by Andrea Elizabeth
I cannot tell you how close I am to hightailing it back to Big Bend. Commitments barely keep me here. I was not ready to return a week and a half ago. I can dismiss my yearnings as typical mountain top experience such as they tell you happens to you at summer camp when you’re a kid. Going back to the real world is hard. But what if it’s not the real world? What if the mountain top is the real world? Then why are there valleys? Valleys are nice too if they aren’t tainted with western civilization. You can have your cities and your daylight savings time and your electricity. And don’t call me a hypocrite for utilizing any of these even in Big Bend. That’s a civilized, western juridical accusation, and I wont bother to answer it, not that I haven’t already in posts past.
There are remains there of early pioneers’ dwellings. The hand piled stone ones are fine, but the trucked in ones that are possibly related to exploitation aren’t so nice. I much prefer the primitive cave drawings and arrow heads. They bear witness to a belief in the sacredness of the earth. Did indigenous people never over-kill? Maybe they did. But left-behind bones are much better than concrete. Bones and rocks are skeletons of God-created life that Ezekial will call forth one day. Concrete will be cremated to return to the bones and rocks it once was.
Give the jewels to God. I’m satisfied with the dust, and if water trickles and seeds blow in, thank you, Lord.