D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February 2012
The Power of the Falls
Losing faith is like losing your car keys. Finding it again, however, requires a different approach — and, sometimes, a waterfall.
by Mike Moutoux
We all lose our faith at least once in our lives, or at least we should. We trust too much in individuals who turn out to be human and governments that turn out to be not. We ask it of religions that only want ours; we pray to saints who stopped listening long ago. By "faith," I don't mean just that of the devoutly religious; I mean that which helps us get out of bed in the morning anticipating the day ahead. Call it a star that guides you, the rock that holds you up, a sixth sense that lets you see through the murkiest shadows; faith is powerful stuff. This kind of faith is older and more inclusive than what I see in conventional religions.
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Falls at the Catwalk near Glenwood. (Photo by David A. Fryxell) |
Losing faith is like losing your car keys; you'll find both if you know where to look. The big difference is that the keys will be where you left them, but faith will be found in places you may have never been. If you're looking for your keys, look in your coat pocket. If you're looking for faith, go outside on some chill morning when the stars are still visible and your breath forms a wreath over your head. Face east and wait for the sun to rise. I assure you that it will. Try it for as many mornings as you need. There will come a day when you decide to stay in bed because you know, you know, the sun will be there for you. It will not ask you to love it and then fly off to another galaxy to find itself; it will not require your faith in exchange for some promise of Paradise; it will not ask for the lives of your children so that others may live in peace. The sun will rise, day after day — but don't take my word for it, go build your own trust. There's nothing like building your own faith one day at a time. Trust me.
Unlike car keys, faith can be found in many places at the same time. You can build it each day with the sun, with the tides that rise and fall, and with the songbirds that carry spring within their tiny breasts. You can find it in the golden eye of a spadefoot toad emerging from the soft soil after the first monsoon rain, in the pastel blooms of hedgehog cacti clinging to a rock shelf, or in any number of wild places or wild things.
If your faith has been shaken or taken and you need salvation on short notice, there is a way. Leave the houses, churches and the city halls behind; you'll not find quick or easy solutions where compromises affect promises and committees dwell on old business before new. Go instead to a waterfall.
I would suggest you find one formed by a creek with enough water to make some noise but not enough to attract a tourist industry. While you sit, close your eyes and let the water do its work. You'll discover that the falls will be multitasking and seem oblivious to your presence. This is how waterfalls work; be patient.
The falls will be doing three things: moving water from the creek-bed above to the pool below, wearing away the wrinkles in the rock face behind them, and pushing the world away by the roar of its work. Listen — there are no other sounds except water tumbling over stone, water spraying across air and fern, and water swirling back into itself in a mirrored pool. With the world in retreat, faith appears, tentative and unsure. Not unsure of its power — unsure of you. Remain still and focus only on the sound of the falls. Faith will come soon, but you cannot force it.
You may be surprised when it arrives because you have been taught to expect something else. A burning bush, a tablet, or a symbol forged in gold. If you have trouble letting go of these things, then set them beside the water and let the creek carry them away. Creeks have the kind of faith that can literally move mountains; taking away a few misconceptions is no burden at all.
I hesitate to promise you anything more. I want you to be surprised when you get there. I want you to sit alone with no preconceptions of faith and how it will become a part of you. I will tell you this: Faith is not something you shape — it shapes you.
Should we meet after you have been to the falls, I will study your face to see if the waters have restored you. I will see it in the mist that makes your eyes shine in the sun, in the smile that says your troubles have been washed away, in the peace that rests on cheeks worn smooth by the saving grace of the falls.
Mike Moutoux is a part-time cowboy and entertainer who occasionally lets his mind wander away from horses and cattle. He lives in Silver City.
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