Cherish Your Visions!
   Cherish Your Ideals!
        Cherish the music that stirs in your Heart;

The beauty that forms in your Mind;
The loveliness that drapes your purest of Thoughts!

        For out of them will grow all delightful Conditions.    All heavenly environment!   Of these, if you but remain true to them,

" YOUR   WORLD   WILL   AT   LAST   BE   BUILT "

Dear Beautiful Painted Arrow,

S ome years ago,while studying Art at the University of Iowa,

      I had the pleasure of helping a close friend move from Iowa City to his new home among the mountains of north-central Nevada.    The place was called Thunder Mountain!   It was an arguous fifteen-hundred mile trek of interstate and state highway driving.    Once we reached the town of Wennimuca, Nevada (in the middle of the night), I had a strong feeling I had been there before!   The feeling got stronger as we drove, and finally it dawned on me.   I had passed through this town and by a Mountain that cought my eye the summer before!    A little over thirty miles later, reaching our destination, we secured our vehicles, and settled in for a long needed sleep. 

      U pon awakening the next morning, I discovered that the Mountain which made me stop the car of which I was a passenger the year earlier, and "Thunder Mountain" were one and the same!   Sure enough I had passed by this very place the previous summer with friends as we returned from a vacation in San Francisco.   I remember insisting that Maron stop his car so I could see this place.   I had never seen a "Mirage" before and I wanted to get a real good look!   I stared around me with eyes which could accept anything ... anything at all.   The Mountain was majestic, stately, and it sparkled from canyon to summit with what appeared to be brilliant precious stones and crystals of every color.   I reluctantly called it a "Mirage" because, much to my dismay, none of my companions could see what I saw! 

As we drove off, I vowed to return to this place!

      ONE YEAR LATER, there I was!   I suppose one could say that it was an accident, my re-discovering this place.   I was after all helping Bill move out there.   But I am a person who does not believe that there are any "accidents" anywhere in the Universe!   I took this journey to Thunder Mountain because I had to see with my own eyes, exactly what and who it was, that could inspire a man to leave his full professorship at the University of Iowa for the uncertainty of a life in the middle of the Nevada desert!  

      Bill was an accomplished artist who's works varied from the delicate water color paintings strewen about his farm house, to the iron sculptures stationed at various locations on the grounds;  some weighing thousands of pounds and yet swaying like reeds in the summer's gentle breeze.   Still there was more than just the beauty and elegance that surrounded him that I found compelling;  there was more than just the array of intellectuals, artists, students and models;  for in him I discovered a quality that was unlike any I had ever encountered in a man. 

Bill was a gentle man, who had

a  'Special Way'  with words!

      His way was so strong in fact that I, like all the others around him, seemed almost spell bound by it.   When he spoke, there would be a calm, peaceful feeling that seemed to permiate the surroundings.    But with that peacefulness, there was a certain type of power in his words.   For whenever he spoke, whatever he spoke about would come to pass. 
      I can not begin to tell you the number of times that, whatever he was talking about would happen as soon as he finished speaking of it.   Whenever he wanted something,...... anything ....... food, money, raw materials for one of his art works (you name it),.......from out of nowhere, someone would bring that very thing to him!

   For example, It was late and we had not eaten since early morning;  while we were on the highway traveling to The Mountain.   Bill said that at the next highway exit, we would stop and eat and rest.   As we took the exit, we saw a service station and drove in to find a specialty truck with hot coffee and sandwiches for sale.   Bill went over to the truck and asked the operator if we could buy some sandwiches, since we were all pretty hungry.   The fellow replied, "No man, I'm closing down for the night and can't sell anything else!   But, since I'm closed, I can give all this stuff to you for free!   I was probably going to just throw it away anyway!" 

So just what was it that made him leave his peaceful farm outside the limits of Iowa City for the wild open range of the Nevada Desert?

      BEFORE we departed, Bill told me he had met an old Indian out there, one who helped him revive his over heated truck, as he was passing by Thunder Mountain.   He said this Indian was the closest thing he knew to God, and the place was Paradise!    I really didn't know what to make of his comments.    One of Bill's art professor associates (Jim), looked so much like the classical image of Jesus Christ that it was actually scarry, and so with a statement like that coming from Bill, I knew that was why he was moving to Thunder Mountain.   And that was why I offered to help ....................... I just had see for myself!  

      That morning my senses awakened from a deep, refreshing, and dream filled sleep, to what had to have been the brightest morning in my life.   The sun, still newly risen, was heavy over my shoulder, overshadowed only by that magnificent Mountain.   The sounds of breezes whispered in my ears, accompanied by occasional hammering sounds way off in the distance.   As I gazed toward the rising sun, I could see a small stream formed by water that effervessed from the Mountain's snowy cap.   The air was fresh and filled with the lite scent of sage brush that grew seemingly in every direction, and also with it the smell of smoke from the open fire over which Bill was preparing coffee, bacon and Pancakes!    Just like his artistic creations, his cooking was "culinary" art!   After finishing a great breakfast, I freshened up at the spring with, what felt like ice water.   Then, Bill called for me to join him in his truck, and so off we went to see, ... finally, this enigmatic old Indian!  

      We bumped and thrashed about in the truck.   On a dirt road, dodging the over-sized rocks, erosions, and stray animals until we reached the base of Thunder Canyon.   As we got out of the truck, I could hear hammering sounds from inside the large work shed we had parked near.   Just then the door flew opened and out stepped       Rolling Mountain Thunder!   As he approached, I stopped in my tracks.  

To my surprise, he was not the frail, asthenic figure of a man I had envisioned.   Before me stood a strong, muscular man about six feet tall.   He was wearing soiled and freyed clothes due to obvious hard work.    Sporting a cowboy hat, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, and he had a bearded face, ............................................. A face that I recognized!

      THUNDER greeted Bill with a big hug that lifted him off his feet!   And then me, with a firm hand shake, a smile, and a stare that seemed to go right through me.   "Welcome, Long Bear Thunder," he said!   I smiled nervously, shaking his hand, and somehow managing to hold back the urge to ask him where we had met before.   "Thank you Thunder", I replied!   "I finally made it here, .....and what a beautiful place!"   All the time I'm searching in my mind, trying to find the place where I had seen him.  

      I recalled the year before, getting out of Maron's car, looking around desperately seeking something ......... anything, and then discovering a very unusual house.   It was a small structure composed of rail-road ties and a variety of pop bottles, beer bottles, and assorted jars, all arranged within the concrete mortar (bottom-side-out).   I remembered calling out to see if anyone was there, but there was no answer.   There was no one home, and I didn't dare go inside the house.    So Maron convinced me to get back into the car.   And we rode off, the Mountain still a-glow!  

      "This is a Sacred Place," Thunder said.   "Thunder Mountain is a Sacred Mountain!   It will change a person after staying here only one night!"   But of course, I had already slept here one night, I thought to myself.   "Thunder Mountain is much greater than any of us," he continued.   "If It does not want you here, It will drive you away!   If It wants you to be here, you will find this is the only place you can be!   That's how Bill found himself here, and you too, Long Bear!"  

I realized then, that Bill wasn't the only one who has that

'Special Way' with words!

      I discovered Thunder to be a wonderful architect, builder, artist, and man; exemplified by his creations all around us.   He and Bill talked and worked throughout the day.   I helped where ever I could.   Thunder was presently working on a structure he called "The Hostel".    And was laying down rail-road ties and concrete for it's walls.   He used automobile windshields to serve as it's windows, and garnished them with borders of onyx, obsidian, and turquoise stones.   Boulders, metate stones, iron grills, slate rock and anything else he could find in the surrounding desert were used to make the walls for the Hostel's court yard.

   As he worked, Thunder expounded upon the fact that mankind, and especially our American society, was wasteful.   Anything a man needs, (everything), is right in front of him.   All one had to do was to search for it, find it, and then use it!   Hence, the principal structure on the grounds, the one Thunder lived in, was called "The Monument."    It was an offering to  THE GREAT SPIRIT , composed of all the things thrown away by mankind, neglected and just laying around in the desert.   It was a monument depicting the wastefulness of mankind!  

      The  Monument was a tri-level structure strongly reminisent of the Watt's Tower in California, but with marked differences!   It was adorned from the bottom to it's top with figures sculpted out of concrete, in the form of people of all ages and from all walks of life.   They were the faces of people disgarded by society;  because they were outspoken or different, or just too difficult to understand.   The sculptures ranged in size from a larger-than-life figure of Kwitzaquatle -- complete with bolts of lightning in both hands, to the tiny faces of disgarded or aborted children sculpted on the outer walls of the Monument.   The structure was bordered with turquoise, obsidian, quartz, and onyx .....all of which was found in the desert surrounding Thunder Mountain.    As I stared at this Monument, the thought passed through my Mïnd,

" A Prophet is not without Honor, except in his own Country! "

      Time passed quickly that day, and we suddenly found ourselves under the sky of a setting sun.    Bill graciously excused us, and we headed for the truck.    Just as I turned toward the truck, Thunder called out, "..... Long Bear!"   Simultaneously there was a loud clap of thunder.   Startled, I turned to face him, and then it hit me!   Suddenly I realized where I had seen Thunder.   "When you return tomorrow, I'll show you the inside of the Monument," he said.   I shook my head in agreement, then continued on toward the truck.   The images raced through my mind, where I had seen him.   I realized I had seen Thunder several times, all within the last year.    Once on a mountain top, a few times in the cannyons and in the open desert, and yet again in the middle of an Indian marriage ceremony.   All of which were in ................................ D R E A M S !

Prophecy is a dream that comes true!

If it doesn't come true, it's a Metaphor!

      I am a person who dreams ...... a lot!    I dream in color, sometimes in vivid ..... vivid colors, complete with sensations attatched to them!