MOUNTAIN OF DREAMS ~ PART 1
Cross posted at Village Blue
[Ed: Most of us are so caught up in the tragic events of Hurricane Katrina and the human suffering and anguish of our fellow citizens (rightly so), I thought perhaps it might be good to have a brief space away from our emotional overloads.]
Driving through the Red Canyons of Southern Utah there is a hint of what you might expect to see in the amazing display of Bryce canyon.
You are surrounded by the energy of reddish orange stones that fall away into the same colored earth pushed up into mountains of imagination. It is not uncommon to see eagles soaring on the thermal air currents high above the ribbon of highway leading East, away from Bryce Canyon and winding into the higher elevation mountains between Henrieville and Escalante`.
The very air is vibrant with the smell of earth, occasional Ponderosa pines, Junipers and mixed with a mystical scent of sagebrush in the air. There seemed more air in the air that afternoon as I rode along with my two friends, Don and Peter, towards the 40 acres of high mountain heaven I held some vision of claiming. I knew I had to go there. I had known from the first moment I saw the land many months ago when my partner and I had traveled there to see it for the first time and agreed to purchase it on the spot.
It was a place that I had dreamed of and envisioned in a way that was embedded in my very soul. I had every intention of living there, even from that first moment. I was driven to it long before my world came crashing down around me and I was left standing on uncertain legs wandering through my anguished thoughts of how much heartbreak a person could take and still survive in any sense of meaningful living. The dream was all I had now, and I must put myself inside that dream in order to survive at all.
I have always held dreams in a place above realities in importance. This dream was all that I could see now in the middle days of July in 1974. My heart and my soul had been shaken to the very core, there was no place in “real life” that I could fit or belong, and at that moment I had no thought or promise that reality would ever again be a fitting place for me.
Everything I owned was packed into a small teardrop trailer someone had given me in trade for my circular saw. I had gathered in what I could in the way of hatchets, draw knives, hand saws, hammers, etc. These tools I thought I might somehow use for something in the mountains. Minimal camping gear, shovels, pick axe, long handled axe, and a camping potty was stuffed into the back of Ron and Terry’s pickup truck, which pulled the trailer and followed the three of us driving in the car. It was about a 5 hour drive from Salt Lake City and we had started out early in the morning. I was so grateful to Ron and Terry for not hesitating to haul our collection of gear all that way. I was grateful that Don and Peter insisted I was not going alone to the mountains. . .although I would have done so without any second thoughts. They said they would stay as long as I stayed, even when I told them I never planned on coming back.
Oh, I was heavy into my drama of lost love and even heavier into my drama of leaving the church. My partner and I had been in a relationship for two years, barely enough time to really know each other well. During all that last year I was obsessed with my dream of the property in the mountains and moving there to build a “Spiritual Retreat.” You already know I am a dreamer of grand dreams. This was certainly no exception. I had very little money, I was willing to leave my job and any and all possessions beyond my minimal needs to fulfill my part in this dream. I had already written and filed Non-profit Corporation papers for “Yahatenda”, the name my partner and I had chosen for this retreat. Its meaning is from a Native American tribe I am unable to name any longer, “God in the Mountains”. . .or the English speaking American version of the translation. I believed in the dream to the exclusion of everything else. At 33 most people would agree that I was foolish, foolhardy and totally out of touch with the reality of what my dream would require to actually become a reality. I was certainly not one to be deterred by facts and probabilities of failure.
My powerful belief and overflowing enthusiasm for a dream. . .any dream I deeply believe in. . .can be somewhat difficult for others to resist being drawn into. My partner was drawn into it for quite a while, until I began focusing everything on taking action on the dream. It was, after all, my dream. Years and wisdom garnered has shown me that my dreams may never coincide with someone else’s dreams. And I would not think to impose them on others these days. I see every dream I own. . .and oh, I do own them to the depths of my soul. . .as mine and should others care to adventure along with me, they are welcome to share the journey. But I have no expectation that they will or that they must or should commit to such a journey. It is my own test of how strongly I believe and hold importance in the dream if I am willing to fulfill it on my own. I also have a lot more understanding of preplanning and information gathering before I set out on the journey.
As I became more and more immersed in the dream, my partner became more and more unsure and reluctant. . .although she failed to tell me those important bits of information. In the end, she just one day told me that she didn’t know why, and it wasn’t because she didn’t love me, but she wanted to end the relationship. She was so distraught that I was the one comforting her and trying to make things easy for her to step out of the relationship. My grieving, my sorrow, my incredibly painful heart, had to wait for another time, or so my naive willingness to believe her led me to accept. I had been left enough times in my past to know that this was just one more of those times. Obviously, I had some fatal flaw that caused mother, friends, brother, and lovers to leave. I for damn sure didn’t know what it was, but I hoped someday I could figure it out.
This trauma came on the heels of a devastating heartbreak of an even deeper pain. At the beginning of our two year relationship, we were very involved in gathering together a group of about 40 friends and acquaintances to form an ecumenical Christian Church. It was the grandest of dreams. A place where everyone was welcome, and where we would endeavor to teach, preach and live the clear teachings of the one called Jesus. We were mostly gays and lesbians, some straights, some druggies (we were fresh out of the 60’s, you know), some alcoholics, some transgendered, and some perfectly happy folks of every description from every sort of religious and non-religious backgrounds.
We hired a minister, we began minister training courses, we chose a board of directors, we wrote and filed Incorporation papers and we found a small house we converted into a meeting place. It was a divine experience. The love between us flowed easily and beautifully. The first meeting we had prior to all of the aforementioned business even took place, our founding minister (who was going to the East coast to another position) performed a “Holy Union” or what the rest of the world might call a marriage, for me and my partner there in the midst of our fledgling congregation. It was a commitment I took very seriously and a joyous occasion to share with our church family.
I completed my training in the ministry 18 months later. I was approved and passed to ordination by the Board of Directors, although I did not behave very well, or at least as expected during that process. I took offense to one of the questions they asked, which was basically, “Why should we approve you to be ordained?” I probably came across as some self-righteous upstart, but I replied in a somewhat defiant tone, “I belong to God and in God’s service. It doesn’t make any difference if you approve me or not. In fact there is not one among you who has authority to ordain me. God has already placed his hand upon me. Your authority is not greater than the one I serve.” Egads! Yeah, I really said that. There was probably nothing I was more strongly convicted about than this. Wisdom would have given me some better words and a more humble attitude. I had plenty to learn yet.
Tomorrow I will tell how my dream for the church crumbled and why, plus setting up camp at 8,500 ft. .
