her recliner so that the liquid food doesn't backflow and choke her. I was the one whom fate called to take hold of the enteral pump, and the accompanying care in keeping her alive.

She's doing pretty good, considering the situation. Hospice care is pending approval. She got weary of the tests and the hospital. She wants to sit at home and let Nature do what it will.

I'd like to write about it, and the extenuating circustances that have made my life into something large, scary, and confusing. Maybe I will write about it as I go along. Maybe. I'd like that.

Mountain biking and stalking the god, Pan. Two of my favorite and most moving activities. I've not yet done the biking this Spring, but have had a dance or two with Pan. Browsing in some old stuff, I came across this piece (follows) from Spring of 2005. Last years snowmelt was spectacular. The amount of water coming down from the high country was literally awesome. This year the melt is small. So it was good to rekindle this memory of wetter times.

First bicycle ride of the year for this boy. I realized that I have been exploring Rio Chiquito Canyon for ten years now. For you newer folks - Rio Chiquito Canyon enfolds a National Forest(Carson) Service road: 437. I can leave my house and be within the canyon in 15-20 minutes. These are the Sangre de Cristo Mountains; the Southern Rockies; sacred land of the Tiwa people.

I'm always a little wary to take the ride. It's a hard climb. It hurts. But the beauty and magic of the place are a tremendous magnet for me. This past winter was the wettest in somewhere between 20-30 years; massive snowpack in the high country. As if cued by the huge solar flare last weekend, we had a rare May heatwave - around 90 degrees each day. This impacted the snowpack in a big way. Flash flood warnings. Last summer the forest was so lush, I could hardly imagine what it is like this year, with all the moisture - my curiosity overcame my "wimp-factor". So I rode: 21 speed mountain bike.

Right at the mouth of the canyon, there is a series of waterfalls, that break the flow of the Rio Chiquito, to moderate it before it is fed into the acequias; the 300 year old irrigation system. When I reached the first falls, I was astounded by the noise. There within the trees, the river was swollen at least 300% over last years healthy flow! The road and river dance along with each other through the whole canyon. The west side of the canyon is a VERY steep ridge that rises as high as 1100 feet in places. All along the first few miles, I marveled at the seriously serious rapids. There were never rapid in that dinky river! And the forest was lush beyond words.

One of my activities in the canyon is a spiritual quest: I stalk Pan. He was not hard to find today. The roar of the river, and the swift, bone-dry up-canyon wind, the dust devils. He was there in his full glory. On my first rest stop, I could feel him all around me; practically able to see the grand spirit. Awesome! My stamina was good as I climbed. Usually I take a long break, to wander around at Cottonwood Gate; a grove of cottonwoods that form a canopy over the river. But I was so stoked that I rode on by.

The road rises sharply, just past that place. I was looking forward to getting to the muskrat pond. Such a serene pond along the river where the muskrats live. As I approached that next place, I saw a critter emerge from the brush at the left of the road. It glided out into the road, and then stopped in it's tracks to look me square in the eyes. A fox! That was a first for me; and a years long goal. She was a red fox, of the silver and gray variety. Absolutely magnificent animal; especially the bushy black tail. I let out a mighty yawp after she re-entered the brush, from whence she came. Total ecstacy. 

About two miles further on, the road rise at a steep angle as it enters the alpine realm, at (you guessed it) Alpine Gate (these are not physical gates, rather energy points where the vibes shift considerably). Passing through this gate, over a little wooden bridge, I felt that familiar ripple when the altered consciousness kicks in. Fox is known for her ability to give one access to Faerie. She certainly did it for me. I felt the whole forest, alive and rich, with Pan dancing about in a quantum jig; myself, a tiny part of something huge and mysterious. And oooohh so happy.

My final resting place was at the Beaver Dams; a nice area that is kept parklike by the Feds - 8.5 miles up, and about 8500 feet (I live at 7000). I found a goodly cushioned patch of grass by the rushing river. A falcon greeted me as I sat down. He did all manner of loops and dives before disappearing. One odd phenomenon happened there. Two trucks passed by, on their way up-canyon. As they passed I waved at the guys, who were looking my way. They didn't see me. And as they passed, I noticed a bubble-like pocket of energy around them, that distorted the slopes behind them. They seemed to be moving is a slightly different world than I. That's when I realized that I was indeed within the borderlands of Faerie.

I stopped at Cottonwood Gate on the way down. The downhill is a rush! It's hard to describe. Fast, yes. Requiring acute, yet "fuzzy" attention to the features of the dirt road. Some of the drop offs, to the river below, are over 100 feet. A wrong turn can result in unwelcomed flight. While moseying about under the cottonwoods, I surveyed a copse of gamble oaks. The only massive growth of those trees within the canyon. 

As I prepared to make the final descent, I began to lift my ruby red helmet to my head. As it was directly in front of my face, I heard the familiar "police whistle" sound of a hummmingbird. The little ruby-throated fella flew right up to my helmet, which put him about 4 inches from my eyes. He looked at the red helmet, then turned to look at me, then back, then back again. Ya shoulda heard me giggle!! 

All in all, good Medicine. I am especially stoked about my introduction to Fox Medicine. Much to learn. Well worth the sunburn and sore muscles!

Blessed Be ~ Ken 

Below freezing just before dawn, on a morning in mid-May. Something refreshing about this. Something fulfilling in knowing that the mountain air still gives up the heat of an approaching Summer, giving it up freely and effectively, as night embraces this place. Venus shimmering, up over Talpa Ridge, to the east, in the slice of light that silvers the dark sky in bringing the day to come. Hinting coyly over the crest of the ridge: "Greet the day with reserved excitement, winking, and preparing for the dance of the day".

Deep concerns for a loved one feel like an anchor this morning. And that's okay. These concerns have been light as well, as able and enriching companions, over the past couple of days. The residue of sleep and dreams is not yet faded, so inspiration and sleepiness comingle in a virtual cauldron of hope, stirring me to allow both poetic and prosaic currents to swirl in the vessel of dreams becoming a day. Pretentious words, maybe? That too is okay. Sometimes grandeloquence provides the perfect massage to a heart that is in a state of uncertainty, due to it's night of rest and cleansing.

Rosie the Cat is at her dish, crunching kibble, feeding, and reminding that life is quiet though not pending. It is here, soft, sweet, and present. If anyone were here to tell me things about the "here and now", I am certain that I would be wagging my finger at them in allusion to Foghorn Leghorn admonishing the little chicken hawk. Life is edgy these days. A tad bigger of a "here and now" than I am accustomed too. As I said - it is okay.

So many different ways I could begin this. Did a brief search for related source material as inspirational footholds but ran up against a shifty wall of scholarship and erudition.

I climbed over that wall and kept on going.

Almost decided against posting a Beltane greeting, but the spirits pooshed ("pooshed" instead of "pushed" would be Grandmother Florence) me to further my search unto a post, where I could search among the words as they spilled out onto the page. Never mind, they say, what comes to feed; saying that with laughter.

Beltane, for me, is a time of honoring the ancestors and the part they play in furthering creation through the fertility at the beginning of Summer. They hover near and I watch Rosie the cat, who is reclining before my eyes, reacting to the energies that have gathered here tonight. Plain white candle burning at the altar, where Buddha, Yoda, Gandalf, Sylvester the Cat, and Wile E. Coyote stand for remembrence. There's an elf made of soap there as well. These aching arms convey these words through the keyboard, on into the temp file, and eventually into the hard drive of the cafe, where they will be displayed for you. Just for you. Each and every one of you to be treasured.

There have been bees at the choke cherry blossoms today. The neighbor lady came to ask if she and her husband could build a garden in my part of the yard, where the wood scrap pile is now. She says that the rest of the yard is full of old auto parts. Yup, that's the neighborhood alright. Some trucks 'round here been sitting where they sit since way back when the high power lines first came into town, back in '48. Back 'round Roswell time. They had spaceships before the power grid came. Odd sort of place I live in!

Tonight I celebrate emergent intellegence. Remembering and accessing, calling forth and giving forth. From the potentiality of dreamtime on into the immanant flowering that sits around me, enfolding me, and resonating inward, outward and swirling as I write.

Thinking also of the recent plagerism scandal, with the teenaged girl and the book packaging biz. She has my prayers, and has me also wondering at adolescent pride, and how it may be fueled by adament adults. Brings to me a feeling of honor in knowing - knowing that it's all good, but sometimes it can be tooooooo good. Like, ya know? I hope she knows to treasure herself regardless of what went down.

Magpie came again today. Always a pleasure. This has been a peaceful day to feel the aches and pains of letting loose and letting be and letting go. Grateful that I do not need to steal words. Even from myself. Always fresh, says Magpie. Some seen, some unseen, but always fresh. So sayeth Magpie.

Happy Beltane, y'all!

Blessed Be ~ Ken

A Familiar Presence ~ a refined version of this story appeared in Spirit of Change Magazine a while back. I've presented the original version here for it's raw immediacy, for the spontaneity of the writing.

Simply put - the cat came back. Garf died almost two months ago, at age 17. She was an old friend, and I was with her at her birth. A week ago Sunday, I was up during the night. The house was silent. While in the kitchen, without the light on, I smelled a familiar aroma. It stopped me in my tracks, leaving me forgetting what I was doing. I began to work my nostrils like a cat does, and the smell intensified. I followed it to determine if it was a physical manifestation, and found that the dispersal pattern was indeed physically correct. The aroma was that of Garf's breath. I felt her presense strongly. I knew that smell intimately from countless times I had rubbed noses with the cat. It was not just a cat smell, it was distinctly her respiration. In analyzing it, I instantly realized that if she had brushed up against my leg, or had meowed, my innate skepticism would have passed it off as imagination. But the aroma of her respiration was unmistakeable.

Garf was a familiar to me, in the magickal sense. So when I realized that she was visiting me in spirit, I wanted to see why she was there at that time. I walked into the living room, still in the dark, and asked her to allow me to see as she sees now, in her noncorporeal state. The request arose intuitively without decision on my part. Instantly, I felt huge.

The perspective of the room morphed in my vision until I felt myself as larger than the room. The room looked tiny, and I was still aware of my body's actual physical size. A feeling of awe enveloped me. I can honestly say that I felt more real than I usually do. All of the items in the room had a faint glow to them. But the most amazing thing was the feeling of gentleness I was experiencing. I felt that I was so large, and so powerful, that I had no need to be anything other than gentle! In gentleness, grace, and confidence, I had nothing to fear, there in the dark room.

Our fears live in the dark places in our lives. Cats are at home in the dark, because they have more rods in the retinas of their eyes than humans do. At my behest, Garf showed me how it feels to be powerful. This leads me to speculate on the archetypal significance of my spirit encouter. Garf's sense of smell carried her through when her blindness set in. She appealed to my sense of smell when she came to me that night.

Her blindness was a result of a degenerative heart condition. When we are not fully centered in the love that flows through our hearts we experience fear. And in fear we cannot see clearly. Garf showed me how much power is present when one rises above doubts, and then above fears. The darkness is still here, but gentleness opens the heart to a place that is larger than the fears. So the fears need not be banished nor extinguished. They can stay.

While she was still alive, toward the end of her life, Garf would often howl in the night. It was a soul-wrenching sound that I now know was a vocalization of the fear she had from her weak heart and blind eyes. But beyond that howling, she was as gentle and as peaceful as could be. I know now that she chose the love instead of the fear; and that she only howled to let the fear out, and to keep it from consuming her.

These are lessons that I learned from the spirit of a beautiful being.

Seeing with Chickadee - from 11/3/02

I walked today. Going up into the mountain wilderness is something I have adored doing for a long time now. But I recently came upon the Celtic idea of hillwalking. From the description of the practice, I realized that I have been doing it all along, but I had been unaware of the power that such a focus can bring forth. So today I walked in the same old way, yet added a new awareness.

The trail head of the Rio Grande de Ranchos Trail is less than a five minute drive from the house, south along NM State Highway 518. The maintained part of the trail is short; maybe a quarter mile, where it joins a forest service road. I crossed that road and headed up toward the ridge. I stopped after a brief while to "loosen the soul", as Frank MacEowen calls it. To the Celts, the soul surrounds the body; and it contracts from the toxins and stresses of daily life. Closed eyes and a few deep breaths expands it to open to the mirroring qualities of nature. In doing this I found that I had no expectations other than encountering chickadees on the ridge.

The climb was strenuous and heart-pounding. But I found a difference this time; perhaps due to my new focus. I did not have the urge to rest. Although there is no trail on those slopes, the trail seemed to arise from the earth, much in the same way that Junah saw the path of his golf light up before him when he "found the field" (The Legend of Bagger Vance). I followed that trail, with all of its twists and switchbacks. But soon I stopped when I found myself surrounded by chickadees.

None came near, but I was delighted to see them and hear them. As soon as I resumed climbing I came upon prints in the moist soil ~ cougars. Walking on, I found that the cougar tracks were all along, although I was not literally "tracking" the cat.

Reaching the crest of the ridge I was winded and my heart was racing. The mucky smell of cigarette smoke in my throat and sinuses had gone to a metallic taste. The air was sweet and moist, as these ridges have been shrouded in fog for most of the last three days. I climbed a ways more until I found a gathering of stones to sit on. Here was a view of Taos Mountain to the north, and of the dramatic peaks in the Pecos Wilderness far to the south. I sat in this place for quite some time. The sky was a hazy gray from high, thick clouds. The clouds buffered the sun enough to view it directly. But the chill was increasing so I headed back down, along a different path. I steeled myself to the "fact" that the trip would be uneventful.

Going down was a whole different story. The trail still lit up for me as I descended, but I soon found myself running; at a rather uncomfortable pace. But I allowed the fear to withdraw; finding that my feet knew where to fall. The slope was loose, with much shale and small rocks; with plenty of cactus spines as well. Scanning with my eyes in soft focus, I spied something brilliant white to my right. It was atop a huge cluster of boulders, across a small ravine. I headed toward it.

The caprock of that cluster was covered in salty white dried guano. Some large birds used that place to rest. But not just to rest. The view of the canyon from there is spectacular! I sat there next to the guano patch for a long while; scanning yonder ridge and the watershed canyon before me. I stood for a bit and tried to aquire an eagle's gaze; finding that to be easy to do. But when I sat back down and looked at the guano patch I felt the image of a raven perched there. Just then I noticed a raven soaring over the ridge on the other side of Highway 518. It was just to the left of the sun, but I watched it anyway, in spite of the glare. When I returned my gaze to my side of the highway I found that the forest before me was crystal clear. It was as if each individual pine needle connected with my eyes; the rocks, the cactus spines. It was all vivid and pulsing with energy.

When the astounding nature of my visual clarity struck my rational mind I suddenly heard a chirp nearby. I whipped my head around to see a lone chickadee about 20 yards away. I watched as it hopped from branch to branch, toward me. But as it got very close I turned and looked down the canyon toward the Pecos Range. Out of my right eye, with my peripheral vision, I saw Chickadee appear, so I slowly turned to look. I had gained his trust. He sat not three feet from my face! All ruffled against the cold, he chirped away as he looked straight at me.

Chickadee arrived just when my rational mind noticed the enhanced nature of my vision. The clarity and brilliance had been resonating with my heart. But when my brain caught wind of it, Chickadee appeared. Chickadee represents truth; and the uncovering of the mysteries of the mind. I read that in a book, but today Chickadee demonstrated it fully, in realtime, real life, and in a level of perception that I can only call magical.

I love reading Christian de Quincey when he writes of panpsychicism. But I love it more when Nature shows me just what that means.