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New Shard Story From ‘The Weeping God & The Book of Hope: Rising Wind Series: Book Three. ‘Rough Trip Through The Mountain.’

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


A Rough Trip Through The Mountain: Part One of Two
by Award-Winning Author Diane Olsen

After Sage discovered an ancient text in a Mexican desert tomb, he led L.W. and a group of fellow explorers to Tibet, where they found themselves in the middle of a war. Even with danger at every turn, they still managed to discover secret caves beneath Lake Titicaca in Bolivia that led them toward an elusive yet powerful Book of Hope….


Slowly, they clambered inside the underground chamber, which was dimly lit from cracks in the rocks high above. The wooden doors had been propped open, and faded maroon paint still shone on them. The script was emblazoned for all to see. L. W. observed, “Look, there’s writing across the tops of the doors.”

“It’s more of that Cretan,” stated Gavin, a linguistics grad student, who was almost drooling with excitement. “It means God of the Sun, or God of Fire. Kon-Tiki! Yeah, this has gotta be it!” “Wait till I get a photograph,” said Eliot, the former BBC reporter, while hauling out a camera. Sage Dalton cautiously guided their way through the solid doors and into a broad chamber. He cautiously touched one of the walls. The gilt décor on the walls inside the temple was resplendent. Eliot chuckled as he flashed several pictures. “Even the rivets are golden.” The crew carefully stacked their gear and backpacks in a heap on a decoratively painted table. Some took out sandwiches. L. W. stood in awe. “The pigments are still so beautiful, red, green, and white.”

“Here are rumors of past glory,” whispered Sage as L. W. moved smoothly up beside him. She added, “The masonry is perfect. No wonder this temple has been able to withstand so many tectonic assaults.” Sage held the lantern aloft as they proceeded around the chamber to the right. Awestruck, they peered at each mural. Guanaco took a Kodak camera and flash attachment from his duffel, placing it around his neck and over his serape. Gavin and Eliot took out Brownie cameras and a pack of flashbulbs, and they began to snap black-and-white shots of everything.

While scrutinizing a mural map, Sage paused at a featured inset of an island. He muttered, “It’s Tollan. A ‘place of reeds’.” Nearby, there was a miniature portrait of the lovely Olmec woman he had seen once before. “It’s her”. “Her, who?” Eliot elicited. Sage answered as he stared at L. W, “Oh, the lady I met in the Olmec tomb.” L. W. responded, “You mean the one with the sash?” She stepped close and followed his gaze. Thoughtfully, she touched the figure, which could easily have been her self-portrait. Then, she looked back at Dalton. “I see what you mean. Wish Uncle Mitchell were here to see this.” His look acknowledged her sentiment. “Me too,” Guanaco said reverently, “She must have been very important in her day to be so honored from Mexico to Bolivia.”

Gavin piped up, “Quetzalcoatl’s voyage, by means of marvelous ships, is documented in these paintings.” L. W. commented, “Looks like they stopped at various ports, populated by a bewildering array of people from the coasts of the Mediterranean to Africa and across to North, Central, and South America.”


Eliot munched a sandwich, then asked, “If we know Kon-tiki means the Son of the Sun, Bochia—the white mantle of light, and that Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan refer to the Feathered Serpent, none of that tells us for sure where He came from. Who was this strange, pious man, this divine traveler, Kon-Tiki?
Can we trace him directly back to the Middle East?
Where was He born?”
Sage said, “I definitely do think the rainbow sash is a clue—very Zoroastrian.” Sage mused.
“The reflection of the Sun was also used as a reference for Lord Zoroaster. I remember from Mitchell’s religion class that ‘Zoroaster,’ AKA ‘Zarathustra,’ or ‘Zar dosht’ are names derived from the ancient Persian word Zarat, which means ‘Golden. His teachings enlightened the entire Persian Empire with parables like the one about the fire in the wood.”
“Never heard of it,” L. W. Sage dismissed. “Once dried, a spark in decayed wood can produce heat and light.” Likewise, the soul of a human must be sparked by the Word of God for a person to achieve their most enlightened self.

In the case of both wood and human, the opposite state would be darkness, ignorance, and a cold, material nature. These twin potentials are represented by the symbols of ‘Yin and Yang,’ light and its opposite.” Guanaco brightened and mentioned, “That’s like the ‘sun’ and the ‘moon’ in Latin America. Both are part of human nature and are sacred symbols.” A doorway at the back led to a stairway that disappeared down into the dark. “Get a load of the sunken altar down there! There must be at least ten concentric circular stairways leading to the central platform. Kind of like a sunken stage in a theater,” observed Gavin in the light of his lantern, held aloft. “Enough history. Let’s move down the stairs and check out the altar,” encouraged Sage. Eliot added, “Right-e-o, everybody, grab our bags, and let’s get down there.”

As they moved into the room with the stairs, L. W. remarked, “Hey, guys, there is a scent in this room which smells faintly sweet, like incense, sandalwood. How can it seem so fresh?” Guanaco admitted, “If this were only my first trip to this temple, I wouldn’t be much of a guide, would I?” Sage turned around and looked at the Kallawaya healer.“So, you’ve been here before? You’re the one who burned the sandalwood?” “Well, not the only one.” Everyone eyed him with renewed respect, including Sage, who bowed slightly as he continued to look him straight in the eyes.

Always the pragmatist, Gavin said, “Good, that means you probably know more than one way out of here.” “We can only hope.” Guanaco took his eyes away from Dalton and led the way down the sets of stairs toward the altar, explaining. “Here in the Andes, our Prophet was a peaceful, benevolent being with strong healing powers. His people brought new wisdom to our agricultural interests, such as terracing and camellones–our insulating water canals.

As mentioned by Sage, He banished blood sacrifice and lived a compassionate life, calling for us to cherish the earth and all of its creatures. He was wise and kind.” Guanaco paused and closed his eyes for a moment. Sage thought he must be praying. Then he began walking again toward the altar. “Travelers came to visit him from distant lands to hear His sacred message. He started the order of healers, the Kallawayas, like myself.” Eliot pointed excitedly toward the shrine table. “Oh, oh, see there, under the Prophet’s feet… It’s the image of a golden case, probably stuffed with scrolls.” Andrews moved in closer, “That’s gotta be His Book of Hope.” “Gotta be.” Sage agreed. “I was beginning to think we were on a fool’s errand, to quote L. W. The chance of any documents being readable, at this point, is unlikely.”

He frowned and moved out of the healer’s way, changing the subject. “As in your tale of the Prophet of the Americas, Central Asia’s Zoroaster believed in truth, justice, and compassion for all living things, even the soil.” Guanaco asked, “When did Zoroaster teach?” “Well, dates are more than a little shaky. We see references to His birth in Azerbaijan, in northern Iran, approximately between 1,200 and 1,800 BC, at the earliest. That would make about 3,200-3,800 years ago.” Guanaco hunkered down.

“The same rough dates apply to both Kon-Tiki and Quetzalcoatl. You could be right. Could be the same Prophet.” “Righto,” cheered Eliot. L. W. chimed in,“The Mayans carried His revelation into Central America.” “She’s right,” Guanaco confirmed as he changed the film in his camera. “Many chose to serve him. From the Olmecs on the peninsula to Tollan, also called Teotihuacan—even to Tierra del Fuego. The golden age of Mesoamerican civilization thrived for almost two thousand years.” L. W. concurred, “Yes, He, or at least His legend, did get around. That’s why he was well known by literally dozens of names, each with one or two different variations everywhere. He stopped.

Kukulkan, Gucamatz, Volan, and Quetzalcoatl, etc.” Guanaco said, “It’s true. “He was depicted in some places around the Andes as the Weeping God.” A frieze in Tiahuanaco depicts a figure with tears running down his face; he was forced to leave his beloved disciples behind and continue the journey.

But now, the message has been garbled and overtaken by dramatic stories of gods and demons, much like paganist devolution found everywhere. The fading and changing of the message over time is a real part of revealed religion. ‘The Yang which offsets the Yin.’ It is why God sends a renewal of His message from one generation to the next.

Funny. Humans don’t recognize the same spiritual truths given back to us each time—they want to focus more on the differences.” Sage noticed that the Kallawaya moved in for an extreme close-up shot of the smaller winged-man icon. “Another Favorahar.” He also took a shot of a balance scale on the altar with two weighing plates, one gold and one maroon. Guanaco stopped and said thoughtfully, “It is similar to Christ, who spoke to us of God. Now we talk of Christ and worship Him and His Mother and various saints and visions—but Christ asked us only to worship One God.
People are interesting.”

All of them congregated in silence around the altar base, each with thoughts of the great Prophets, past and present. Guanaco turned sharply to listen. He then snapped his friends out of their reveries. “We must finish this and leave soon. I feel something is about to happen.” Sage, along with Gavin’s help, deciphered the inscription on the altar. It was also in the form of a banner beneath the Favorahar. When he said it out loud, the translation echoed throughout the entire chamber.

“To receive the Great Gift, the Book of Hope, place a worthy offering from the holiest master on this altar, and await the Glory of your Lord.” They backed away from the platform, considering their next move. L. W. sighed and said, “Hurry, let’s find the bag that holds the sacred objects.” Sage said, “That won’t be necessary. I have everything here.” He reached inside his shirt to pull out the pouch and the banner. Then, he looked up and froze in disbelief. (Break?) “Now, here’s a surprise! General Djinn, who wanted to kill Sage and his friends in Tibet, towered from an upper circular level, along with an archaeologist dressed in adventurer’s gear and a half-dozen Chinese soldiers, each with a rifle poised.



The archaeologist reached into a soft leather pouch and withdrew the Tibetan Favorahar, which he hefted a couple of times for emphasis. Djinn chuckled, “One man’s trash …” Sage was shocked. “Where’d you find that?” Then chastened, he said, “Oh… I remember.” Djinn sneered. “I found it casually tossed aside near the site of the plane crash back in Tibet. I was surprised. Imperialists seem to throw away everything! Sometimes things that tend to be of great value.” He smiled and moved forward toward the altar. Descending the remaining steps with his men, he shooed Sage and his companions away. They backed about halfway up the stairs to watch the demonstration.

Djinn motioned for his archaeologist to place the Favorahar in the indicated receptacle, a scale plate that appeared to be covered in pure gold. The other plate was plain by comparison. Hefting the Favorahar one final time, the assistant was confident he had the key, and he placed it gently on the scale. Djinn grinned up the stairs.
“I’ll allow you to live long enough to see what you’ve missed.” There was a clunk as if something dropped into place. A deep, hidden rumble stiffened everyone in their tracks. The Favorahar was weighed on the golden scale. Djinn and the soldiers stepped forward, their faces full of anticipation. At first, nothing happened. “This can’t be good.” Sage looked concerned.

Then, he crouched and snapped his head around, expecting trouble from every direction. L. W. was also scanning the temple. “Oh, no.” Below, Sage and his friends, the air began to hiss into the altar basin as vents opened in the stair risers. It flushed out a number of rats and snakes. They blew all over Djinn and his men, who crowded near the altar. After the air was exhausted, water slammed out of the openings, effectively turning the recessed altar pit into a roiling cauldron. It quickly engulfed the reptiles, rodents, and terrified humans. Eliot boomed out, “Good show, gents!” “Dios Mio!”

L. W. was first to the edge of the basin, reaching in to try to help the frightened soldiers. Sage grabbed her to keep her from falling in as a rat scrambled up her arm to relative safety. The others joined the effort. Guanaco saved a few bedraggled rats and two snakes, which flung themselves up his arm to hide behind his alpaca wool hat on his shoulders. Gavin and Eliot were able to grab the fingertips of one soldier for a few moments, but the swirling water never seemed to bring the men close enough to the edge of the steps to be rescued.

To make matters worse, the terrifying altar was raised up on stilt-like mechanisms, exposing a large gap beneath it that drew a vacuum. The shaft became a vortex, quickly sucking everything down an unseen portal. The Chinese men screamed their way down the drain and were gone. The altar lowered, sealing the exit, and the vents closed. Everything became very quiet. Sage and the others above didn’t even breathe for a few horrifying moments. Then they began to sob.

At length, their emotions subsided. When he could speak, Gavin said. “Okay, that was really weird.” L. W. had to ask, “Where do you suppose they went?” Eliot snorted, “I … don’t suppose this would be an appropriate time to reassign the invention of the water closet.” “The what?” Andrews asked. “You know, the loo,” Eliot explained. Gavin shook his head, befuddled. Dalton cleared his throat. “The latrine, kid. We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” Guanaco added, “Actually, there were toilets in Tiahuanaco where the effluent was carried away by water…”

Sage’s face was serious, and he quietly said as he started trotting back to the altar, “I believe you.” Gavin followed, asking, “So, what happened to the Reds?” Everyone remained stunned and silent until Eliot babbled, “I thought this Quetzalcoatl was a nonviolent fellow.” Guanaco said, “He did not build this temple to Himself. He was more of an itinerant preacher like Christ. This was built later.

Even so, I imagine they have been transported to some other exit. I just hope, for their sakes, it opens close enough for them to make it to the shore.” “Right, if the opening isn’t fully blocked by debris.” Not wanting to bring everyone down again, Eliot had another thought. When he spoke, he sounded a bit relieved. “They’ll probably beat us to Copa for cocktails.” Sage roused from the dramatic event and was ready to go. . .

************************

Part Two Will Be Posted Soon!

In the meantime, visit my Amazon Author Page to learn more about the ‘Rising Wind series’ of novels, like book three, Rising Wind: The Weeping God and The Book of Hope (Rising Wind Series) by Diane Olsen (Author)

“The Rising Wind Book Series is a fictional mystery series with a blend of an action-packed cross-genre thrill ride!”

If you enjoy reading about Native American culture, world religions, history, and extinct beasts, this series is for you! These exciting action, adventure, and mystery stories take place in multicultural settings around the world, spanning books one through six.

The series has been awarded 5-star Editorial Book Reviews by Book Influencers and Reader’s Favorite and has won several book awards to date, including the Book Excellence Award and the Christian Illumination Award, among others.



A Special Shard Story From ‘Rays of One Light’ – not yet published of the ‘Rising Wind Series’ from Book 7…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

 
The Weaver and the Princess
From Rays of One Light
Three-Part Story…


Secora James and Destiny Hawkins arrived at the ranch just as the sun rose on the last day in the Baja desert. Soon, they would have to return to their jobs at the University in Missoula and offer summer classes. Once they parked, they found horses saddled and waiting for them inside the vertical pole corral.

“Only two horses. Guess we’ll be going in alone again,” observed Secora. Pointing to the fence, Destiny asked, “Don’t those poles look like those spindly boojum trees we ran into yesterday?” Secora nodded, “Interesting observation.” After tightening the cinches on the bay and placing the bridle over the mare’s head, she tied the halter and rope with leather strings set near the saddle horn, and her gear bag was bunched at the back of the cantle.

A young woman wearing a protective pink and gray rebozo shawl over her head and shoulders came to greet them at the corral, humbly notifying them that her husband, Alfonso, could not take them out because he was still sick. Apologizing in broken English, she suggested a trail that would lead them to the nearest painted rocks. She added that several of the large murals were more difficult to find, but these smaller ones could be found just off the trail.

She smiled, then cautioned in Spanish, “Watch out for the spirits.”
“Spirits, Pepita?” Secora asked.
“Yes, the blessed spirits who move silently… like ghosts.”
“We will try to be respectful, thank you.” Secora and Destiny looked at each other, wondering how to interpret her words. Then, bidding Pepita and Alfonso, who waved weakly from the door a good day, the women mounted up and took the suggested trail

Destiny asked, “So, is “anima” ghost… or spirit?

Secora shrugged. After a moment, she sighed. “Perhaps she knows about some tragedy in that area. Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Right, I suppose, spirits are everywhere.”
Hooves clattered over a thin, stony trail; half hidden on the side hill. Secora drew a breath. “This is our last chance to see the place where little Diegoaelurus, the precursor to mammalian predators once roamed.”

Destiny added, “Hopefully, we’ll be lucky enough to take in a boldly painted black and red mural.” They headed for a low ridge that dropped down into a basin toward the west, where they hoped to observe some of the impressive art left by the Archaic people who lived there more than 10,000 years ago.

Destiny reflected, “I hope we don’t get lost.”

Secora said, “We won’t. I usually turn around every few hundred feet to see what the trail will look like on our way back.”

“Yeah, and I guess we could take pictures of the main features in case we get stuck.”

“Good idea.” Secora nodded and lifted her camera. 

The changes and chances of weather and rainfall in the Baja Peninsula required special adaptations from the plants, animals, and people who lived there. Secora noticed a variety of vegetation unexpected in a desert with such wildly variable rainfall patterns and extensive droughts.

Life forms took advantage of hidden pools and ephemeral rain. Yet they must somehow survive the rare monsoonal deluges produced by storms that struck the peninsula and roared their way inland. Gashes caused by massive flash floods ripped through the terrain, leaving driftwood and huge gravel ridges along their paths.

The horses sauntered down a dried creek bed, while the women scanned the cliff sides.
Would this be the day they’d catch a glimpse of something wonderful, striking petroglyphs, or perhaps one of the well-preserved red and black murals that had caused the region to be declared a World Heritage site comparable to European Cave Art? In the distance, they saw a few wispy pines, stunted cedars, and century plants erupting from rock, gravel, or sand along the hillsides.

As they dropped into a narrow canyon, they cleared a tight corner and ran smack into a patch of jumping cholla cactus, strategically hanging over the trail. Destiny tried to steer clear, but one spike attached itself to the chestnut gelding’s mane and neck, causing him to toss his head and sidestep toward another branch. She dismounted to control the animal. “Ouch! Dang, we got too close.”

On foot, they carefully wended through a hundred feet of the dangerous spines before escaping the last of the beautiful but wicked cacti. Destiny tried to steady the gelding, while Secora grabbed a pair of needle-nosed pliers from her backpack and began plucking the painful spines from the horse’s neck. When he jerked his head, three spines ran into Destiny’s fingers. “Blast it!”


“Yeah, but it’s hard to deny how good it feels to let them do the walking.” They topped a second ridge and saw a set of beautiful palms and several species of euphorbia sprouting from the smaller side of the canyons along the arroyo.

Destiny was moved to comment, “It’s fascinating. When you look out to the horizon, lush greenery is what you see. It hardly looks like we’re in the midst of a hot, dry desert.” She stopped to take some photographs. “Oh look, I think that modest looking succulent near your horse’s leg might even be a lady slipper.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me. It’s getting on toward noon, but it’s too hot to think about eating, let alone categorizing succulents.” Destiny arched her back in a stretch. “I thought it was supposed to be cooler today, but… oof, it feels like an inferno.”

Secora pointed and spoke in a loud whisper, “There! I saw movement. Across the basin, over to our left. I think there were two or possibly three people.” “Out here?” Destiny was silent for a while as her eyes searched up and down the terrain. “People or ghosts? I can’t see anything.”

She used the telephoto to snap a picture in that direction, but her eyes saw nothing. “Where are they? Sure you didn’t see deer.”  “No, I’m pretty sure. I saw two, maybe three people walking at the base of that cliff across the basin. They were at that ruin across the way, beneath the stack of old log poles that might be remnants from a caved-in roof, but I don’t see them anymore.”

“If they were there, they probably sat down for a rest.”
“That’s certainly possible, Destiny. But now I’m seriously curious about why those old poles are clumped together.”
“Perhaps from a flash flood?”
“Could be, or they could be repurposed from an old construction site.”
Let’s go check.”

********* *********

These exciting mystery novels unfold in various multicultural settings around the globe across the first seven books. The series has received 5-Star Editorial Book Reviews from Book Influencers Reader’s Favorite, and it has won several awards, including the Book Excellence Award and the Christian Illumination Award, among others.

If you’re a reader or a movie enthusiast who loves the “Indiana Jones” saga and enjoys mystery, action, and adventure, you’ll love reading all seven books in the thrilling and gripping “Rising Wind” novel series.

Books are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Read it free with Kindle Unlimited, & Soon they will be
Available as audiobooks, too!
https://www.amazon.com/Rising-Wind-3-book-series/dp/B093PRX88L/


Part 3 – Finale –‘The Unique Settled History of Sweet Water Canyon’ Areas of Colorado Springs, CO.

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment




To pick up where I had left off and “The Rest Story”…

There was a boundary pin beyond Basing’s patio and an old fence line that went up a gully to the left. I thought it was the property boundary between Maxwell’s and the Seven Falls property. Later, the Hills, who owned Seven Falls then, demanded quite a bit more land, which I thought they must have weaseled out somehow, but apparently, they showed a legal claim. To this day something bothers me about Lyda Hill’s claim. The clash could be why the steps on that side of the Basing’s house were never completed.

To my knowledge, Lyda Hill had been party to several questionable acts. I went to our big dam one day and watched two teens in white sweatshirts with the cloth arms cut off while stealing buckets full of my dad’s rainbow trout to take down to their tourist site. And likely, they did much worse, hoping to wear people down and urge them to abandon the property.

When Laurette moved, the property was sold to “Uncle” Al Colt whose brothers, Sam and Ed, took their families up there for getaways. Al was the middle brother of the three and he and Mom were friends. Al owned the ‘Honey Bucket’ club in Colorado Springs. Ed Colt Sr. owned Giuseppe’s Restaurant. Sam owned the popular ‘Wee Gee’s’ bar located on Union Blvd. or Pikes Peak Avenue, near Dad’s old office.

When we were younger, Sandy and I used to jump off the garage roof and try to land on the hill behind it so we didn’t have so far to fall – good times. I’m sure we girls were showing off, trying not to be outdone by the younger Colt boys. I remember Shawn Colt standing next to me on the cinderblock patio and discharging a BB rifle at my bare foot. The pellet bounced off a bone, then stung my ear – OW! What a thoughtless jerk. At least that is what I thought at the time, kind of still do, though he probably turned out to be a wonderful man.

Ed Colt Junior became a circuit court judge for El Paso County, then moved up to Teller County as a judge. Peter would check in with Eddie’s mom, Patty Colt, once in a while. Peter also tried to call his school chum several times, but judges were protected from the public. He remembered Eddie making fun of him, saying that the only time he saw Peter was in his court for tickets. Val went to her twentieth-year class reunion, and Eddie had now become a federal judge in Cripple Creek. He came over to say hello and share one of his childhood memories – the one where dad shot a gun over the colt boys’ heads when they came down our road to say hi!



In Dad’s defense he had three teenaged daughters to protect from a bunch of Colt boys, lol. And honestly, some weren’t always our friends. We also attributed the wounding of one of the golden eagles that lived in the area to one of those boys. I saw it fly lamely down our hill – coming across from the Sweetwater Valley with fresh blood on its wing. It was weak and barely landed on the corner of our house to rest. Today that would be the exterior corner of the Spiller’s back porch.

Perhaps we paid it too much attention, and the golden eagle took off across our valley toward trees on the other side of the canyon. I couldn’t see if the injured bird made it all the way across. A pair of golden eagles used to breed in Twilight Canyon. We’d watched their courtship dive, from our front porch in February. I was afraid this was one of them.

In the end, a fire leveled Al Colt’s beautiful resort-like home that Mert had built. Fella said he and Peter sneaked over the next morning when the fire department arrived and watched the embers burn. The firefighters concentrated on keeping the propane tank, which had been near the kitchen, from exploding.

That was the second home to burn on that land. There was a nearby foundation with three chimneys from a previous homestead. The details of its demise are lost in the mists. (photo below)

By Eric Swab Screened Music House – unknown builder


The other buildings, a garage, and a music house in the meadow at that point, it remained intact My siblings, Peter, Fella, and Val camped out in the vacant garage once in a while before Alfred B. Colt sold the property to James H. and Bernice A. Donald in 1966. Dr. Donald enjoyed staying in an RV and wanted his son, David to have the place when he left. David accommodated the garage to make himself an apartment in 1972. But apparently, the Basing’s portion was never platted, and the ownership wasn’t solid.

Map supplied by Eric Swab October 6th, 2020

Lyda Hill inherited Seven Falls, and based on surveys done over the years, The Greenwood Park area was on Seven Falls property. Without documents to the contrary, Donald’s son was unable to verify his ownership, and she was finally able to take the property. She destroyed the bridge, the only external access what a shame.

The property had been bought and sold several times in good faith, however, multiple surveys were conducted. There is a lingering thought in my mind questioning whether Hill was also involved in the destruction of the house that burned down under suspicious circumstances. More recently, Peter Van Buren showed interest in the property.

He had a survey performed on his own but claimed that the ‘Hills’ had enough money to exhaust him, which ultimately led him to lose interest. When Lyda sold her stake, the Broadmoor acquired that land along with Seven Falls. In a land swap, Broadmoor then exchanged Sweetwater with the city, and Colorado Springs received most of Clara Cassatt’s and Bertha Bourne’s former homesteads.

The Upper Valley ruins were supposed to be open to the public, but they posted all kinds of ‘no trespassing’ signs short of Greenwood Park. Since it was supposed to be public, the signs did not dissuade the veteran hikers. The ruins at the upper end of the valley

The cabins and the stable located above what was at one time the reservoir toward the upper end of the canyon now lie in ruins, but it used to be totally cool to visit them. My brother, Fella, knew the place as the “Maxwell Ranch”, though there is no trace of that name in the deed recordings. Go figure. What is with the records? The Maxwell property included land in both canyons, like the ‘Spillers,’ today. Fella and his wife were our last eyes in the area of ‘Greenwood Park.’ They stayed in the one-room cabin up behind the stable.


Cabin photos thanks to Sandra and William Munoz (See other photo below)

Peg and Big Mike. Hank and Peg, once called it the “honeymoon shack”.


Our folks were married in 1948 and took their honeymoon on the road, sightseeing in the west, looking for a place to settle. They hauled a small trailer behind the car, which they called “Waltzing Matilda” because it swayed, side to side as they drove. In the forties, the old bottle-topped gas stations and motels were rare sights, and most of the roads traveled were two-lane and unpaved. Mom got good at driving risky passes, and good preparation for driving the ‘Stage Road.’

When Dad and Mert purchased the property, my folks stayed in the ‘Honeymoon Shack’ from 1948 to 1949 while our house was being built. Dad liked the land because he believed it would be safe in the event of a nuclear blast. This was before NORAD and several other military facilities had the same idea.

Eric recently noticed that the pipe from the pumphouse that might have been served by the cement “reservoir” as it was known, doesn’t go toward the house site the Basing’s used, but up toward the bank of the road, near the bridge. He also mentioned a standpipe which is capped off, and a large steel tank. Perhaps the pipes ran underground? Or, possibly they could be covered by undergrowth. I don’t know, but they could have served the Upper Valley structures, or even Fred Smith’s place if it was up by that ringed reservoir.

A little cabin/room was adjoining the stable. When I was young, I thought that it was the honeymoon cabin. We children tried to spiff up that small room for a fun clubhouse, but we didn’t get far – too much mouse pee. I think there was one old chair, and maybe there was a curtain – Sandy remembers pink curtain material in that cabin. I recall a bed spring that might have been stored in part of the stable.

The family horse, “Guera”

I once tried to shovel enough of the dried poop from the old stable, so “Guera, sounded like Weara”, our palomino mare, could climb in there and pretend to be a fancy stable horse. The interesting thing was that the spongy, dried manure that refused to give in to a shovel, may have belonged to cattle since horses couldn’t even fit in there to poop – at least in the later years. I hadn’t heard of anyone running cattle there.

Maybe that was the “ranch” part of Maxwell Ranch? Later, it did surprise me to hear that the stable had collapsed. I would think that the manure would have held it up, nearly forever. While Tina and Fella lived in the good cabin, they built a corral in the meadow down near the music house, until a terrible storm blew in, and the animals fled down the mountain, probably through the Cutler Trail, to the Westside stables, owned by the Brocks on Arch Street in Colorado Springs.

Fella and Tina had to walk, or otherwise make their way over there to get the critters, and then ride them back up. Even in the 1970s, horses were their only transportation. Fella had a motorcycle; he said he had traveled every inch of those canyons.

When it got too cold to stay in the cabin, Fella and Tina bought their first house next to the Brocks house for $13,900. For a long time ‘Fella’ would take his work crew up to the meadow as an appreciation. Everyone would camp over on the weekend, and have a huge BBQ by the music house.

We Mulbergers were blessed to have had some good times and beautiful memories of that heavenly little valley, and we probably saw it at its best. But let’s see what Trey and Megan Spiller do with the upper valley. They have such dreams and the kindest hearts. Trey already rebuilt the little bridge up by the cabins for our visit. The Spillers, Eric, and their friends are the brightest lights those valleys have known for years.


*************


I’d like to thank you and hope you have enjoyed
reading about the ‘Settled History of
Sweet Water Canyon’ in Colorado Springs and
sharing some of my family memories!


Visiting The Broadmoor Seven Falls In Colorado Springs, CO
1045 Lower Gold Camp Rd, Colorado Springs, CO 80905





A Unique Story of “The Settled History of Sweetwater Canyon.” A Three Part Essay. Part One…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

The first travelers or temporary residents we hear about are the Cheyennes, Arapahos, and the Utes. However, people have dwelt in the Americas for at least 22,000 years and some would take that figure back to 135,000 years. So, who really knows?

Here’s what we do know. The first entry for homesteaders probably came from North Cheyenne Canyon on the South side of Pike’s Peak, because the Mt. Cutler Trail, also known as Danieal’s Pass, likely preceded any land ownership by whites in the Sweetwater Canyon area of what became known as Greenwood Park.

That trail may have previously been used for logging, or perhaps, for shepherds taking sheep to pastures.


The City of Colorado Springs officially began in 1871, and by 1873 all of the land up the canyons had been surveyed. Licenses for homesteads began to pop up all over the region by the end of the 1870’s, through to the 1890’s.

William Dixon homesteaded in the foothills of South Cheyenne Canyon in 1874, then built a tavern along the route up Cheyenne Mountain. Early on, there was a simple path called the Cheyenne Mountain Trail by early settlers traveling to the Southwest flank of Pikes Peak. That trail grew into a lumber road before gold was discovered up in Cripple Creek. Then Mr. Dixon turned into a toll road.

Once that happened, Joel H. Wade built his cabins, known for a while as Wade City, and hosted the stage stop at a bend in the Old Stage Road, just past the Shelf Road, in the 1880s and 1890s. Seven Falls was another notable homestead near the base of South Cheyenne Canyon. It was claimed by Nathan Colby in 1873 but was not yet an attraction.

There probably wasn’t a road access from the South Cheyenne Canyon to Greenwood Park until 1924, but there might have been a foot or horse path known as the Twilight Trail. If so, that trip would have been miles longer than the “Cutler Trail” access to Sweetwater Canyon.

In North Cheyenne Canyon, Edward Payson Tenney built a cabin in 1881, and the original Bruin Inn in 1884. That building burned in 1958. A smaller structure was constructed in 1916 or 1917. It later became a curio shop. We lived up the mountain in the 1950s to the late1980s, and to us, the North Cheyenne Canyon seemed pretty touristy, with attractions like the Helen Hunt Falls, and the Bruin Inn, compared to the part of the South Cheyenne Canyon that we called home.

Beyond the Inn, you could ride the Gold Camp Road through old railroad tunnels up onto the Corley Road, then on to Victor and Cripple Creek. As a kid riding my horse, I can tell you I imagined or thought I heard the phantom sounds of a coach in one of the tunnels and the isolated whistles of an unseen train.


How many tunnels are on Gold Camp Road?

Many of the locals in the Colorado Springs area are familiar with the legends surrounding the arched Gold Camp rail tunnels. Originally there were nine of the passageways dug into the hills, but as railroad travel in the area dwindled, three of the tunnels succumbed to age and vandalism and collapsed.


It seemed to appear the first reasonable entry point for what is now called “Greenwood Park” (though we never heard, nor used that name when we lived there) would have been a southern tail of the Mt. Cutler Trail, which became important around 1884.

To the best of my memory, we accessed that piece of the trail from the Gold Camp Road after passing through the first tunnel. Two of the tunnels had collapsed in the 1980s blocking the lower portion of the Gold Camp Road, at one time the road was easily traveled.

Once travelers drop down into the Sweetwater Canyon, several large parcels are dividing the valley. One of the earliest settlers was Georgiana Russell, who immediately filed her claim for a 160-acre ranch in 1884. Her patent was issued in 1889, making her one of the first settlers, as far as I know.

That brave woman apparently moved out West for her health, which never completely improved. When she felt a little better, she returned to the East and promptly died. This happened long before the access road was built, so her egress probably would have been the Cutler Trail.

In 1888 Bertha E. Bourne homesteaded 160 acres and then received the patent for Greenwood Park; more as an investment opportunity, than for a permanent residence. Bertha later gave it to her daughter, who sold it to (a) Mr. McNulty.


Map Above by Eric Swab.
Two of his maps are included in this document but he says “he will be making corrections and send them to me later.” Yet this gives the general idea of some of the old cabins, some are not included. You can ask me if you wish, but they aren’t on pertinent acreage.


A Map and Look Today



About ten years later, Ms. Clara Cassatt homesteaded a 160-acre parcel in the gully to the North toward the Gold Camp Road. She received a patent to occupy on April 26, 1893. How it worked was that a person applied for a license, then occupied the land for 5 years, proving intention to settle, before receiving a patent.

Or, they could simply pay $1.25 an acre to receive the patent early. She chose that path. The canyons became full of such homesteads. Clara lived north of Bertha Bourne’s piece, so, they were neighbors connected by the Cutler Trail. Ms. Cassatt built two cabins from local trees, across from a gigantic, solitary boulder.

My friend, and historian, Eric Swab told me Clara parked her wagon to the side of the North Cheyenne Canyon Road. Trey Spiller, who currently lives in an improved version of our childhood home, told me Eric knows where that spot is, though it is meaningless to me. She removed the wheels when she parked. When she needed to go to town, she first had to re-install those wheels – every time – so her wagon wouldn’t be stolen.



Today Some As Can you drive Gold Camp Road to Cripple Creek?
“This is not a challenging road, but it connects Colorado Springs to Cripple Creek and other great 4×4 roads on the way. It was initially a Ute Indian Trail and then a rail line. It features extensive views, especially in the fall when the aspens turn.


It beats me how any of those women hauled supplies in or out, using that trail! God bless them. Tough for me to believe that it was, at one time, the main thoroughfare since I found it to be such a weird little trail when I traveled it by horse in the 1960s. It was very easy to get off trail, and not even know it happened. I had to imagine where the path might have been, and zig zag across the gully to pick it up again.
It was tough going, and steep to climb up or down, near the Gold Camp Road. . .

People say there might be a sign there now, and many more hikers than in the mid-1900s.
That should help.

************

PART TWO Will Be Posted
Very Soon!
Author Diane Olsen

A Special Poem and New Shard Story for Valentine’s Day… Introducing The ‘Rising Wind’ Series of Novels and Book One ‘The Thunder Beings,’ and How The Series Begins.

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


MIST

Early in the morning

In the wake of rain

The drowsy trees exist

Draped in silence

And a distant thunder

Rolls… along

Beads of sunlight drip

Off water spotted ferns

The forest now breathes

And a distant thunder

Rolls along. . .


**********



About Book One ~ The Thunder Beings

When impassioned paleontologist Secora James is summoned to South America to confirm or dispel rumors of a creature long thought extinct, she lands herself in more trouble than she had ever imagined. Secora knows that the Mapinguari, a giant ground sloth that rivals King Kong for size, is probably just a local myth dreamed up by the indigenous tribes. 
Or is it?
Gideon Yellow Thunder is Montana’s top real estate broker and is perfectly content with his modern life, choosing to leave behind his Lakota heritage in order to lead a life of wealth and success. But when he starts having visions of bison on the open prairie, he feels compelled to act. . .
Now two separate lives are on a collision course as Gideon sets off for the jungles of Brazil to find a woman he’s never met and protect the sacred beings he’d long given up believing in—the Thunderbirds. Could they be real after all?
Or are they just a myth?
Gideon’s about to find out in an adventure of a lifetime, where everything he’d pushed aside is determined to leave its mark on his life.

*********

A Shard Story of Book One “The Thunder Beings”


A New Vision

Gideon Yellow Thunder shuddered back from his startling daydream. Mitch was squinting into his face, worry wrinkles etched onto his forehead. “You okay, dude? I heard you crash on the stairwell.”

********


Gideon Yellow Thunder tapped his pencil eraser on the desk as he finished a call from an eager business property buyer. He hung up thinking that was too easy. Kicking his chair back, he stretched and yawned. Then smiling confidently, he clipped together a few pages before standing up and slipping them neatly into a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Mitch, Gideon’s string bean of an assistant, and Jeannie, their resourceful secretary, were setting up a snack table for a party celebrating the continued success of Treasuremont Realty as it successfully shifted its way through Y2K.

“You’d think a hundred people were coming.” Gideon smiled. “We’ll have leftover snacks for the rest of the year.” He closed the file drawer and wandered over for a cup of punch.

“Hey, Jeannie, hope the company lasts as long as all these snacks.”

“That’s your job, sugar.”

He grinned, then sipped, “Yum, Seven-Up and…?”

“Cranberry juice.”

“I was just going to say that. Here’s to us!”

The office crew was about the only “family” Gideon acknowledged, though he had a younger sister who attended the local university. Jane was a nice girl, but their paths never seemed to cross. When she wasn’t attending classes, she took her breaks on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, staying with their mother, grandmother, and her son, Kyah.

The old doublewide on Bigfoot Road was twelve hours away, but that was still too close for Gideon. He wanted to stay as far away as he possibly could from his childhood home and the dysfunction he remembered.

Gideon’s eyes focused solidly on Mitch, who was now moving toward him with a certificate and a gift box. “What’s this stuff?” “Another annual certificate of appreciation from the Montana International Business Brokers Association saying you’re the best, and a little acknowledgment from your partner.” Mitch tipped his head in the direction of Glen Greenbriar, then popped a Frito into his mouth and wandered off.

Glen sat slumped in his chair with his chin idly cupped in one hand, adding drops of Angostura bitters to his whisky with the other to make his favorite drink, an old-fashioned. His desk sported a figurine Gideon hadn’t noticed before—a shrunken head. The face had brown skin, and a shiny green tooth, and bore a caption: My Retirement Plan.

That’s odd, thought Gideon, for several reasons. He glanced over the certificate, then surveyed the crowded wall behind his desk. Where the heck am I going to put this one? He sighed and set the certificate on his polished monkey wood desk. Grabbing the box with smooth manicured fingers, Gideon began to rummage through the curious assortment of packing materials. “Keep digging,” offered Glen. At length, Gideon located a two-inch clear plastic case in the midst of all the newspaper shreds and styrofoam peanuts.
“Wow, Glen, a penknife?”
He flipped it over. Hmm, no engraving. He sorted the box and packing materials into his garbage and recycling bins. Stray bits drifted to the floor.
While he was gathering the shreds, his hand bumped across a small object. He brought up a white marble that looked like it had been squished, the kind that people sometimes put into vases. Closer examination showed it had green specks peeking through. That’s different. He popped it into his shirt pocket. He turned toward Glen and pressed a finger thoughtfully against his lips regarding his partner whose wavy red hair was turning mostly gray. “What’s the knife for? I already have a letter opener.”

Between crunched chips, Glen made a suggestion. “Go skin a buffalo.”

“What… Excuse me?” Gideon stammered in shock.

“You’re an Indian, aren’t you?”

“You know I am. Why is that important?”

No answer. Gideon narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t minded that he had been hired to do the heavy lifting, while Glen phased out and retired. He’d even shrugged off the fact that his colleague had no love for anyone whose skin tones were different from his own. He learned early on from Mitch that Glen’s great-great-grandfather had been part of the 7th US Cavalry and an eager participant in two massacres during the late 1800s. These actions, no doubt, affected Gideon’s family, personally. Mitch said that Glen believed his ancestor was justified in the killings, regardless of the truth that time had since revealed.

Gideon tapped the table with anxious fingers. Maybe Glen had a tumor, or a demon on his tail. Maybe his great-great-grandfather was looking for a comeback. Whatever the cause, this was not business as usual.

“I was going to get you a bronze plaque partner, but…” Glen fidgeted with his glass, then belched. “Well, never mind, the plaque will have to wait. You got the damn award, and we got you that fine piece of cutlery.” His blue eyes turned to ice. “Clearly, Gideon, you’re worth every cent.”

Gideon Yellow Thunder was taken by surprise and rubbed his brow. Glen got up from his chair and stormed toward the buffet. Something was definitely fractured in their partnership, and he wondered how much longer the arrangement would last.

Eight and a half years ago, he’d given a talk at a business conference in Seattle on Seizing the Day. Glen had approached him afterward using words like “impressive” and “charismatic” that poured from his lips. Glen’s eyes smiled as he used phrases like “changemaker” and “closer” and “just the man.” Gideon would fit right in at Glen’s classy realty shop.

Despite Gideon’s hesitation to move to Missoula, Montana, he’d been excited about working for a legend in the profession. At first, the praise was almost constant. Glen assured Gideon he was doing the work of any three decent agents. Things had been good. But honest interaction between them was quickly fading. With a sigh, he put on his headphones and pulled up the quarterly accounting spreadsheets on his computer.

He flicked through several screens before he slowed down to focus on the figures for travel expenses. 
Something’s off. 
His finger traced the lines of expenditures that seemed not only out of place but way out of line with their budget. His calculator couldn’t make the problem go away and suddenly, there was more than racism bothering him.
Perhaps he had just uncovered one source of the problems with their partnership. Before he said anything to Glen, he’d check the figures against the budget history with an external accountant. He copied the questionable expenses onto a DVD, which he slid into his back pocket while exiting the computer.

He cleared the desk except for the new certificate and snatched his silk and cashmere suit coat from a hall tree. As he slid into the jacket, Gideon lifted his hair, which was neatly longer in the back, over his collar. He noticed Glen’s eyes were fixed on him. For show, he flipped the little silver steel knife into the air, smiled, then dropped it into his pocket.
“Never know when a knife will come in handy.” Glen growled, “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Not feeling well. I think I need to stay away from the punch.”

“You think Jeannie spiked it?”

Gideon shrugged.
“Well, go ahead, partner, enjoy a long easy weekend.
But if you’re not back Monday, Stevenson here will have your job.”

Gideon returned and placed his hands on Glen’s desk, looking directly into his eyes, he said slowly, “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t think you’re irreplaceable.” Glen emptied the whisky bottle into his glass.
Gideon’s mood plunged. “We’re partners.”

Greenbriar stared back and smacked the whisky bottle down on the desk, causing the new bauble to jiggle.

“Take it easy, Glen.” I’m not just talking about the drinking. Yellow Thunder wrinkled his brow and pushed his hands away from the desk. He pointed to the shrunken head. “That’s new. A souvenir?”

The stand for the head was surrounded by a tiny terrarium. Little palm trees sprouted from a white beach made of squished marbles like the one he’d found on the floor.
Glen grinned like a hyena. “Something like that.”

“Aren’t their mouths usually sewn shut like their eyes?”

“Yeah, but I had custom dentures made for this guy.” Glen brushed a finger against his nose. “He’s smiling because he’s a retiree. Kinda like I’ll be, very soon.”

Gideon became momentarily distracted when he thought he heard the boom of distant thunder. But the sunny sky out the window gave no sign of a storm. He shrugged it off and started to leave the office. “Bye, everybody. Have a fantastic weekend.” Jeannie and Mitch looked surprised.

Gideon offered as an explanation, “Not feeling too great.” Suddenly that statement felt very real. Two steps into the stairwell Gideon’s tall frame collapsed. He nearly fell to the first stair as he grabbed for the rail. Lightning flashed, and immediately the thunderclap boomed and echoed. 

That was way too close, he thought. I smell ozone. Clouds swarmed in his mind’s eye. He tried to shake them off, but now he could feel and hear the shrieking wind around him as he watched the storm descend on a Pine Ridge meadow.

At first, the bison calves danced and charged the gusty air, but before long, a strangely rising wind caused them to bawl and bolt for the herd’s protected inner circle. The growling of distant thunder disturbed a few of the anxious cows, who raised their muzzles from the summer grass.

The mothers began to call and sniff their babies. The cottonwoods by Porcupine Creek lifted the white undersides of their leaves as they beckoned and ached for the rain. Thunderheads swallowed the last eerie yellow light, and the storm was on. Thunder crashed over the land and the animals. The small bison herd froze with foreboding.

Swift darkness swept over the herd-like sinister magic once, then twice. Two of the calves were gone with the crack of thunder. The trees bent even further, and the squall splattered fat raindrops on nearby rocks. Next came the hail, smashing and bouncing through a bunch of grass and bushes, obliterating everything from view.

Gideon Yellow Thunder shuddered back from his startling daydream. Mitch was squinting into his face, worry wrinkles etched onto his forehead. “You okay, dude? I heard you crash on the stairwell.”

Gideon rallied, shaking the strong prairie images that had assailed him without warning. Mitch sighed with relief and helped Gideon to his feet. “Thanks, Mitch, I’m not feeling well. Better get home.
See you Monday.”

Mitch didn’t seem convinced, so Gideon made himself smile, however weakly, and wobbled down the steps, his hands gripping the railings. He still couldn’t believe it. His thoughts had just been violently overtaken by a vision of bison and the shadows of gigantic birds. Why in the world? How? He’d tried so hard to push that Indian nonsense away from him and now this…this daydream that made no sense, literally came crashing down around him.
“Unbelievable, he murmured to no one”
Outside, he was surprised to see slate-colored clouds crawling across the sky, rapidly consuming what had been a bright afternoon. He choked in the muggy air. Loosening his tie and opening the shirt collar, he stepped over the curb to cross the street to his car. A bank clock read two-thirty, and traffic was slow. Almost no one was visible on streets that would be swamped within half an hour. He fumbled with the knife in his pocket. “Just about useless.“

Sparkles of distant lightning danced among the blue-black clouds that billowed in. He shivered. It reminded him of the strange daydream that seemed so real. Gideon reached the other side of the street just as lightning flashed with a nearly simultaneous thunderclap. Damn, that couldn’t have been even a thousand yards away. Am I in that blinking dream again? 
He looked up to the stormy sky. A metallic light flashed from the roof of his office building across the street. He squinted to get a better view, shading the last of the sunlight from his eyes with his hand. His attention was snatched from the roof by the shadow of a low-flying plane that came ripping through the clouds. Stunned, Gideon dropped his arms and stood by his car in total disbelief.

A whining sound increased as the approaching craft quickly descended. Its shadow swept over him just as his driver’s side window shattered only inches from his hand. His jaw dropped as he noticed a visible pit appear in the passenger door. Upholstery stuffing, that was hanging precariously, fell to the floor. Finally, able to react, he panicked and crept around to the more protected side of the BMW.

Is someone shooting at me? 
From the back tire, he lifted his head a few inches to take another peek. Amazingly, the plane he’d thought was perhaps a Cessna 182 flapped its wings. The whooshing sound across the feathers of a bird, whose body size exceeded three times that of an ostrich, sounded like a cross between the shriek of wind through a well-ventilated abandoned shack and the reverberating impact of thunder—comparable to a jet engine. The avian zeroed in on a man with a rifle standing on the rooftop while Gideon gaped in astonishment. Just then, a sharp sizzle of lightning turned the world a silent white. . .

**********

Momentarily, Gideon was one with a warm golden-white universe. Atom for atom, he was willed into motion with millions of superheated particles. For that awesome interval, he was part of the oneness of all matter and energy, a unified component of all that existed. He was One.After an unfathomable increment of time, he separated and returned to semi-consciousness, his senses hyper-aware. There was an overwhelming aroma of pine needles, and the staccato beat of raindrops bounced from the car’s roof. He tried to move, but everything went dark“…



Readers can now read the full story about Gideon and Secora within the first book that begins their journey in the ‘Rising Wind series!’ Packed with romance and exciting mysteries they solve around the globe!

The full series is now available on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback. https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B01LWDB4K7/allbooks

Let’s Connect>> https://dianeolsenauthor.allauthor.com/



“ADAM” A Shard Story From My Book Ancient Ways: The Roots of Religion. Happy New Year…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Most of us have an idea about the story of Adam.

For some, He is the First human. Others see Him as the first Prophet of this last age. If Adam was the first man ever created – when was that – 8 million years ago, or 13,000, or 3,000 years ago? In Genesis, Adam is considered the first man. Yet, He may have actually lived during the time of the great starvation.

Adam and Eve are said to have covered themselves with fig leaves in Eden, but their family is said to be fully clothed farmers living among other agricultural people. He and Eve were noted as parents (or more likely ancestors) of farmers of sporadic, domestic herds and crops, somewhere around 13,000 to 10,000 years ago. The Quran says Adam and Eve were created in heaven, and then sent to earth.

The Great Prophets or Manifestations, all concur They were created before coming to earth – as were we. But, in the Torah and the Bible, Adam is made from mud, and Eve, from one of His ribs. Each Great Prophet, or Manifestation of God’s will, was the bearer of the Holy Spirit for a new Age of human development – at times this great Holy Spirit is surprised that we haven’t reached a higher stage of maturity since the last visit.

In mortal bodies, Adam and Eve became God’s representatives and lived in a place referred to as Eden. A place where all their needs were met, until Eve gave Adam the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. In the Qur’an, it is claimed that Adam gave Eve that forbidden fruit. Either way, they became enmeshed in the conflict between Good and Evil on earth.

With the encouragement of a snaky tempter, perhaps they made the material choice between good and evil and were evicted from Eden. Did God punish them and make them leave Eden? In the Quran, it was they who turned away from their Creator; turning towards something more worldly for a time. They later grieved the loss of connection with God. When they realized their mistake, and knew His disappointment and displeasure. They felt a great remorse, and realized that they were unable to find food.



When they were driven out from paradise, they made themselves a booth, and spent seven days mourning and lamenting in great grief. But after seven days, they began to be hungry and started to look for victual to eat, and they found it not. Then Eve said to Adam: ‘My lord, I am hungry. Go, look for (something) for us to eat. Perchance the Lord God will look back and pity us and recall us to the place in which we were before.’ And Adam arose and walked seven days over all that land, and found no victual such as they used to have in paradise.”

~Genesis, King James Bible


This brings up an environmental question.

It seems that after leaving Eden, Adam and Eve suffered from a horrible famine, similar to that experienced elsewhere in the postglacial world. As the glaciers melted, the land and even the rivers dried up. The animals and fish disappeared and there was tremendous suffering. Perhaps Adam and Eve were unable to cling to the Revelation that was the very purpose for their existence. There were reasons – sanity was deteriorating.

People everywhere were starving to death, fighting over scraps, and resorting to cannibalism. This is recorded in other recollections, as in the Persian memory of those times. Mashya and Mashyana, while guarding the new Revelation of Gayomart, in Zoroastrian texts; (in Persian, Keyomars), had to eat their precious child. Quite possibly, Adam and Eve starved to death along with many of those living in the post-glacial drying regions.

So, did the serpent represent human frailty or a need for a material attachment to the earth for existence? In those desperate times, the Ancient Faith was again corrupted. People made sacrifices to the rain god or a fertility goddess. Maybe Adam’s followers chose idol worship; praying to elements as gods, or calling on personifications, icons, or statues, for specific personal favors like finding food, water, or freedom from having to eat, or be eaten by those around them.

********

Leaving Eden means so little as a sentence, but understanding the real-life environmental drama gives significance to those words. Our ancestors could no longer satisfy their needs from the forests and the waters. Many died from outright hunger, thirst, or cannibalism. Adam and Eve were likely unable to hold onto the holy Revelation. Some humans endured, but perhaps Adam and Eve did not.

This is our human history – and may God forgive us – maybe our future too. Again, we’re faced with global warming, starvation, and death as rivers shrink and storms rage. However, in God’s mercy, starvation became the engine that impelled humanity to tame plants in their desperate hopes for survival. Over time, Adam and Eve’s descendants became ancestors to early farmers like Cain and Able who learned to raise and defend patches of herbs, vegetables, grains, and fruit. They even confined a few treasured animals in small breeding flocks; all the while trying to defend their tiny farms from fierce raiders and starving neighbors.

The concept of sacred white bulls, and not eating sacred cows, is an ancient remnant of those times. With the guidance of several succeeding Great Prophets, this process eventually led to the grouping of farmers into communities, or early cities defended by warriors, and ruled by law. Civilization had started its path. Eventually, there was enough food to initiate barter, then trade; forming routes for the transfer of goods and ideologies. Does this layering of the exploits of an early Prophet’s life sound familiar?

In the stories of the first remembered Great Prophets, the shreds of memory cover thousands of years, yet only one name serves as the “First”, though many Prophets whose names were forgotten over time, came in between their age and the age of the next remembered Prophet. Besides Adam, other first-remembered Prophets you’ll want to check out are: Nu Wa, Gayomart, Rama, and Fu-Xi. Adam’s Revelation was followed in sequence by Seth, on the flickering cusp of domestication.

Seth’s descendants built two pillars inscribed with many scientific discoveries and inventions – notably in astronomy in order to protect the knowledge so it could be remembered after the destructions of flood and fire, which Adam had predicted. One was composed of brick, and the other of stone, so that if the pillar of brick should be destroyed, the pillar of stone would remain. Enoch, known by many names like Hermes, Thoth, and Idris worldwide, gifted us His massive Revelation before the flood. His philosophies, sciences, and libraries still influence our societies today.

********

Our first remembered Prophet’s painted for us a tremendously long prehistory. They brought richness and noble beauty to the development of human religion, society, and culture. They took on the forces of evil rulers, idolatry, and ignorance to renew the Ancient Faith. They had one goal – for humans to worship the Supreme Creator: to purify their hearts and to turn away from self and materialistic distractions; to refrain from forming cults and making offerings to various elements, talismans, idols, or icons in order to get something in return.

The Ones we can name guided us through three global stages. First, the hunter-gatherers who lived in lush lands in times of relative plenty. Next, a cold, drying climate caused starvation and cannibalism. Finally, they drew a path for the success of domestication, agriculture, and trade; then guided us through the glimmerings of civilization, helping us achieve a civil, just, and compassionate organization of society. Each, renewed the ancient Faith of God, which was tarnished time and again, by human perceptions and changes to the holy Word.

And that renewal continues today.

**********


I am pleased to have shared an excerpt from my first published book, “Ancient Ways: The Roots of Religion“…
My hope is that this brief preview will inspire you to purchase and read the entire book. It explores the connections between the beginning of the Earth and our present times, highlighting various topics that demonstrate our unity as one humanity.

It is available from Amazon in
Paperback and Kindle
https://www.amazon.com/dp/0996756558/



ABOUT THE BOOK: 

To enjoy this book you may have to suspend current beliefs, since some of the concepts may seem quite foreign at first. What if monotheism always existed, and revelations were given to all human forms. There are hints to that effect. We should not assume primitive peoples weren’t smart enough to grasp the concept of a single Creator!

Too often we tweak religion to reflect our personal thoughts rather than dealing directly with the Word of God.  Monotheism, today is represented by at least nine living faiths, yet praying to God alone is not enough, for many. Instead, we pray to Prophets, angels, saints, ancestors, deities, and even the universe.

This creates a chain of “Paths” and “Ways” that become stained, over time, by human desires for control and material benefits. And as darkness and materialism overtake one Faith, another is born, through the intervention of the Holy Spirit, which is clothed in a different form, with a new name, and very familiar teachings.

Like the Tree of Life, monotheism can be visualized as a chain linking prehistory and history, entwined with human additions, wisps, and twists that produce an undulating, ultimate Yin and Yang. This constant interaction of complementary, as well as conflicting, forces and energies, exhibits both organic unity and dynamism-even war. Those who suspect there is a unified core of basic beliefs will enjoy Ancient Ways.

Hopefully, you will find precious gems to take with you.

Happy New Year & Winter Reading!



“Steve” New Shard Story From Book 5 ‘Rock My Soul’ of ‘The Rising Wind Series’ of Novels…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

An enormous being, a thunderbird known by some as, “Wakinyan Tanka,” became part of my life twelve years ago. Our telepathic connection was the entire reason I met my wife, Secora, who recently brought our son, Steve, into the world.
We couldn’t be happier.

As Wakinyan Tanka lay dying on the rugged Armenian mountain, she asked telepathically, if I was willing to connect with one of her offspring.

Now we owe our lives to another Argentavis Magnificens, “White Feather”, one of Wakinyan’s last daughters. She, along with my nephew, Kyah, saved us that night.
But, finding out about the pregnancy was interesting…

******

My wife, Secora, had been in an automobile accident, and we were in the Jackson Hole hospital. I tried to rouse her. She groaned in response, tried to open her eyes, and attempted to sit up.

“Ow.”

“Just stay down for now. Can you see anything?”

“A little, but Gideon, it’s dark. Are we still in the cave?”

I was puzzled at first, and then asked her “Do you mean the

cave in Africa where our friend, Mosa, was killed by the scimitar-toothed cat?”

“No, the one Destiny sent me to, today.”

“Sorry, that was three days ago. Secora, you’re in a hospital. You’ve been kept asleep to let the swelling in your brain diminish before you start moving around.”

Our adopted daughter, Monta, interrupted, announcing, “Guess what Mom, I’m going to have a baby brother.”

“Gideon, what is she saying?”
“She’s been telling me that for the last hour.”

Secora didn’t respond, she’d closed her eyes and looked as though she was thinking.

“Mom, did you hear me?”

She winced and said, “I did dear. That’s wonderful, but it’s a little more than I can handle at the moment.”

Monta, was undeterred and continued, “He likes the name,

Steve – in case you are wondering.”

Secora did a double take, focusing on Monta’s words, until

the physician arrived.

Before he had a chance to speak Monta emphasized, “Don’t forget, Mom, STEVE.”

*****

The day didn’t start as a tragedy. Secora and I had been showing a listed property in the Plains area West of the Flathead Reservation. It seemed like a good idea for us to go on this outing together, to get Secora away from her stresses and worries.

In the fading sunset, the client waved goodbye. With a strange look on her face, Secora turned to me and said, “Gideon, I think my water just broke.” We hurried into the truck and followed an access road to the highway that would take us to Missoula.

Although it was evening and we were miles from the hospital, she was beginning to feel excited about becoming a mom. But things turned ugly on the access road when we had a blowout in the right rear tire. It was tough to retain control of the vehicle on the old, cracked pavement.

I knew the tires were practically new and that something was off. The moon had yet to rise, and it was pitch dark as I pulled over and cut the engine. Suddenly, we heard the roar of another truck, and headlights closing in quickly from behind. Then a shot rang out.

“Get out Secora. We have to leave, NOW!” I dashed over to open the door and led her off into the darkened

brush toward an obscured ravine on our right. A deer trail took us away from the lights. We stumbled along as quickly as we could.

Secora moaned, “Oh my God,”

Behind us we heard the other truck leave the road, and lights indicated it was headed in our direction. Three squeaky doors opened and then slammed.

Moving as quickly as possible over to the edge of a ravine, we dropped more than three hundred feet, in a series of layers. My eyes strained to focus as we jogged along one fork of a path that wandered along the top of a gully. We stopped to catch our breath and I dialed my nephew, Kyah, who was a part of the search and rescue team, and quietly let him know we needed emergent assistance. I asked him to bring his search dog, “Penny”, then I gave him the coordinates for our rescue from my Satfon.

Secora and I were now dodging unseen bullets fired over the rim in our general direction. We moved from bush to bush, running for our lives in the pitch-dark night. She was hurting with regular contractions and I was panicked. Hiding behind the tumbleweeds wouldn’t be good enough. Eventually, our pursuers would catch up.

Out of desperation, I tried to get her to climb a small hill. There might be places to hide up there. Then, the thought of a pack of dogs treeing a mountain lion came to my mind. When the cat runs out of rocks to climb, it sometimes climbs a tree on the top – it has nowhere else to go. The dogs and the hunters find an easy target in the end.

I turned back to check Secora’s progress. She had stopped about ten feet back. I tried to coax her but she didn’t look good. She was doubled over, and when she looked up, I saw that her lips were blue.

“Honey, we can’t stop here. At the very least we need to reach those rocks about fifty feet away. Maybe we could hide from these wild bullets.”

She moaned through gritted teeth in response, “Can’t move… contraction….”

“Let me try to carry you.”



Lightning danced across the road as thunder rumbled.
Secora growled and fell to her knees. “No… can’t believe this is happening here. Please go, Gideon, one of us should live.”

At a complete loss, I knelt beside her and made sure she focused on her breathing. I was pretty sure she already was, but I didn’t know how else to help. Things became even more uncomfortable when rain began to blow in sheets.

In some ways it seemed refreshing, but it was cold. Even worse, I could no longer hear how close our pursuers were.

I began to quietly chant. “He-a-hey, hey-a-hey. Grandfather, I offer up everything to you. You are the Source…You are the end. We thank you for all you have given us. We thank you for this child. We will care for it as long as we can, then ask that You take him tenderly into Your care when the time comes.”

Suddenly, I heard something else: Heyoka, the nestling is coming. So am I.

“I have to push… it hurts.”

“Concentrate…focus.”

“O.K.A.Y.Y.Y.”

I thought I heard another gunshot and bent lower as lightning pirouetted with the ground. Thunder roared and rumbled. It was then I felt the presence of White Feather, who’d agreed to keep the connection after the ancient bird’s passing.

A predator is close to you. That one is mine to take.

My heart sank at the thought a killer was already so close, and also, because of the impending loss of life.

Thank you, great protector.

To Secora, I said, “White Feather says there are only two attackers left.”

Secora screamed as she pushed with all her strength. “Ahhh…” She set her jaw and pushed again. I caught Steve on his way into the world, protecting his head and tiny body from the dirt, scratchy sagebrush debris, and the windy-cold rain. It must have been a shock for the newly entered being, because he cried out – daring the rain or anything else to stop his entrance.

“Grandfather thank you for the birth of this precious child.”

Secora weakly, added, “Thank you, Source of all beings. Welcome, Steve.”

The siren of a Deputy’s vehicle was shocking. I held my breath as I anticipated the approach of running boots and heard two voices only fifteen feet to our left.

“Are you kidding!”

“How’d they find us?”

They weren’t voices we knew.

From the dark, Kyah bellowed, “Drop your weapons and hit the ground!”

Two bodies thudded into the brush, and Kyah called the deputies to cuff the suspects.

Secora and I were both shivering, but somehow, we had to keep the baby warm. I cuddled Steve inside my coat.

“I love you Gideon Yellow Thunder.”

“I know.” My tears joined the rain.

There was sudden movement right beside us and Secora yelped despite herself. Our fear faded slightly as Kyah’s Rescue dog, Penny, sniffed our faces. She barked twice, signaling my nephew to our position. At that moment, two other sirens could be heard coming in our general direction – way too close.

Secora asked, “What if they don’t stop and run over us?”

How could I respond? It was tough for me to move because the wet clothing clung to my cold skin. I struggled to wave, then brought my arm back to encircle her. Together, the three of us made the best of the circumstance.

I was still mumbling prayers, but I could feel Kyah was nearby. I grabbed his hand. He immediately bent down and hugged me. I love my nephew like a son. Steve seemed curious when the paramedics arrived to help. Within fifteen minutes we were all on the way to Community Hospital in Missoula, grateful, but shivering from the ordeal.

*****

Within the week of his birth, Steve was able to save his mother’s life with a timely howl that diverted her from opening the front door for an unlikely assassin; Mosa’s enraged sister screamed as the bullets entered the wood, “You killed my brother in the Ennedi cave, then made up a story blaming an imaginary beast, a scimitar-toothed cat.

I am here to avenge my brother. I am your death, cave monster.”

*****


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