Lamentation
by James R. Siebold
I
gathered twenty-seven stones. Each
represented a spirit from the past or
present. I placed the stones in a cir-
cle, circumscribing and protecting the
spot where I intended to remain alone
for two days and nights. I had chosen
this “vision quest” or “lamentation” (its
Sioux name) for myself. The task, iso-
lation, confinement and fasting, was to
be mystical and transformative,
bequeathing visions. I was not sure
about all that, but went ahead stooping
and hauling stones all the same. I was
ready to believe.
Several weeks earlier, shortly after
this idea had hatched itself, I spotted
the hills where I now stood. Isolated
amidst the sea of desert, visible from
my house on Terlingua Ranch, the hills
were rounded and more colorful than
the mountains of Big Bend National
Park. I enjoyed the draw I felt from the
hills.
I had set off at dawn on the appoint-
ed day with the eagerness of a boy
scout. My equipment was simple: blan-
ket, plastic sheet, binoculars, matches,
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Cenizo
extra shirt, snake-bite kit, a gallon-and-
a-half of water, and a stout staff my wife
had carved for the occasion.
I traversed the plains with good
energy and humor; the hills grew in size
and detail as I approached. They were
actually small mountains, steep, rough
and barren of vegetation. I skirted their
edges, divining the spot for my quest. I
came upon a suitable mound midway
up one of the hills. The place was flat
and with a good view. It was near a
shallow cave in the side of an adjoining
hill. I climbed to the summit, giving in
to an urge to swing open my arms and
bellow, “I’m here!” Nothing resound-
ed. Nothing moved. Still, it was with a
pulse of satisfaction that I scrambled
down to my spot.
Mid-morning by this time, I set
about clearing brush, finding firewood,
building a stone bench and gathering
the stones for the circle. Finished, I sat
on the stone bench studying the
encampment. I was there.
My intention was to sink into the iso-
lation and wilderness; to be delivered of
Third Quarter 2015
myself. I sat upright on the bench, in a
semi-lotus yoga position. I blurred my
vision, feeling for my breathing, and lis-
tening to inaudible sounds. Mentally I
walked the circle’s perimeter and spoke
out loud to the sky, to the earth and to
the animals. I sat in complete stillness
and inspected the intricate details of
rocks, plants, and insects around me. I
prayed. By noon I was distracted. The
sun was high and becoming a problem.
It seemed increasingly hot. I kept
about my tasks, but with waning enthu-
siasm. Concentration became elusive.
I needed water. Time seemed fixed.
The sun stuck in its arc. Only moments
passed after one gulping drink of warm,
plasticized water before I was scheming
for another. Screw my water conserva-
tion schedule. I was HOT!
Eventually I fled. Sliding from my
stone bench, I left the ring of stones
and descended to the cave in the
neighboring hill. I climbed the rocks
at the entrance. Once inside, the
relief of the shade was immediate.
Minutes after easing into the back
Photo courtesy of Wendy Lynn Wright
corner I fell soundly asleep.
I did not dream. I awoke sluggishly,
unclear of how much time had passed.
The length of the shadows on the den’s
white walls was encouraging. I scram-
bled back to my spot to find that while
indeed the sun was lower in the sky it
was afternoon. Later the clouds, like
angels, rose in the western sky. They
continued upward until, effortlessly,
they pocketed the sun. Standing on my
bench, I applauded.
The moments that came next were
best. Cool, rejuvenated, concentration
returned. My small, circled home
assumed new comfort. I sat erect upon
the stone bench. A sweet breeze arose.
I drank it in. Focusing on my breath, I
watched the coolness invade me, seep-
ing through hidden cavities in my
body.
It was the dark stallion of storms.
Afternoon moved directly to night.
The sky over me cracked, shards of
light flung out like spears, cascading
thunder booms pressed my ears. When
the heavy rain came I was prepared,