Sycamore Canyon Wilderness, AZ




Rainstorm in the desert.  Life to the desert.  The holes in the rock around my camp are filled to capacity.  Violent thunder crashing all around me.  Like freight trains coming from every direction.  Hail.  After days of crackling dry heat, the desert is filled with water.  If only for a few days.  A sense of celebration is in the air.  I sit in my tent, wide-eyed, waiting for the next explosion each time the lightning flashes.  I’m camped next to a sandstone wash.  I wonder if it will flood.  The wash looks like an art masterpiece.  Sensual shapes and curves.  Fine arcs and tunnels sculpted from sandstone by thousands of years of rain just like this one.  When the rain lets up I step from my tent and watch the water, still running down the various channels and grooves in the rock.  Filling each small tinaja.  Gallons of water surround me where there was none only an hour ago.  I stare in amazement at the water which was so scarce for the majority of my trip.  Abundance fills the air.  There is a rainbow.  Thank you.  I’ve felt very guided, taken care of, and watched over on this trip.
When you open up and surrender to the present moment, accept it for all its beauty and amazement, the universe becomes helpful.  Guiding you to all the right places.  Decisions are just decisions.  Either answer is correct.  Just choose.  You will be guided.  Taken care of.  As long as you are grateful.  Aware.
It’s when you fight the present moment that the universe seems to be against you.  Nothing turns out your way.  Every decision is the wrong one.  You get caught up in your mind.  Your ego.  “If only I had done this, or that.”  Life becomes a struggle.
It’s a beautiful day, and the sun is starting to come out from behind the clouds.  I’ve got some hiking to do yet.


A frog, who makes his home under a large rock in the largest water hole comes out to inspect his pond, which has grown to nearly twice its size.  He sees me and freezes.  Not moving a muscle, or even an eyelid.  I freeze too and we both sit completely still for almost five minutes.  Easy for a frog, difficult for a human, but I occupy my time watching cloud formations in the reflection of the water.  After a while, he forgets I’m there.  Short-term memory.  He swims across the small waterhole and under his rock once more.



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