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January 12, 2010
This Magic Moment, So Different And So New...
In April 2007, I traveled from Los Angeles, California to Moab, Utah. On the night before my arrival in Moab, I stopped at Navajo National Monument. There, they have a free campground that sits high on a west-facing ridge. That evening, the sunset was beautiful. Far from the nearest city, the quiet night soon filled with stars.
Only a week before, I had met Carrie, at her home in Simi Valley, CA. Now I was on the road, heading to Moab, over 800 miles away. Having met her only twice, I knew that she was the woman I had searched for all of my life. This new relationship would last forever, I believed. The only thing I had not yet done was to tell Carrie that I loved her.
After reading for a while that night, I felt lonely and alone, far from friends and family. Since I was fifteen miles off U.S. Highway 160, between Tuba City and Kayenta, AZ, I assumed that there would be no cellular telephone service. To my surprise, a strong signal reached my coach, perhaps from Tuba City. From the 7200-foot elevation at Navajo National Monument, there was a sixty-mile sight-line to Tuba City, at 4960-foot elevation.
As soon as I saw cellular reception on my mobile telephone, I dialed Carrie. That night, she was staying at the historic Santa Maria Inn in Santa Maria, CA. We talked for over an hour. I told her that I loved her. She told me that she loved me too, but as she did, the cellular connection buzzed in my ear. Not knowing what she had just said, I did not want to ask, “What did you say?”
During the conversation, she invited me to fly back to LA for my birthday, on Cinco de Mayo weekend 2007. It was an offer that I gladly accepted. Later, she called me back and asked, “You did hear me when I said, ‘I love you too’, didn’t you?” From that moment on, Sunset Campground at Navajo National Monument became a special place in my life.
As sunset fast approached, we took our glasses out to the rim of the campground. There, at sunset in that beautiful place, I proposed a toast. It was, “To our Love”. Since Kokopelli plays such a big part in the energies of that area, we toasted to him, as well.
Soon, the sun dipped behind a large cloudbank hovered on the western horizon, many leagues away. Distances in the Four Corners can be deceiving. There is a sight-line from the monument to the San Francisco Peaks, ninety miles away. For that reason, it was impossible to know how far away the clouds really were.
Although I had once experienced an overcast sunset at that place, I had not seen the sun set behind the clouds from there. Perhaps because of a false horizon and perhaps for reasons more magical, our sunset lasted for longer than expected.
As we looked to the western sky, shades of gold showered from the clouds above. Looking like fiery red creatures, deep red colors shone through many holes in the cloudbank. Above the darkening horizon, in clear sky the color of faded turquoise, we saw splashes of golden light. As we watched, coded swoosh-dot-dash lights hovered above the horizon. The brightness and intensity of these celestial features were unlike any clouds we had seen before.
As the sunset slowly faded, the intense display of light remained. For many minutes, features in the cloud-cipher barely changed. Whatever message it had to impart, we had time to marvel at the beauty of nature in that time and place. Turning to Carrie, I said, “It looks like Kokopelli in the sky, coming to greet us and bless us in this sacred place”. Pausing before she replied, “It is a magical place. Thank you for inviting me to share this special place with you.” If it were not for my need to keep taking pictures, I might then have melted into the sandstone of the ridge on which we stood.
As the sunset faded in the foreground, an angel or cloud-being came to rest atop Navajo Mountain, over thirty miles away in Southern Utah. At 10,385 feet, the peak stood out against a darkening horizon. Mimicking the shape of the mountain below, the being’s arms rested atop the pillow of air that separated mist from rock.
As darkness closed further around us, we turned again to see our sky bound Kokopelli, still shining, low in the western sky. Since all good things must end, we turned to face the final moments of our private sunset. Golden light flowed across the land, cloud beings rested atop nearby peaks and Kokopelli showered sparks of golden light before us. For both Carrie and me, it was a magical moment.
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January 7, 2010
Appreciate Nature, From A Distance
In December 2009, I drove south on U.S. Highway 101, known in far Northern California as The Redwood Highway. Near Davison Road, in a spot called Berry Glenn, I encountered a herd of Roosevelt Elk. About twenty-in number, they were migrating north along the far edge of the highway. Since we were within Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park and only a mile from Redwood National Park, I sensed that these animals had never heard the sound of a hunter’s rifle. Long before native Yurok Indians made their way along Redwood Creek, the distant ancestors of these animals had walked this path.
Since Roosevelt Elk are among the largest of the deer family, I stayed inside my vehicle, turned on my emergency flashers and then paused to take a few pictures. By the time I had pulled off the road and stopped, the bull who led this harem was hidden from sight. The visible herd included only females and juveniles. Where might the bull linger? Was he hidden in the brush along the highway? With a light drizzle falling, the females, walking in pairs, passed my open window. Although the elusive males can weigh up to half a ton, adult females easily top 600 pounds.
Although traffic was light that weekday afternoon, one driver came to a halt behind me, leapt out of his car and approached the herd while standing in front of my vehicle. It was then that I realized that a fight was brewing. A lone female, haggard by age and weather, protected the rear of the heard. By her actions, it was clear to me that she wanted no part of this human interloper. In defiance, she planted all four hooves in the center of the northbound lane and bellowed repeated warnings at the photographer.
Whether one is viewing whales in the ocean or elk herds by the road, the first rule of wildlife viewing is, “Do not approach wild animals”. According to Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada, far more humans are injured there by elk than by bears.
When I realized that this crazed looking cow was bellowing at the man, I called to him and said, “That animal is upset. She could charge you at any time. You’d better get away from there.” Although he never looked at me or acknowledged my presence, he did move back behind my vehicle and then returned to his car. As I departed the scene, I kept my emergency flashers on as a warning signal to approaching motorists. Only when I was far from the action did I breathe a sigh of relief.
As I continued my drive, I recalled a time in Yellowstone National Park when I took a risk in order to photograph an American Bison. Parking my car near a spring fed meadow; I spied a lone male bison grazing perhaps fifty feet away. Wanting to get the best picture possible, I walked closer to the beast. As seen in the accompanying photo, he was an adult male, in the prime of his life. Standing there, peacefully grazing in that meadow, he was by far the largest animal I had ever seen up close in nature. The word, "formidable" came to mind. If you break that word down, you get "form", "id" and "able". Certainly, that bison was an architype representing all three concepts.
Almost imperceptibly, I saw the bison turn his head tward me. Even as a low grunt emanated from his throat, I edged closer. After taking my picture, I backed away slowly. At what still felt like an unsafe distance, I turned and walked more quickly towards my car. It was then, with my back turned toward the bison that my mind's eye opened, if only to see him charging at me. If this were true, it would be a close race to my car. With a full ton of angry muscle and bone hurtling toward me, I could easily lose my concentration and composure.
Short of breath when I reached my car, I turned to look back at the bison. Still pulling up clumps of fresh grass to eat, the bison had not moved. At first, thinking that he was a dumb animal, I had trespassed across an unseen boundary that demarcated his territory. That summer afternoon, I had intruded into his peaceful energy field.
Humans and bison have had a continual, if distant relationship with each other in Yellowstone for almost two hundred years. In that time, I believe that the bison have found collective wisdom. As almost two centuries have passed, the Yellowstone bison herds have genetically self-selected their gene pool in favor of those who are indifferent to humans, no matter how provocative or foolish those humans may be.
In the future, we see a time when humans shall remain calm and respectful while in the presence of nature. If so, that elusive bull elk may elect to stand calmly in the brush, rather than crashing out on to The Redwood Highway and into the path of an oncoming automobile. In honor of humanity's future relationship with nature, we believe that soon it shall be so.
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January 5, 2010
Predictions For The Fate of Humanity
In late December 2009, I traveled on U.S. Highway 101 south, from Port Orford, Oregon to the San Francisco Bay. That day, I chased a storm that cleared to the east as I drove through the redwoods of Northern California. With the 2010-decade then only days away, a foggy future in my mind mirrored the many fogbanks I observed during my drive. With fear running rampant on TV cable news and the lips of many people, what might the coming decade bring?
On January 1, 2010, most people who own a working timepiece and live in contemporary world culture believed that the day marked the beginning of both a New Year and a new decade. It was time for predictions, prognostications and perhaps, some new personal resolutions.
Paraphrasing Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg, “Now we are engaged in a great decade, testing whether this Earth, or any Earth, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure”. If you wish to know now how this story ends, we cannot offer you satisfaction. We can promise, however, that by the end of this decade the fate of humanity shall be clear.
The outcome need not be apocalyptic, as the End of Days and 2012 Mayan Calendar doomsters seem to agree. What they missed in their dire predictions is the big joke that the Mayan placed in their calendar. Unspoken and unwritten, was knowledge that their calendar indeed ended, but that the continuum of a time-space reality here on Earth did not. After their calendar’s eons of noble service, creating a new and equally accurate one would be easy.
As we embark on the 2010-decade with 20/10 myopia, can we expect to disembark again in ten years with 20/20 insight and enlightenment? As we begin the 2010’s, no one knows for sure. The good news is that human spiritual enlightenment has been gaining ground in our world ever since East met West.
Once a particular issue gains enough momentum in human culture, it can appear to be unstoppable. Examples include fear of terrorism, the rapid spread of Islam in the world or the increasing frequency of terrorist acts. Concentration on any or all of those subjects will not help America and Europe win the supposed war on terror. Since the Jihadist mentality has had several decades to fester, we will continue to feel negative aspects of its momentum for some time to come.
Whether Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, or none of the above, those of us who fall on the side of peace and tranquility can still change this world for the better. Our secret weapon in the war for peace is the personal resolution. Picture a Jihadist, praying to Allah at the close of Ramadan. Pausing to welcome the New Year, will he yearn both for self-love and for the death to the infidel, or non-believer? It cannot be. As mutually exclusive concepts, self-love and other-hatred cannot coexist in the same human being.
Photographs of human auras and of water molecules exposed to meditation and loving contemplation reveal brighter and more coherent vibrational emanations than do control samples. Thus, we might say that loving thoughts emanate energy that is a quantum level higher than thoughts produced during moments of fear, hatred or self-loathing.
This year, if all lovers-of-life resolve to approach their fellow humans with love and compassion in their hearts, they will create enough positive energy to dampen murderous thoughts in geographically disparate populations. With the strength and purity of its energy, love will trump and void hate every time. Under such a regimen, within ten years’ time, peace could prevail among millions, if not billions of humans who do not currently enjoy it.
It is not whether we humans win or lose our wars; but rather, how we play the game of love and life that shall decide our fate. No single human can reverse climate change or put an end to poverty or war. Collectively, humanity has the ability to do all of those things and more. All it takes is individual desire, coupled with the resolve to complete the required actions. These acts of goodness well may distract us from fear, hate and self-loathing. If so, ten years hence we could wake up to a more peaceful world and a healthy Earth to support us.
On the following day, as I completed my drive, the energies of the sun surrounded me. From Interstate I-5, four miles north of Westley, California, I observed cattle grazing on a green hillside. Whether the visual effect came from sunlight refracting through my camera lens or something entirely different, I cannot say. What I can say is that a bubble of new energy large enough to cover that field shown before me on that day. Smiling, I remembered that all is well in the universe and in the little 3-D world that we call our own.
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December 29, 2009
That Sinkhole Feeling, Again
During a visit to the Intrepid Potash - Moab, Utah website we were pleased to see new safety related information regarding the mining and processing of potash (potassium chloride) and salt (sodium chloride) crystals at their Cane Creek potash plant. In an earlier article, we had criticized the company for not providing holding ponds designed to catch leaks or overflow from settling ponds at a higher elevation.
Their website now states that, “the solar ponds are lined with heavy vinyl to 
prevent valuable brine from leaking into the ground and the Colorado River. A series of holding ponds have been constructed to catch any spills and return potassium-rich brine to the ponds.” Whether these safety features existed all along, or are recent additions, we do not know. Either way, Intrepid's release of more information about their operation, rather than less is laudable.
In the event of a catastrophic failure at the upper ponds, what percentage of the brine might the holding ponds catch and retain? With the continued absence of information regarding holding pond capacity, we can only guess and hope that it is adequate. “Adequate for what?” you might ask. We can think of at least two scenarios in which a catastrophic failure might test Intrepid's holding pond design and capacity.
First is weather. What is the expected level of water flow into the settling ponds during a “one hundred year flood”? What about the "one thousand year flood"? In order to determine the size of a one hundred or one thousand year flood within the Shafer Basin and Potash, researchers must consider both historical data and paleoflood records.
Now that a drier climate in the Four Corners region is an established fact, we can expect storm and flood activities to increase in intensity, if not in number. Lack of an historical record does not preclude the formation of larger storms there in the future. In that regard, we would not be happy with a holding pond system that provides less than full containment of all settling pond brine.
A second threat at the Cane Creek Plant and its ponds results from the solution mining of potash itself. The Intrepid Potash - Moab Utah website indicates that, “water from the nearby Colorado River is pumped through injection wells into the underground mine. The water dissolves the potash from layers buried approximately 3,000 feet below the surface.” Missing from the company’s website is information on injection well locations, and their proximity to the fragile holding ponds.
In order to understand the importance of proximity, we need look no further than the City of Carlsbad, New Mexico. According to a recent Los Angeles 
Times article, New Mexico mines used a solution-mining technique similar to that of Intrepid, at Moab. Over the years, six million cubic feet of brine solution mining has been extracted from a salt deposit located directly beneath Carlsbad.
Although there has not yet been a collapse at the Carlsbad mine, in 2008 two similar mines north of the city experienced catastrophic failures. With the collapse of the overlying rock, each of those mines became a sinkhole four hundred feet across and one hundred feet deep. Since the mines operated within state and federal guidelines, there does not appear to be easy recourse against them. The state and the mine operators can simply call these unexpected events “Acts of God” and then proceed to disown any further liability.
In the case of Carlsbad, New Mexico, a collapse under the busiest intersection in town is a real possibility. Rail lines, an irrigation ditch and a mobile home park are now under threat of collapse. In the case of Intrepid Potash – Moab, Utah, no one knows how likely a catastrophic mine collapse might be. In an event similar to the Carlsbad scenario, might the solar ponds disappear into a sinkhole? Worse yet, could gravity cause the brine to cascade downhill towards the holding ponds and the Colorado River below?
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