Confused. Agonizing over a choice, one of those rare crossroads where you decide who you are. The burden so weighty, the walls leaning in. Awake all night, sweating and claustrophobic, in the morning I left the house hungry. My feet carried me north to A Mountain and up to the top. I've always enjoyed being high, in tree branches and skyscrapers. I tried to clear my head. I looked down on the strip malls and the busy streets and the golf courses irrigated on top of the desert. I sat and baked as the sun trekked overhead, and hoped the heat would evaporate excess feelings, leave behind just essence. Sat and sat, and thought and thought. My guts churned and churned but nothing was revealed. It was sometime in the afternoon when a man appeared. I didn't see him approach. His name in English was Desert Fox and he was wearing a green and purple sweater, despite the heat. His people had once lived on and around A Mountain. They were the ones who carved the glyphs in the rocks. In those days the river had flowed here, but then the government dammed and diverted it.Desert Fox asked me if I knew the phrase Hoka Hey. It is a battle cry, he told me, that you say to give thanks to the Great Spirit for your life as a warrior. Not to despair in misery, or feel sorry for yourself. Not to bemoan, but to embrace pain as pleasure's dance partner, sink your teeth into it and suck it dry of flavor, because it is also life. I don't know if there are spirits, or a Great Spirit, but this idea struck and has stuck with me.