The Blood of Christ

Sangre De Cristos Mountains, New Mexico. October 30, 2021.

One of the most memorable days of my life.

Can you smell the sage brush?

#NM

_______________

I spent the night at a gorge of the Rio Grande just outside of Taos, New Mexico. The sights, the smells, "the feels" ... all are indescribable. The day in town was magical - full of new plants, people, and ground to cover, to connect with.

At sundown I found myself near the hot spring I was headed to. A friend of mine in another state that had recommended me to go and a kind, local woman helped me get there. As I made my way closer to my destination, the closer I was to the gift that awaited me against the sky and the sage brush.

As I closed distance between myself and the spring, I knew pulling over on the one-lane, gravel road that declined into the ravine was my impetus. The sunset igniting the bulging, rocky mounds blew away any thought that couldn't match the grandeur of that very moment. I was destined to visit this place, at that very moment, and was lit up and burning just like the Sangre De Cristos.

I shared purpose with those mountains. I found it right there, engraving itself in my consciousness; my heart; my soul.

Allowing these priceless moments of heaven on earth, I finally arrived at the entrance of the spring. I noticed, though, the trek to the hot soak was farther than I was willing to navigate with the day coming to its end. With no definitive plans of where I'd be sleeping, to refuel for the long day and journey ahead, I knew it'd be ideal to find somewhere close by.

The temperature was descending through the 30's as quickly as the light was escaping from the feet of the cliffs surrounding me. I figured: a town I'd never been to, in the middle of the desert living my best globetrotting life, I decided to take things up a notch and stay and camp for the night. I inconspicuously (conspicuously) parked my spaceship (car) along the gravel road about 10 yards from my chosen plot, grabbed my sack of essentials, and started toward my home for the evening.

I propped up my 6+ person tent (thanks mom) just before sundown, faster than I'd ever put it together with a team of people, motivated by the thought that there may have been a feline prowling about, with better night vision than me... 😅 I did all of this without a flashlight, knowing it would hinder whatever natural ability I had to see in the darkness.

Let's just say adventure was in full effect.

The spot I chose wasn't necessarily a camp site, but I claimed it as such for that night. I was under a tree in the flattest section of land I could find about 15 feet from the riverbed; being one month or so outside of the wet season made this possible, otherwise my tent would most likely have been a sunken (space)ship. Plus, I figured I'd rest easy with moving water nearby, regardless of the lioness I imagined, and if she wanted to eat me or not.

In my tent, inside my cozy sleeping bag (thanks dad), through the ceiling screen I could see the stars shine like diamonds of pure essence, blasting through a blanket of chill and silence. In my sack of essentials was a sharp pocket blade, a flashlight, and my pen & notebook. A friend of mine at the time had reminded me earlier that day in a phone call to "keep journaling" and that's what I did. In there, in the dark, I wrote.

I wrote as my heart with each beat could've pounded out of my chest. I wrote about "saving my eyeballs" by not using a flashlight. I wrote and wrote, and wondered "for how long I could write to the sound of the river mixed with the sound of my thoughts," "how they seemed to blend well" paired with the added effect of "sight deprivation..."

Even in the dark the pen and paper seemed to electrify my hands.

I wrote about what obligations I had coming up, obligations that had passed, and wrote about the items I'd purchased that day to detox from previous toxic entanglements, how I felt about them, and why.

I wrote about aspen trees and frigid autumn water (that I am currently using to paint with). I wrote and humbled myself when I jotted, "I really had no fucking clue how underwhelmed I'd been by mere images of NM & Arizona. Really, no photo does these two states justice. And what the [...] are "states", anyhow?"

I wrote, "His beautiful land has something unique and magnificent to offer everywhere we go."

I wrote about my friend that taught me about the "puget sound," how he insisted I visit this place, and his dream he had the night before:

"He dreamt I was on a tricycle in the desert. His only interpretation was when we are like children at heart, we enter the gates to heaven.

I added more about the stars and their inhabitants, my view of the ridges of the canyon, and how miraculous a happening to have found myself amidst such beauty. I slept for 3 hours that night, waking to the same bounding sound I fell asleep to: the unforgiving, relentless rush of constancy that flows along the path of least resistance back home.

Forever I am grateful for those pages, the moment I captured of those bleeding peaks, and the timeless wander of my heart, feet, and pens to paper.