El Morro

 

Looking at my photographs of El Morro National Monument in New Mexico, I realize that I never did get a definitive picture.  There is the view of El Morro itself (Spanish for “Headlands”). However, El Morro is large and my IPhone is small, so I found it not easy to photograph. From the top there is the beautiful view of Morro Valley. There is also the view of the historic pueblo that sits at the top and is in the process of being refurbished. There is the pool of water at the foot of El Morro which is why it became a stopping place for first the ancient ones who scratched their petroglyphs, and then the Spaniards, who added their elaborate signatures.  As you  can see from the attached photograph, the site is protected to maintain the historical integrity so one cannot really get too close. 

  On a trip decades ago, Tyler and I stopped at El Morro, and we wanted to return to both Zuni and El Morro again. On this trip we walked the path to the top and saw the pueblo and kiva. We then walked the lower path to view the petroglyphs and inscriptions. We talked about trying to spend the night  in the small campground there, but the sites are first come, first served, and they were all taken. The campsite is probably an excellent place to camp and view stars on a clear night.  El Morro is just off of the two lane Hwy 53, so I think the nighttime would be quiet. However, the ultimate quest of our trip was to visit Albuquerque to determine if we might want to live there, and it seemed time to begin that part of the journey, about a two hour drive.

I am having some difficulty gathering my thoughts about our trip. This morning I wrote about visiting Zuni on our way to El Morro and Albuquerque, but I accidently, but nonetheless permanently deleted the file.  I will try again tomorrow. I think I am having some trouble simply settling into being home again, partly because I retired from professional ministry days before we left on this trip.  I have much to process.

Yes, we fell in love with Albuquerque and New Mexico. At times, I have found myself wistfully remembering when I moved from Texas to California. I was 20 something when I  packed everything in my red VW, and off I drove with $200 in my  wallet. This is obviously a different time of my life. As intimidating as a move is, we  are fortunate to have a house to get ready to sell. This will take some time. Hopefully, the economy or the world won’t completely collapse in the meantime. However, just to be on the safe side, I will hold in reserve $200 cash to help get us out of town. For now, I am reading Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist to remind myself to not be afraid to dream.

More to follow! If you want to see the images, please go to my Facebook Page or send me an email to sayarbrough@gmail.com. They are large files.   

 

“As he mused about these things, he realized that he had to choose between thinking of himself as the poor victim of a thief and as an adventurer in quest of his treasure.”  

Paul Coelho, The Alchemist, A Fable About Following Your Dream, p.44 

 

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Jesus as quoted in Matthew 6:21  

           

               

 

Prayers and Prophecy

 "Everyone has a place in the mosaic of peace." 

Pope Leo in today's Vigil for Peace   

      

            

"The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; 

the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; 

it shall blossom abundantly

and rejoice with joy and singing."     

Isaiah 35:1-2      

        

image:  Ocotillo,  Kingman, AZ, April 2026

Dreaming of There

 In the dream I am walking

through a desert.

I am seeing rocks on the ground

with the word "There" carved 

in their stone. 

I believe I am following 

the path of an artist.  

There are others with me.  

I wonder about these stones,

where they might be leading 

me.  

We arrive at a hotel 

and we sleep.

It is strange to dream

of falling asleep while sleeping. 

It is not easy to wake up 

while believing I am still

in the dream.   

I stand and look out the window.   

It takes a few moments 

to realize that I am 

not there, I am here,

still in the dream,

still trying to listen to 

the guidance of an artist 

who speaks through carved stones.

How can I tell when 

I am on my way to there?   

Perhaps I am already gone.     

   

say, April 2026    

  

       

  

image: Petroglyph National Monument, Western Trail NW, Albuquerque, March 2026

  

  

 

Tunnel Vision

 We are indeed home. I never expected my travel recollections would begin with this image, but when I spotted it on a cafe wall, I laughed out loud.

 

 On our journey home, we drove the beautiful State Hwy 155 to postpone getting on Hwy 5 as long as possible (Tyler is proving to be a great path finder!) At one point we noticed  a sign for a cafe and market. I remarked that a cup of coffee and a bite to eat sounded good, so we pulled into the parking lot and went in. On the wall of the cafe were several advertisement posters from bygone years and this poster caught my eye.
After we ate and drank some of what was possibly the worst tasting coffee I ever have had, we walked back to the truck. There we were approached by a thin, straight-spined woman who had the appearance of one who worked outdoors for many years. I believe she was older than I, but not by much.
She asked me about our truck, and I explained some of its finer points, including the fact that we appreciate its smaller size. She responded in what I might call a rural accent and lamented that gas prices would probably continue to rise so a smaller truck is probably a good idea. She then added, "I believe we voted in the wrong man. I hope someone better comes along." Trying hard to avoid any snarkiness, I added that I hope he leaves sooner than later, and we said our good-byes.
As we continued our journey through that beautiful verdant land of rolling hills, I realized that we were probably traveling through DT country. In rural countries, higher gas and diesel prices are serious. Ranchers, and certainly farmers as well  have animals to feed and transport, and equipment to maintain. I felt that woman's disappointment and wondered if she would ever vote for a Democrat. I also again wondered if our current color coded two party system has resulted in so much polarization that all of us risk not listening and thinking clearly as we cast our votes.  
Yes, there are indeed some tunnels that lead us astray. May all of us have the courage to simply turn around and explore a new direction.    

       

    

Our trip was filled with wondrous sights, delicious foods, some new jewelry, and many good conversations. I will begin sharing some of my photographs and musings in the next few days. I also plan on exploring using Substack for my writing.  If you have any thoughts or insights you would like to share about this idea, please let me know! 

    

    

First Day of Retirement

 

As I pondered the wisteria, 

an older gentleman stopped to talk. 

He wanted to know what plant it was, 

and I told him what I knew. 

He asked about the color, and added 

 that he did not think it was purple.  

We gazed upon it together.

"What color do you think it is?" I asked. 

"Lavender," he responded, and then added,

"I must tell my sister about this color. 

She is 80 - a ceramic artist."   

I encouraged him to smell, 

for the scent was quite beautiful and within reach.

As we said our good-byes, 

 I noticed that his smiling wrinkled face,

 framed with faded reddish-blonde hair, 

reminded me of an aging sunflower.

I like to think of him  

 happily planning a visit with his sister 

to tell her of a color he discovered

 on a brightly lit Monday afternoon.  

    

     

     

image: San Leandro, March 16, 2026

The Invitation

 Earlier this week I was working on the PowerPoint slides for this Sunday. PowerPoint has never been a strength of mine, and now that the arthritis in my hands is really making itself known, I find the cutting, pasting, and moving between screens difficult and frustrating. Our church office manager has kindly taken over this task, but she has been out of state visiting her father.  For two weeks I have been PowerPoint wrangling. 

As I was trying to stay composed as I was working on the slide for the hymn "Spirit Song" and the beginning words, "O let the Son of God enfold you with his Spirit and his love," I was singing them to help me keep track of where I was. An email came in, and in a moment of distraction, I paused to read it. I found the contents surprisingly rude, which of course just heightened my frustration. My already dwindling composure dissolved into an unpleasant mess.  I opted to not answer the email, but tried to return to my task and my singing, although my mood was certainly not light filled.  

 I soon realized that I was not singing the words as written, but rather "O let the love of God unfold you in his love". I paused, and then my wadded up origami heart heard the invitation to unfurl. The sun was shining, and I decided to walk away from the work and go outside.   

In the front garden is a beautiful ceanothus that I think is about three years old. I was stunned to see that it was in full bloom, and there must have been at least a hundred bees, buth honey and bumblebees, and maybe others darting from blossom to blossom. I have no idea how one would count bees in motion, so I will simply say that the activity level was so high it was audible. I, too, took in the warm, glimmering sunlight and gave thanks to God and to the young woman who helps with tending to the garden. A neighbor stopped by and we talked about neighborly things. She then went on her way, and I returned to my task with a much clearer heart and mind. It was a blessing to find a healing sanctuary in our own front yard, and it was a blessing to hear an invitation and to be present enough to say yes with gratitude.

   

The attached photograph reveals just one of the many pollen-ladened bees at work that day. Let us all plant for life. Bees need it, and so do we.

      

       

Presence of Everything

 "Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything.”*  
 James Crews quoting the acoustic ecologist, Gordon Hempton, "who has spent his life listening to and recording the world’s natural soundscapes."        

   
For the past couple of weeks, my faith community and I have been exploring some of the ancient names of God. I am, of course, hindered as always by my lack of knowledge of biblical Hebrew, but fortunately there are others in the world who have shared some of their knowledge. El Shaddai is currently one of my favorite names. It feels so alive  and is such a joy to say.  It makes me yearn to view God's realm from a mountaintop, stretch out my arms, and speak the name as loudly as I can, from the tip of my toes to the end of my fingers and beyond.  In other words, an embrace.  And then I would bow and even maybe even kneel. Then I just might dance.  
However, this morning while I am still in my pajamas, I read James Crews' newsletter for this month, and in it he mentions Gordon Hempton. Years ago I watched a documentary about Hempton and his quest of recording the sounds of nature around the world.  Even then he said that it was becoming difficult to find places untouched by the sound of human activity. I found the film beautiful, and I shall try to seek out some of his work again. This morning I read that at one point Mr. Hempton lost much of his hearing and the doctors said nothing could be done. According to what I read, he simply sat with the silence, and eventually (I do not know how long) his hearing returned.  There is indeed healing to be found in silence.
This morning as I sat in silence, I heard a bird begin to sing. I was stunned into that silence when I read that a group of billionaires just awarded our president with a trophy inscribed with "the undisputed champion of beautiful, clean coal.”*  After spending a couple of weeks weeping as I watched the Buddhist Monks' Walk for Peace unfold on Facebook, the contrast seemed tacky and almost laughable if it wasn't so sad and awful. Unfortunately, these billionaires, with their puppet president in tow, are determined to bring back coal production, and that is certainly far from humourous.  I am reminded of Hayao Miyazaki's beautifully animated film, "Princess Mononoke" which I also have not seen in years.  In the film, nature and humans struggle with the difficulties of trying to live next to "Iron Town".  Like all of Miyazaki's work, it is well worth watching again, and fortunately, I think it is still available on Netflix.  
The Presence of Everything is a fine name for God. As I rummaged through the internet, I came across part of a transcript by Krista Tippet of the On Being Project: " He [Gordon Hempton] defines real quiet as presence — not an absence of sound, but an absence of noise. The Earth as Gordon Hempton knows it is a 'solar-powered jukebox.'”*  "On Being" is still in existence, and I have just subscribed.   

Friends if you can, please step outside sometime today, breathe deeply, and give thanks for our glorious earth that should not be treated as a toxic production site for the ultra-wealthy. You have just seen a glance as to how I plan on spending the next few years. I will continue to write, and will, to the best of my ability, continue to look around and be a voice for this sacred planet. Our earth is more than a jukebox. Let us come together and share the threads we are following. We are being woven into a garment that is stronger than we know.   

*"The Weekly Pause", James Crews, February 13, 2026    
*"Letter from an American", Heather Cox Richardson, February 12, 2026

*https://onbeing.org    

   

         

     

 
Image was taken from the Garchen Buddhist Institute, outside of Chino Valley, AZ a few years ago. I believe this is a view of the Santa Maria Mountains.