![\"Walking](\"http:\/\/www.arroya.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/03\/IMG_5038-1-e1457135832534.jpg\")
<\/a>Walking in the steps of a Latina woman<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n More than 2,000 human remains have been found in<\/span> the Sonoran desert over the past 15 years. The actual number of bodies is much higher, as many of the lost will never be found.<\/span><\/p>\n I think about the official policy of the US Armed Forces, and their \u201cno soldier left behind\u201d code of conduct. This action by our military always seems heroic and somehow holy to me. No soldier’s body will be left on a battlefield. We will find them and bring them home. It is a sacred rule.<\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0Tom Flemming creates a cross with a tuna can sunflower<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n And yet here we are on this starkly beautiful desert landscape, where thousands of bodies have been left to rot, their bones torn asunder by the wild creatures of this land. Because they didn’t have the correct papers. It is a killing field.<\/p>\n On this journey we are a group of many faiths, many beliefs: an Episcopal priest, a Yaqui holy man, two nuns, a few lapsed Catholics, a non-believer or two, and some social activists. One man carries a cross he has created with the words, \u201cNo Identificada<\/em>\u201d carefully painted on the cross bar. A rusted tuna can painted a colorful yellow looks like a sunflower. \u00a0The can was most likely dropped by a migrant. It is nailed to the pristine white cross. The tuna can is a talisman of spring.<\/p>\n The mood is upbeat. We are on a mission. We are going to plant this beautiful cross in the desert and acknowledge that this unidentified woman had a life full of meaning, and it tragically ended here on this sacred spot.<\/p>\n Digging into the earth<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n The conversation bounces from topic to topic. Gabriel, our Yaqui friend, carries a backpack with items to use in the desert ceremony. He asks no one in particular, \u201cI wonder where she came from? I wonder where she was heading?\u201d<\/p>\n We trudge along through the dry grasses dodging cholla and prickly pear cactus. The day\u00a0<\/span>is warming up, and I keep my eyes and ears attuned to rattlesnakes coming out of hibernation.<\/p>\n My friend, Trudy, from Buffalo, New York,\u00a0is<\/span>\u00a0slowing down in the desert heat. We stop for a drink of water.<\/span> She asks, \u201cI wonder how she kept going?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n A prickly pear cactus in bloom<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n In my conversations with migrants at el comedor<\/i> in Nogales, they have shared with me how they kept going. This is what they tell me:<\/p>\n \u201cI was lying on the ground and couldn’t go one more step. My water was gone, and so was my last chocolate bar. I looked up and saw a woman beckoning me to get up and keep walking. I think it was the Virgen de Guadalupe<\/em>. \u00a0Or maybe an angel.\u201d<\/p>\n Some have said, \u201cI heard my young daughter’s voice. She shouted at me to get up and come home.\u201d<\/p>\n One man told me that when he rose from the desert floor, he saw the Border Patrol in the distance. The vision or angel or whomever it was by his side told him not to worry.<\/p>\n The angel said, \u201cYou are invisible to the Border Patrol. You can see them; they cannot see you.\u201d<\/p>\n A desert monument<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n Gabriel listens with interest. He said that when he was a child, his mother taught him to \u201cdisappear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThis is called\u00a0shifting,”<\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0he said, \u201cand it is something that parents teach their children in my culture.\u201d He chuckled, and told me, \u201cWhen my mother would call us kids in for supper, we would become stones and rocks. She couldn’t find us. We would disappear. We would shift to a different level of reality. We became invisible.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, maybe you just remained very still, and your mother couldn’t see you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d my Yaqui friend responded. \u201cIt was more than that.\u201d<\/p>\n Hiking to a sacred place<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n When we reach the spot where the unknown woman died, we drop our backpacks and set to work. First digging a hole with a post-hole digger, we then collect small rocks and drop them into the\u00a0cavity<\/span>\u00a0along with some cement and water. We carefully place the cross in the shallow pit of cement facing east toward the rising sun.<\/p>\n Standing in a circle around this spot, Gabriel leads us in a simple, profound ceremony of remembrance and hope. He smudges each of us with the smoke of the sweet-smelling sage. We try to focus our thoughts on this moment, and as the blue smoke rises upward enveloping our bodies, we send our prayers to this woman. I have already silently named her the Woman of Whetstone.<\/p>\n Smudging for purification, the Yaqui way<\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n I try to imagine what she looked like. She was probably wearing jeans and ill-fitting shoes, and perhaps a jacket from one of the aid stations in Naco or Agua Prieta. Maybe I had handed this woman some shampoo and soap at el comedor <\/i>in Nogales. We are less than a mile from Kartchner Caverns, and I wonder if this woman was trying to make it to the parking lot where there were people. You can see the trucks and cars moving along a highway from where we stand. There is civilization nearby. What was going on in her mind?<\/p>\n The Woman of Whetstone was probably a mother trying to earn enough money for her family. She risked her life to come to this country so she could feed her kids. Dreaming of a steady salary from Burger King or a housekeeping job, she wanted a warm safe bed for her children and food on the table. I would\u00a0b<\/span>et my life on it.<\/p>\n Gabriel leads us in a beautiful meditation to focus our intentions. First we face east; this is where the sun rises along with the birth of a new day and new life. Then we face south; this is where the sun warms the earth and seeds grow. This is where life unfolds and emerges. Next we turn to the west; \u00a0here the sun sets and old age creeps upon us. Lastly we face the north, where our bodies become cold and life ceases. Here we move on to the next dimension. We raise our faces to the sky and gaze at the heavens; \u00a0we kneel on the earth and hold the red desert dust.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a>