West Texas

I was out in West Texas this weekend with one of my children.  It was hot and dry, but the Chihuahuan Desert was filled with sturdy and tenacious life.

Hudspeth, Culberson, and Davis Counties were scenic with mountains as we headed east on Interstate 10.  (Once we entered the Permian Basin, though, the land became endlessly flat, and dotted with oil and gas wells.)

Below is a photo I took of rocky hills in Hudspeth County that look to me like they are made up of some kind of intrusive igneous rock.  

They were on the other side of the highway from Sierra Blanca, a conical 6,891-foot peak that is something of a landmark and gives a nearby community its name.

In the distance were the Apache Mountains, one of three places where the Capitan Reef is exposed. The Capitan Reef was an enormous 400-mile reef that surrounded a sea called the Delaware Sea in the Permian Period, approximately 250 million years ago. The reef was buried under millions of years of sediment until mountain ranges were uplifted (primarily during the Laramide orogeny), exposing parts of the limestone "fossil reef" left by reef-building creatures like sponges, algae, coral, and other lime-secreting marine life (the other exposed parts of the Capitan Reef are found in the Guadalupe and Glass Mountains).

Below is a picture of Gomez Peak (6,320 ft) under gathering clouds.  It is located at the northern end of the Davis Mountains.

The clouds promise rain, which usually arrives in late summer (it poured in El Paso just after we returned home).  The desert blooms, and the colors of the rock are joined by the brightness of wildflowers.

O Cavafy, O Alexandria

As I walked the streets today surrounded by warm evening light, I thought of Constantine Petrou Cavafy walking the colorful, exotic streets of Alexandria.  I saw him cross squares and navigate narrow passageways in the warm, sultry air; saw him stop for a bit to drink a Turkish coffee in a café or to watch the sunset over the shimmering Mediterranean.  He would take a moment to jot down some lines on human folly and nobility, on the sacred or the profane; but always with a tone of glowing, unimpeachable serenity.  Serenity, even in the face of the possibility that one’s life’s work might come to nothing, as in “Απολείπειν ο θεός Αντώνιον”:

                        την τύχη σου που ενδίδει πια, τα έργα σου

                        που απέτυχαν, τα σχέδια της ζωής σου

                        που βγήκαν όλα πλάνες, μη ανωφέλετα θρηνήσεις.

    Cavafy was a great poet who knew that he was a great poet.  And what higher satisfaction could there be than that?

Afternoon on the Porch

Today I was sitting on the front porch trying to edit this book that I’m working on.  I kept seeing a male black swallowtail sailing back and forth over the lantanas and rue.  I believe he was “protecting his territory,” because every time a giant swallowtail would enter his airspace, he would chase it away.  He kept it up for hours, and I finally snapped a picture of him as he took a short rest.

     There were almost no butterflies this spring.  The spring was long, but it was also cool.  And butterflies love the heat.  Now that it is hot, there are butterflies everywhere, especially giant swallowtails attracted by the orange trees.  I saw some giant swallowtail caterpillars on an orange branch the other day.  There are also gulf fritillaries, variegated fritillaries, black swallowtails and the occasional pipevine swallowtail, sleepy oranges and other oranges and yellows, cabbage moths, various blues and greys, and the occasional mourning cloak (their larvae like to make chrysalises on the apple trees).

     

     The male black swallowtail ended up distracting me, as I watched him soar about and chase the giant swallowtails.  There was also a very tame hummingbird who kept flying around the porch visiting trumpet vine flowers.  The top of his head was covered with pollen.  And great rain clouds appeared in the distance, but we didn’t get any rain.

New Story

Waterfill and Frazier was one of the whiskies that was distilled in the Valle de Juarez during prohibition

This year, I’ve been working on two novels, and consequently, I haven’t sent out too many stories.  But here’s one that was just published:

http://www.heartandmindzine.com/short-story---entries/a-priest-a-horse-and-a-mayordomo

I’m very pleased with it.

Dharma

Today I was thinking about an old friend, a musician, and how failure and rejection fueled his depression, which he self-medicated with drugs and alcohol and other destructive behaviors; and how the intermittent success he experienced supplied the resources that allowed him to pursue those addictions and behaviors.  A terrible cycle.  Heaven knows, I’m not judging him.  This is the man who gave us some wonderful music, music that I still love and honor.  His ravaged life couldn’t obscure his honesty, or his genius as an artist.  And when I think of the hurt and fear and pain he endured . . . But it’s just a reminder to me that we are not made for success or failure.  We are made for dharma--or destruction.

The Things That Are Caesar's

They handed him a denarius, and he said, “Whose head is this?  Whose name?”  “Caesar’s,” they replied.  He said to them, “Very well, give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar—and to God what belongs to God.” (Mt. 22: 19-21)

 All money bears the image of Caesar, because all money represents “the things that are Caesar’s,” power, arrogance, affluence, idolatry, imperialism, materialism, and greed.

The Prophet

The prophet who is stoned is not a brawler or a marplot. He is simply a rejected lover. He suffers from an unrequited attachment to things in general.                                                                                 --G.K. Chesterton, The Defendant