{"id":668,"date":"2018-11-15T14:34:32","date_gmt":"2018-11-15T20:34:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnleifer.com\/?p=668"},"modified":"2018-11-15T14:34:32","modified_gmt":"2018-11-15T20:34:32","slug":"tolerance-new-mexico","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnleifer.com\/?p=668","title":{"rendered":"Tolerance, New Mexico"},"content":{"rendered":"

Tolerance was not on any maps. According to rumor, it was little more than a speck of a town located in a narrow valley southwest of Acoma. \u201cUrban lore,\u201d townsfolk were quick to say when asked if Tolerance was real. It didn\u2019t matter what people said, though. No words were going to diminish John Miner\u2019s passion for finding it. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go wasting your time,\u201d Keith Tanner advised his friend over burgers and beers at the Dancing Eagle Casino. \u00a0\u201cI\u2019ve never seen Tolerance, nor has anyone else. It\u2019s just an old Indian legend, John.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

Miner paused to take in the words of his friend. Tanner should know; he was a member of the Acoma Pueblo, a tribe dating back 1200 years. The tribe\u2019s dominion had once extended to over five million acres of land before being reduced by centuries of fighting with the Spaniards, settlers, and other Indian nations. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would I stay in this shithole if the legends were true?\u201d Tanner asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you\u2019re \u00a0lazy.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSay that again, and I\u2019ll scalp you,\u201d Tanner responded with mock deliberation before breaking out in a laugh.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNothing\u2019s going to stop you, John. For God\u2019s sake be careful out there. Between the snakes, scorpions, and desert heat, it\u2019s easy for a man to get in trouble.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI appreciate the concern,\u201d Miner reassured him with a smile before reaching for his wallet to cover the check. \u201cThis one\u2019s on me, but when I come back with proof, dinner and drinks are on you my friend.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDeal!\u201d Tanner said, as he stretched out his hand to consummate the bet. <\/span><\/p>\n

Miner shaded his eyes as they walked from the perpetual darkness of the casino into the mid-day glare of a hot New Mexico sun. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll send you a postcard from Tolerance.\u201d Miner promised as he enveloped Tanner in a bear hug.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou do that,\u201d Tanner responded before heading for his car.<\/span><\/p>\n

Miner climbed into his 1988 Wrangler. It was showing its age: rust had eaten through sections of sheet-metal, and where there wasn\u2019t rust, there were dents. The exhaust was held in place with baling wire. At least the tires still had tread, and the engine fired up without a miss. Despite its flaws, John loved the vehicle too much to part with it.<\/span><\/p>\n

He knew that he was going off road, far off road, and prayed that his adventure would not prove to be a fool\u2019s errand. Based on his reckoning, which he fabricated from bits and pieces of conjecture, Tolerance was tucked away in a valley located at the base of two mesas. The Land of Enchantment was filled with mesas. What separated these two was their proximity: at a distance, they appeared to be one. <\/span><\/p>\n

Miner believed his best shot was to take U.S. Highway 117\u2026which passed within ten to twelve miles north of the elusive town, if his assumptions were correct. It would be tough country to traverse. The Wrangler might get him close, but at some point he\u2019d have to hoof it. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He glanced at his pack, all fifty pounds of it, including three gallons of water. Ten years ago, the weight wouldn\u2019t have fazed him, but now, with his fiftieth birthday on the horizon, the prospect of lugging dead weight for miles in the desert was daunting. Dying of thirst was an even less appealing prospect, and a real possibility if he got lost in this heat. <\/span><\/p>\n

Miner reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a holstered Smith & Wesson .357 magnum. The sun glinted off the six inch chrome barrel as he wrapped his fingers around the rosewood grip. It felt good in his hand\u2026heavy\u2026reassuring. He had loaded it that morning. The first bullet contained a snake round \u2013 a sort of mini shotgun shell guaranteed to decimate any provocative rattlers. The remaining five shots were hollow points in the event that he ran into an unhappy javelina. They were ill-tempered critters that peppered these parts and a real risk after dusk. He set the gun down next to his pack, lowered his Oakley sunglasses from their perch atop his head, and dropped the Jeep in gear. With a quick spin of the tires, he left the gravel parking lot with a trail of dust tight on his heels. <\/span><\/p>\n

He headed north on Indian Service Route 38, eventually picking up Interstate 40 West. It was a short ride on the highway that paralleled old Route 66, before exiting onto State Highway 117 South. Within a few miles, Miner was alone on the two-lane blacktop. <\/span><\/p>\n

He turned on the radio in search of any AM station still within reach. Through the static, he could make out the words of <\/span>Witchy Woman<\/span><\/i>, as they faded in and out with the undulating topography. As though moving in rhythm to the song, the needle on the gas gauge bobbed back and forth between empty and a half-tank. He wasn\u2019t concerned. Like the rest of the vehicle, it was just showing its age. John had topped off the tank before leaving. Plus, he carried a five- gallon reserve tank bolted to the back bumper, just in case. <\/span><\/p>\n

Miner carefully surveyed the land that lay ahead of him. He slowed on several occasions to study rock plateaus, but none fit the bill. He continued southward. <\/span><\/p>\n

As he approached Cebolita Canyon, a mesa seemed to arise from nowhere. He hit the brakes, bringing the Wrangler to an abrupt stop. \u00a0Was there a split in the mesa, he wondered. No, surely it was nothing more than wishful thinking coupled with a mirage brought about by the desert\u2019s heat. Still, he reached into his pack and pulled out his Nikon binoculars. He adjusted them until the mesa popped into focus. Then he dropped his hand to his side as his mouth fell open. <\/span><\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a single rock plateau. What remained indistinguishable to the naked eye became clear with magnification. There was a fine blue line separating the two mesas. But getting there was another matter. No roads led in that direction, and for good reason. The land was unforgiving, and no one in their right mind would find a need to traverse it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Miner put the Jeep in four-wheel low and began his slow pursuit of the distant mesas. The vehicle creaked and groaned as he crested small rises then sank into rock-filled depressions. \u00a0Leery of breaking an axle and tired of being jostled up and down, Miner turned off the ignition. He did a quick 360 review of his surroundings while threading the gun holster through his belt, then grabbed his pack. <\/span><\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t need to worry about anyone stealing the Wrangler. No one would want it. Someone might strip it though\u2026thinking it was abandoned. \u00a0It was a risk he\u2019d have to take. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDamn it\u2019s hot,\u201d he muttered to himself as he lumbered under the weight of his backpack. His destination looked to be eight to ten miles as the crow flies. Between the rocks, cactus, and brush, it was going to be a slow trek. It was now three o\u2019clock, which meant he had about five hours of daylight left. After that, it would cool off and the snakes would emerge from their refuge under the rocks. He didn\u2019t want to be out in that shit.<\/span><\/p>\n

An hour into the hike, Miner was parched\u2026his mouth dry as cotton. His shirt was soaked through with perspiration. He pulled out his water bottle. He had allocated a pint of water for each mile of the hike, and though he\u2019d tried to sip it, it was gone in an instant while his thirst remained. He could drink a little bit more, he thought, but he had to pace himself\u2026finding the balance between dehydration and conservation. Out here, it could make a life and death difference. <\/span><\/p>\n

As Miner plodded forward, his mind wandered from the travails of the hike to what he would find at the trail\u2019s end. He\u2019d first heard the legend of Tolerance when he was little boy.<\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019d come home from school in tears, bullied by a kid two years older and much larger. That boy, an Indian, had scoffed at Miner\u2019s pale skin\u2026John being one of a handful of Anglos in the reservation school. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI know Billy\u2019s words hurt you, but you need to understand that they reveal a great deal about him and very little about you,\u201d his mother said, wiping away the tears spilling onto his cheeks. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d John responded, his voice quivering.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour father and I knew we were running a risk when we put you in an Indian school, but we felt there would be important lessons for you to learn\u2026lessons you would miss out on at an all-white school.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLike how to get beaten up by a sixth grader?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Honey, that\u2019s the last thing we wanted to have happen. Sometimes there are unintended consequences to our actions.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat means that, even when you are trying to do good, sometimes bad things happen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat were you trying to do that is good?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour father and I wanted you to learn that not everyone is like you, and that you have much to gain by spending time with people who are different.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you can explain that to Billy, Mom, before he socks me again.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll have a word with his teacher,\u201d Becky Miner promised as she wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him tight. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow about a story? \u00a0I\u2019ve got a mystery that I think you might enjoy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure, Mom,\u201d he said, as he let go of injured feelings and pressed his head against his mother\u2019s chest. \u201cIs it a true story?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll leave that up to you to decide. You see, Johnny, there\u2019s a town not far from here, but no one I know has every laid eyes on.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019s that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s hidden. It lies in a valley surrounded by desert. There are no roads connecting it to the rest of the world. \u00a0And there are snakes, and scorpions, and javelina that keep people away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

John\u2019s eyes grew wide, and he nodded as an image took shape in his mind.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe town is made up of people of all different colors\u2026brown and black, white and yellow, red.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPurple?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot all colors, I guess,\u201d his mother smiled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow did they get there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo one knows for sure. You see, once people enter Tolerance, they never leave.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d the boy asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s like finding heaven on earth. Everyone gets along. They don\u2019t see each other as being different.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut they are different!\u201d Johnny exclaimed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPeople look beyond their skin. They look into each other\u2019s hearts. And, in Tolerance, everyone has the same heart.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo no one gets punched?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Honey, no one gets punched.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan we move to Tolerance?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Becky stifled a chuckle. \u201cMaybe someday, but you are going to have to find it first!\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll find it for us, Mommy\u2026just as soon as I\u2019m big enough!\u201d Johnny swelled with bravado.<\/span><\/p>\n

Miner missed his mother. She had died a little more than a year ago following a long bout with cancer. If only he could have shown her Tolerance before she died, he thought.<\/span><\/p>\n

A long line of sweat ran from Miner\u2019s hairline down his forehead and into his eyes, momentarily blurring the landscape and bringing him back to reality. He\u2019d put another mile behind him, and it was time for a second pint of water. He pulled a bottle from his backpack, and with it, his hat. \u201cShould have done that an hour ago,\u201d he thought as he draped the safari hat over the crown of his head and bringing instant relief from the sun\u2019s penetrating rays. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe Tanner was right,\u201d he said to himself. Tolerance has always been nothing more than a fable \u2013the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.\u201d \u00a0But he\u2019d come too far and prepared too long, to turn around. He couldn\u2019t relinquish the dream \u2013 not yet.<\/span><\/p>\n

Time slowed to a crawl as Miner trudged on. The gap between the two mesas was now visible without the aid of binoculars. Miner thought he saw the faint outline of houses in the valley. \u00a0He dismissed it as a mirage. The heat did funny things to a man\u2019s mind. Enough of it, and you started seeing what you wanted to see.<\/span><\/p>\n

Another hour passed, and with it two and half more miles. It was approaching six o\u2019clock, and the heat was finally beginning to break. Miner checked his watch, and then glanced at the pedometer clipped to his belt. Shouldn\u2019t be much further, he thought before giving himself permission to take a fifteen minute break. \u00a0He lifted the pack off his shoulders and set it carefully on the ground. He stripped off his shirt, rung out as much perspiration as he could, then buttoned it up. After tightening his boots, he was ready to march on.<\/span><\/p>\n

As he topped a short rise, Miner was confronted with something he hadn\u2019t anticipated \u2013 a small canyon, not on any map. It was a divide \u2013 separating him from his final destination. \u00a0There was no trail, nor switchbacks to guide him through the canyon\u2026 just walls steep enough to discourage even the most intrepid hiker. But not John. <\/span><\/p>\n

He paused long enough to cinch the straps tight on his pack to prevent any lateral movement that could precipitate a fall, then began the descent. Forty harrowing minutes later, he was at the bottom looking up. <\/span><\/p>\n

If the climb down was intimidating, the climb up appeared to be all-the-more treacherous. He started to scrabble his way upward. After gaining only twenty-five or thirty vertical feet, Miner realized he would not make it to the top\u2026not with his pack in tow. \u00a0The choice was simple: Dump the pack or turn around. He knew the risk he would be taking by leaving his water and gear behind.<\/span><\/p>\n

He carefully slipped the left strap of his backpack off his shoulder; then the right. \u00a0Relinquishing his grip, he let the pack tumble to the bottom, bouncing off the canyon wall during its short descent. Miner began to pray. <\/span><\/p>\n

It took more than an hour to reach the top of the canyon. As he hoisted himself up over the last ledge of rock, he was once again on level ground. <\/span><\/p>\n

Ahead was the indisputable outline of a town. From what he could see, it was built on a circular grid with stone paths bisecting it. He approached with caution. No one was visible \u2013 not a soul. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Dripping wet with perspiration and parched, Miner struggled to shout, but there was no response. \u00a0He shouted again, but still He heard no response.<\/span><\/p>\n

Miner nearly jumped out of skin when someone tap him on the back. Pivoting on his right foot, he turned swiftly \u2013 his hand reaching for the holster.<\/span><\/p>\n

A man no more than five feet tall was facing him with an outreached hand. His skin was golden\u2026radiantly golden.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGive me the gun,\u201d He heard the words, not as sounds but as thoughts. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlease give me the gun, John\u2026there\u2019s no need for it here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI must have died back in the canyon,\u201d Miner thought. \u201cFallen from that damn cliff.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are every bit as alive as I am,\u201d the man communicated, his lips never moving.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure I find that very reassuring,\u201d Miner told the man, who was now gesturing towards the holster.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSure, what the hell, you can have my gun. I\u2019ve got a feeling you could take it without being so polite,\u201d Miner thought as he unbuckled the strap on his holster, extracted the .357 magnum and handed it to the man.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone here is given the chance to do the right thing, including you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow can you speak directly to my mind?\u201d Miner thought in response. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s more efficient, and there are fewer opportunities for misunderstandings,\u201d came the response.<\/span><\/p>\n

Minor shook his head as if trying to dispel a dream. \u201cWhere am I?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe place that you have been searching for.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd where is that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou have that answer as well. You call it <\/span>Tolerance<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what do you call it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe have no need for names, but Tolerance is descriptive.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOf what? Where the hell is everyone?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey are waiting for me to let them know it is safe.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSafe from what?\u201d Miner demanded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFrom you, of course.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat makes me dangerous?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe same thing that gives you promise.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not getting your point, and I\u2019m thirsty and tired.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The man gestured for Miner to turn around. As he did, Miner saw a small table with a large pitcher of ice water and a glass.<\/span><\/p>\n

The man nodded, as if giving Miner permission. Miner filled a cup, slammed it down, then filled it again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe each carry a truth embedded within our hearts. That truth can be a shackle that binds us \u2013 a shame that clings to us as tightly as our shadow; or it can be the key to our liberation. If we look upon each other\u2019s truths with equanimity and compassion, seeing our shared humanity rather than our differences, then we are free. If, instead, we choose judgment and segregation, our souls remain imprisoned.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe truth will set you free,\u2019 is that what you are saying?\u201d Miner asked, a note of sarcasm creeping into his question.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSounds simple, doesn\u2019t it? \u00a0But in answer to your question, yes, truth and tolerance will set you free. <\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve been on this quest a very long time, John. Do you remember when it began?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAfter I got my butt kicked at school. My mother told me a story about a town called Tolerance.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know if it was real, though. Like now, you had your doubts.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho wouldn\u2019t? \u00a0I live in a world where hate and intolerance are in abundance.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019ve never surrendered to such feelings. You\u2019ve followed a different path, as your friend, Tanner, would attest to.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow do you know that?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A door of one of the nearby houses opened slowly, and John turned to see who was about to emerge.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Tanner moved quickly to cover the distance separating them, then grabbed Miner in a bear hug.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here? How did you follow me all the way from the casino?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve always been here \u2013 and there. It\u2019s hard to explain, John\u2026maybe it would be better not to ask quite yet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019ve been my friend for forty years. How could you have been here all of that time?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour mind has to be able to accept duality. That\u2019s going to take a little getting used to. What\u2019s important is that I was the one chosen to bring you here. You had some work to do first, just as we all do before we\u2019re allowed to enter Tolerance. But you did it, you graduated, and now you are among us.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

John watched as the doors of the surrounding houses opened, and all manner of people began migrating towards him. \u00a0As they approached, he felt an overwhelming sense of love and acceptance. With it came a peace that he had never before experienced\u2026a peace in which every concern, every fear was washed away. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know you can\u2019t go back,\u201d Tanner said to him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGo back to what? Other than you, buddy, I have nothing to go back to\u2026not since my mother passed.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Tanner nodded in acknowledgement before pointing: \u201cLook, John, someone is coming to greet you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A radiant being, a woman bathed in a brilliant light, was moving towards him, her arms outstretched. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy God,\u201d was all he could say, as his mother wrapped her arms around him, golden tears spilling from her eyes onto his shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou died! I was at your bedside!\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI told you I would always be with you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut how?\u201d he said both in protest and immeasurable joy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI have a story to share with you. It\u2019s a true mystery, and I think you might enjoy it\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Tolerance was not on any maps. According to rumor, it was little more than a speck of a town located in a narrow valley southwest of Acoma. \u201cUrban lore,\u201d townsfolk were quick to say when asked if Tolerance was real. It didn\u2019t matter what people said, though. No words were going to diminish John Miner\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":669,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"cybocfi_hide_featured_image":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1,10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-668","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-my-blog","category-home-page"],"yoast_head":"\nTolerance, New Mexico - John Leifer<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Tolerance was not on any maps. According to rumor, it was little more than a speck of a town located in a narrow valley southwest of Acoma. \u201cUrban lore,\u201d\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/johnleifer.com\/?p=668\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Tolerance, New Mexico - John Leifer\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Tolerance was not on any maps. 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