Thankfulness

For Vi, With Thanksgiving

THANKSGIVING

With Love, For Vi

Blessed Be, This Day and Always

May your light shine

May the light of the western sky
shine on your evening
and in the dawn
may your morning ring with the singing
of a thousand birds
and the melody
of the ages. Fran

Love to Vi...

I'm so glad Winnie set up this blog, Vi - it's like being able to talk to you in person. All our prayers are with you, many, many candlesworth to light the way.

Dear Vi,

Don't you just love the title of this blog in which you will receive get well messages? I especially like the words "Bright White Light."

I just want to say "Bright White Light" over and over because it has such a poetic, healing ring to it, like new bells ringing in a tower.

I also wanted to tell you that last August my husband had a stent put in his artery. He was not even put to sleep for this procedure. The procedure was to take place at something like 8:00 am in the morning so my daughter and I left Peterborough in plenty of time to make it to the hospital in Toronto. However, a big hospital we got lost inside and were about a half an hour late, and there he was in his bed eating an apple and we said, "You've had your operation." "Yep," he said grinning.

So, Vi, if you must have some kind of operation, I'm hoping yours will be like Jack's. I was always so afraid of heart surgery until I saw this and the advancements they have made today and my fear just dwindled out of me and I thought how wonderful it is that one can grin and eat an apple after this type of surgery.

Chris xoxo

To See Zion

Do come to this sacred place expecting miracles. Don’t be too attached to what those miracles might be. It is a area of peace and beauty that does strange and wonderful things to a person’s senses.



Do come with someone you love, to share the miracles, the magic. Or come alone, for here you can find secret serenity that will be heard in silence.

Look up.



Do make at least one stop inside the Visitors Center, particularly to look at the relief map and get an idea where the various things are located and their relationship with each other.

From April through October, the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive (a park road off Rt. 9) is accessible by shuttle bus only. Rt. 9, which traverses the park from east to west, is open year-round to private vehicles. The shuttles do, however run from 5:45 a.m. to 11:00 p.m.

Do take the canyon trams from the Visitor’s Center with grace, trying not to mind sharing and trying to ignore people who do not understand what they are experiencing and seeing. Try to let any negativity you encounter drip off and evaporate like rain water. The tram is really an easier way to see the park, as you don’t have to worry about parking. It’s stops are frequent and very convenient and it is possible to see more of the canyon now than when you had to try and find parking at every site (something that was virtually impossible since the 1980's). The trams also leave everyone free to look up, since no one is driving. You can actually walk the road now without fear of being hit by a car going too fast through a narrow canyon narrowed further by cars parked all along both sides of the road. Most importantly there are no longer vast amounts of automobile emissions filling the narrow canyon and adhering to the fragile, hallowed sandstone walls. A small amount of personal freedom was lost; the canyon has been saved.

Do praise and give thanks to the wisdom and tenacity that somehow accomplished this miracle under an ecologically hostile Washington administration.



Look up.



Don’t let the fact that there are so many majestic mountains diminish the beauty of any single one, but examine each peak and sheer mountain wall as one would each precious gem, as if it stood alone.

Do see the West Temple just before the sun comes up, as it blooms with a rosy, inner light.

Do see the Watchman just as the sun sets, as it glows with a powerful, deep, sanguine light.

Don’t expect to ever match the pink-coral-flamingo-ocher-peach-terra cotta-rose-cinibar-blush color of Zion in paint, clay or yarn, as it can’t be captured. Nor can it ever be completely caught with words.

Do have fun, gain insight and gather some of the enchantment for your heart by trying.



Don’t miss the part of the park on the other side of the tunnel. The Checker-Board-Mesa and rockswirl formations are an entirely different experience from the park canyon. The tunnel’s themselves are a bit of man-made wonder. It was completed in 1930, when my Grandfather was Commissioner of Roads and Highways for the State of Utah. My Daddy, age fourteen, was one of the first people through the completed tunnel. Coming into Zion from the East is a spectacular thing. My daughters, who arrived in Zion each Easter coming west from Colorado, would tell you that the road suddenly turns magic - and pink. The road through Zion was built using the native red sand and it is, indeed, pink. Coming through the tunnels there are ‘windows’ which open for brief moments on the enchantment that is below. Emerging from the tunnel . . . well, come and see what happens when you emerge from the tunnel!

Do listen to music as you drive through the park. Both Mozart and Beethoven set the atmosphere beautifully and you’ll find as you turn a corner, the music will crescendo in perfect accord with the mountains. I would also recommend Vivaldi in the spring and Gary Stadler’s beautiful, haunted Fairy Music for winter.

Look up.

Do drive the canyon at night, between October and May. Stop, turn off the headlights and be astounded by the number of stars and the huge milky way. Watch out for glowing eyes, there is an abundance of wildlife in the canyon, many of which are nocturnal. If you frequent the camp sites, especially near the garbage cans, those eyes will belong to skunks. A little smelly and tame for my country children, but their cousins from Los Angeles used to love to go to the camp grounds in the dark ‘looking for wildlife.’

If you come between October and May and are renting a car, do choose one with a ‘sun roof’. While one person drives the other can stand through the sun roof in the dark with the glorious wind whipping as you drive slowly. Done under the light of a full moon, this is an enchantment never to be forgotten.

Do be aware that this is illegal and probably not safe. If you get the chance - do it anyway.

Even in the dark, look up.

It is no longer ecologically sound to swim in the Emerald Pool. Do mourn this passing, but do abide by it, for the good of the resource. Stand in silence, listening for the ghosts of those who once swam here in the cold green water, naked in the moon and starlight, under the icy spray of the falls. Listen for echos of their laughter. I am one of them.




Do hike the Emerald trail early in the morning, if possible, begin in the dark. You will be high enough up to witness the dawn bursts in a fire of wonder from the east and paint the shadowed cliffs with sudden glory. You may also reach the Emerald Pool before the crowds and be able to feel in silence it’s magnificent power.

Do lie flat on the fine sand and glory in the sheer, colorful, huge expanse of rock mountain around you. In the spring, huge cascades of water fall from forever to foam in a miracle of mist into the pool. In mid summer the falls may go dry, but the pool and the cliffs above are still incredible and more than worth the climb. In the winter there are staggering, spraying ice stalactites.

Look up. And up.

Do not get way laid by the beauty of the lower falls and miss going all the way to Upper Emerald. It is a paved walk to Lower Emerald, the trail is steeper and natural from Lower Emerald to Upper Emerald and requires some climbing. Do go back slowly and savor these beauties then. Walk quietly in the early morning, and you may be blessed with companions on the trail, the shy white tailed deer who come early to drink.

Do check carefully the length and difficulty of each trail. Some have easier, shorter options. Don’t try to make the long hikes unless you are in excellent physical condition: East Rim, West Rim, The Full Narrows, Down from Kolob through Potato Hollow.

Do always carry water. In all seasons the air is dry. If you hike in winter, watch for wet patches that may be icy.

Angels Landing is a medium long (about 3 hours) beautiful hike and experience, but is a lot of ‘up’ and the last part for “experienced hikers only” changes from fun to foolhardy, dangerous and precarious when you attain the “wisdom” of later years. You may realize that only the angels should have gone to that point. Avoid the hike during the abominable months or on very hot days. Even from the top of Angels Landing with all the drop offs and the beauty below, don’t forget to look up!



And Look Down!

Don’t try to fly off of Angel’s Landing, even if you feel like it. It upsets the Park Personnel and anyone who might be below.

Unless it is your only option, avoid the park in the abominable months - July and August when it is excessively hot (up to 120 degrees) and filled with tourists. There are tourists now all year round, but in July and August it is sometimes slightly insane. If you find yourself there in the abdominal months, do wade, swim, or slosh in the river. Get tubes and ‘run the river’ if it is high enough. Don’t run the river if it is too shallow, or you will be nursing bruises where you would not wish to have bruises.

Don’t forget waterproof sunblock while river splashing and especially when running the river. Don’t forget the backs of your ears! (Lezlie!) You can swim and play in the river on warm days during Spring and Fall as well as the middle of the hot summer, unless the water is very high.

Do try to ignore the vast amounts of people, campers and cars. The park is still beautiful, and the new rules that do not allow driving in the canyon during daylight hours make this even better. Again, be not dismayed by people who do not seem to even be seeing what is around them, no less feeling it. Some people just cannot feel things. Let them go. You may briefly hope that they go to Chicago for their next vacation.

Do hike early and/or take the shady Hidden Canyon trails

Do always carry water and wear sun protection, especially in the abominable months. This means a hat as well as sun screen, for the desert sun can be merciless, especially in summer.

Hie ye to Kolob - it’s high, cooler and a lovely part of the park that is often missed.

Don’t expect the Great White Throne to always be white - it is almost always grey. It is, however, terrific and very often white when seen at sundown, especially through the Saddle when the only place the sun’s rays hit is on it’s greatness. The traditional view through the Saddle is great, but also be sure to look at the Throne from further down the road where you can see if from the bottom up and appreciate the height of the solid rock.



Look up.

Don’t miss Weeping Rock, regardless of the season. Whether the waterfalls are full or almost dry, the beautiful green of the valley seen through the sparkling droplets is enchanted, making you feel you’ve crossed some border into the unknown.


There are a myriad of day trips that can be taken from a base in Zion.
* Bryce Canyon National Park
* Cedar Breaks National Monument (where I was almost born!)
* The Utah Shakespeare Festival located in Cedar City (where I was born!)
* Angel Canyon, the ancestral home of the Anasazi people
* Portions of Drowned Glen Canyon that are rising from the ruin
* Capital Reef National Park
* Parts of The Escalate Step
* Grand Canyon National Park
(Grand is doable in a day trip, but is better if you plan to stay over.)

The Narrows Hike (the short one) is a fairly easy walk that has startling beauty any time of the day or year and every inch of the way. Don’t forget to look up - on both sides. Don’t miss the small, green swamp areas, the hanging gardens and the cliffs that lean far out over you with the heavy reds, blacks and corals that will slide into your soul. Colors will change and differ greatly with the time of day, but the path is uniformly nice. There are hanging trees, plants, flowers, ferns, etc. growing all along the rock edges and places where you can’t believe they could survive.

Remember, if you think the sky is bluer in Zion than anywhere on earth - you are right.

Look up.

If you are young, in good shape and adventurous, you might want to try and go all the way through the Narrows. It is a 16 mile, 12 hour trip (one way) and requires advance permission from the Park Authorities. There are now camp sites part way through, so you can break the trip up. These are ‘one night’ only camp grounds. You will walk through the river more than half of the way and even in midsummer the water is cold and the rocks are slippery. Even when the river is low, a woman of regular height will be chest deep in water part of the way. You will come to a place where the walls come almost together, and understand in a much deeper way the meaning of “Narrows.”



Do remember that if it looks even a little bit like rain, get out of any part of the Narrows as fast as you can go. They are not kidding about flash floods, they come up so fast it is unbelievable and the shallow, muddy river becomes a rushing torrent that can fill the narrow canyon in minutes. If you are caught far up and it begins to rain hard, don’t try and walk out the trail - go up the mountain side, anywhere you can. Fast. This is one of those places where you really don’t want to mess with Mother Nature.

Come at last to the Temple of Sinawava. Stand in awe before the ‘altar’ and the ‘pulpit.’ Let their silent, majestic beauty fill your body, your heart, your mind, your soul. If you feel you are in the presence of something greater than yourself . . . you are right.




Do bring your prayers here, those of thanksgiving and rejoicing as well as questing and asking. Most importantly, bring your prayers of being, for this is a place of continuity and endurance, where it is easy to become the rock and begin to understand, in some way, the meaning of forever. Do come with your mind open, That Which Abides here may not be what you have conceived before or were taught inside of walls. Do accept and exult in that Which Is.



Look up.

Do be sure to notice that this is one of the few places on earth that has complete beauty in all four directions. This is not a coincidence. Turn in each direction and soak in the beauty. Turn again with intention. Traditionally, north will bring you counsel, east the challenges you need to pursue, south for trust and west for truth. But turn with an open mind and accept what is given, things are seldom as one suspects here.

Look up.

From October to May you can drive into the canyon and to Sinawava in the dark. Between May and October visiting after darkness can be managed as well since the trams run until 11:00 p.m. The Native Americans who lived here when the Europeans came would not stay in the canyon over night, and did not want to be there after dark. They lived all around the area, but not in the canyon, for it belonged to the Gods. This is still abundantly clear. Most nights, at some point after dark, a Spirit Wind comes flowing down the narrows, cold and honed and sometimes singing loudly. I never have felt anything but blessings on that Spirit Wind. Interestingly the men in our family would just as soon not go to Sinawava at night, they say it makes the hair stand up on the back of their necks. The women, however, feel welcome in the wind. Perhaps it was always so and when the Europeans questioned the Natives about this canyon, it was only men they talked to. That is something I don’t know. A full moon at the Temple of Sinawava is an incredibly powerful thing, and any moon is a blessing.

The Spirit Wind coming down the canyon is one thing. We do all agree that if you hear howling that is not the wind, not coyotes, but is Somethingelse, it is time to go. Quickly.

Do come to this sacred place expecting miracles. Don’t be attached to what those miracles might be. Do take some of the peace, serenity, and grandeur that you find, the wonder of creation and the feeling of love that abounds here. Tuck it into your heart as a memory, a memento to take with you and carry forever.

And the first five days He labored Here
Here, where the great Rocky Mountains
Flush crimson and dip to kiss the desert
Mukuntuweap, Arrow of Roaring Water
From the Mountain of the Sun
To the Temple of Sinawava
Kayenta of the lost Anasazzi
This refuge, this haven,
Of strength and peace, this
Zion
"the place where God dwells,"

©Edwina Peterson Cross
(Adapted from writings by Jacque Benson Bell)

The Philosopher’s Stone

I went in search of the meaning of meaning
Of turning base metal to gold
The philosophy of an Alchemist
To transform and transmute and unfold
Is it something real or imagined?
When you skin the idea to it’s bones
To reach your hands through forever
Seeking Philosophers stones?

I have felt the power of endurance
Of remembrance hallowed and long
I stood on the wind swept Salisbury plain
Amid power earth deep and time strong
The air, replete with forever
A silence that hollows the bones
I brought a prayer in my open hands
To the foot of the huge sacred stones

They scanned my body with echos
Drew pictures from bouncing sound
Amid the deep secrets of living
The waves danced in bound and rebound
They wrapped around my tissues
Slid right through my bones
And drew a portrait of bursting
A grave double handful of stones

In the woods walked a woman of power
Another stood ‘neath the blue desert sky
Through the trees a force whispered in calling
The singing energy of Wotai
An ancient blessing enduring as ocean
From the cradle of creation’s bones
Into my need opened hands
Fell the power of two perfect stones

I have found what I went off in search of
Though it isn’t just what I expected
The philosophical power of change
With prayer has been interconnected
I searched for an academic thought
Through ancient philosopher’s bones
But found something authentic and real
When I closed my hands on the stones

What came had nothing to do with thought
And everything with feeling
What came was not the key to gold
But the priceless gift of healing
I was flooded with hopes, prayers and wishes
And I soaked them down to my bones
The dross of my body began to change
I saw the truth in my searching for stones

What was given to me, was given
It wasn’t anything that I found
In my need it came to me as love
There is nothing on earth as profound
And the change has come, the Alchemy
That strengthens my muscles and bone
As I walk from healing into health
I have found the Philosopher’s Stone

©Edwina Peterson Cross


River of Prayers

Walking miles through ceaseless rain
Barren hills of fear and pain
Color fades and light goes out
Rain falls parched and seared with doubt
Memory fades, meanings spin
Pain is all that’s ever been
Never to again feel peace
No kind of hope, no release

In the bats wing of despair
Appears the tail end of a prayer
Silver in the blackness falls
Twists and glitters, silent calls
I saw it there, a slender spark
Leading up, out of the dark
In the silence, thin and hollowed
Silver sang, and I followed

Like a woven plait of stairs
The silver sang with many prayers
Linked to make a glistening light
Leading out of pain and night
Through the hours it carried me
Silver river to the sea
Borne upon it’s healing foam
The river brought me safely home

©Edwina Peterson Cross

I wrote this some time ago at the time I received that dire diagnosis. My thoughts turn again to this poem as I face my upcoming, eighteen month, after the fact, test on the ninth of this month. I look forward positively to this milestone because a raven flew over my house this morning and told me that all will be well. The poem though is a reminder that we are all vulnerable to the evil around us.

Surviving the Path

I return from the edge
on a path strewn with boulders
with so many twists,
so many turns.
I lose my way
while searching
for sunny places.
But, I remain lost
in gloomy traces
where damp and decay
grasp my fragility
and hold it
until,
I shake it lose
and run to the light
where,
breathless and terrified
I lie in the sun,
until,
the shadows creep
toward me again.
Of all the paths,
this is the one
that brought me from there
to this,
my dark, cluttered tower
on a path strewn with sorrow,
three steps forward,
two back.

As I hurry along,
the meandering path,
I see not what awaits
around the next shadowed bend—
Branches reach for my face,
ferns grasp for my ankles.
I fall,
face down in the muck,
but I manage to rise,
holding on to the hope
that I’ll survive till tomorrow,
till next week,
next year,
holding on to the hope
that I can survive
the rest of my life.

Vi Jones
©March 3, 2006



Vi’s poem, below, “Surviving the Path,” is quite incredible. I always say that one of the hallmarks of a good poem is when the reader can say, “Yes! That is JUST the way it is!” Notice the exclamation marks in the sentence. When I make this statement it is usually about a poem that has touched that part of me that is always looking for beauty, always hungry for magic. I can say that sentence about Vi’s poem, without reservation. And without the exclamation marks, for this is a poem about dread. Her description is so perfect, so apt that it makes my skin crawl, because I have walked on this path. The part of the poem that is hardest for me is this: I lie in the sun/until/the shadows creep/toward me again/Of all the paths/this is the one/that brought me from there to this/my dark, cluttered tower/on a path strewn with sorrow/three steps forward/two back.” Oh yes.

It is hard to believe that it is nearly already eighteen months. I am almost a year out from my surgery. I knew about mine quite a bit ahead of time. I was scared to death. It was considered experimental surgery, they had already explained to me that there was a terrifically high incidence of mortality in similar surgeries. And because of my fibro and because I am narcotic resistant, it meant the pain would be terrifically difficult to handle. I had already asked Vi if she would stand with me as a spiritual sponsor when I had my surgery. I knew I would need more than just what the doctor could provide. She agreed immediately. This was before we knew that she would end up having very similar surgery, for a completely different reason, six months before I did.

My daughter and I were on a ‘Road Trip’ in September of 2004. We had just come down from Zion canyon to the motel in Springdale, when Lezlie checked her phone messages. She came to me quickly to tell me there was a message from my niece, who was on LightDancing, saying I should find somewhere to pick up my email quickly. I looked at Lezlie, my eyes filling with tears. “It’s Vi,” I said, “I know it.” I went to the motel office and began to try to access my email through their system. As I sat waiting for it to come through, I looked out the window. The sun was setting on the Watchman.

My parents had a house in Springdale for years. When you live in the middle of a miracle, I guess you stop really seeing it. I never stopped looking up at the mountains of glory that rose behind their little house, but I think I probably usually afforded them a quick smile before moving on. Now I looked up at the Watchman, which stands over the little town of Springdale and I was completely struck dumb by the beauty. All I could think about was Glen Canyon, drowned beneath the water. Glen Canyon that I had driven over in a speed boat, probably busy putting suntan lotion on my white skin. When Vi and I had talked about it once, I had suddenly seen that Glen Canyon meant the same thing to her that Zion does to me. I looked up at the Watchman drowned in golden light and my throat closed.

When the email confirmed that my first instinct had been right, I told Lezlie that I needed to go back up to Sinawava. If the setting sun was reflected on the Watchman, it meant that it was already getting dark in the narrow canyon where the Temple of Sinawava guards the Zion Narrows. She picked up her purse and said, ‘lets go.’

It was dark when we left the canyon and the Spirit Wind was singing like crystal down the narrows. As always, cool and clear in the hot, desert air. I came back from the side of the river and said to Lezlie, simply, “it is going to be OK.”

Six months later, Vi would send me a small earth miracle that fit in my palm, perfectly balanced with another that came the same day, from the other side of the country - with love from Maya. Together they walked me through the pain and on into recovery. Recovery was difficult for both of us. It took a long time. I’m not sure I’m there yet. And for Vi, there is always the recheck, to walk through and to pass beyond. Sometimes I still feel the ‘damp and decay grasp my fragility.’ Sometimes I still feel the ‘shadows creep toward me again.’ But much more often I feel the sun, and know the blessed feeling of rising again to find hope. I watched Vi do it before me. I saw her courage and determination and I said, “OK, then. That is JUST the way it is.” And so it was.

Since I read Vi’s poem, I have been painting. I have tried to do both the Watchman with the setting sun on it, the way I saw it that day, and the river at Sinawava, as the light disappeared and the Spirit Wind came like a prayer, down the narrow canyon.

Obviously, I can’t capture it, but then I’ve never seen a painter who could, so I don’t feel so bad.

Come and see it. Come and feel it.

Here, where the great Rocky Mountains
Flush crimson and dip to kiss the desert
Mukuntuweap, Arrow of Roaring Water
From the Mountain of the Sun
To the Temple of Sinawava
Kayenta of the lost Anasazzi
This refuge, this haven,
Of strength and peace, this
Zion
"the place where God dwells,"

~ Winnie

Sunset on the Watchman

Sinawava at Night Fall

That is the Way it Was....

I truly believe, Winnie, that your speaking to the spirits at Sinawava helped me through my ordeal. That and the fact that my surgeon was an angel in disguise. After all my pre-surgery tests, he stated matter of factly that he was was going to cure me. Now that's a broad statement for a man of western medicine. But, you know, I believed him. What is even stranger is that when my doctor referred me to this particular surgical group, I got the new man on staff. I didn't know anything about him, but I liked him from the moment I saw him and I had no doubt that if anything could be done, he could do it. After the surgery, when I was awake enough to understand, he stated in no uncertain terms that I was cured--that I did not need chemo or radiation. It wasn't an easy recovery ... it took several months before I was really back on my feet. I have learned since from my own doctor that I am the only person she knows that has survived that particular type of cancer and that I was extremely lucky to find a surgeon who would perform the operation--most don't want to do it because it's too risky and the outcome dubious at best. I have also discovered that my angel surgeon has moved on--is no longer affiliated with that surgical group--I hear he is in Utah--possibly in the Salt Lake area. The strangest fact of all is that he was here just long enough to take care of me.
It was you, Winnie, who spoke to the spirits in Utah, and it was the prayers and thoughts of my friends from across the globe, and it was a surgeon who was an angel in disguise.
Luv, Vi

The Druid Walks In Zion

Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay
And wash them white
Spired symmetrically round?
Man in his delusions
Building with his frail hands
Another ladder to heaven
Concrete steps to carry him to the stars
An ephemeral vessel in which to talk to God
To pull on his sleeve
To hold his collars
Until we are sure he hears our weighty words
Gifted with speech, man has filled the universe
With the whispering of his importance
And forgotten that in stillness
One can hear

Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay?
When The Temple is here in eternal peace
Built in savored splendor by infinite hands
Before temporal man ever thought to speak
Pointing with glory in a stretch to the sky
Cradling heaven in a circle of immortal stone
Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay?
Walk soft here in the sacred silence of His space
And . . .
Listen


©Edwina Peterson Cross

ZION PERSPECTIVE IV

ZION PERSPECTIVE III

ZION PERSPECTIVE II

ZION PERSPECTIVE I

The Virgin River - Zion Canyon

Painting by Edwina Peterson Cross