Om, Om on the Range

Om Om on the Range

I easily understand 95% of what I say. However, I have discovered that when my audience swells to include people other than myself, my meaning is not always crystal clear. I attribute some of this to my advancing years. Some of my references have become obscure because the inscription on the tombstone of popular culture has become so weathered, that it is now illegible. (Helen Twelve Trees swept into the room).

Some phrases are overused and have lost real meaning. Take the phrase “popular culture”. If you examine the words you will find reference to a phenomenon that many would agree is neither.

(I ate a popular, cultured yogurt).

Other words are so regional that they are useless in the wider world.

(I sat on the Davenport).

Still other expressions are hampered by having been commonly initialized by their in crowd. Take the Initials CR, for example. In the scientific community this is a reference to the element Chromium, to a shopper, it means Consumer Reports. In my neighborhood it stands for County Road.

(I live on County Road 34).

I am developing a theory of Acronimity.

Allow me to modestly, string the above sentences together.

“I sat on the Davenport, eating a cultured yogurt, reading CR, when Helen Twelve Trees swept into the room, (in a cloud of diaphanous chiffon and a bead work bodice). Her green complexion could have been due to CR exposure in the old mine at the end of CR 34”.

My head hurts. Language, particularly on the internet, gives us all a chance to be misunderstood.

Keeping all of this in mind, I will now roll up my sleeves, and explain the phrase, “Crystal Packin”.

Santa Fe New Mexico was an Art colony in the twenties and thirties. A colorful and disparate Anglo refugee community joined the Spanish and the Pueblo Indians. A few with actual talent. Most with actual joy. Even 35 years ago when I arrived, this felt like a place, not America. We had the artist who set up his easel on the Plaza and loudly rambled and raged to himself while he painted mediocre street scenes. We had the old man with the beard, the hiking boots and Moses staff who wore only knee length Salvation Army dresses and walked all over town, all day every day. We had thriving local theatre groups and dance troupes. My next door neighbor, an elderly Spanish lady never wore shoes, and belly danced on the Plaza. I often walked her to work, carrying her heavy boom box. We had the Golden temple Ashram and restaurant, two Buddhist temples and monastery. Sufi Muslims danced up in the mountains, (Whirling Dervishes), and so much more.

When I arrived through the power of my thumb, I was part of the incursion of the latest misfit group. The hippies, even the Gay ones, had arrived. An older woman who lived in a beer can and bottle adobe retreat in the hills explained to me, as I hoisted another mud brick up to her on the scaffolding, that the rules were few and simple. No baby rape, And judge not, because that takes all the fun out of it.

I could, (and will) go on and on, about what a paradise this was. Paradise almost lost.

We still boast an unusual number of healing institutes. Everything from Reiki massage to Rolphing, Accupuncture, Holistic and Spiritual healing centers. Earth ships, were born in northern New Mexico. They are earth bermed homes made from worn out tires filled with dirt. They feature a planter bed lining the row of sun facing windows in which food is raised. Water is collected on the roof, and drains to an indoor open cistern that humidifies and done properly, turns into a water fall grotto. Household waste water goes to the planter beds. They are designed to have few, if any monthly bills, freeing the residents from the 9 to 5 grind.

Many choose to live “off the grid”. A life so rural that the roads are dust or mud, and power lines and phones are not just undesirable, they are unavailable. Beautiful and creative sculpted hobbit homes pepper Northern new mexico. They are functional living art. To some degree we have ceded the south of our state to Texas. Even there, Roswell celebrates every year with the UFO festival. Even there, old redneck ranchers look for water with two “L” shaped coat hangers. I was here when Reincarnation and past life regression became part of our lexicon. I was here when the Gia concept, was introduced and we all looked at one another and said, “Well, of course”. The Gaia concept says that mother earth is a living being and under severe threat for her life, will shake like a wet dog to rid herself of human fleas.

We used to have few if any demons, because we publicly burn them once a year in effigy (Zozobra), insuring a good chili crop, handsome children and governmental non interference.

They are “paving paradise” here, now.

An invasion of American “Normals”, real estate barons building gated communities, Republican baby rapers, and others who claim to have never seen a ghost or UFO, began twenty years ago. The invasion of the droid bots. People who found our local color “charming”and moved here in numbers sufficient to kill it. Pseudo artist housewives supported by rich husbands who vote for war. Some of these people merely “summer” here, basking in the ambiance without contributing to it. According to the latest Zombie poll, many of these new residents believe that freedom is defended by shedding blood? How curious. Many old timers here, believe it is best preserved through the actual exercise there of. We are here because we kicked the lid off of the box, torched our box, and fled. We do not think outside of the box, we live outside of the box. We are not just proud of our culture, we hope to keep it.

For the most part we have tried to welcome this latest immigrant group, at least those who care to mix. It can be uncomfortable. As a Gay man I find it disturbing when someone has lived such an homogenized life that they ask me if I play the man or the woman and who is on top. This is particularly embarrassing to my partner of 15 years, a 17 year old Corgi mix.

It is still an interesting mingle. We have a growing community of the environmentally sensitive and those who think cell towers are killing the bees. We also have a growing community of retired CEO’s who drive SUV’s.

There was a time when the intrinsic power of natural crystals began to be widely appreciated. Was it my new acquaintance Beverly, on hearing the phrase crystal packer for the first time, was confused? Knowing my Gay (and therefore twisted and exotic) proclivities, she assumed that packing, was some kind of sexual insertion technique? (people who believe themselves to be normal are the sickest, sick, and strangely imaginative perverts).

CRYSTALS ARE KEPT IN YOUR BACK PACK, pocket or purse. Crystal packers are those who carry natural crystals with them to facilitate everyday life. They are used to heal, dispel bad energy and knit broken bones faster.

Crystals can be used in conjunction with smudge sticks. They are used to cure, and summon the forces of good. I once held open the hood, for an old lady who dangled a crystal on a thin golden chain over the engine, to see why her truck would not start. When I worked at a local organic market it was not unusual for our shoppers to wipe the bar code with a hand held crystal. The truly psychic can merely hold a can of beets to their forehead to ascertain nutritional suitability.

To further confuse the definition, it can be used in a looser and more generic way. For example, someone who merely reads tea leaves or uses an aura imaging camera to give readings, can also be referred to as “crystal packers”.

This is not an organized plot. We are not the only place in the world where free spirits gather. Nor do I believe in every wacko theory I hear. Take for example the idea that pre-emptive war makes the world a better place! There are some real looney tunes out there.

You would think that with this mostly left brained and right winged influx, voting in our state would go more smoothly. We hear that other states are characterized as red or blue states. We are still red or green. We drop our chilies in a large cardboard box, (the Greeks used colored pebbles or Ostracon). We rely on the new and less creative to count them. This is not working as well as we had hoped.

Understand that I AM a crystal packer. I live in a straw bale solar home in the hills and chant Om. I have a Tarot deck and recycle. I received an urgent email this morning about a slowed recording of crickets chirping, which I was told promotes a natural soothing atmosphere and facilitates healing. I look for my new CD to arrive next Wednesday. The Deer and the Antelope will love it.

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7 Responses to Om, Om on the Range

  1. Cary Ryerson says:

    Ah, the homogenization of ALL things that USED to denote AMERICA. It’s kill or be killed…………………..Why? Wanna know the kicker? I AM “CR”. Maybe our next life will be better. We can dream, can’t we? ( I think I still remember how……….)

  2. Little Sun says:

    Beautiful, as always.

    ” (people who believe themselves to be normal are the sickest, sick, and strangely imaginative perverts)”

    That one really made me laugh. Glad I’d swallowed my coffee before I got to that line.
    One of these days, we should do a joint blog about the incredibly perverted things “normal” people have said to us over the decades.

    If only we could figure out how to do visuals in order to give the full impact… They so often say these truly sick and bizarre things with the most innocent/ earnest expressions on their faces. No actor could pull it off.

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