They left him at that point and came here the next day to report the incident. I asked for a description of the man, knowing full well who it was. The lady described Greg and mentioned a black arrowhead hanging from his neck and light, frightening eyes. The couple thought the man might be deranged. I thanked them for the information. I didn’t mention that we knew who the man was, nor did I mention that he was an employee of ours. No use destroying visitors’ confidence in the Park Service.
Ed and I discussed the matter the a couple of hours later, and we decided that for Greg’s own safety, we were going to have to find him and bring him in, by force if necessary. Unfortunately, we thought we might have to commit him to a psychiatric hospital in Vegas. It was clear that he was a danger to himself, wandering around the valley in his state in the late summer heat.
We were driving out towards Baker, the way the lady said she had come, when a report came over the radio that Greg had been sighted at Mesquite Springs, up near Ubehebe Crater. We slammed a quick U-turn and headed north.
I asked Ed what he made of these things, considering the way events looked to be turning out. Ed was silent for a moment and then began to talk.
His behavior? I’m baffled. There have been times when I’ve felt apprehension in dealing with him. I never felt that way around Greg before that canyon trip. Sometimes, it’s as if he’s not there; something else is dealing with me. I don’t think I was imagining things that night in the canyon: there is definitely something different about his eyes now. They haven’t looked like that again, but I’ve been bothered by his eyes ever since.
I mulled it over, turning it every way, trying to make some sense of it. What was going on in that guy’s head? He had started out studying mountains. I guess that’s about the very best place to learn if you’re looking for permanence. But why, for God’s sake, go from mountains to sand dunes? And from sand dunes to flowers? Christ, he was going from the permanent to the transitory! It’s as if he was looking for whatever might be changing the most! Something must have snapped in Greg’s head. It just didn’t make any sense at all. And there were still some things that just didn’t quite fit. How did that mysterious arrowhead Greg had been wearing fit in? Where did that come from?
Sometime later, we arrived at the springs. A ranger, Sarah Simpson, greeted us and gave us the news: Greg had left the springs an hour earlier, walking off towards the Grapevine Mountains in the east. Sarah had wanted to follow him and restrain him, but prudence had dictated that she stay with the truck to await our arrival.
I first saw him while he was bending over the springs. I didn’t recognize it was him until he turned profile to me for a few seconds. He had lost a lot of weight, and was a little shaggy, too. I immediately called in the report over the radio, and I sat in the truck watching for a time. He wasn’t wearing much, and his skin was dark from so much time in the sun. He seemed unusually fascinated by something in the springs. I got out of the truck, approached him from behind, and asked how he was doing. He didn’t hear me. I asked again, louder. Still no response. I stood still for a few moments over him, watching. Suddenly I could see what Greg was looking at; he was watching the currents, eddies, and ripples in the water. Somehow, it drew me into a reverie; there was such a sense of peace and joy: I don’t know where it came from.
* * * * *
Look at the sunlight’s glint off the water, dancing, never still.
The flux of the water falling down, around, and in upon itself.
The leaf debris in the pool following the water’s lines so faithfully.
The dynamism of the water juxtaposed against the immovable rocks at the bottom.
Its transparency allowing both views at once, the flux, and the stillness.
And when I shift my perspective, I see my reflection on the face of the waters.
A window into essences.
*
I was fascinated with it, lost in it for a while. I didn’t want to interrupt the feeling. Eventually, I shook myself out of the state. I said his name and touched his shoulder. He stood up and turned to face me. His face – it’s hard to explain – it was radiant, calming. His eyes seemed unbelievably light and clear, almost transparent. He spoke then, finally, in a voice I could hardly recognize as his. And I understood everything he said.
*
Shadow and light. Shadow and light.
Only in the light can I know the shadow. Only within the permanent can I know change.
Permanence inheres in us.
Change does not perceive or know change.
Only the permanent can perceive and know change.
* * * * *
She said that Greg had then pressed something into her hand and began to walk east towards the Grapevines. Alone. No food, no water, no supplies.
“Here,” she said, “he asked that I give this to you.” She held out a leather lanyard with a black arrowhead dangling from it. Ed reached out and took it, almost reverently.
We scoured the mountains last week. Choppers, planes, teams of searchers. Not a thing turned up. We have not seen Greg since.
The more clearly you become conscious of the frailty, vanity, and dream-like quality of all things, the more clearly will you also become conscious of the eternity of your own inner being; because it is only in contrast to this that the aforesaid quality of things becomes evident . . .
Arthur Schopenhauer, The Indestructibility of Being
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