Sandia Crest, July 29, 2012

Pink English Wallflower and Red Columbine
nestled under Pinyon Pine

Aster full face in the afternoon sun

The view from 10,686'

Albuquerque seen from Sandia Crest

In the afternoon of Sunday, July 29th, we made our way up the winding road that leads into the Cibola National Forest, the ski basin, and ultimately to the crest of the Sandias. I watched the reading for the outside thermometer on my 4Runner begin to drop. When we left the heart of Albuquerque (just shy of 5000'), it was 88 degrees. By the time we reached the road that leads to the top, the temperature had dropped to 82. Hungry for a taste of mountain air, I still waited until the thermometer read 73 degrees before lowering the windows. 77, 75, 73...it was time. When we reached Sandia Crest, the reading was 66 degrees. So it was no surprise to see the facts on the information board on the trail, that reads, "Five thousand feet below and about 20 degrees warmer is the city of Albuquerque...situated in the Rio Grande Basin." In spite of the crowd of other visitors, it was a delight. I drew in the view and the air, which my words can't capture, and remembered why I want to be here.

The journey continues...

First came the chair.

The Giant Swallowtail Butterfly

In my Texas garden

Life flourishes

Even in my absence.

“We are the ones we have been waiting for,” from Poem for South African Women, June Jordan (1936-2002)

Driving back to my house from running errands last Friday morning, I noticed a sign for a garage sale, pointing south. Heading that direction anyway, I continued and became distracted by signs for additional sales. None of it was particularly interesting, but finally, I made my way to the sale whose sign had started me on this potential treasure hunt. Again, a lifeless-looking lot of stuff. There was a convenient curbside space partially in the shade, and so I stopped. Nothing going on here except for a transaction that involved a couple of hundred dollars for a pair of nondescript but apparently solid oak new bookshelves.

The storied pony among the castoffs lay as part of a stack of two or three books on a table. I couldn’t get to them, however, because the young man hosting the garage sale continued a conversation with the woman putting down a $100 deposit on the shelves. Seeing no break to their conversation, I pardoned myself, interrupting, “Is that Alice Walker book for sale?” “Yes, it’s $3.” I was intrigued by the title, “We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For”. It resonated for me. Ms. Walker’s essays, most of which are talks/addresses, are suggested in this collected form to be used as meditations. I say yes to that, and as I make my way through the collection, I’m saying thank you— thank you to Alice Walker, to June Jordan from whose poem Ms. Walker has taken her title, and to the young man who was holding the yard sale, thereby passing along the gift of thought put onto paper.

In the world of plants and gardens, there is a term, passalong plants. It’s a custom rooted in southern culture, I think. Gardeners share cuttings and newly-potted specimens, a friendly, even loving gesture. What greater gift than one that is living and growing, one which hopefully flourishes, blooms and bears fruit. So then it is equally affirming to share, to borrow, to propagate, words that sustain us, and that indeed cause us to grow. My mind and heart give their own meaning to the notion that we are the ones we have been waiting for. In the best sense of things, that meaning cannot be so different than it is for someone else. John Donne (1572-1631) had another way of saying something similar: “...and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” (from Meditation XVII). We are the ones we have been waiting for.

O Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise. Psalm 51:15

If you have been there, you know. Following the road to Christ in the Desert Monastery, Abiquiu New Mexico