2 July 1993 - Friday - Gallup, New Mexico
At the request of Legacy consultant, Gilbert Ortiz, I am visiting Gallup, NM. A few days ago he telephoned to ask my assistance with the investigation of the sudden death of a young Navajo healer, Kennedy Hosteen. Poison was feared. However, upon examination of the premises where he died, I found nothing to warrant a belief in foul play of the mundane or paranormal variety. My "Sight" suggested that he had a congenital heart defect. He died suddenly while performing the "Blessing Way." I did not in any way sense a restless spirit or anything of a "dark" nature. There was only pain, fear, and surprise on his part - then an acceptance of his fate.
In a few days I intend to once again submit a proposal to the Ruling Council that Albuquerque be granted a full-fledged Legacy House. It sits on the eastern rim of the mystical nexus of the "Four Corners" region. It is a travesty that such a large, centrally located city with links to a multi-cultural, spiritually active area has been so long neglected.
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2/7 - Fri. - Gallup
I arrived yesterday afternoon around 4:30. The drive west was a pleasant one - an overcast kept the heat down.
It's intriguing how much has changed and yet how much has remained the same. The ubiquitous yellow billboards advertising "live rattlesnakes" and "moccasins for the whole family" are still firmly in place, but gone is Rt. 66, which they once flanked - replaced by interstate highway.
I checked into the Pow-Wow Motel. Gilbert was surprised that I chose this over the conveniences of the modern establishments, or his house. The truth is I was aching to wallow in memories. Father and I stayed there many years ago when he was supervising a dig at Canyon de Chelly. Though its age shows, it seems to have been decently maintained. I remember the same gravel parking, zig-zaged neon lights running along the edge of the roof & the same flashing totem pole sign.
Gilbert picked me up for the drive up to the Coyote Canyon Chapter House. A hogan had been built nearby for "sings" & other such ceremonial purposes. The scent of rain on the air and the distant flashes of lightning offered liberation. Somehow my soul feeds from the energies infusing that immensity. I know it sounds insane, & there have not more than 5 people in my entire life to whom I would confide, but when I look at the great red cliffs, when I feel the expanse of the place, I sense the quivering hand of God. Truly, He inhabits the emptiness of these desolate places. His presence is so strong that the very barriers tingle. No wonder the prophets sprang from places like Sinai and the wilderness of Judea.
I was relieved that we were alone at the hogan. I'd have been embarrassed at my lack of manners. I've forgotten everything that Father drilled into me about the local courtesies. As I dragged my fingers through the remains of his sand painting, I could feel Kennedy Hosteen. He was very gifted - a man who wanted to use his abilities for the side of good. I could also feel the tear in what I think was his aorta. I felt his death come quickly. Nothing more - just tragic, unexpected death. His was indeed a great loss to the forces of light.
We stopped at the Chapter House on the way back to the highway. I waited in the car while Gilbert went in to tell the Navajo council that they could put their concerns to rest. Although I never saw anyone, I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on me. Doubtless my father knew some of these people. I recalled him telling me not to hide, but to let people quell their suspicions, satisfy their curiosity. I stepped from the car to stretch my legs, then walked around to absently lean against the fender. I gave them their look at the "belagana" shaman.
Gilbert invited me home for supper - a lively household of 8 children. We sat under his cottonwood trees into the early hours of the morning. Such memories: crickets, the murmur of thunder, a freight train's lonely wail. Sometimes I can almost smell Papa. We sipped our brandies as we watched the distant lightning and the unending stream of headlights on I-40. We talked of the latest Anazazi discoveries, demons we've known, and what prices Navajo rugs are bringing at auctions in Germany and Japan. It was a good evening.
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Today, I'm getting a late start. My flight isn't until late afternoon. I had thought to check out some of the pawn shops. Father once found a Zuni brooch of Bisbee Blue turquoise that fetched enough at auction to pay the museum's salary for a month. I'm not in the mood. Most of the good stuff has already been had. I'll take my time getting there, perhaps with a stop or two along the way, & enjoy simply being me a little while longer.
Maggie has called in her IOU, so I'm flying directly to LA. They'll have to celebrate without me - no great sorrow, I suspect. I just hope I have a house left standing when Mr. Boyle & I return home. It seems I am completely at the mercy of the court for the entire holiday weekend. Judge Maggie says she'll hold me in contempt if I don't live up to my end of the bargain. I'm sure she has something diabolical in mind.
Tuesday morning I shall get Mr. Boyle out of quod, and introduce him to his legacy - I hope, to his destiny. I'm glad I got the rest, I think I'll need it.
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