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| The Organ Mountains |
I watched a report yesterday about the idea of "fake news". The tech reporter was showing a new technology in which a clip of actual audio could be altered by removing the words the speaker actually said and replacing them with other words. The voice timbre and the cadence remained the same, and as the reporter indicated, "No one can tell the difference." Imagine what the definition of "fake" will be come when there's nothing actually real. Uncertainty makes people anxious. It would seem that as technology advances, more uncertainty is the only certainty. The question becomes: How do we decide how to evaluate our own perspectives? How can we determine a rational world view? And even more scary, What are the motives of those trying to proffer their narrative? But thinking about the darker visions of that dystopia makes my head hurt, so I've decided to think about another "alternative reality". I mean do you think my bicycle gets cold if I leave it out in the rain? Or more importantly, does the leaf that is about to fall from the limb fear the height, or fear the journey, or fear the landing, or fear the decay? Just questions that have come up in the "fake life" I've been living. Case in point: A few days ago we were walking the streets of Bisbee, AZ. We passed a couple of guys (Ne'er do wells by some accounts; just laid back stoners by other accounts) who were passing a glass pipe. As we passed, the one who had just exhaled a big hit grumbled, "It's all just a dream, man." If he's right, then mine is a pretty good dream to this point. I'm healthy, wealthy (enough), and wise enough to have married my Bunny. So, it's pretty good. Today, we enjoyed a dreamy hike up a ways into the spectacular Organ Mountains. We hiked steadily up about three miles to the dripping springs, which back in 1890 (Or so) provided the water source for a resort and a tuberculosis sanitarium. Imagine the dreams of the folks who lived back then. Those with an illness dreamed of the healing powers of the clean, mountain air. Those with means dreamed of a nice outing into the mountains, probably with their best girl (Just like me). Today, those dreams are merely tired wooden shacks with signs next to them that say, "Do not enter. Protect your heritage." I started thinking about the consciousness of autumn leaves on the way back down the mountain. It reminded me of one of my favorite e.e. cummings poems, which when read in a line loses some of its dreaminess. The poem reads: l(a leaf falls)oneliness. When arranged vertically (as the poet intended), the poem's letters imitate the motion of a falling leaf. Each swing and flutter back and forth across the wind is a quite stunning image. It could just be a metaphor for my own human journey as I sway back and forth from one perceived reality to another. Note e.e.cummings structure and enjoy the contemplation:
l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness
How could a leaf possible be afraid of a descent like that? And though we're alone, and sometimes lonely, we still realize that life is good, especially today.
The view backwards from the Dripping Springs trail.
Pretty dreamy clouds.
The brick reservoir was built in 1892 to supply water to the sanitarium and the resort. Later, the land was used to graze cattle.
The livery stable a few thousand yards below the springs.
Look at these dreamy customers out for a joy ride in the wagon circa 1890. Joy is relative: hot, bumpy, dusty, cramped, and sweaty.
The Spanish saw organ pipes. They're allowed their own dream.
This micro shot is one bloom of a dry, yellow sticker bush.
Good bye, Organs. We really liked your tune.
A piercing arrowhead, a bone fragment, or a resting heart. It's all in the perspective.
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