July Sunrise, 2018 fading

"July Sunrise," 5 x 7

July 1. Since January 1, we've traveled 292 million miles on earth's orbit. And I thought my car had lots of miles on it.

I've entered the #Doodlewash #WorldWatercolorMonth daily challenge for the second straight year, and woke up today realizing the year is half over. Sunrise, and the days and year gets shorter on our journey.

Much has happened to our world in those six months, as we've covered more than a million miles with every sunrise, and to each of us, good, bad and blah.

No need to recount my milestones here, but to focus on watercolor. More about books and people and events later.

Today's challenge was "Sunny Days." Last year I didn't follow the prompts but I'm committed to that this year to push myself on this journey.

So today's "July Sunrise," 5 x 7 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico cold press paper follows the suggestion, "Sunny Days." We sure need more of them don't we? Aside: I think Whitman would like this open road, metaphor for our lives.

Oh, and here are the prompts for the rest of the month's challenge. We'll see how I do.

Healing earth--Adobe therapy

Adobe therapy--from a Susan Clark photo, 5  by 7 watercolor, 140# d'Arches

Have you been to El Santuario de Chimayo' and scooped up some of the miraculous healing dirt?

Evidence of healing faith and dirt--Chimayo'

If you have not, you probably don't believe. But walk through that adobe church and the room where the crutches and other offerings hang of those who been healed, and you might feel differently. The Santuario attracts more than tourists, as thousands of make pilgrimages to it during Holy Week.

The Santuario draws faithful pilgrims

You're entering Northern New Mexico and one of the last bastions of medieval faith. You may not have the penetents' faith, but you have to put your scientific mind on hold. You encounter a different world.
There is something about adobe, earthen vessels, dirt that is healing. Even those of us gringos touch on it when we talk about the therapy of gardening, getting our hands in the earth.
These were thoughts today when I sought something to paint, something to help healing, and chose a scene from one of Susan's photos of Taos Pueblo. That ancient civilization also knows the power of the earth. Attend Native dances and see it reaffirmed--for all their rhythm and traditions, one stands out...one foot of each dancer is always in contact with Earth Mother.

Small previous watercolor of Taos

So I started painting adobe again today. Yes, I can go get my small bottle with some of the holy dirt of Chimayo' in it. I have not painted the church other than a quick sketch, but my Dad did. But I love painting watercolors of adobe.  And with these thoughts today, I now know another reason I'm drawn to painting adobe. It's therapy in more ways than I know.

Shutdown

"Captain, they're trying to shut down the reactor."
"I know that, Clark, and there doesn't seem to be much we can do about it, is there?"
"But we're out here light years from home, asteroids everywhere, and without power...."
He let the the thought go unsaid....sure they'd have enough oxygen for a week on the mile-long ship, but without power to keep the shields up and maneuver, it would be only a matter of time before a piece of rock hit and killed them all.
"I'd break out the spacesuits," the Captain said. "It'll give us a few more days, and by then, if they're dead, we might be able to get back there and restart the drive." He and Clark were the only survivors of the original crew of 24 on the interstellar Sojourner.  It left a year  year ago to take 249 remaining  members of a radical religious group to a new home where   they would no longer threaten the finally peaceful, unified Earth  trying to start Armageddon.
But they'd overpowered their keepers in the rear of the ship where they were quarantined. While they couldn't get to the control cabins, they'd managed to break into the reactor areas.
All the Captain and Clark could do was helplessly watch on the control monitors as they tried to sabotage the drive systems.
"Can't they set off an explosion?" Clark asked. He was a navigator, not a nukie.
"No, but they might make a mistake and release enough radiation to kill themselves," the Captain said. "That would be their own Armageddon."
"And ours," Clark thought, because then there would be no way to get back there and restart the drives, without dying of radiation.
"And for us, death by radiation or lack of oxygen, some choice," he mumbled.
"It's amazing to me that with all the planning that went into this relocation, nobody thought about the effects of a shutdown," the Captain said.
"Relocation" was such a nice word, Clark thought, thinking back to his ancient history lessons about the Earth's treatment of colonized people, like the Palestinians, the Jews, the American Indians, the slave ships. But they'd never had the chance to shut down a government. If they'd only known how easy it was to disrupt the majority.
Then he remembered, there was one instance where a radical minority back in the 21st Century caused the collapse of an entire civilization, just by forcing a shutdown of the government. At first it had just been some kind of revolt against a law, mixed in with religious fervor.
 It amazed him how the followers of religious leaders who preached love and goodwill, peace and compassion could be so hateful and violent throughout history. And of course they hadn't seen or thought about the consequences, once their government quit functioning ... uncontrolled sickness and plague, financial collapse mixed with invasions from enemies taking advantage of the paralysis. All of them ended up in labor camps and died of starvation or disease, prisoners in the land they helped destroy, with no government to protect them.
"Like us," Clark thought. "Prisoners in our own land, and about to die of starvation or sickness.
"All just because of a  shutdown."
The lights flickered and the monitors went blank. The two-hour emergency lights came on. He and the captain  reached for the spacesuits.
He heard something hit the hull of the ship, and the lights went out.