Do you ever have one of those days when it seems everything happens wrong, for the right reason?
 
Friday, last, was unusually busy with appointments, several scheduled in the morning and several planned for the afternoon. 
 
Nobody showed up on time. The morning visitors all showed up late, around noon. The afternoon groups all showed up early, around noon.
 
The only thing I had scheduled at noon was a private connection between Lynn, me, David Tsosie and our dear departed friend, Tommy.
 
But everybody showed up at the same time; representatives from a paint manufacturer who want me to specify their Low VOC paints, a financier, who's looking for a way to invest in our development, a cowboy who makes instant adobe bricks from compressed earth, his mud-making machine hitched to his duelly, an insanely talented architect doing high-rise dwellings in Abu Dhabi out of mud bricks and Lynn, me and David Tsosie.
 
What to do? 
 
Shrug. Smile. "You all stay awhile."
 
Grinning with the sure knowledge that everything happens for a reason and that it's not our job to try and figure it all out, I invited the miss-matched bunch up the ramp to the top of the mountain, to Eagle's Nest.
 
"I hope you all don't mind. We were about to do something special here. You all showed up at the wrong time but I think, for the right reason. Please, sit. Lots of big rocks to choose from. There's room for everybody."
 
"This is David Tsosie, our friend from the Navajo Nation. David is on his way to meet with Native American spiritual leaders from around the country and stopped by to say hello. We have asked David to offer a blessing on Eagle's Nest and on CastleRock in honor of our friend, Tommy Yazzie." 
 
Salt and pepper braids, more pepper than salt, fall on either side of a pensive but youthful, happy face. The lightly oiled twists, stop just above the thighs. A turquoise ring, watch band, bolo tie and belt buckle compliment the bright red shirt. Peeking under pressed Levi jeans, the Wingtip shoes are polished. They stand solid on the flagstone under the giant eagle sculpture. They stand on sacred ground.
 
He stoops down and reverently opens a long wooden box with brass corners. He takes out a large Eagle Feather, very old, a leather pouch, well handled and a rubbed yellow stone. It is shaped like an arrowhead, naturally. 
 
"This rock was given to me by Tommy's father, Dudley. He is a Holy Man in our Nation. He said this rock reminds us to keep to the Way. This Eagle's feather was given to me a long ago by another Holy Man. This feather helps us remember we can see things from high up, like our brother, the Eagle. High up, is the best place to view things down here."
 
He then spoke in Navajo, that liquid language of sage and sandstone, wind and skies so blue, they bind you. He spoke into the Four Directions, holding the Feather up to each and under the shadow of the soaring wings, he sang.
 
Two songs, The Blessing Way and the Way of Beauty. Hozhoni. Nizhona. The breeze harmonized with the ancient notes, wind like and mellow. 
 
Finally, he blew four times into the four winds, on his long bone flute, an Eagle's cry of freedom, of joy and the mountain moved.
 
We were all moved. 
 
Everybody came at the wrong time so that the timing would be perfect.
 
There is much wrong about these times.
 
These are perfect times to sing of blessings and of beauty.