The Matriarch's Stories - Utah

They are immense in size, ponderous in their various shapes, mute to human ears, yet clearly audible to anyone stopping long enough to listen to their stories. They stand as guardians and sentinels looking out across hundreds of miles of landscape. Some are massive with gray colors, their faces shrouded in shadows. Others are thin elongated spires, dancing across the terrain like wild Dakinis. "They" are the towering matriarchal stones that tell unabridged stories of how they came into being, born more than 525 million years ago in earth time.  

There are many ways to trek through Arizona and Utah's National Parks. You can go by tour bus or by car - stopping at scenic overlooks. Or, you can hike the trails that lead you off the beaten path. Hiking takes you into the realms where the Matriarchs live undisturbed. Away from the constant drone of chattering tourists the silent dowagers speak. Three protectors stood watch, staring out over a vast curtain of limestone shaped like a pipe organ. The official park brochures called them "The Three Gossips" a designation demeaning to the elegant bearing of these towering shapes where one was crowned with an Egyptian headdress and another looked like a Mayan priestess. Others, surrounding the Three Matriarchs, looked like grandmothers lounging in conversation.  

In the cathedrals where they stood, these story-tellers held us enthralled. They possessed a consciousness of stability, of foundation, and of solidity, waiting for humans to arrive on the planet to appreciate their old stories. Climbing atop a large outcropping we sat with the grandmothers for quite some time. We listened as they told us of the winds which howled through the canyons eroding their ancestors and creating soil. They pointed out the remnants of waterways that had carved their shapes over geological time turning them into vivid shades of reds, ochres and oranges. Eons of lightning strikes had shattered or blackened some of the Matriarchs, allowing the space for the arrival of the plant kingdom. Flowering plants clung to small ledges, flourishing in the rocky arms of these mother stones. And still The Matriarchs stood, carefully watching over the earth.   

The Matriarchs, left behind after the oceans that covered the land evaporated, told us the creation story. We sat on a petrified dome that once was an ancient sea bed, listening as the shrieking winds blew cold air across us. The Sentinels said they were the earth - the foundation and container of all land. They witnessed the days of Genesis when the land was water and the light came and sky was formed. Though they were solid and immobile, they watched and patiently waited as plants grew in their dust, creating food for the animals and humans that would some day live on the land.  

Millions of years went by in the time all this happened. Over the eons, they saw their towering ancestors become rolling hills and valleys covered with grains and grasses. They knew that the similar monstrous stones of Zion would some day have the same fate. But between the heights of the Zion stones and the valleys of the reservations, they would become the lacy spires and arches of Bryce that draw humans from all over the world to appreciate them.  

As we sat on the slickrock the evidence of the continuity of life was all around us. Even though epochs had come and gone, still there was life. No matter how much the elements had altered the landscape, life continued. When flooding waters receded leaving only dry sand dunes, life emerged again. No matter how harsh the circumstances, a flowering plant lived. And amid all the grandeur of nature and creation, a magnificent spirit was present.

As the Matriarchs' Story came to an end, they asked one question, "What will humans do?" The question was not unexpected, for indeed, what will humans do? The teachings of the mystics of the far east tell us to study and learn from nature in order to understand our spiritual being. The message in every mystical text is clear: To know God go to nature. The Matriarchs of Bryce, Zion, Canyonlands and Arches also know this and teach it to anyone willing to spend time with them.   

Our parks are a national treasure with each one telling a unique story. If humans care to listen. Politicians with foresight created them. Now, it's in our hands to continue a legacy of protection for generations to come. Or through complacency and ignorance destroy the story of creation. But assuredly, not if the Grandmothers of Mother Earth have anything to say about it! For the spirit of all life lives through the stones and after 14 billion years, they will prevail.

Jo Mooy - August 2014 

Grandmother Protectors

The Grandmother Protectors 

     

We'd just returned from a lengthy hike. Sitting down to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, our ears picked up a soft moaning wail. It was a sound that felt strangely misplaced in a California State Park filled with families laughing and happily enjoying summer vacations. We looked around for the source of the sound. Then we saw him.

A little boy with light colored hair stood with the front of his body pressed against a giant Ponderosa pine. The tree dwarfed him. He rubbed his teary eyes through his sobs. My first thought, (rather, it was the one I wanted to believe) was that he was somehow communicating with the tree. We had done the same thing by hugging one of the towering trees earlier on our hike.  But that notion was quickly dispelled. The little boy was being punished. The events that happened over the next thirty minutes not only confirmed it but has left an indelible imprint on my psyche.

His family, a collection of variously aged generations, was eating a well spread out lunch at a picnic table near the tall tree. All of them ignored the child. But we couldn't. After a while his sobs subsided and he began to look around though he never left the tree. Then his mother got up. At last, I thought, she's going to bring him to the picnic table with the rest of the family. But that wasn't her plan. She went to the little boy, slapped him hard across the back, twisted his arm, shoved his face into the tree, and pushed him to his knees. His sobs began again louder than before.

We were stunned by her behavior. But my partner sprang to life, announcing "this is child abuse" and went to get the park ranger. As she strode into the office area the mother went to the restroom near where I was sitting. I decided to confront her when she came out. As I stood in front of her, I noticed her face was splotchy and angry, her hair disheveled, and she seemed tormented. I told her I'd seen how she treated the little boy and surely there must be another way. She replied that she would not tolerate his misbehavior. I asked her what memories she wanted this child to carry into his life - one enjoying a family vacation or the abuse he was suffering at her hands. She stared at me defiantly, assessing how she'd answer. I said "there will come a time when you'll wish to hold this child in your arms instead of smashing him into a tree."

Perhaps realizing there might be trouble brewing, she hurriedly moved away from me. Then I saw the entire family had gathered up their half-eaten lunches and were moving away from the area. Especially now that my partner had arrived with the Park Ranger in tow. Wondering about the little boy, (and secretly hoping they'd left him behind) I noticed his grandmother had retrieved him from the tree and was carrying him away in her arms.

In domestic situations like this something must be done. We confronted the issue by finding the Park Ranger who might be able to help. But there was something more to consider. The mother must have learned that behavior somewhere in her life in order to rain down such punishment on a defenseless child. And sadly, he was going back into that environment no matter what the Park Ranger did.

So we did what we knew to do. Going into the forest, we (two grandmothers) bowed our heads and appealed to the Goddess of the Forest and the Mother Earth Guardian of us all to protect that little boy. We prayed for peacefulness to surround his mother and we asked that his future days be blessed with harmony instead of hatred. We prayed that his own grandmother be there as a safety net while he was growing up.

It's been several months since witnessing that event in the state park. But not a day goes by that I don't think of the little boy crying into the tree. The image stays in my memory as a reminder to continue offering prayers not only for him but for all the children who suffer in this heinous way. And during this month of Thanksgiving I am keenly grateful for all the grandmothers who protect their grandchildren somehow, someway, from all who would harm their innocent souls.

Jo Mooy - November 2013