Each of us has silver box experiences we tuck away, and from time to time we re-live the emotive memories. The other day Doug, my oldest, told me going to Hopi (The name is used for location as well as people.) wound up in his silver box. He says it changed his life. Maybe it did mine too.
On trips north, time seems to stretch longer and quiet grows deeper the closer we get to Hopi. Doug says on that first family trip we pulled off on a high mesa and got out to look around at the 360 degree panorama of empty desert. He spoke of noticing the curvature of the Earth for the first time and the pelts of grey rain in the distance and said, “At that moment I knew there was something bigger than me and that I was a part of it. It changed my life.”
I agreed. Something about the high desert puts me in touch with the infinite. Visualizing the landscape with no human footprint, no buildings or power lines, drains away stress kind of like a message, but in a whole different realm.
On a practical level, while in a traffic tie-up on the 101 the other day, conjuring up that vista and long-remembered chants and drumming helped me with perspective. I remembered newly that being late for the meeting wouldn’t matter much ten years from now. Next time I’ll leave earlier. It’s all good. Relax the shoulders.
The day after our arrival on Third Mesa, our Hopi hosts led us up a ladder to sit on the roof of one of the houses facing the plaza to watch the katsina dances. I reminded the kids not to fall off the sloped roof. Duh! My husband reassured me they were old enough to be okay, even when they jumped over two feet of thin air onto the next rooftop with the other kids. The mom part of me was uneasy. The actual me was loving it all.
Over a hundred people crowded around the square, but the dozens of us scattered across rooftops had the advantage of seeing the kiva where the dancers emerged. They danced down the path to the plaza and right into my silver box. My heart pounded. I hope I captured the sights and sounds in House of the Earth when Alison Cabot observes her first katsina dance. My next post will be an excerpt from the book of that experience, but for this blog I’m remembering its effect after the fact. Like how the trip affected my handling of stress and its impact on my son.
We were invited, along with about thirty other people, to eat our mid-day meal at our host’s mother’s house. Because of the numbers, we ate in shifts, males first. Before I could remind Doug not to push away the mutton stew with hominy and ask for mac and cheese, he was swept into the kitchen with the other boys. I worried at first but focused on the drum cadence I'd heard and allowed my mind to relax. “Not bad,” Doug said on his way out. When I asked him about the incident last week, he said, “I knew to behave because I didn’t want the Hopi family to be disappointed in me.” Wow, he took the high road, and I didn’t even know why until now.
Currently he’s writing songs like crazy for his rock band Izzy Edible’s next CD and credits his creativity to many things, experiences on Hopi among them. I think I need to sit down with my two daughters and ask how the trip affected them.
Today's blog makes me wonder. What is it that inspires? What relieves stress and reconnects us with the bigger picture? Are they one and the same sometimes?
By the way, I blogged about enjoying the blues band, Krimson Chord the other day. Today I’ll mention that Druid and I are going to see Izzy Edible next Sat. night. (Google it. They promise to “melt your face.”) Does rock music de-stress people the way chanting or orchestral music can?
During my first (and second, and third...) trip to Hopi, I had a similar experience, and the time I spent there is in my Silver box for sure!
ReplyDeleteI loved that trip! Thank you for exposing us to so much. I think i was the only kid at Granada Elementary who knew Hannukah songs, Hopi dances, and Yoga. Love you, Mom!
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