I sat in the courtyard of a beautiful adobe home in the
outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico the other day and listened to the voice of
the dry high desert wind.
The courtyard trees translated the thought for me and lulled
me into a meditation of awe and expectation. I only had a few minutes of being
alone, but it was magnificent and an eternity in a single moment.
The wind sound was not the rustle of an Eastern forest when
the wind speaks through the trees.
It was not the clapping voice of the low desert where palm
fronds applaud the elegance of a steady wind and slap their appreciation to the
All That Is.
It was an undulating hushing human voice of a canyon wind passing
and gusting through the Aspens, Pines and Sage.
This is the same wind that has
forever honored the Native people of the southwest and it honors each of us for
we have the sister and brother winds of breath.
Immediately I felt the presence of a friend whose home this
use to be. He passed to the other side and I was here to celebrate his life
with a ceremony on the summer solstice.
Requiescat en pace Bob Samples and thank you for filling so
many lives with wonder, words, concepts and hugs.
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