When spirts are watching you
It was the mid 70’s I believe. I was living in Palm Springs California for a time. Actually it was a smaller town outside of Palm Springs called Rancho Mirage.
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A friend I worked with at the TV station — invited me out to her place one weekend. It was a little oasis in the desert. A small village was there but few places were inhabited. I think most were weekend getaways for folks from the city. However, there were a few full time residents. I know the name of the area but have chosen not to disclose it. The following photo is of that area.
My friend introduced me to an elderly woman who was in declining health. She had a horse and loved to go riding but her health was preventing her from doing much of it anymore. The women told me I was welcome to ride him anytime and I took her up on it. I missed riding and this made my day.
The horse’s name escapes me and I find that a bit odd since I can remember nearly every name of every horse I have had since a child. He was a palomino gelding about 13 years old. He had a lot of git up and go. I liked that he was never one needing to be prodded to keep moving. I also liked his smooth gait that always gave me a welcomed ride. His only real flaw was he was terrible to catch, which was strange – since once caught, he seemed quite happy to be saddled, bridled and off on a new adventure.
I would go out nearly every weekend and go for a ride around the desert. Sometimes with my friend, but more often alone. It was not all just flat desert. Their were various areas with little trails that wandered thru washes and into the foothills.
Another resident of the little village was an older gentlemen I liked to visit as he always had a good story to tell. One day he told me a story of, what he called, Apache Pass. It was a nearby wash or gully. Back here in Montana I would call it a coulee. I don’t know how true the story was but he told me that, while being pursued by soldiers, a group of Apache’s went up this dead end wash and disappeared. The soldiers were baffled when they reached the dead end – with nothing but steep hillsides all around and no sign of where they had went. He ended the story by saying that no one had ever figured out how they disappeared.
I had ridden up that wash a few times. On this day, as I was riding thru, I felt a presence. I had felt it before but it was stronger today. A vision of a dozen or so natives came to mind along the cliffs above. They were watching. I was not afraid. I felt no anger or hostility from them. They simply watched. Maybe guardians. They were not something I was seeing with my eyes but more so, a feeling with my whole being. A simple knowing they were there.
As before, I came to the end of the trail met by the cliffs that signaled a dead end. I dismounted and with horse in tow, walked closer to the wall. A bit odd was how the color of the dunes changed from left to right – a tan to a gray then to a dirty red. It was not unusual to see the various colors in the sandy hillsides, but it was odd to see them in this particular fashion.
I walked closer, then still closer until I could touch the sandy wall. I inched along the gray and as I moved even closer to the the red color I stood in awe.
The gray and red color did NOT come together as it appeared from every angle until right upon it. There was a gap between. It was narrow but wide enough for a horse and rider to travel. It went upwards at a slight angle. It went up between the gray and red.
I had to see what was up there. I mounted again and we started up. It was a very short distance to the top. Maybe 100 yards. Then, the path widened and came to a little drop off that would put you right out in the wide open desert. Wow. I sat there in amazement. Had I just found where the Apache had escaped as thou they disappeared?
I did not go out that way, instead, we made a tight turn around and went back down. Once back at the base I had an overwhelming need to cover my trail up that path. I found some brush and drug it back and forth over my tracks, removing all trace of my venture beyond the end.
I did not sense the spirit watchers as I left and I never mentioned it to anyone.
That was my very first memory of any kind of spirit contact. What I did not know was more would come with time.
NOTE: About a month after this event, the lady who owned the horse I rode — passed away and left the horse to me. I moved him down closer to where I lived and felt I was doing him a great service turning him loose in a big pasture after he spent so long in that small corral. WRONG. That horse could never be caught again. I cannot begin to tell you the many ways we tried. When I left to come back to Montana I had to leave him there. I would imagine he finished his life out in that big pasture. (smile)
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