Jim McGillis

With contemporary automobiles being the capable performers that they are, it is interesting to remember how car-crazy Southern California was in the 1960s. Any kid, if he had the money, was “building a car” or doing whatever he could to modify his car to make it go faster.

On Friday nights in Burbank, reliable rumors said that there would be street racing at Forest Lawn Drive, in Los Angeles. That impromptu racecourse, also known as “The River Road”, paralleled the path of the LA River. Launching from a hastily painted starting line, two cars could race side-by-side for a full quarter mile, where a second painted stripe marked the finish line. There, racers had to shut down and “clamp on the binders”. Those with slow reactions or faulty brakes risked missing a sharp right-hander.

On one visit, my friends and I saw evidence that someone had missed the turn. Leaving the road, that automobile had blown through the quaint wooden guardrail, and then sailed airborne to the brink of the LA River channel. Across the road from that shambles of a wreck, was the grand entrance to Forest Lawn Memorial Park. None of us was sure if the driver of that car made it out alive or became a permanent resident at Forest Lawn.

At the time, the River Road was an isolated, rural location, yet it lay only minutes from the city. It took a while for the LAPD to discover that The Road had become an impromptu street-racing venue. Until then, a Friday night visit guaranteed seeing some racing action. At one point, a budding electronic genius set up portable “Christmas tree” timing-lights, similar to the ones found at sanctioned drag strips.

Although the rumors of such occurrences ran wild, I never saw one of the fabled “Races for Pinks”. To this day, California prints its vehicle title document on pink paper. The common name for such a document is a “Pink Slip”.

Prior to such a race, the fastest and most confident street racers would place their vehicles into an informal escrow. With their signed “Pink Slips” held by a neutral person, the winner of the race would return to the starting line and take title to the loser’s car. In the 1960s, whenever we arrived at a stoplight next to a friend, the byword of the day was, “Hey, do you want to race you for pinks?”

Periodically, drought visits California and the West. In 1966, there was a drought so pervasive that wild grasses in the area did not sprout at all. Presaging our knowledge of climate change, blowing dust and dirt were the order of the day.

One Friday evening, a group of friends and I caravanned from Burbank to Hollywood. There, as underage youth, we could buy cigars without showing identification. The Crooks brand, with their, “Rum Soaked, Dipped in Wine” motto were our favorites. With alcohol-soaked tobacco, we pretended that we were drinking and smoking at the same time. Only our lack of access to alcohol kept us sober. That night, I rode “shotgun” in my friend Phil’s Volkswagen Bug, which he called his “V-Dub”.

The only separation from opposing traffic on Barham Blvd. consisted of a double white line. On the downhill ride toward Burbank, the slope ended at an intersection with Forest Lawn Drive, better known to us as The River Road. On our return trip from Hollywood, the road rose over a hill, and then descended, while arcing slowly to the left for about a quarter mile. As Phil held his steering wheel to the left, the camber of the roadway sloped gently to the right.

In high school, we had learned some basic laws of chemistry and physics. For instance, “Oil and water do not mix”, “An object in motion tends to stay in motion” and “The heavy end of any object will try to lead the parade”. Pushing in the cigarette lighter at the top of the hill, all of those laws went unheeded by Phil that night.

As we crested Barham Blvd., a slight drizzle began to fall. While waiting for the cigarette lighter to pop out, Phil reached down to tune in the AM radio and activate the windshield wipers. With our friend’s car ahead of us, Phil wanted good music and good visibility for his overtaking maneuver. In his exuberance to overtake, and in steadfast belief of his own immortality, Phil accelerated throughout the long downhill curve. Soon enough, all of the aforementioned laws of chemistry and physics went into play.

After months of dry weather, oil on the roadway glistened colorfully in the headlights of oncoming vehicles. The emulsion of oil and water on the roadway provided friction similar to a sheet of ice. As the tires lost their grip on the road, the V-Dub started to slide toward the outer edge of the curve. Phil over-corrected our slide, thus swinging our V-Dub to the left. With myriad sparkles glinting off the wet surface of the road, I found myself looking straight into the headlights of an oncoming car.

With its rear-engine design, the V-Dub tried to swap ends and thus lead with its engine-heavy tail. In a vain attempt to slow down, Phil slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. As we swung once again towards oncoming traffic, I saw my Maker. Who would have believed that God drove a 1958 Cadillac Series 62 Sedan?

With unwavering speed, the heavy Caddy struck our little Bug, making contact aft of our driver-side door. Mercifully, the impact sent us back to our own side of the road. According to one witness, we spun around three times as we descended the hill. Facing uphill, windshield wipers still thumping, we stopped just short of the intersection with Forest Lawn Drive. Less than half mile from our final resting place that night, laid the largest cemetery in Los Angeles.

Staring straight ahead, with both hand clutching the steering wheel, Phil sat in shock. A telltale splatter of blood on the windshield told me that the impact had caused his nose to hit the steering wheel. Still gripping the grab-handle on the passenger-side of the dashboard, I exclaimed, “Phil, we f&#ked your whole car.” When I received nothing more than a blank stare from Phil, I got out and helped divert traffic around Phil and his badly broken V-Dub.

The whole event took less than a minute. Although my life did not flash before my eyes, as events unfolded, I knew that my life might end at any moment. That I survived uninjured gave me a startling clarity that only such near-death experiences seem to bring. I was seventeen years old and blessed to be alive. That I knew.

Excerpted from the book, WindSong.

Then, bringing its own cloud of dust, a Blue Thunderbird convertible roared out of nowhere, passed them by and was gone as quick as it came. Simultaneously, both of their wooden chairs tipped forward, clunking back to their four-legged positions. As the T-Bird passed, something, or someone flew out of the back seat, did a triple back flip and landed at their feet.

Silver Girl, before rescue by
Thelma & Lousie

As their eyes widened, the gold dust cleared enough for them both to see a form standing in front of them. To their amazement, it was a gorgeous, chrome-shiny girl. As the gold dust dissipated and settled around her, she ended her tumbling run on her feet. Her brown eyes flashed at Moabbey and Coney. Brushing brown curls away from her face, the girl focused all of her energy, and then asked, "Where am I?"

Realizing that they were talking to a woman, the pair rose to full attention. "Moab Ranch", Moabbey blurted out. "But, who are you?"

With a shy smile and a tear in one eye, she tilted her head to one side, and then looked up to say, "I am Silver Girl. I was a captive on a mean, ugly trucker's mud flaps for years. Then, two women ended my slavery by blowing up his rig. When it exploded, I flew off the truck and into the back seat of their T-Bird. Then, it was off to the races. Cops were chasing the women, calling their names with bullhorns. 'Thelma, Louse, stop or we'll shoot to kill'. Since they appeared to be goners, I jumped out, landing here in your pile of golden dust."

The Ugly Trucker's rig explodes.

Coney blurted to Moabbey, "This is just like in my dream. I haven't had a girl friend in years; then along comes this long-haired beauty, almost landing in my lap."

"Wait a minute. I didn't ask for a relationship with a cone-head like you, let alone a coyote who wears a bandana. Don't go getting any ideas, alright?"

Moabbey then stepped forward. Completing a sweeping bow, he said, "Please pardon my friend Coney's obtuseness. He has been standing out on Potash Road for so many years that he sometimes forgets his manners. Still, it is several leagues to town and if you would like to stay here at the ranch tonight, you are welcome to use the owner's suite.

"The Other is going to be sore at you for giving away his room," Coney muttered under his breath. By then, Moabbey was already escorting Silver Girl through the big front door of the ranch house. 

Once inside, the door shut against Coney's big ears and even bigger mouth. With an inquisitive look on his face, Moabbey asked, "How long were you held captive on the mud flap of that gasoline truck?"

Approaching the door to the owner's suite, Silver Girl stopped, and then turned back towards Moabbey. The silhouette of her ample figure reflected lamplight into Moabbey's eyes. After a long pause, she said, "It was nineteen years, to the day, when Thelma & Louise exacted revenge on my jailer. I wanted to thank them for saving me, but they were too busy evading the law."

"Why did you jump out here?" asked Moabbey.

Silver Girl jumps as Thelma & Louise
blow past Moab Ranch.

"I don't rightly know", said Silver Girl. "As we approached the ranch, something called for me to jump. I heard a voice in my head say, 'Don't worry; jump. You will be alright'. I took a leap of faith; and look at me now, about to bathe in a hot water, and then sleep in a bedroom fit for both a king and a queen. It may take a while, but things do work out, in the end".

"Some girls have all the luck", Moabbey said, closing the bedroom door behind her. Smiling to himself and scratchin his chin whiskers, Moabbey turned to walk away.

Back on the porch, Coney was ringing his hands and saying, "I blew it. I always blow it around beautiful women. Why can't I get it right?"

"You will", said Moabbey. "When the time is right and the relationship is right for each, you will know exactly what to say. Don't worry about it. There is always another day and there will always be another beautiful girl waiting to hear what you have to say. Only next time, say it to her, not to me."

"You got that right", said Coney, shaking his head from side to side. "Maybe I can start over with Silver Girl tomorrow, at breakfast."

Moabbey smiled his sly coyote smile, raised both eyebrows and then said, "It is your turn to cook, so plan on getting up early, before she awakens. If there is anything that our long-lost girl desires, it will include a ranch breakfast to celebrate her freedom", said Moabbey, turning towards his bunk for the night.

Smiling to himself, Coney said, "Bacon, eggs and hash browns; that is the way to a girl's heart. That, plus the aroma of fresh-ground Moab Java coffee wafting through the early morning air will have her in my arms before Noon. I just know it."

To be continued (at breakfast)

We wrote these words on September 18, 2008, the first anniversary of the Quantum Leap.

If your current situation serves you not, plan to let it go. If your vibrational frequency is in a realm where we can reach you:

• Stop.
• Take a deep breath.
• Place your fingertips together, over your head, as if praying.
• Close your eyes.
• Now, let it All go.

All is well. You are loved. You are not alone. Someone else will save the world.

The economy is a fantasy. Supposed experts made up the rules and the laws, even adding some anti-laws, which they called "deregulation". For a while, it all seemed like harmless fun. In the end, over-exuberant financial entities shall lose both their money and their power over others. In the past, the Fat Cats have raked their percentage off the top. They ignored personal effects on their buyers or borrowers. After serving themselves, they found insufficient resources available for the rest of us. For as long as there has been a formal economy, "Stick it to the little guy", has been the old-energy rallying cry.  

None of that works in a new energy world. Our Karma now calls upon us in this life. These educational visits are of rectitude, not punishment. Our lesson is that those who try to profit unfairly over their fellow humans shall reap a whirlwind of their own making. It shall manifest within them as an uncontrollable fear. From the outside, such individuals may look as if they are OK. For example, at the congressional departure hearings of one mortgage executive, his demeanor seemed to say, "So long, suckers. I got mine and I'm keeping it." Did the $100 million buyout from his former company make him feel more or less secure?

Mountains Near Taos, New Mexico

A problem for such individuals is that their deeds may carry more negative karma than they can bear. They do not sleep well at night. They live in fear of retroactive indictment, or that one of the millions of homeowners they defrauded might come to their house and shoot them. As the Eagles so aptly sang in their song, Hotel California, they are "prisoners of their own device". 

The only way to comprehend these issues is to observe from a broader perspective. Place your consciousness up in one corner of your room, then ask it to notify you if something makes you feel uncomfortable. If any subject creates discomfort, consciously zoom out far enough (ex., near-Earth realm) in order to look unemotionally at the situation. If you still feel concerned, go intergalactic with your consciousness. From there, you will see how important (or unimportant) any particular issue may be.

We learned the above technique from Abraham. If your thinking sets up a negative vibration, zoom out until you have perspective. By the way, you must be sufficiently in touch with your feelings to detect subjects that are negative to your best interests. Remember your own divinity. Remember that you came here to love, laugh and enjoy yourself. 

How and why did so many of us allow ourselves to become "action players", rather than teachers and examples for others? I am not suggesting that we must disconnect from reality. I am suggesting that we disconnect ourselves from specific, presupposed outcomes. Investment in specific outcomes will lead to future disappointment. Feelings of disappointment indicate that we may be in a negative energy-state. If dwelled upon, such feelings often lead to a new round of expectations and disappointments.

Any who bind themselves to the drama of a predetermined outcome shall lose their objectivity. As Tobias says, "Stand behind the short wall and observe. Do not get caught up in the drama, regardless of how attractive it may seem." It will not help to become embroiled in drama or desired outcomes. In the end, everything will take care of itself. Only we break the cycle of specific expectations, will we be free. 

Words do not teach. Trying to convert anyone to anything does not work. Resist the temptation to put negative energy out to anyone. With love, care and time, the Other may see that we are all where we are supposed to be and we are all doing what we are supposed to be doing. If that is so, feelings of fear and depression will vanish like the wind.

Release your expectations and investment in narrow outcomes, as that precludes even better possibilities from materializing. Expect beauty, love, hope and passion and those things will come to you. As the law of attraction governs all, your personal outcomes will follow your feelings and thoughts.

The Quantum Leap Celebration was on September 17, 2007, at midnight Taos, New Mexico time. We did not stay in the auditorium that night, going out to dinner with friends instead. Our small celebration was not derogatory to the Quantum Leap. Tobias said that the day would feel like any other day, which was true for us.

Quantum Leap Rainbow
Taos, New Mexico

One year later, it was obvious that things were changing fast, with old energy players getting bailed out on Wall Street and our country marked with corporate socialism. Through our government, we now own the two largest corporations in the world (Fannie May and Freddie Mac; plus AIG, Bear Stearns, Lehman Bros. and the list goes on).

After twenty-eight chaotic and violent years, on September 18, 2008 Robert Mugabe supposedly gave up power in Zimbabwe. Near the core of Black Africa, Zimbabwe's shift to hope and change, although not guaranteed, had at least begun. The new president will not prosecute Mugabe. We feel that Mugabe's new role is to reflect on what he has done and to change his energy in this life.

Here in America, we have our own shadows to deal with. The winds and tides of change are now a powerful force in the world. There are no guarantees, but the tide is now turning. If you need further proof, observe images of former beachfront property along the Texas Gulf Coast. There is a purging of old energies, so we must learn accept the discomforts as part of that process. 

All of our human plans are good, so long as we do not exhaust ourselves in the process of attainment. With patience and persistence, our message will reach the audience that seeks it. Events may seem like they are taking a long time to unfold, but in "spirit time", all of this takes place in less than a snap of the fingers.  

With this huge energy change across the land, no one knows if fear or hope will win the day. Even if fear does win, we can still have hope, as hope is not dependent on any particular outcome.

Today is the 2008 anniversary of the Quantum Leap. To review our blog entries from the Quantum Leap and to learn more, see the following articles:

• The Quantum Leap, New Mexico

• Hasta la Vista, Taos, New Mexico

• A Week of Months, A Year of Days.

In Love, light & Life,

AAJMichael

Your body speaks to you, saying, "Slow down a bit... Enjoy life evermore"...

Many of us now choose to conduct the majority of our work in a cyber-plane. Since effort exists only in the physical realm, blending physical and non-physical realities here on Earth allows us to employ less physical effort, and still get our work done. In theory, that leaves more time, energy and love to apply to the most important person in our life.

Enlightened humans may now blur the line between physical and non-physical, as well as between work and play. No longer must we view our lives in terms of leisure time and work time. On any given day, we may allow our self to pursue leisure as if it were our job. When relaxing is our focus, we allow greater creativity into our lives.

As our consciousness accepts that creativity is free and enjoyable, we find our self tightly bunching our old work activities, so that we can enjoy longer periods of meditation, relaxation, exercise and personal care. Old energy, as exemplified by the ego, tells us that we are not working hard enough. Through a mechanism called "internal guilt", we might force our self to spread our work evenly throughout the day. The ego is then happy, because it has control. In such a state, we might not be miserable, but neither are we then in control of our own destiny.

A sigh is not the same thing as a deep breath. A sigh comes from a heavy heart, meaning that the heart has acquiesced to the needs of the ego. Since the ego's job is to thwart spiritual enlightenment, its non-physical grip on us slows the physical pumping of our heart. A deep breath has the effect of expanding and contracting the heart, and as it flexes, it oxygenates our bloodstream. With more oxygen flowing to our brain, consciousness returns, spurring creative thoughts within us. Sublime consciousness is that which the enlightened seek.

Many people or institutions will offer you rules, conventionalities and the expectation that you should believe as they do. Taken to its extreme, that is how one forms a religion. With a direct appeal to your inner child, they say, "Come, my child and follow me". If your inner child is lost, lonely or neglected, such a pitch may create temptation. The temptation is to surrender to the power of another. The surrender that is of value is the surrender to self, and therefore to All that Is.

Why would anyone consciously give away his or her personal power? That is a trick question. If "conscious", the individual would never give away his or her personal power to another human being. Therefore, it is a misplaced attempt on the part of the inner child to surrender to a higher power, which is the inner child's built-in predilection. If stifled during one's early years of life, the inner child may fail to recognize or believe in his or her own inner guidance. Like the lost duckling that imprints on the family dog, the wounded inner child reaches out to unlikely places for solace and surrender.

It is time to invite the inner child to play

Your inner child awaits your call. When you first seek to connect, the inner child may seem to be an ephemeral being, or maybe not be real at all. Since both the "you" that you know and the inner child represents different aspects of the same consciousness, it will not help to denigrate or belittle the inner child. Only love will bring him or her out to play. Discovering self-love requires some adjustments. The first thing we need is time. By that, we mean that we need time to be by our self. Since our non-physical friends can tag along, we are not alone.

After you complete some important or worldly task, transport your physical body to the outdoors, ideally in nature, but at least somewhere relatively quiet. "But, I don't have time", you say. We know that you have responsibilities and that you are striving for success, but as soon as you release all of that, events will begin to unfold in a most exquisite manner. Many eventualities will surprise you, as things will happen in ways that you never before imagined.

Early on, we wrote an "In Res Media" chapter about Archangel Michael. Each time we lovingly connect with another archangel, nonphysical entity, spirit or being, we invite their collective consciousness to manifest within us. Some would call this gathering of tribes within us blasphemy; others might say it is audacious, egotistical or power-hungry.

Thus far, our results include longer and stronger bouts of happiness, and greater connectedness to All that Is. If we are not thrilled with life, we can usually figure out why and adjust our asking toward that which we desire. Once we find our self in such a state, there is only one more activity required. Consciously, we must ask aloud, for what we want. That allows our self to bypass our ego and state our desires directly to the universe. If we do not ask aloud, the non-physical realms have no way of conducting our desires to the universal plane. The universe may know our intention, but will not act upon it until we ask.

After reading a biography of Mark Twain (Samuel Clemmons), we realized that both he and we love to make up our story as we go along. Plausibility, rather than factuality seems to be the key. Not ironically, many of the things we have fabricated about the cosmos soon prove to be true. We know that such unexpected events are hallmark characteristics of new energy - that new energy never manifests the same way twice.

Now, we are on a great cosmic Easter egg hunt, looking under rocks and to the sky for new energy. The good news is that now, when we seek it, new energy is available. All we need do is calm down, take a few deep breaths and allow that energy into our lives. Whether it is solar, interstellar or from the plane of existence that we call the God Plane, we welcome the exchange of loving energy with our heart and soul.

Email Jim McGillis

At Moab Ranch, the party line rang seven times before the Other lifted the earpiece from the hook and answered with a growl, "Yes?"

"OK", the Other whispered harshly, "I'll be there". Before returning the earpiece to its hook, the Other paused and listened. Soon, an audible pop on the line indicated that a silent listener on the party line had just hung up.

Using the Moab Ranch Energy Bridge, the Other materialized on a deserted road, far from town. By the slant of the moon and the height of the canyon walls downstream, the Other estimated that he was half-mile beyond the end of Potash Road, near the Colorado River. Back towards Potash, and up towards the Shafer Trail, only sagebrush and tamarisk stirred in the wind.

Standing twenty yards away, where a social road had once connected to the river, was an orange traffic cone. Judging by its mud-sprayed look, it had been standing at that ersatz intersection for a long time. Because of its location, at an intersection where no one ever turned, the cone looked out of place. "OK, fess up", grunted the Other to the cone. "What gives?"

"Boohoo", said the cone in fright. "What do you want of me? I've been standing here for years, hoping that everyone would just leave me alone. Please, let me live in peace."

"No way, Coney", said the Other. "We got a call about a problem with a coyote out here".

"Yip, yip, Kaua'i", issued an involuntary voice from the nearby brush. Then, as the full moon scudded behind some well-placed clouds, silence returned to the canyon. After a minute or two, a small voice, emanating from nowhere, said, "Hey, ney-tey wa-na".

"Kokopelli, is that you?" hissed the Other?

"Of course", said the disembodied voice of Kokopelli. "We share a party line, you know." Did Kokopelli's statement explain the mysterious click on the ranch telephone, earlier that night?

"Alright", said the Other. "Here we have a traffic cone that spends his life avoiding traffic and our local Ancient Spirit tapping our telephone line. Now we have an unseen animal in the bushes that yips and yaps about Kaua'i. We want to know what's going on around here, and we want to know now."

After almost a minute of silence, Moabbey, the small gray coyote, could no longer take the pressure. Stepping up to the side of the road, he said, "Honest, sir, I wasn't trying to make any trouble. One minute, I was living on the Garden Island of Kaua'i. The next minute I found myself here in the dry brush, a place I vowed never to visit again."

With his tall, dark shadow surveying the scene from above, the Other put his hands on his hips and said, "For whatever reason, we each got the call." The ensuing silence was deafening. Finally, the Other broke the silence and said, "Even if Kokopelli was eavesdropping, he's now in on this, as well". At that, Kokopelli briefly displayed a multicolored blush, and then faded back into the darkness.

Kokopelli - Displaying his multicolored blush.

Standing cone-still, not moving his lips, Coney said, "I did not request a call and I did not receive a call. I was playing it safe out here in the middle of nowhere, and then you all showed up, disturbing my peace."

"Too late Coney", said the Other. "You're not getting off so easy this time. If I remember correctly, Law of Attraction still works. Were you hoping that no one would ever notice you standing there?"

"Well, yes, of course", said Coney. "What does that have to do with you interrupting my peace and telling me something about a 'calling'?"

Smiling in the shadows, the Other asked, "So, you thought that if you asked for 'no visitors' that the universe would hear the word 'no', rather than the word 'visitors'. This is an inclusion-based universe, and attraction rules the realm. As a modifier, negation does not work. 'Asking for' is operative. 'Asking for not' is not."

"Oh, Ohhh", Moabbey and Coney said together. Then, in his high-pitched, staccato voice, Moabbey chattered, "You mean that Law of Attraction brought us together and we cannot leave until we understand the message of tonight's calling?"

After the Other departed, Kokopelli materialized near Coney. Moabbey padded out of the brush to stand with the other two. Looking puzzled, Moabbey asked, "What's next?"

Coney, playing the stoic, neither moved nor spoke. At last, Kokopelli spoke. "Go not in fear, for adventures more fantastic than you can imagine await you beyond. If you live lives inspired by love of Nature, your story will always be true."

Before Kokopelli's voice had died against the canyon walls, Moabbey lit-out toward the river and vanished, leaving the spirit and the cone standing in the darkness.

With a quizzical look on his now dark face, Kokopelli turned to Coney, asking, "What happent?" To find out what happent to Moabbey and friends, tune in again soon to this, the "Other Channel".

As I knelt on the grass in our backyard this morning, glorious rays of sunlight touched my face and body. As energy streamed down from on high, I thanked my lucky stars that I now share my life with you. After offering all my love to All that Is, I asked for All that Is love in return. If you desire something, ask for it, they say. I offered my love, asked for love, and I received love in kind.

Years ago, I cried each morning. Then, the grown-up inside me stepped forward and put a stop to that. On occasion, I reconnect to long forgotten subjects or feelings. When the subject and feelings combine, creating poignancy in my heart, a new point of consciousness opens on my path of life. When those feelings become us, we then shall live out our dreams. Despite the tears that stream down my face, I enjoy this moment. Those are tears of joy, part of the divine essence, foretelling our destiny together.

Closing my eyes and displaying my naked body to the Sun, through closed eyelids, I felt God. Is He really so powerful as to affect human destinies, individually and All together? What human instinct compels us to give away our personal illusions of power to an entity that we only feel? It feels so good when I surrender-to-surrender and allow that higher power to experience human life through me.

Is our higher power a clearinghouse for both love and hate? If so, may I live in love and still show compassion for those who hate? Our human choices include praying to God, ignoring God or ranting in denial of His existence.

Unlike my previous three-night trips from Moab to LA, this time "I took the ride of my life". For me, it was a Quantum Leap, both in the compression and decompression of physical distance and in growth of non-physical consciousness. On the way from Grand Junction to Denver, our regional jet crossed the Rockies from west to east. Less than two hours later, our fully loaded Boeing 757 took us for a long takeoff-roll at Denver International Airport. Once we were safely airborne, we muttered, "Thank God", and then crossed the Rockies from Denver to the southwest. In less than three hours, I had seem more of the Rocky Mountains than had any mountain man of the nineteenth century, and all in air-conditioned comfort. Throughout the flight, our airplane window displayed a continuous, moving image of the Four Corners States and, near journey's end, Southern California. As we traveled, unnamed places appeared before us on the Earth below. They were desert places, where humans never go. Only from an airplane window might we observe these locations, expanding or contracting just enough to accept or reflect energy on a universal scale.

From an altitude of 36,000 feet, my mind revealed the Earth below as an intricate and detailed object. In one place, a scorched brown desert appeared below me. Immediately after that, I saw a single ribbon of blue, reflect from deep in the Grand Canyon. Unlike Moab, Glen Canyon Dam upstream of the Grand Canyon filters out all mud and sand along this stretch, thus changing the Colorado to a reflective blue from above. While passing by Lake Powell, the observer sees an impossibly blue body of water surrounded by dramatic sandstone shapes and deep side canyons. Even with prior knowledge that the lake level was far below its historical highs, from our vantage point, the reservoir looked full.Downstream at Hoover Dam, so too did Lake Mead.

During two hours in the air, no passenger said more than a few words, usually in answer to a flight attendant's offer of a drink. With the quiet rush of cabin noise to sooth us, we were going to LA, the fabled land of orange groves and Hollywood stars. During our thousand flight miles that day, I saw again that Nature ruled the world, not humankind. During the flight, I finished reading a biography of Samuel Clemens (1835-1910 CE). Several times while reading any given page, I would glance away from my book and observe the Earth below.

A stream of consciousness that was Mark Twain had visited me in 1986. It was around the time that Halley's Comet passed by this Earth, ricocheted around the Sun, and departed here for deep space. Until my midair completion of his biography, I did not know that Mark Twain's birth and death corresponded with appearances of Halley's Comet. In midlife, Mark Twain wrote that he came in with the comet and would depart terrestrial life when it returned. With a touch of both irony and humor, Mark Twain lived and died by his own self-fulfilling prophecy. As reflected in his writing, Mark Twain realized, "As It Is Above, So It Is Below".

Looking out of my window once again, dimensions previously unknown reflected and conducted consciousness to the depths of my soul. Seeing the world as God sees it allowed us a brief glimpse at own divinity. As with all angels, I soon returned to ground level, landing at LAX. Until I fly that route again, my powers of recall will provide that celestial perspective, if I so choose.

That is who we are after all; angels released from heaven to live an Earthly existence. Our destinies placed us together here at birth. After many decades on Earth, a desire to share my love matched your desire to share your love and we met, never to live without each other again. When physical distance now separates us, we look forward to the time when we shall again be in each other's arms. "Geography be damned", as Mark Twain might have said. I look forward to sitting again with you on our front porch, to toast with a glass of Zinfandel and then share the stories of our lives.

We shall continue to share the beauty and grandeur that is our home in the West. Visit with me again all the secret places that we know and love. On a crisp October morning, stand with me atop Little Ruin Canyon at Hovenweep, New Mexico. With luck, sunshine will illuminate a final earthbound home of the Ancients. If we ask, they shall join us as our spirit guides, offering sage advice regarding love the land.

Last week, on a daytrip to the Canyonlands Anticline Overlook, I spotted a lone pine tree growing at the base of a cleft in a sandstone monolith. In the distance, partially shaded by the boulder to its south, the tree appeared to be a ponderosa. That tree was the only tall pine for miles around.

Near Dewey Bridge, along the Colorado Riverway,
our Bright Red Chevy Cobalt Sedan

The Ancients tell us that once, over eight hundred years ago, they carried pinecones from the La Sal Mountains to this small, windswept plain. Daylight ended and on came the night. In order to warm themselves, they built a campfire from the deadwood that they found. Sheltered from the wind by the massive boulder, they threw pinecones into the embers of their dying fire. As the coals cooled, it was the youngest member of the party who sat up until the charred pinecones were cool enough to remove from the embers.

In the ashes of that fire, a single pinecone remained unroasted and unseen by the youngster. In the morning, rain doused the campfire, converting its ashes into soluble potash. This, the last small group of Ancients to leave the foothills of the La Sal Mountains, took with them what roasted pine nuts they could salvage and were gone. In the spring, our singular forest giant germinated in that fertile spot. Was it chance or was it the collective consciousness of humankind created and sustained that tree?

On a high desert plateau now dominated by sage, with occasional pinion and juniper, the ponderosa germinated in a place where runoff from even the smallest storm would reach its roots. Standing there unnoticed for centuries, the tree now makes a statement to us all. I am here, waiting out the drought and the silliness of humankind. Will this beloved tree survive, or will it dry up and die before the rains return? Eight hundred years after human intervention helped to create this tree, its fate is again uncertain. Its survival now depends on humankind creating a sustainable relationship with Nature. Will our collective consciousness ascend sufficiently for this tree to propagate, thus starting a new cycle of reforestation in that place?

After driving half the required distance on a paved highway, I drove a gravel road on the final leg to the anticline overlook. Informational signs at the entrance to the road touted this stretch as a "highly maintained gravel road". There, we decided to test our car, the road and our driving skills. On an earlier trip along Interstate I-70, the Cobalt was stable at speeds up to seventy-five miles per hour. Above that, the winds would buffet the car, making my stomach feel uneasy. Now, on a gravel road posted for forty, the low-profile tires floated and swayed at fifty. When the dashboard display flashed, "Low Traction", I took notice. Floating along a desert highway an inch above the ground is fun. Rolling a small car over in a roadside ditch is not, so I gently let up on the accelerator pedal. My road rallying for the day was complete. With God's grace, I lived to write the story.

At Canyonlands Anticline Overlook, I stood agape in temperatures of 103 degrees Fahrenheit. After a short hike up a hot hill, it took some time to calm down, if not cool down. A drink of water in that stark, dry land was just what I needed to feel human again. Looking to the north, the dry watershed of Kane Creek Valley and the Moab Rim, beyond, dominated my view. Other than what moisture remained in my water bottle, I saw no running water in the streambed running down the center of that deep valley. Despite the complete lack of observable water there on a mid summer afternoon, we knew intuitively that here, over eons, water erased what had once been an enormous plateau. The resulting deep canyon exemplified the concept that, "Less is More". Over a span of time that most humans can barely comprehend, a mesa several miles long had washed away. The dry gulch that now replaced it was large enough to swallow Manhattan Island, New York, at least as far as Wall Street. Here, in a place of apparently solid rock, a once golden land had dissolved into the Colorado River below.

Further to my east, stood a rocky plateau named for its location, relative to Moab. Maps shows its name as "Behind the Rocks". That day, my view was from above and beyond Behind the Rocks. At the top of my eastward view, barren of their usual snow fields, lay the La Sal Mountains. Looking almost directly below, I saw one vehicle moving slowly along the red dirt track. Its engine-noise rose to meet my ears, a thousand feet above. If not for the intense quiet around me, the growling SUV could have crested Hurrah Pass and exited the Kane Creek Valley unnoticed.

SUV - Look out below.

To my west and far below, was the Colorado River. With no major dams upstream of there, the Colorado River ran red, and true to its name. On the opposite riverbank, the Potash processing plant looked small, as did most other manmade features within my field of view. The single dominant manmade feature in that landscape was the iridescent blue and white evaporation ponds terraced into bench lands above Potash and the Colorado River. As impressive as the shimmering water seemed from my vantage point, up-close the ponds look like lap-pools for the gods.

I then looked west to the vast landscape that is Canyonlands National Park. From my vantage point, the massive bulge of the Cane Creek Anticline visually accentuated the curvature of the Earth. The effect was that of a smaller Earth, on which I could see a pronounced curvature along the horizon. In juxtaposition to what looked like a small world, my 270-degree view, encompassing hundreds of square miles made the area appear vast, if not endless. I was alone, or at least I was the only living human at that location. Below, on the Colorado below, a motorized raft ran noisily upstream. The distance to the river below was so great that the raft accelerated upriver well before I heard its motor whine. Looking up, I saw a California condor, drafting easily above the canyon rim. Despite signage, protective fencing and a rudimentary shelter for human visitors, surely this was God's place.

That evening, after returning to the Moab Rim CamPark, I fussed with my webcams. Since October, 2008, this had been a pet project of mine. The goal was to stream multiple live images of Moab and Spanish Valley.

Colorado River - Look out below.

Now I am home with you, the love of my life, in Southern California. If all the webcams in Moab were to fail now, I could accept that fate, so long as you were by my side. In October, when the rains return to the desert and snow dusts the La Sal Mountains, we shall visit our favorite pine tree. Perhaps there, we shall hear the wisdom of the Ancients, carried on the wind.

In Love, light and Life,