Rio Grande Gorge, NM

I stood on the edge today… of a storm, a jagged chasm, a bridge, an open doorway.

There are some who use words like weights, hefting them your way before you learn to dodge. It’s done in ‘love’ of course. I carried that weight without realizing how heavy it was.

I want my words to float.

View of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains outside of Taos (across the Gorge)

Across from Taos and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains we camp in a flat land of Servilleta Basalt high above the Rio Grande. Below us, an 800’ gorge runs through ancient lava flows – a jagged tear in the Taos Plateau by the hand of this once mighty river.

Well, the Rio Grande Gorge is a minor scratch on the earth’s skin compared to something like Hell’s Canyon, but humor me…

Gorge. Barranco. Cañón. Abyss. Chasm. A narrow valley with steep, rocky walls located between hills or mountains. An existential angst, the unknown, the giving up of control, the fear of jumping, the call of the void, l'appel du vide. A hollow place. It sits in my throat like a pill I can’t quite get down.

From camp, the recently re-opened John Dunn Road snakes perilously down the edge of the gorge, a series of tight switchbacks tucked in crumbling walls. The horse moves forward without hesitation, glancing right then left, down and out, while I – on the other hand – keep my eyes primarily on the road.

The river clamors along below, crashing and sweeping against the smooth egg-shaped stones in its path and echoing through the steep canyon.

At the bottom, we rest. The horse drinks and grazes on thick green stalks along the river. Passerby’s and tourists look on. A few cars sit void of their kayaks and rafts, which are no doubt far down the river by now.

Leaving the Sandia's of Albuquerque yesterday, I found myself tired, cranky, irritable, short-tempered, barking at the horse and dogs as if they are somehow imposing on me by simply being here.

But I have brought them into this neck of the woods, so to speak, and now I am directing an impatience their way which I, myself, have often been recipient of - scolding them for a situation I created and for wanting, for needing something from me in return. I know better.

It is yet another weight to be shed.

In the gray areas we find our humanity, we find the truth. We must face our learned self and return to our instinctive state – before any weights were hurled our way. Like a plant which needs pruning, we peel back the dried and torn parts to reveal new growth.

As I turn and make the way up and back towards camp, at each bend I pull the horse aside. Some small intent to give him a rest, but he wants to finish the job and trudges along ignoring me.

Get ‘er done, he says. He carries me forward; my previous irritation oblivious to him. I cannot help but see this horse anew with each ride.

I stood on the edge today… of a storm, a jagged chasm, a bridge, an open doorway.

Weathered the lightning. Rode into the gorge. Crossed the bridge. Walked through the door - toward a future I don’t know.

But I will. Oh yes, I will.

Historic John Dunn bridge, bottom of the Rio Grande Gorge, NM