What's in the bowl
At Gavilan Ranch far up in the New Mexico mountains with red clay roads
and long eared bunnies that loped ahead of me on the path, there was a
geodesic dome. Buckminster Fuller designed them. I knew his name and
face at the exact moment I knew his structure. You don't utter "geodesic
dome" without also mentioning the man. I'm not sure why. It's not like
we do that with the Empire State Building. Or pyramids. Well, that's not
fair. Pyramids were a group effort.
The dome, white and otherworldly, sat at the back of the lower camp,
next to a rustic rock and wood labyrinth (Naturally. I mean, who would
consider erecting a dome without also putting in a meditation maze?).
The same property contained a yurt big enough for encounter groups, a
pool and a hot tub which I floating in, naked and blissful, during a
summer thunderstorm and downpour, having no idea of the danger.
Not to digress, but that's the thing about life. Anticipation is a
bitch. It kills spontaneity. It overcomes good times with fear.
Anticipation, my friends, is a buzz kill.
But, since I didn't
make the old Ben Franklin connection, I had no idea that I was in
danger. Therefore, I relished the feeling of warm bubbly water against
my cold wet skin as I got drenched from above and watch the clouds erupt
with shocks of light, fingers of electricity.
On this same trip I set up my tent all by myself (I am not
mechanically nor manual labor inclined), but having arrived late and not
knowing a thing about just how much rain could fall in the desert, I
ended up drenched on a shifting but uncomfortable surface. And so, like
so many other times in my life...I slept on the couch. This one was in
the common room between the porch and the dining hall. Not much privacy,
but that was a secondary concern.
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