The First Drops of An Evening Rain
…Maturing is letting oneself be cooked by life, letting oneself blindly fall—like a fruit—wherever…__Giorgio Agamben
The summer monsoon season arrived here in southwestern New Mexico on July 1. Often, an afternoon rain will seemingly come out of the blue. Sometimes with frightening violence and strong winds, but usually just a shower or two. We are camping for nine nights at an ancient sacred healing site of the Apache and Mimbres natives now called Faywood Hot Springs. From far away, off Hwy 180, the rustic resort looks like a green oasis in the middle of a desert. Quite spectacular in sight of the many mountains dotting the surrounding landscape.
We weren’t sure about spending nine nights in the desert, in an unknown place, in the nasty heat of early summer, but it has worked out. Reviews about the resort were mixed, but for the most part favorable. In addition to hot mineral pools to soak in, and trails to walk or ride, not to mention Silver City and areas north, welcome activities and adventures proved inexhaustible. A half-day trip to the Gila Cliff Dwellings was also in the cards which included an amazing forty-three mile drive through the mountains on Hwy 15.
The staff at Faywood is friendly and non-obtrusive. Several employees live on-site full-time. The facility is rustic and organic, where many wonderful species of plants abound. Beautiful and non-threatening peacocks roam the grounds. Hot and warm mineral waters. Full hook-ups. What’s not to like? Pools to soak in for those who want to be nude and pools for the less-inclined. Even a section of the cozy campground caters to the nudist faction who might be among us. Respect and a laid back vibe permeates everything about this place.
To be honest I was a bit apprehensive about coming here but I made it a mission for me to confront my personal demons. My fears. This constant threat of my losing her. Of my not measuring up. You could call it insanity because this woman is the most loyal, supportive, and loving person I have ever known. I suppose it always comes back to that old ingrained message from my father of “Who do you think you are?” Though my dad is now dead his sinful message remains permanently fixed inside my head. It is a critical affront that I religiously overcome on a daily basis whether I am publicly playing my guitar and singing, publishing an essay, story, or book review, or even celebrating by posting photographs displaying the beauty and courage Beverly bestows in her activities as an exclusive nude-art model for my camera. But the pools were cool, as in hip. Groovy as they used to say. Nothing at all to be uncomfortable about. Nice people and respectful of space. I’m discovering, even at this late stage in my life, that many of those negative and critical messages kept caged inside my head are not actually true. It is liberating to actually reject these old teachings. If he were alive today I might even tell him to go fuck himself. Or maybe not. He lost most everything he ever was by the end of his life. Dementia and a lack of oxygen can do this to a person. Even his long-held resentments and beliefs popped into dust like a dried-up mushroom cloud.
Adding more fuel to the fire it is important to note that I am currently reading Want : Women's Fantasies in the Twenty-First Century by the brilliant actor Gillian Anderson. A synopsis of the book states:
A collection of women's sexual fantasies from women around the world, Want is a revelatory, sensational and game-changing exploration of women's sexuality that asks, and answers: How do women feel about sex when they have the freedom to be totally anonymous?
What do you want, when no-one is watching?
What do you want, when the lights are off?
What do you want, when you are anonymous?
When we talk about sex, we talk about womanhood and motherhood, infidelity and exploitation, consent and respect, fairness and egalitarianism, love and hate, pleasure and pain. And yet for many reasons—some complicated, some not—so many of us don’t talk about it. Our deepest, most intimate fears and fantasies remain locked away inside of us, until someone comes along with the key.
Here’s the key.
In this generation-defining book, Gillian Anderson collects and introduces the anonymous letters of hundreds of women from around the world (along with her own anonymous letter). From a Sikh woman who writes about her secret lust for her brother-in-law, an Apache American woman who wants to be worshiped like a divine creature, a white British woman who just wants to be properly kissed one last time, another who likes to role play as a panther, or a Hispanic Jewish woman living in Bangladesh, for whom the pinnacle of sexual arousal is a doorknob, Want reveals how women feel about sex when they have the freedom to be totally anonymous.
What do you want?
This book Want is in fact timely, and another addition to the growing literary banquet now being served up by so many strong and courageous women. It is not only instructive to become aware of what women want but also illuminating again for the many things I still do not know and need to learn in what remains of my time on this earth. I would be remiss if I did not also mention the sex-advice columnist Dan Savage who for years has been broaching these same topics for everyone no matter their sexual orientation in his site called Savage Love. Regardless, the conversation today is evolving and becoming more forthcoming as we navigate ourselves through our own sexual labyrinths. We need to remember that we are only as sick as our secrets.
Camping at Faywood Hot Springs has also provided opportunities to visit, for example, the Gila Cliff Dwellings about seventy-two miles north of here. But be forewarned. It takes at least two and a half hours to get there. Keep in mind the forty-three mile section over and through the mountains on Hwy 152 is breathtaking and full of cutbacks and hairpin turns. Generally speeds of only twenty-five miles per hour persist. But I cannot emphasize enough the beauty of these mountains. They reminded me of the Black Hills of South Dakota and it felt so good driving through them. Plus it was fun. I really had no idea these mountains existed in New Mexico. On the drive you also cross over the International Date Line at an elevation of about 7,500 feet. So the temperatures fortunately stay cool for the most part.
The Gila Cliff Dwellings are so worth the drive. The hike up to this national monument is only about a one-mile round trip loop, but it can at times be steep and taxing for older people or someone out of shape. A full but pleasant creek that eventually flows into the Gila River borders the hike up to the cliffs. And it is so cool and pleasant down there it feels like such a different world than the desert we have so become accustomed to. The cliff dwellings are extremely interesting, and to think these natives inhabited this area so many hundreds of years ago is enlightening. The hike down from the other side of the cliffs is almost all sunshine, very little shade, at times sharp declines, and no guardrails to keep your child from falling over the edge. Or even an adult if the sight becomes too distracting and mesmerizing, which it absolutely does. Returning home for another soak in the hot springs is your just reward.
For some subconscious reason the next day I checked my Ram’s tire pressure and noticed the left front was surprisingly five pounds less than the other three. Pulling over at a gas station in the little mining town of Bayard I discovered a screw impaled in the tire, causing a slow leak. We were lucky the tire did not go flat while driving there and back over that forty-three mile mountain pass. Reminded me to pay better attention and perform the due diligence needed before heading anywhere. It is easy to become complacent when things are going well.