o, el arti/super? ficial re-encarnacìon de Tiny Elvis: este es uno (uno mas) de mini-relato cual tiene nada que hacer con nada. Pero, por lo general, escribo varias cosas con fotos cual, otra vez, tienen nada que hacer con nada. ¿Claro? ♪ … Continue reading
Kind of wish that were my truck. I’m spendin’ a day in Astoria Oregon a couple years back. Me and my dockside loungin’ buddies. Vision of the organism #1. (Rosco yoosta refer to self in 3rd-person as that — the … Continue reading
This is a post, mostly pixures, about THE INUK-THINGY NEAR WOMBAT ARCH. And, of course, there will be other, random, unrelated observations. And ruminations.
Take a look at the Betunada site picture at the top of this ‘page.’ Rosco (me) is atop ‘Wombat’ Arch — and the photo is by Benjamin George (Eddie’s dad) from a few years back.
As you can tell, it definitely IS an “arch.” It helps to have day, or sky-light visible as the backdrop. So … these photos (below) are from ABOVE the arch, and the “arch-ness”, or archeosity, or arch-essence, qualities, character, whatever, is/are not as obvious. And there’s an INUK-THINGY nearby. Enjoy … and just wait ’til dessert …
Looking west, from the arch, past the Inuk-Thingy. A typical west Colorawdough high-desert turbulent spring un-settled sky.
Two dogs (RockSea and da Slevv) are on top of the arch. I was leery of doing same, as it seems to have possibly crumbled a little from the prior visit, and the integrity (not to mention ‘safety’ factor) could be in question. Probably silly of me to have thought this, but it WAS windy. Never-the-less, there are several hundred pounds of rock being held up. There will, eventually, be a return visit and opportunity for goofy portraits …
Sleven on top of the arch.
What, if anything, do I think about when rambling through the high desert? One pleasant and happy thought was that I considered walking across the arch, but being alone (the only ‘human’) it would be my luck for the thing to collapse, and the good chance I wouldn’t be killed, but would be horribly and painfully mangled. So, if there’s someone(s) with me, I’d do it (walk across, stand there), so whoever could report to whoever one reports to if the thing collapsed.
This little sentinel-cairn was in the valley below the arch.
View back towards the Grand Valley, sun at my back. Turbulent sky, unsettled and transitional — I usually like this kind of day.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali tell us that connection to and realization of the unity among and behind and around all things is always close. Within. If it was a measurable distance to get to it, it would be less than an inch. But … the barriers, what keeps each of us, me, you, from that realization must be daunting. Intertwined. A thicket. A large overturned semi-truck blocking the road, hazardous waste spilled and ankle-deep in places. The Haz-Mat crew out in full PPE mopping and sopping and bagging it up. No, IT AIN’T THAT COMPLEX. It should all be so very very simple. I tell myself that, and try to clear the mind, stop the infernal dialogue, concentrate. Sometimes I manage to try to hold this thought for … oh, maybe ten seconds. I am so, very … deep.
HA!
I wuzz deriving to werk a coupla daze back, feelin’ paranoid. That old familiar feeling. Doom, more gloom, around the corner, under the bed?, through and within the forest, never far away. And then another thought put it all in perspective. A line from the movie “Men In Black” (Part II or III, I think) spoken by the Tommie Lee Jones character: THERE IS ALWAYS A KIRILLIAN DEATH-CRUISER ABOUT TO DESTROY THE EARTH.
b e t u n a d a 