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Friday, January 6th, 2012
I can’t believe that it has been two months since I’ve written on my blog! Several events and pleasures have gotten in the way…the holidays, preparing a prospectus for the third edition of The Constructivist Leader, inertia, spending time with my new novel set in Taos, family, the magnetism of the sunlight on the ocean….
Yet, on December 20, friend, artist and writer, Giovanna Paponetti, inspired me to action with the announcement that the Pope has approved the cannonization of Kateri Tekakwitha, the first Indian saint. Taos resident Giovanna is the author of “Kateri Tekakwitha, Native American Saint: The Life and Miracles of Kateri Tekakwitha,” the book that provoked the Vatican to act 30 years after Kateri was beautified (the last step before Sainthood). And, more than 400 years since Kateri had died. They awaited the confirmation of a third miracle, which came in the form of a young Indian boy.
Both Giovanna and Kateri are characters in my Taos novel, so of course, I find their adventures are fascinating. I would urge you to order Giovanna’s book and discover for yourself the mysteries of Kateri and talents of Giovanna.
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Literature and Leadership—do they still relate?
Sunday, November 6th, 2011
Human beings think, perceive, imagine and make moral choices
According to narrative structures.
Theodore Sarbin, Narrative Psychology, as quoted by Joanne Cooper in The Constructivist Leader
When I began to write fiction, I altered my web site from a singular focus on Leadership to “Literature and Leadership.” Since then, my posts have most often focused on one or the other—and, sometimes a blend of the two. Mary Gardner and I (with the assistance of our friend Maxine Greene) realized some time ago that “imagination” provokes and deepens compassion and empathy. Our imagination expresses itself in so many ways, especially through art and literature, creativity and innovation (see this lengthy discussion in our Women’s Ways of Leading). Clearly—without question—imagination is a nearly magical connection between leadership and literature. And, compassion and empathy ought to be our political litmus test.
A second critical bridge that links literature and leadership is the nature of narrative. By “narrative,” I mean here a written account of connected events—a story. Joanne Cooper has reminded us that stories express and remind us of who we are—they give meaning to our lives and contain the meanings of our histories. Yet stories are fluid, open to reinterpretation as we mature. Stories contain our metaphors of self. No group of peoples understand this better than Native Americans. Fortunately, Joanne and Mary will be contributing to the third edition of The Constructivist Leader.
Imagination and narrative—at this moment these two concepts stand out as essential links between literature and leadership. What do you think?
Linda
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Emerging Themes: Taos: Song of the Loom
Thursday, October 27th, 2011
When we left Taos last Friday, these questions and themes came along:
- What will anthropologist Justine Jenner, now entering the third novel in the Cairo Trilogy, find out about DH Lawrence that will inform her own sense of identity?
- How will conversations among key Taos characters, including Lawrence, Mabel Dodge Luhan, Frieda Lawrence, Carl Jung and Lady Dorothy Brett, set in the ‘20’s and ‘40’s, tell us about today’s realities?
- Can the case of the long-lost Lawrence will be revived in New Mexico—only if he had signed the deed for the Ranch that Mabel gave to his wife, Frieda? Did he?
- When Justine assumes her new job with the NM Office of Archaeological Studies, can she and her new boss find out: “How do we see Community?” And what does this have to say about the diverse Taos community and the thousand-year-old Pueblo?
- Did the peoples of the Four Corners, including Mesa Verde, migrate to the massive and long-abandoned Hupobi Pueblo?
- How will the Taos Pueblo Indians—the Red Willow peoples—influence Justine’s emerging spirituality?
- What struggles with the environment will challenge Justine’s strength and confidence in the shadow of personal tragedy?
- When a troubled Indian girl whom Justine has mentored nearly dies, can she be saved by the first Indian saint, Kateri Tekakwitha (who is yet to be canonized)?
- Will Amir El Shabry, Justine’s lover from Etruscan Evenings, survive the Egyptian revolution? And what does Egypt have to do with Taos anyway?
- How will the contextual issues of the history of Taos, drought, competition for water, suffering economy and the suffering art community inform this novel?
And much more….
Next: The Constructivist Leader redux, Linda
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Larger than Chaco? Really? Hupobi Pueblo near Ojo Caliente
Monday, October 24th, 2011
Last Wednesday, we drove from Taos to Pilar through the incredibly enchanting Rio Grande valley smothered with golden cottonwoods to the Pueblo site near Ojo Caliente hot springs. As we approached the last leg of the trip to the giant plateau, we found that what was once a road was now a river. A river—ok, more like a wide, rapidly moving stream—that we would have to cross on foot. All of us.
Once there, archaeologist Paulo, Carmen, Hannah and I met four teachers and 50 seventh graders from Santa Fe who were nearly gleeful to forge a river on foot. I was less than enthusiastic, but soon became preoccupied with the mountain of loose rocks that lay between us and the giant plateau pueblo—larger than Chaco Canyon! My concerns about crossing the river gave way to my trepidation about that perilous mountain. I find it personally amazing what one can do when l) there is no choice, and 2) I had a walking stick. The kids scrambled through the icy water, yelping as they went. They were inspiring! This was an adventure to be had, mysteries to be encountered—yet perhaps never to be solved.
As we topped the mesa, the most glorious site lay before us: the layout of a massive pueblo protruding through the soil like muscles rising through a wet tee shirt. A yawning indentation of a massive kiva. Just beyond, over the ledge of the once-village, the Rio Ojo Caliente snaked through the luxurious valley below. The kids swarmed over the land picking up chards of pottery, black on white (making sure to replace them carefully). On a higher hill still, the stone frames for dry farming punctuated the land (why didn’t they plant near the river? Security concerns?) .
On the south ledge of the plateau, multiple petroglyphs covered huge stones. Unlike anything I’d seen before: stars in all sizes and shapes. A few years ago, a woman archaeologist camped out here and discovered that the site aims directly at Venus, perhaps the inspiration for the designs. Most things make sense if we look hard enough…right?
Of course the most compelling questions for any abandoned pueblo, city, or land are: where did the inhabitants come from and why did they leave? Apparently, these industrious peoples came in the late 1100’s and left around 1500, probably when disease ravished the tribe (multiple burials during a certain period are excessive). Paulo believes that they came from the four corners: Mesa Verde and Chaco. If so—and if this could be more nearly proven—it could resolve one of the most mystifying issues of archaeology. The timing, pottery, location and dry farming could suggest as much. How to find out?
A glorious day!
Next: emerging themes in the Taos research….Linda
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The D.H. Lawrence Ranch, Taos
Sunday, October 16th, 2011
Lawrence Ranch
After the glories of the Hawk Ranch I had a chance to spend time alone at the official D.H. Lawrence Ranch, now closed to visitors. Sitting on Lawrence’s front porch, I watched the giant ponderosa pine come alive in concert with the wind singing through the trees. As though being conducted by an orchestra leader, the wind whistled with soft violins, dramatic swells, blasting trumpets. Sun-cast branches danced fiercely, casting slender shadows across the sparse, pine needle-covered yard. Georgia O’Keeffe laid on her back and painted “Lawrence’s Tree.” An eerie display of nature, howling like a dog for its master—one long dead. To my left, an old storm cellar hovered under blackberry bushes, reminding me of the one behind our home in Kansas where I hid from tornadoes as a child. What function did it serve now?
How did Lawrence sit under this gigantic pine and write so fluently, so quickly? He must have nestled his slender body into the narrow spaces between the swollen roots, leaning his back against the tree he loved so well. Did he face east toward the rising sun, or south into the Taos Valley and rising ranges beyond? Did his notepaper ruffle in the relentless breeze? Here he wrote “The Woman Who Road Away,” “St. Mawr,” “The Princess,” poems such as “Mountain Lion” and finished the “Plumed Serpent,” cast in the Mexico where he sought warmth.
I was startled when the caretaker came around the corner of the cabin and asked if he could unlock the door. “Thank you,” I said, “I would love to sit inside for awhile. Resting on Lawrence’s bed, I faced the eastern window trimmed in turquoise, and studied the whitewashed walls and gray plank floor. The rough rafters were but two by fours rather than the elegant vigas of many near-by homes. The primitive fireplace is now covered with an old card table. On the hearth I spied a perfect cutout one x two-foot cement triangle, with four grooves evenly distributed. Is this where he left the manuscripts that he besieged Lady Dorothy Brett to find?
Next: An archeologist views ancient leadership…Linda
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Hawk Ranch, Lobos Mountain, Taos
Friday, October 14th, 2011
In 1923, two-year old Walton Hawk sat on Lawrence’s lap, pulling on his red beard; the two regarded each other keenly. Both possessed the unfiltered power of observation most often found only in young children. Today at 91, Walton resides in a nursing home in Albuquerque. Lawrence’s ashes reside in a chapel at the top of Lobo Mountain.
On Wednesday, Bill, the Friends of D.H. Lawrence president, arranged for a walk to the abandoned Hawk Ranch where the Lawrences spent the winters of ’22 and ’23. Hiking up the mountain, across a vast open meadow of ruby-colored ice plant and cactus and a dry man-made reservoir, we came to the forest that led to the blood red cliffs and Lobo canyon beyond. Golden aspens flowed down the mountain sides like honey; caps of snow sat on the Picuris peaks in the distance. Warned of mountain lions and bears, the only lion we encountered was in Lawrence’s poem which Bill brought along to read at the base of the cliffs.
Lawrence sorrowfully encountered a golden mountain lion in a trap—already dead—and turned his attention outward:
“Instead, I look out. And out to the dim of the desert,
like a dream, never real;
To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains,
the ice of the mountains of Picoris,
And near across at the opposite steep of snow,
green trees motionless standing in snow, like a Christmas toy.” (excerpt from “Mountain Lion” by Lawrence)
There was room for both of them in this world, he sadly noted.
Next: the official Lawrence Ranch further up the mountain
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BBC in Taos
Wednesday, October 12th, 2011
As I’ve noted before, while DH Lawrence left Taos, New Mexico, 86 years ago, he is still very much alive here. His spirit permeates the mystical Taos; many live here because he is also here. Last fall, BBC was in town to create a documentary on Lawrence in Taos. They were joined by British playwright, Stephen Lowe, whose play, “Empty Bed Blues,” about Lawrence’s days in Paris, was being performed in Santa Fe.
This fall, BBC are here again, this time to create a radio show on “Lawrence in Taos” to be aired November 4. On Saturday, October 1, five Laurentians (including myself) met at the home of scholar and Moby Dickens bookstore owner, Art Bachrach, for a conversation that lasted more than two hours. The most intriguing aspects of the conversation grew out of three prime questions: 1) “What did Lawrence find in Taos that he found nowhere else?” 2) “Why is his spirit still alive here?” and 3) “Why does it matter?” On the following Wednesday, Morgan and I joined the BBC producer, author Geoff Dyer, and Bill Haller, president of the Friends of DH Lawrence at the Lawrence ranch for a few more hours of recording. The broadcast will only be 50 minutes long—quite an editing feat!
Next: Exploring the Lawrence Ranch, Hawk Ranch, and Lobo Canyon
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San Geronimo Day, Part III
Tuesday, October 11th, 2011
After lunch, we walked from Amitola’s home through the back of the pueblo and apologized for being intrusive; a man responded: “that’s all right. It’s your day.” Eight sacred Tricksters or clowns painted with black and white horizontal stripes emerged over the top of the five-story pueblo. They came across the top on all fours, like menacing, prowling animals. Feathers sprung from their headdresses and from their loin clothes. A magical sight. With graceful stealth they move through the crowd, teasing, whooping, touching. In the middle of the plaza, scores of vendors from the 19 pueblos quickly cover their wares so that the Tricksters wouldn’t take their jewels and blankets. On top of the cover, however, the visiting vendors placed a gift for the Tricksters—food, water, a small bracelet—any such gifts bringing blessings upon the givers.
Morgan and I took turns mingling with the crowd and witnessing the pranks. A quite rotund, comical Trickster approached a woman and took her hand, motioning that he wanted to take her to the mountain. She resisted, but eventually agreed to kiss him as a consolation prize. Out of the crowd came another man, significantly larger than the Trickster, looking disapprovingly at him. He, perhaps a husband, took the woman’s hand and pulled her away. The Trickster ran after them trying to get her back, but failed (he was no competition for the husband, who pushed him away). To resist the will of the Trickster is a bad omen. He sullenly returned to the crowded, stomping and raging, picked up his bottle of orange soda, shook it and sprayed it on the laughing crowd.
For nearly two hours, the Tricksters stirred up trouble: throwing “bad boys” in the river, pulling women into a circular dance, an impromptu soccer game. One of the Tricksters found a heavyset woman lying asleep on the ground, and lay down to mimic her, then put his leg across her body. She was embarrassed, but played along and patted his leg. The marauding Tricksters climbed the grandstand covered with woven fall branches and tore it apart (including the cross), handing limbs of gold to nearby Indian women.
By 3:30, several Tricksters gathered at the base of the 80-foot greased pole that is erected every fall for this celebration. At the top, there were 2 thin poles inserted through the larger one and bags of gifts containing products made by the pueblo people hung on each; the first man to attempt the climb (there is a heavy rope looped part way up) got to the top, then began to slide down and lost his footing, getting rope burns, then fell the last 10 feet or so. The next man made it to the top and used the rope to lower the gifts. Success means health and prosperity until next year’s events. The crowd cheered, then scrambled for the contents of the bundles.
Next: The BBC produces “Lawrence in Taos.”
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San Geronimo Day-Part II
Saturday, October 8th, 2011
Being invited to the home of an Indian family on the Pueblo for San Geronimo Day is quite an honor. It began last April when I met Amitola (meaning butterfly, but not her real name) at a ranch and agricultural conference here in Taos. Her intelligent question drew my immediate attention, so I approached her and explained my project. After two long conversations at her favorite coffee shop and a couple of letters in between, she invited me to join her and her family on this special day.
I called her the day before to ask if my husband could come along and she said in her dry humorous style, “I don’t allow men in my house, but perhaps he could stand in the back.” Clearly the intervening months had not tarnished our playful relationship. After the morning races, we sought out her traditional Indian adobe home down a dusty road behind the Pueblo plaza to leave off a ham, cookies and lemonade, then returned later for lunch. As we arrived, her daughter invited us to sit in the backyard—it was a beautiful, warm day and visit; Amitola and another friend joined us. We were told of the history of this 1945 family home built by her grandfather when he returned from WWII. Set among the red willows, replete with carved wooden columns and artwork, we felt as though we had move back in time.
The lunch was a feast. Turkey and dressing, salads, chili stews, homemade breads, posole, cakes and lemonade. Great coffee, homemade biscotti. Luscious. Family and friends—including many children—gathered in shifts around a table in the kitchen sat for ten. As one group finished, the table was replenished, then another group arrived, reminding us of the race. The seven-year old grandson, who had shown his readiness to be part of the community by racing that morning, said the prayer.
Next, San Geronimo Day, Part III
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San Geronimo Day-September 30-Part I
Tuesday, October 4th, 2011
When we left the house at 6:30 am last Friday to share in the renowned San Geronimo Day (St. Jerome Day) at the Taos Pueblo, the air was chilled and the soft light of morning barely enough to guide one’s steps. But we knew that by the time the end of this long day arrived, we would be very warm indeed. We drove the half hour to the Pueblo and settled ourselves with friends at the base of the five-story pueblo near the grandstand and starting line for the race. Well, “race” doesn’t quite describe this ancient Indian ritual for the men, ages 7-70, ran in tandem, one at a time. No competition. It is said that this essential ritual keeps the seasons, as well as the sun, rotating around the earth. The sacred earth, Mother Earth, source of all life. “And what if you didn’t perform these rituals,” Carl Jung asked of Chief Mountain Lake in 1925. “The earth would become dark and everyone would die,” Mountain Lake replied simply.
As we stood waiting for the ritual, the sun sprayed across the multi-layered pueblo lined with women in colorful shawls. One of Taos’ brilliant animated paintings. The guests, mostly Anglos, lined up on the south side of the running area. On upright beams eight feet above ground, sat the grandstand wrapped in tree limbs with golden autumn leaves. A golden cross towered over the enclosure. Inside sat two priests, the leader of the Penitentes, and three Indians. Statues from the nearby St. Jerome Church had been paraded out after the 6:00 am mass and planted on the platform. The Virgin Mary–dressed in her seasonal gold colored satin– was joined by St. Jerome, the Indian saint Kateri, and Jesus.
About 50 Runners gathered at the base of the grandstand and readied themselves to run. Their bodies were adorned with white and clay-colored paint, brightly decorated loincloths (red velvet, blue satin, decorated with flowers, design, black, purple) feathers across their chests and in their hair. As each barefooted man stepped up to run, the men standing behind them rubbed his back with feathers to help him fly. The runners whopped and yelped—women trilled. They left the starting place as another runner returned and crossed the finish line of green and gold branches. One little boy tripped and fell as he left, but got up and continued. Runners left in a fast sprint, returning slowly, some walking. We understood the path to be about l/4 mile. Feathers lined the outer rim of the race and visitors were told not to touch them.
Relationships among the runners were helpful and caring—rubbing dust on the legs of returning runners, kissing a hand, patting a shoulder, rubbing with feathers, brushing hands with open palms. After nearly an hour and a half, everyone ran as a group toward the east, then back again, standing for prayer. As they paraded out, small candies were showered on them by the crowd. Those in the grandstand scrambled down the ladder and paraded the statues back to the church.
Next: Lunch with Indian friends on the Pueblo
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