You’d be a fool to sleep in if you were staying in Monument Valley, a.k.a. Tse’Bii’Ndzisgaii in Navajo. Like the Grand Canyon, Haleakalā, or Yellowstone, a large part of the magic begins at daybreak. Our guide was up bright and early, ready to take us to the best seats in the outdoor house for us to start a new day.
On March 16, 2008, we were present right here in this moment of now, to witness the rising of the sun once more. I have no ability that would allow me to guess just how many times I’ve watched the sunrise during my lifetime, but I am certain that the diversity of locations is extraordinary, and while they didn’t help me remain current with my bills or offer companionship, they have offered my sense of beauty something incredibly valuable.
I hope to return to this photo again and again, reminding myself of the red sand we slept on last night and how, in the early light of day, these ripples took on the appearance of the shadows on the sand under the ocean’s waves. Nobody knows how many opportunities in life they’ll be offered to see not just the big things but the little ones too that are as extraordinary as long as one remembers to look down at where their feet touch the earth.
Maybe it’s bad form to share the stories of an old lady visiting Mrs. Murphy (Jutta’s euphemism for the toilet), but this one was so special it just had to find its way here to my pages. While we sat around the dying fire last night, my mother-in-law heard the call of nature and heeded it. The outhouse that was nearby, off in the dark, but a good enough distance away to offer every bit of privacy for those who needed it. Well, that was relative, as when Jutta arrived to take up a seat, she first noticed the absence of a door, and in the next instant, she saw there was no roof. No matter, things were urgent. It only took her a second to appreciate the open nature of this “bathroom” as it helped dissipate the nearly overwhelming stench, but after another moment, all of her concerns disappeared.
Sitting on this mostly outdoor toilet, Jutta looked outward on this moonless night and saw that the stars offered enough light that she could still see the shapes of buttes and mesas of Monument Valley out in front of her. And then she looked up from her perch and was staring at the heart of the Milky Way. It occurred to her that this was the first time in her life that while sitting on the toilet doing something she’d done 10’s of thousands of times before, right here on this night on Navajo lands, she was seeing things in a way she’d never experienced before. What, then, is the ultimate value of getting out, even if it’s only for a couple of days?
Then, if all of the experiences of the day before weren’t enough, you awake before the first light of day, emerging from a hogan already facing the east, to greet the approaching sun and realize that you have woken in Monument Valley, fortunate enough to be one of the lucky outsiders granted this opportunity to be somewhere truly special.
There are things to be seen here that no one other than you will perceive. Who we are and what we bring to our experiences influences our perceptions and helps shape what path our ignorance will take when we encounter those things we don’t know or understand yet. In the pre-Columbian world of North America, those who could see a life forward carved from the patterns and seasons of the world around them were perfectly adept at finding a way into life that suited the time. Today, we chase into the financial and monetary reality that, at best, offers an artifice of make-believe importance for the sake of remaining busy. If we could bring our busy selves to a full stop, even if for a brief weekend, in order to connect with those things that have greater permanence and sing to something deep within our spirits instead of preaching to our conditioned consumerist personas, I believe we would all be better for it. It’s sad when you stop and consider how few are the fading reminders that we often fail to appreciate the simple and important moments in life. If only we could hear the ancestors whispering to us, stop and look at the beauty all around us, get out and walk in that beauty.
Back at the hogan, we were offered breakfast and remembered that we should have a visual memento that it was indeed us who stayed in this red earth treasure at one of the most wonderful places on our earth.
There’s an important metaphor here in the construction of the hogan: the strongest elements are standing straight up, resting firmly upon the red earth below. Atop of those are layers that are using that firm foundation to ultimately support a structure built out of the knowledge that shelters us from the outside world and allows those who dwell within to find not only refuge but a place of observance and ritual. This is the structure of society throughout history, but when that firm foundation crumbles and we stop relying on those supporting us, we have nothing left to protect our well-being and culture. All that’s left then is to go out and wander and struggle to survive.
John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Forrest Gump, Tom Cruise, John Ford, and many others have stood here at Monument Valley, and while their images or the impressions they created are potentially locked in popular culture forever, it is up to each of us to cherish and protect these lands by supporting the people who are the stewards of this cherished place. Sadly, not enough folks in the United States consider the reservations and their lands worthy of visiting, but a lifetime of experiences is lost to those who forget to include such places on their list of most important places to visit.
Maybe my enthusiasm got the best of me and turned my writing into a sales pitch, but the impact of even a brief 24 hours here has seared a deeper appreciation of it all into my mind’s eye.
But now we’ve got to go. First, though, a short pilgrimage to Harold Simpson’s great-grandfather Gray Whiskers, who’s honored with this butte bearing his name.
Yep, just like these horses, we are heading back to where we more typically put our heads to rest.
Oh, that’s a nice sight; I should stop the car and grab another photo.
From the car, I could see this red cliffside contrasting nicely with the blue sky, the yellow grasses of winter, and the snowy slope across the way. What I couldn’t see was just how windy it was; I had to insist Caroline and Jutta get out of the car.
It was that windy!
…and occasionally quite dusty.
At the rate we’re traveling, we’ll get back to Phoenix at about the same speed as if we were riding this horse back home.
However, it could be said that we’re still faster than these sheep that are apparently quite content just munching a mouthful of grass here and there. Hmmm, I wonder what they’d taste like?
My wishes might be answered. I’ve never passed a mutton stand I didn’t love, and this one was no different. I can’t say I ate the sheep I just saw, but what we did have pushed all my buttons regarding that thing called yummy.
Maximize capturing the images that tell more of the story thus extending the impact of our time at a place, one of my many mottos.
Dream big and expansively that’s another motto I’ve picked up somewhere along the road.
Red, arid earth to white snowy mountains amongst the trees adds to the contrast of extraordinary times.
Somewhere out under the sky is home for us, but what we are leaving behind was home for a moment, too.
