Visit with Grandmother
During the spring of 2002 Robin and I took a little road trip to relax and visit some folks I'd met at the Prophets Conference some years ago. On the way, we stopped in Lupton, Arizona to see an old friend. He was retired from the military and had built a house on the Navajo reservation on some privately held land. While we were there, we hiked up into the mountains and visited a site where the Anasazis had been quite likely over a thousand years ago. There was a small waterway, approximately a foot across and deep, that had been carved out of the solid rock. This waterway was over a thousand feet long, atop a ridge coming off a larger rock shelf. At the base of the groove was a large hole in the rock, approximately 5 meters across and about 2 meters deep. This hole was filled with rainwater, nearly clear of any impurities. My friend and several other Navajos had cleaned the old dirt out of the hole and now enjoyed a natural pool for at least part of the year.
The next day he directed us, as I drove, to the house of an elder's family. We had been invited to the celebration of the grandmother's 101st birthday the night before. He was a bit reluctant to take us then because of the younger crowd's proclivity toward alcohol consumption and he didn't think it would be such a good idea to go. We agreed and visited her the next day. The setting was about 2 miles off the highway, back an incredibly dusty dirt road filled with ruts and holes from rain and vehicles. There were two structures; a modern block home with a traditional 8-sided hogan next to it, where Grandmother lived. She was in the main house at the time, crocheting a beautiful green, white, and blue blanket.
To my surprise, she was blind now, yet still continued her joy with crocheting. I commented on the beauty of her work as I sat down next to her, my partner knelt in front of her and my friend leaned up against a recliner just behind my partner. After my compliment, she shared some stories about her family as I held and stoked her hand, commenting on its softness. Her voice had traces of the Navajo accent, with an occasional click and gruffness. Her voice was soft and soothing, though. She shared viewing her children grow up and the conditions they met as a family growing up on the reservation. Then she did something unexpected. She moved her hands to where they were both holding mine. I felt a shift in energy, even more calm than before. She spoke with a slightly more intense tone as well.
Grandmother told us of when her daughter, now 60 something, was just a few days old. They lived in a hogan far away from neighbors and civilization. One evening she heard strange music outside the hogan. She listened to it for a moment as it was beautiful to her ears. Her curiosity got the best of her and she went outside, at night, looking for the source of the music. As she began walking after leaving the hogan's door, she realized the music was coming from the sky. She stopped and stared into the night sky with awe and amazement. This was quite an unusual experience for her indeed. Then she made a comment that I can only say brought a deep sense of humility and honor to my heart. She said she had not heard that music again until she held my hand. I cannot explain it. I can only report the experience. I'm sure time will reveal the meaning and wisdom of her sharing. I AM still humbled nonetheless. My partner felt the overwhelming gratitude for her sharing as well. My friend said it was the most he had ever heard her say to anyone, native or not. We were all blessed.