The monsoon rains were coming down hard as the vehicle rumbled up the muddy mountain road to the RidgeWalker’s post. The typical routine for the Shadows (therapists at the ANASAZI Foundation) is to immediately tumble out of the vehicle, stretch our legs from the 3-4 hour road trip, then make final preparations to go down into the bands to sit with YoungWalkers. On this particular morning we parked the vehicle and nobody moved.
Monsoon Season in Arizona
Monsoon rains are often intense but brief and we hoped that this one would subside as we finished eating breakfast and reading the last few letters from parents. The rain pounding on the vehicle was so loud that we had to shout if we wanted to speak. It soon became clear that the storm was going to outlast us, so I donned my poncho and headed down to the BadgerStone boys band.
I approached the site where I expected them to be and I stopped and hooted. Listening for a response, I could hear nothing but the sound of the rain. I walked on and found their camp site. I could tell I was in the right place because it was littered with canteens, wool blankets, boots and other random trail gear. Scanning the camp, I could see that none of the shelters were still standing and the fire had long since drowned. I hooted again and got a response. My ears found them before my eyes did.
As I got nearer to them I was surprised by the sounds of joy. They were singing, laughing and telling jokes. I finally caught sight of them. The entire band, including TrailWalkers was standing under a small tarp, huddled together like a scrum of penguins. Steam rose up from the cluster. Nearly all of the group faced the inside of the cluster so their backs were all toward me.
At that point there was not much else to be done so I joined them. Standing under the shelter, I noticed that the YoungWalker next to me was clutching something to his chest as he shivered and smiled. “WHATCHA GOT THERE?” I shouted over the noise of the rain on the tarp. “LETTERS,” he said, revealing a large zip lock bag of folded papers and pictures. About that time I noticed that every YoungWalker there had saved his bag full of letters.
Learning from the Monsoon
If you have never walked the trail you might not be aware of all the treasures gathered in one’s walking. There is a long list o
I learned a lot about the Path of Water that day, and not because there was so much of it falling out of the sky. In The Seven Paths we read that “water’s mission is not to preserve hurt but to wash it away. And not only to clear the earth of strife, but to combine with air and light to grow beauty in its place.” In my walking I have come to think of the letters that come to and from the trail as vessels that can carry this kind of water…water that washes and heals hearts, growing beauty where there once was strife.
