Ride Away, Ride the Wave

intuition, Small Miracles, Soul heartedly

I woke up in a fog– a fog of overthinking something I have overthought for such a vast time period that for most would seem unnecessary. For me, it’s always dwelling on the intense original life purpose I have energetically paved for myself to the extremity of falling into a black hole after the of not taking action upon my own intuition in perfect timing last year. It’s had many pitfalls, and has become my best method of self-sabotage. For the past two years, I haven’t been able to discern whether I’ve been grieving my self-proclaimed life purpose, a person, or an idea of a person. Having conversed with Spirit in writing the night before, I asked for guidance into a more positive current situation that would bring about clarity. Perhaps rather something more along the flow of the current that would get me out of my head.

I had almost forgotten about that intention when I headed out to Natural Grocers in search of a yoga mat and some fruit. My yoga mat was a torn-out disaster, and I really needed to do some yoga. I had the fortune of running into a friend who told me she’d give me a new yoga mat for free… which, of course, was a divine opportunity I couldn’t easily pass up. When I got in line, I noticed that a friend I knew from yoga and repeatedly crossing paths –for the past nine or so months– was behind me. I told her about my recent dog-sitting gig, to which she responded,

“I could use you for dog sitting, because I’m going to Mexico to swim in some cénotes and maybe find some traditional healers to talk with,” she paused in optimistic contemplation, “Unless you want to come with me.”

So despite the wildly painful overthinking that has been my habit for so long, I booked the ticket to Cancún the next day with little hesitation. I tried to ignore the slight anxieties I held about losing possessions during flights to foreign countries, and just trust that it would be a good, smooth experience. As it would happen, we were both sending intentions of a smooth trip into our journey while conversing with angels, and so that’s exactly how it transpired.

I packed very few possessions with me; the bare minimum of clothes that would get me through the four days of our journey. I began to become aware of the pattern of following my breath, and really breathing. I’d recently come to the awareness that I hadn’t actually been doing this… and that this has been the main source of obstacles that I have experienced throughout life. Taking away months and years of true fulfillment. In order to regain this lost sense of self, I was going to need to actually start breathing from the depths of my heart and soul… and it isn’t easy, because this brings up various instances in which I must, time after time, come to terms with my Truth and how that truth is working out in this lifetime. I was coming to know that Life listened to me so long as I was nurturing my own Spirit with breath.

We sat in the airport eating fruit and drinking coffee at five a.m., having a spiritually fulfilling conversation. I was so grateful and amazed that of all people, having planned this less than a month in advance, I would be joining Sadie on the venture to Valladolid and Tulúm, Yucatan, Mexico. It’s only been a destined prophecy for me to return to this sacred, ancient land which feels so much like a second home to me since visiting a traditional Mayan village a few years ago on a college study abroad for six weeks.  In this study abroad course, I apprenticed with a Mayan herbalist and also gathered data from multiple other shamans on the Peninsula. My project at the time seemed so extensive that I knew eventually I’d have to come back to further my passion of studying and practicing plant medicine. Jungle plants are really the most intriguing of all medicines.

When I found my seat in the airplane, my seatmate was getting up to switch seats with another woman. The woman who sat down next to me in the center seat was relatively familiar looking, and we instantly connected. She was also a blogger and began telling me the themes of the entries on her blog… which were all coincidentally in alignment with my recent experiences and current process of life. The one she explained most in detail was the one on grief– not necessarily the death of a person, but rather the death of an idea of some significant life purpose one may have an attachment to, so now must find an alternative life purpose. Our next seatmate who entered was tall, gangly and handsome and he was also a blogger. We told our stories of synchronicity and unity, finding meaning beyond coincidence in human interactions. Our conversation was loud and bright, overcasting all other sleeping passengers on flight 71. When we were served plastic cups of water, I made a toast to synchronicity.

The familiar yet exotic aura of Valladolid was comforting and enticing as Sadie and I entered it in the rental car. Even the scent of this traditional Mayan city warmed my heart and comforted my soul. We navigated the series of one-way roads towards the hotel, which was a magical cove of jungle plants and antique brick walls painted in ancient Mayan-Mexican styles. Shortly after arriving, we walked the village streets towards downtown, asking for directions from other visitors in Spanish. However, we quickly noticed that those visitors were the only other tourists to be seen.

To be among the Valladolid villagers and immersed in this culture with Yucatecan aromas steaming from every other door we walked past is a beautiful thing. To take in this culture fully without the extra perceptions of any other foreigner is to take it in clearly in a new sense that nobody has yet discovered. Like first impressions: to be looked upon for the first time without hindrance of a third party is to see clearly. To smell clearly, and to think clearly.

An exuberant energy vibrated from every carefree child and into the air of the Plaza, which reflected any other Yucatecan Plaza with their historic fountain centerpieces and white-stone loveseats along the edges; tall shadowy trees, and the enchanting sound of the Spanish and Mayan languages escalating in laughter. We ate at a traditional Yucatecan open-air restaurant with neon colored lights penetrating the dark evening air. In any Yucatecan meal, I most look forward to the homemade cornflour tortillas hopefully cooked on limestone (“kal”), and so was delighted to have an entire stack of them sitting in front of me covered in a creatively patterned hand-woven basket.

After sleeping in a beautiful silky hammock which I swore somehow changed colors from yellow to pink overnight, I awoke to roosters reminding me of the sacredness and the calm of which I was simply a part of being in this foreign land. Breakfast was the finest and simplest of foods: fresh fruit and fresh bread with local coffee, black.

We walked around town for a few minutes in the morning sunshine upon which everything seemed to dazzle and everyone seemed to be so content, so simple. Though work for the artisans daily in their shops is not so simple as they would have it seem, each shop owner at every storefront was beaming a smile of welcome. There were women setting up a market on the sidewalk full of vivid vegetables and fruits; the girl offered me half an orange which I gratefully savored. Sharing flavors of the culture.

We set out in search of some cénotes after collecting some directions from the hotel on which ones might be best. Tunneling down the roads outlined with jungle trees was such a restoration to the soul… bringing greenery and refinement to all its hidden aspects, as jungles of Mexico always have a tendency to do. Descending down the steps into the cave, it was a cool and mystic atmosphere. We were the only two swimmers in the large cenote, granting us freedom for spiritual and physical healing in the magical, deep waters. Catfish occasionally could be spotted. Birds fluttered in and out of crevices within the stone walls. I spent time floating, reflecting in one specific pool illuminated by strong rays of sunlight, making visible the depth of the cenote. I asked for a clear answer, and as I emerged out into the hotness and newfound clarity of the day, a multitude of butterflies in varieties of different colors fluttered around my face.

There is only one other natural resource, in my opinion, that has more healing power than a cenote– and that is the Ocean. Before arriving in Tulum, we made a stop at the ruins in Coba. I was reminded of my song I started writing, in Spanish, the last time I had been in Yucatan. We sat on a log and connected with the roots of this land, the ancient mysticism of the Mayans and secrets of the Sun which they held. I purchased a hand-woven dreamcatcher with an owl woven within the center. Just being present here, I could sense the humidity of the Ocean and the mysteries of the Mayans pulling me in further to their homeland.

As we drove into the village of Tulum with the windows rolled down, the air was vibrant with exuberance and joy that only a special place such as this would exhibit– something particularly magical about the warm, clear waters of this coast. We settled into the cabana loft with shimmering dark wooden floors. Next, we walked through the village radiating with love and humidity, a shimmering happiness that could only be found on a coast such as this one… the street signs displayed messages in segments: “If not now…” “When?” Though it was a touristy atmosphere, everyone seemed perfectly content. Exiting the car, we made our way to the beach and walked on the sand to the cabana loft.

I pulled out a book to read on the beach for the first night, but soon couldn’t contain the urge to run along the coast. I started out running, inhaling deeply the warm, humid, salty air. This was my first trip to the beach in nine years, and to be near the water felt so liberating to the soul. I paused occasionally to step into the water and allow the waves to wash over me, cleansing my heart and mind. I sent out healing intentions through the palms of my hand, directed into the ocean to be washed up on every other shore in all directions. I ran all the way to the opposite side of the coast, to which I couldn’t count the number of miles and instead was only blinded by the sunshine shimmering across my skin. I observed all the people who were laying out along the beach, soaking in the vastness of this sea and sky.

The full moon on the last night was radiant and shone upon the dark waves of ocean. Along with the sound of a wedding DJ playing rock ‘n’ roll tunes and the aromas of the finest seafood in the near distance, the atmosphere was magical and inspirational. The intentions I had cast were now pouring into my own being and radiating along the atmosphere of all other beings. I was absorbing the beauty and magic of this land as it was absorbing me. This was the most peaceful setting on such a full moon… one in which I could remember myself and forget all other false perceptions, especially while swinging on a wooden swing overlooking the ocean.

I was carried back from this ancient, tropical land with a state of clarity and renewal; a sense of strength obtained from the ocean. My normally constricted nasal passages were suddenly clear, and I could breathe life in to such a greater state of fullness. I stared out into the morning waves of the ocean for awhile before departure. I awaited the newer, much clearer state of living that I was about to enter upon returning to the Colorado snow. I remember striking up conversation with two elderly passengers who resembled family members of mine on the shuttle back from the airport. We talked about living in the area and found we had some mutual connections in the music community and also commonalities in areas of living. The energy upon arrival was evident that life was changing for us in positive ways– big ways.

I reminisced about the sun and the people I encountered during this journey, and would reflect on bringing that energy into the everchanging, sometimes terrifying, uncertainties in my life to move forward with, despite the “grief” of my missing piece of my life purpose that I somehow felt motivated to restore… no matter the cost. I am an octopus with multiple paths in front of me out of not simply seeing the way out of my own dark hole I’ve been digging. Valladolid and Tulum were quick sources to the light of connection and simplicity of living. Who else knows one to be afraid of living large? Is it the fear of uncertainty we are dealt with, or the fear of being free and bold?

 

 

 

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Wise Mountains

Uncategorized

If you place yourself in the mountains during the rarest, most golden fall; you must not forget that the seasons change and that winter comes. And yet, nothing can defy the everlasting beauty. No matter the season, you must learn to appreciate the mountains for all they are: for the herds of baby elk crossing the highway, for the frozen lake, for the winter sports you see others participating in but you don’t, for the snowplow pileup that causes inconvenience to you when it happens to bury your car and you must dig it out.

I acknowledge that’s what I’ve been doing with much of my time here: digging myself out of polluted snow pileup that has built upon me since childhood. Here, I am referring to self worth and being worthy of stepping into my own power and my own truth safely. I am in a supported landscape if nothing else; being surrounded by mountains gives a slight cushion. It provides a feeling of disappearing into my personal winter and eternal change without anyone to interfere- though this does become a lonely stage.

I’ve allowed my fears and worries to evaporate and become absorbed by the pines. It’s reinventing myself while finally breathing air with ease. Though I’ve believed I deserve to achieve all my desires after less than three months of living here, I must also acknowledge that I’ve been overcoming things I could never have overcome living elsewhere- and I’ve done all of this myself without any consultation. I’ve managed to resolve my sinus inflammation and shallow breathing, which gives me much clearer direction and clarity into all aspects of my life. I’ve been able to control compulsive and irregular eating habits, simultaneously managing millions of food sensitivities and maintaining a vegan (with eggs) diet. I’ve overcome fatigue and exhaustion through diet and spiritual cleansing, giving me boundless energy no matter how long the day is.

The mountains are fearless, courageous, confident, and bold. Some of this energy has rubbed off on me, and I breathe to simply become part of my surroundings. It has changed the structure of my brain- waking up to pines nestled under golden sunlight every morning greatly affects all areas of the brain. It has changed the sound of the music I make, it has changed my name, it has changed my perspective of myself and it has changed my heart. Perhaps my heart is another organism I’ve been digging out of a snowplow pileup. I never did lose myself; it was only my heart that disappeared from my body for awhile and has now come to surface.

Things surface and you must confront them if it’s somehow meaningful to you. The Plains may not be a safe place to do this, but the mountains always are. And of my list of intentions I came up with when I pulled my destination out of a box, I have accomplished seven, all of which I didn’t have three months ago! I have established my intuitive community, become acquainted with Bear Creek and its endless magic, found reiki support, a few people to play music and sing with, freedom of expression through the throat chakra, controlling my health, and being surrounded by genuinely happy people.

I’ve been asking questions and searching for answers everywhere, only to come to the epiphany that something, somewhere, will always answer you back.. but sometimes, the answer doesn’t come in the shape or form you expect. However, when you’re really listening, you will always receive an answer– and you should always follow through with whatever you are currently being given, otherwise your life may remain stagnant in a similar state of suffering. I’m seeing now that my answers are coming to surface sooner than I would have even asked, and that it is fulfilling enough to know that I am being heard by someone as I am guided towards constant support.

The mountains are mysterious in this way; it is a feeling that you are closer to communion with spirits of any good kind. And although sometimes you may not love the answers you are seeking, you must love the mountains for their constant support and guidance and inner wisdom.

Neediness: Plot Twist

Abstract Essays

You move to the mountains because you think you need to restore your energy. You go because you didn’t find what you were looking for in your hometown and you weren’t enough for anything or anyone there. You go to the mountains pleading for answers for your needy, desperate soul. Constantly you beg God and the Universe to send people to you so you’ll be satisfied. You search from town to town looking for people to heal you. You feel so deprived, so desperate for these people and landscapes and then so discouraged when, one day later, you can’t seem to find the answers written clearly in front of you.

You need an anchor. You need somebody to be there for you in your times of need (which is always). The need is so intense, so urgent that you conduct a private ceremony to manifest your solutions right here and now. Why wait patiently for the right timing in the future when you can just as easily control the outcome of your present? You feel confident stepping into your own power. The answer will come, you say, tomorrow morning if not NOW.

However, you’d almost forgotten how God, the Universe, and the Cosmos work in absurdly strange and mysteriously ironic ways.

You wake up in the morning prepared to go out in the world and manifest the solutions to all your needs and desires. You’re dressed to the nines with your newly inherited yoga suit- PLUS an extra dress to stroll the sidewalks of downtown after you’re finished with your yoga sesh in the ever-renowned studio a few miles south. This is it: the day you find exactly what you were looking for. The day you finally manifest your life partner and eternal sunshine and nine kittens, and an everlasting zest for art and creativity that cannot be killed off by anything- sickness, rodeos, or Donald Trump.

Plot twist.

You’re taken aback when, halfway out the door, you receive a text from your friend. A friend! You know, the one you met right here in your new mountain town. But you don’t necessarily know how to respond to texts in such a frenzy, so you call instead. Turns out, this friend has been throwing up consistently since 4am and tells you she’s desperately in need of someone. Living a little too high up the mountain and miles away from town, she needs someone to bring her electrolytes to restore her energy. She’s desperately in need of healing.

Of course, you want to help, so you run to the store and purchase all the essentials she needs to rehydrate. Beforehand, you followed your intuition and packed along the crystalized ginger and holy water that happened to fall off your shelf just as you were leaving. You thought you might as well utilize these in the healing session.  When you open the door to her cabin, you’re greeted by the most beautiful kitten that reminds you of the one you left with your parents back home. Your friend is so miserable she can’t even drink water. “There’s nothing anyone can do to help me!” she cries in desperation.

But you know this is not true, as you feel that the power of love energy can heal anything. You also know that you are certified in reiki, which can be very powerful, so you offer this assistance. After the reiki and Recharge and holy water, your friend feels much better and is no longer heaped in a fetal position on the floor.

While you’re here, simultaneously experiencing the power of love and its healing effects as well as angelic guidance, you receive a voicemail coming in later than it was recorded from another friend that you’re supposed to meet for lunch down the hill. At that moment. (The message popped up later than it was recorded because there is no service where you are currently located.) Now that your friend is doing better, you’re able to speed down the hill and arrive to your lunch appointment albeit forty minutes late.

The meal is more than satisfying to your physical hunger you’d forgotten about. It was exactly what you’d been craving all week, and finally on a Sunday you are able to fulfill this desire! And you’re sitting in a sheltered patio underneath the sunshine in January! Your conversation with this other new friend is spiritually satisfying. After lunch, you’re invited to her home where you are greeted by another precious cat- this one reminds you of the very first cat you ever had. Something in the conversation you have here catches your attention. You catch your friend saying, in comparison to another scenario, “…just like I needed someone to toss things back to, like we did at lunch today”. This new friend needed you there on this day, too.

At this point, you’re kind of getting the hint that everyone here’s in the same boat. And maybe you didn’t need the mountains after all, and maybe the mountains actually needed you.

This becomes even more evident when, upon your return from town after a refreshing solo hike around the lake at dusk, you receive yet another phone call. This time from a number you recognize but never saved as a contact.

“Hi, this is Sara,” the voice says as you frantically unplug your headphones so you’re able to talk. In the midst of this chaos, you both immediately begin the conversation with laughter.

Long story semi-short: you have a brief history with this name you’ve never met. Her sister called your work looking for her and you’re the one who answered. Apparently ‘Sara’ used to work there, too, but nobody knew her. A week later, you stumbled into a shop you had a dream about visiting. The owner, who for some unknown reason believes you need a new place to live even though you’re perfectly content where you are, asks if you know ‘Sara Parsons’. A familiar light flashes in your memory. This is the exact same name you heard a few days ago when her sister called your work looking for her!

Whoa! This wasn’t even the same town we’re talking about! And ‘Sara’ lived in a town forty minutes away from the shop– how is this conversation even logical? So you took this as some sort of sign. You’d been texting this lady about her potential room for rent even when you weren’t looking for a room, and now she was calling to figure out if you were actually interested. You confess the entire story from her sister to the shop and the town she lived in, figuring this story has to be 60 miles long but you sum it up in one sentence. You both agree it’s a little strange.

Yet the conversation flows so naturally that you immediately begin discussing the most personal issues in your lives, forgetting you’ve never before met in person. Turns out you’re both on the same path to self worth but you actually hold some important information to Sara’s blockages, and know exactly what words of wisdom to hand down to her. You’re completely confident at this point that you were the one who needed to give constructive criticism for the betterment of this stranger’s life. In 33 minutes, you discuss signs from the Universe, work history, future hopes, toxic home environments, unhealthy relationships, being stagnant in bad situations, flower essences you both should be taking, Kate’s Magick anointing oils, and the paint color of your rooms.

You plan on hanging out Tuesday.

Yes, you needed the mountains… but this is precisely for the reason that the mountains were desperately in need of you.

And when somebody or something needs you, you realize that your needs no longer matter and feel filled with purpose. Your desires are naturally fulfilled without having to conduct ceremonies to manifest them. (Did I mention Sara has seven cats? Count the number of cats mentioned in this post and it will equal nine, just as I subconsciously predetermined in my sarcastic list of needs in the earlier paragraphs.)

To be continued…

Day 14: I-25 NM Decisions & Conclusions

September Retreat

September 29, 2016

By this time, I knew I’d obtained an overwhelming amount of positive new experiences, befriended a vast variety of new people, and achieved a greater sense of intuition than I could have ever fathomed before my experiences. All those minerals floating around in the dry air and all those warm smiles and bright, wise eyes I encountered had such an impact on my spirit along with my life perspective. As I drove north, I could feel those threads of destiny that pulled me to Silver City had not particularly been attached to the land itself, but rather to the people. Particularly those people who happened to have gravitated to Lora’s house during my journey.

There were just too many options at this point, and for some reason I still couldn’t withstand Silver City’s wind and dark skies frazzling my thoughts. I realize, now, that I must express gratitude towards these plentiful options and opportunities handed down to me in not only one, but every place I went. God and the Universe/ Universal God had been abundant with grace towards me throughout this 14-day trip so far. I could not express any complaints, even when I was faced with the minor underlying health issue that has a tendency to bog down my energy levels at the perfect timing.

I believe this minor health issue causing fatigue is more of an intuitive awareness test, letting me know when something needs to come to an end. For example, it’s been very assertive in indicating whenever I should end a job and start something new. And if it’s not fatigue, it’s a cold (like when I resisted the urge to move out of my apartment). This time, I was being encouraged to take with me my new skills and assets I’d gained from this venture and head back north.

I left with impactful embraces from Lora, Laura, and Rob, and equally impactful words of wisdom from all of them:

“Just remember, you don’t have to have your whole life figured out right now. You’ll probably end up doing lots of jobs and projects and travel ventures in your life, and that’s okay.”- Rob

“I hope you feel pulled by something divine.” -Laura

“Don’t take yourself too seriously.” – Lora

It was especially hard to leave these three people, but they were all leaving on their own separate journeys in the following days anyway. At first I thought maybe I’d show up in Albuquerque to rest and maybe stay for a portion of the hot-air balloon festival. As I was driving, I didn’t feel that was a necessity anymore although I’d fallen in love with Albuquerque’s people and culture and could have stayed the full year. I was craving water. Some kind of water landscape that is more lush than the desert, perhaps where the rivers flow?

Finally, I surrendered to faith and made a deal with God and myself: Whenever my knees get too stiff and the sun begins to set, I’ll settle. 

Lora’s repetition of my own words came to me, “Remember, don’t take yourself too seriously.” Not permanently. Well, I mean, if the place seemed like a good, magical match for me then I would have. So I drove as far north as I possibly could, first diving as far south as I could to avoid the mountains this time to Las Cruces instead. The wispy clouds and the hard-rugged mountains were unbelievable to me. I’d never seen such projected shapes in nature before. For some reason, I felt like stopping at a Natural Grocers by Vitamin Cottage just because I was craving something familiar in the southmost part of my journey.

The scape of Las Cruces was uncannily familiar to me as it resembled Casper, Wyoming… and by driving with the intention of finding Natural Grocers as though I were driving in Casper, I found it intuitively in less than five minutes. I was so happy to set foot in this place that felt like home to me, and experienced the urge to shop for everything; however, I didn’t exactly need anything or have the capacity to carry produce back in a warm car. (If you are reading this and care to read my next post, this has a significant point.)

There were places I passed along the way that were originally on my list of destinations (i.e. Taos, Santa Fe). Even writing these two places brings joy to my fingertips. They are still in the sphere of possibilities. But like I said, why present myself with even more opportunities where of course, they could work out, and I would be forced to choose?

Maybe you’re thinking, “What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she just fall in love to end her story and make it easy on herself? Why does she try so hard choosing this solo wandering lifestyle?” similar to what my grandfather inquires frequently. Well, you can “fall in love” in any town you wish. I’ve found this especially true since I’ve met many parallel lives to people I knew before. You know- same eyes, same soul. I think the ones that are harder to see doubles of are the ones who are of yourself, since you are one of them and this decreases the odds.

However, if the resistance to fall in love still persists, this indicates you must still travel further and continue learning more about yourself. Maybe the truth is that you already know everything about yourself before you begin your travels, but there are more ample opportunities to see yourself in the eyes of others whom you don’t see on a daily basis where you normally reside. And perhaps you are a stubborn old soul, old as a hummingbird petroglyph, who won’t simply settle and in fact has no idea how to, which eventually becomes a burden to both yourself and those around you. So there you go: the truth in a nutshell in the middle of this essay.

I stalled in some towns and pondered the mysteries of this side of the desert state, ending up in Las Vegas, NM as the sun began to set. I pulled into town and marveled at the bushiness of the trees and the sharp rays of sunlight pouring through their branches; at the children playing in the yards; at the townsfolk laughing with one another. This particular neighborhood residential area was beautiful and reminded me Cheyenne’s historic downtown.

The sun was still too bright for me to settle, though I knew this was an ideal town to stay in for the night and my over-thinking mind led me straight to all the budget hotels.

So for another unexplainable reason, I kept on driving. I glanced over my shoulder to the left as I was encompassed by the majesty of the San Luis Valley of my ancestors to the most breathtaking soft-blue hue over the mountains and the Plains -esque valley. The cool colors in the clouds cast an array of lovely light into the land. I wanted to stay in Wagon Mound, where my grandfather was from, but quickly realized there were no hotels and possibly no inhabitants at all in this town. While I was there, I drove up to the “mound” overlooking the graveyard where I’m sure many ancestors lie. The lighting at this time of day was enamoring.

Taking the advice of my aunt whom I called since she had just been in this area the day before, I drove forty miles north to Springer, New Mexico. I was perceiving this to be near the border of Colorado but it was not quite that way in reality.

The colors of the sky were deepening, casting a fearful vibe into my already-tense body. I drove past two motels on the short, very rundown main street and then finally spotted one that appeared somewhat intriguing: a painted adobe called Broken Arrow. By this point, my knees were definitely aching stiffness to a near-extreme degree.

Tense as I was from the drive, I came off as skeptical and irritable to the owner who was still gracious to me. I asked him where the closest place would be to pick up something to eat, and he replied, “Probably about four miles out of town… unless you want to eat roasted green chilis and tortillas with us out back!”

I gave in to this offer that seemed too good to be true, as I could smell the aroma of green chilis roasting in the crisp evening air. While I attempted to unlock the door to my room  Jay’s wife, Frances, came over to point out I was trying to use the spare key to my cousin’s house I accidentally stole from her in Idledale, CO (near Evergreen). I was actually impressed and proud of myself this had been the single thing I’d forgotten throughout the course of my journey! With my scattered mind, the average rate would have estimated at least one item left behind in every stopping point. I had multiple methods of returning this to my cousin, but this was obviously signifying the key to something I would later figure out.

I tasted chilis of varying spice levels with the owners, their son, and their family friend. In exchange for the chilis and tortillas, I brought down my guitalele to play for them. We built a fire to sit around and had warm discussions. I agreed to come back for the infamous Bean Day festival in Wagon Mound, where people who originated from this area. Montana happened to also have family from Wagon Mound. We assume this is where life on Earth apparently originated, now left mysteriously desolate in the middle of the San Luis Valley. We spoke about the linguistics of New Mexico. Everyone here had such a familiar, comforting dialect to me and this was because it was that of my dad’s family.

“Thank you for being here. Thank you for… just you,” they said.

Singing, talking, eating chilis, and laughing around the fire proved to fulfill my journey’s end. I felt full near the end of it. I was feeling in sync with the Universe… and during this visit to Springer, New Mexico, it became clear that hummingbirds and butterflies were not the only wild creatures I was in direct communion with. Immediately when I mentioned cats flocking to me in every location I went, a wild cat came running to the back porch, meowing passionately and relentlessly as though she’d heard me talking about her behind her back.

The  fullness I felt was more because of the pure sincerity of these people I’d just met, I was sure. This was yet another instance in which I felt I’d formed family connections in a foreign town with a population of 1000 this time, so practically half of it.

But it was true about the cats: throughout my journey I’d become acquainted and somewhat attached to around 30 cats. After time around the fire, I was able to console this wild, lost cat wandering around frantically in search of something. Her meow was loud and relentless as she paced back and forth. When she ran to me and allowed me to hold her, it was a precious moment. I  was so tempted to take her with me; I knew we were so much alike in many ways and would make great companions for one another. In the morning, I could still hear her meowing.

Day 11: Truth or Consequences, Hillsboro, Kingston, Silver City

September Retreat

September 26, 2016

I did make it a point to stop in all of these places. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, I had been scheming to relocate to Truth or Consequences or Silver City because of a vivid dream I had about the area. I thought that perhaps I’d succeed in escaping the wind, dreariness, and cold weather of Cheyenne, Wyoming for the winter.

The drive from Albuquerque to Truth or Consequences (T or C) was, in fact, very vivid although much drier and drearier than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t say I wasn’t warned about the intense energies of T or C or the beautiful view over Emory Pass just beyond. Stopping in Truth or Consequences, I immediately caught onto its ghostliness. I knew from the history that many ghosts do reside here– but the people I spoke with were all genuinely happy and friendly, so I assume they are not hard to get along with. The sky was densely overcast and wind was abundant- not so divergent from any small, ghosty Wyoming town.

My first impression of this town differed drastically from that of a store owner’s first impression. Her reason for staying in this small town for over thirty-five years began with the sight of a happy dog laying carelessly on the side of the road as she first entered town, wagging its tail to greet her. Soon afterwards, she drove past a cowboy and an Indian slapping each other on the back, both with guns in their pockets, laughing gaily. This conversation also comprised of this woman’s entire life story, and I believe this was the highlight of my brief encounter with T or C. I’d been wanting to soak in one of the many hot springs there, but the suppressive weather and energy of this particular day was too strange for me to stay.

However, the blue hue of the rugged mountains was just as vivid as I’d imagined. The alternative interpretation for this dream, as I suspected, was simply that if I had not dared to venture this far, there would be consequences. What I could not have foreseen was the significance of “truth” in the name. It would only be later in my journey when I would come to an epiphany about this…

The woman I spoke with advised me, with an instinctive gleam in her eyes, to head over the mountain instead of taking the freeway so that I could stop in Hillsboro and Kingston. “Just buy a bottle of water or something so you can step out and get a sense of the culture in these towns. They’re very eccentric and worth knowing.” This reminded me of a similar, long conversation I had with a market owner in Palisade– the same instinctive gleam in her eyes. She’d even written down for me the same landmarks in these towns I was now being directed to again .

As I came over the mountain and into Hillsboro, I pulled over by the sole Post Office although I had a feeling none of these four businesses were open on Tuesdays. As soon as I opened my car door, I shrieked in astonishment at the recognition of a CHEYENNE CAR passing by me! I’m positive I would have personally known whomever may have been inside the car, as I saw them throw their hands up in similar astonishment. This town was literally in the middle of nowhere settled into a desert mountain’s foothills, total population 124, and not another car in sight. What are the odds?

The clouds had not made any reassuring moves by the time I made it to Kingston, NM- just below Emory Pass- giving the atmosphere an unsettling and wearisome vibe. The roads were windy, and though apparently there were only about 60 miles to go, it seemed at this rate like it might be never-ending. I pulled into the infamous Blackrange Lodge, a landmark both new acquaintances had suggested. I stepped inside to an eery air and creaky floors, dusty furniture and dim-light edges. A telephone rang loudly, cracking the silence and stillness.

“Oh, hi, Mom- how are you?” It was a woman’s voice, and somewhat a relief to know perhaps ghosts and dust mites were not the only inhabitants of this lodge.

I’d wanted to stay and talk, maybe acquiring some concealed answer to the mystery of why I had been directed here. I didn’t feel like interrupting the conversation, so I quietly stepped out into the cool early-afternoon air.

I opened my arms to the expansiveness of the Gila National Forest when I mounted the viewing point of Emory Pass, exiting my car for a moment to do so. The remaining drive was downward and windy, passing the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the City of Rocks. Mysteriously, hauntingly beautiful.

This was not what I’d been expecting. What I’d been expecting, perhaps, was more of a tourists’ appeal. More color, more amenities, more people. What I received instead was a sense of realness of this southern New Mexico land: a brutal honesty was nestled in the ancient pines and cliff dwellings. I’d heard word of various wild hot springs littering the entire forest, which was enticing to me and I would have attended them alone had it not been for pressed time and poor sense of direction into the unknown wilderness.

My sense of direction was actually improving with uncanny accuracy throughout the course of the venture so far, but I’d been too far away from my homeland to notice any such changes.

Eternity rolled around before I finally set tires on the city limit I’d been so intent upon visiting for the entire year. I still had hills to climb yet after reaching the limit, and couldn’t see the city. When it became visible, it was not anything I’d imagined. The clouds were even darker, the air was even more intense and unwelcoming. I came to realize this was in part because of the minerals of St. Rita’s Mining Site blowing around in the wind. In all honesty but with no disrespect to the city, it was not beautiful like I’d heard from many references. Already I did not meld with the flow of this city; it had more of a frazzling effect on my spirit and body.

Or so I thought. I felt exhausted when I arrived at my host’s house. I drove back and forth past it at least four times before finally recognizing the entrance down a gravel path. I walked up the steps, trembling with angst from the drive. The door flung open as I mounted the porch, and a woman with long silver hair greeted me with a  warm smile and a bow, “Welcome, Camille. Namaste. My other guests are also writers and musicians who are looking forward to meeting you.”

I walked in to meet Rob, a writer, who was on the same path as mine (originally, anyway): on a mission to complete his novel which takes place in New Mexico. We talked for awhile about the parallelism of this, and the process of writing. He was working and traveling with his wife, Laura, who was a professional jazz singer I would meet later. One of my unspoken, lost dreams is to be a jazz singer.

Lora, our host, talked to me about my journey and also brought up the Black Range Lodge. “Did you meet Catherine?” She mentioned Catherine is always looking for help and that Lora herself worked at this lodge for a few months. This lonely lodge could have been a job opportunity for me had I not been so unimpressed by the area’s solitude and overcast skies. I did contact Catherine about work options and live music, and she agreed that sometimes crowds of guests would like to hear live music if I was interested in performing that weekend. I wasn’t able to, but I was beginning to see the formation of a future music tour through New Mexico.

I rested in my room until nearly 6pm, then headed up to Pinos Altos for open mic night at the Buckhorn. This is something I’d researched the day before in Albuquerque and was excited to see I would be able to attend on a Monday night. While everyone else in the world was absorbed in the first 2016 Presidential Debate, I was in the highlands of a desert mountain town at a historic bar with eccentric paintings covering every square inch of its walls. It was raining, nearly freezing.

Classic country music was reverberating from the man in the corner as I walked inside- Johnny Cash and other old classics. I sat at the bar and ordered a bowl of green chili. Green chili is something to savor at any location in New Mexico, especially when one is shivering from the cold of late September. The two characters a couple seats down on either side of me at the bar were questionable conversationalists, making me feel a little on edge of my barstool. I was grateful when, after half an hour, the host and previous performer of open mic sat down next to me. He reminded me of two people I know from my mother’s hometown, making me feel more at home.

We watched the next performer, Gene Booth, apparently coined as “New Mexico’s Country Music Legend”, take his place on stage. His music was reminiscent of what I imagine the old Spanish polka-folk songs my New Mexico family used to dance to must have sounded like. Maybe that was just my imagination at first impression… he did also sound very similar to Johnny Cash and George Jones. It was a rare treat and comedy to watch him perform.

When I began singing my set, I watched all the customers of this restaurant and bar set down their forks and glasses to listen. I was in awe of their intent observation of my fingerpicking style and my voice. I watched positive gossip circle each table, some describing the range of my voice in hand motions. Some made eye contact with me and smiled, nodding their heads. It was a special moment, as they had not done this for the previous musicians (likely because these two were regulars). I felt accomplished after this short set, though the crowd was diminished more than usual this particular night.

I talked with the remaining performers and friends of performers. One described Silver City as “the melting pot of misfits”. The people I met here were all truly unique, from all walks of life. Not many people, I learned, were originally from the town. They’d come in from a variety of different locations for different reasons. They are the ones who make this location an authentic, artistic, and open-minded place to live.

It was interesting, but not what I’d expected out of a place that had been calling for a few months. Maybe I wasn’t giving myself enough time, but it was initially clear to me that my life path did not require the immediate relocation to southern New Mexico.

Day 10: Madrid, New Mexico

September Retreat
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Musician at the Rail Yards Market, Albuquerque, NM

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Mine Shaft Tavern, Madrid, NM

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Mike Brown at Mine Shaft Tavern

Madrid is a place where it is common for someone to wave you over from thirty yards away because they recognize your outline as if they’ve known you for years– perhaps lifetimes– and say something like, “I like your glow”. It is a place where people are truly intuitive, artistic, and unafraid to utilize their creative capabilities to their fullest capacities. There was not one person I met here who wasn’t truly friendly and welcoming. Well, the same goes for the whole state of New Mexico, but it is especially noticeable in such a small artist commune town. If there were any way to live here permanently, I would do that.

Hidden between Albuquerque and Santa Fe in the Ortiz Mountains, it is a cultural revival of lost arts and unexpected music events. It is here where I stopped taking so many pictures; partially because my phone was running out of storage space and I didn’t have time to resolve that issue, but mainly because I needed to experience Madrid’s authentic culture. I felt changed forever after meeting the vibrant artists of this town and simply breathing the dry air filled with minerals and plenty of creative energy.

Day 9: Leaving Durango to Albuquerque

September Retreat

September 25th, 2016img_3212img_3260

I told my host I would wake up at 6am, so Gregg was up at 6am starting a fire to spark my departure to Albuquerque. I hadn’t given myself the chance to explore Durango much at all besides the short evening after spending 6 hours on the train and 3 hours in Silverton, which had come as a surprise to me. This trip hadn’t gone as expected in terms of exploring and learning about towns, but what I had gained instead was a vast variety of unique friendships that would never diminish.

Though there was snow on the ground and atop the tipi, I was provided with enough thick blankets to keep warm. It wasn’t as though I had been the only one not checking the weather forecast; nobody had expected snow to stick to the ground this early. While I slept, the cries of elk sounded somewhere in the near distance.

I met both Gregg and Kathy officially the next morning due to my late arrival the night before. I enjoyed their company and hospitality; it was hard for me to leave so early as I had planned. After playing one song on my guitelele for them, they insisted on showing me around town briefly since Durango is such a great music scene. They invited me to join them for breakfast at Lone Spur Cafe. Our waitress’s name was Michele, which was only memorable to me since I had now become acquainted with three Michele’s in less than two days.

Though I had spent, in total, less than a full day in Durango, I experienced the crossing path connection more here than any place I’d spent over three days so far. After breakfast, we stopped in the Strater Hotel where an intense board game competition was occurring. We then walked to the farmer’s market– the most lively, artistic market I had ever been to. If I needed any more reasons to move to Durango, I would use the excuse of the farmer’s market itself. I was feeling antsy about getting to Albuquerque, but I was able to meet a few new acquaintances within thirty minutes by the crossing path connection.

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Strater Hotel, Durango, CO

When I finally did force myself to depart Durango, a place I could have probably stayed forever despite the cold (which says a lot about its welcoming nature, considering escaping the cold was my original intention) I still felt I was being pulled in the right direction. I was finally making it to my original destination: New Mexico! It was only by chance so many magical things had happened in western Colorado, where I least expected to find it. Without having exited the car, New Mexico was already drawing me in.

All my favorite songs played on the radio during this three-hour drive, pointing to good signs ahead. What a relief to be in a state that would always feel like home to me no matter how infrequently I visited- it is the state in which half my ancestry dwelled within for hundreds of years.

Upon arriving at my dad’s cousin’s house, whom I had never personally met before, I was greeted warmly. Fortunately, I arrived in the early afternoon in time to explore the portion of Albuquerque I had written down on a piece of paper. My cousin was gracious enough to show me around to these places:

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The Herb Shop, Albuquerque, NM

During this three hour excursion, I experienced enough New Mexico magic to send me into culture shock– but fortunately, I didn’t feel that way. I was shocked to witness the open honesty and lovingness of every soul I encountered, but it was more refreshing to me. One of my unspoken, old dreams of traveling to New Mexico was to meet a curandero/a. Since I’d shorted my trip by fifteen days, I had forgotten about this dream and had assumed it would be impossible. This was one of our first stops in town.

All I can really account right now of these experiences- talking with both my cousin and someone considered a true curandero-  is that somehow it was enough to reconnect me to my innate senses of intuition and truth in those three hours. It was throughout my time in Albuquerque that I realized everyone possesses these qualities. Everyone, whether they live in this state or not. It’s just a matter of being surrounded by a culture that accepts, cherishes, and relies on such qualities in daily life. I was fortunate enough to experience more than I could have asked of New Mexico in three hours, but that wasn’t even the beginning of it.

 

 

I also quickly caught on to the inclusive, familial aspects of New Mexico culture as I was surrounded by new friends and family for dinner. I played songs on the guitelele, which was proving to be the right travel instrument choice for this trip. My style of music had been changing since before the trip begun, and my experiences were only enhancing how far I’d come.

Day 8: Durango- Silverton Train

September Retreat

September 24, 2016

I was a little disappointed when I realized, at midnight, that the Durango- Silverton train left at 8:00am that morning. This meant I’d carried in my suitcase and had become so comfortable with my temporary room 8 miles out of town, yet I  would have to leave this settlement in seven hours. img_3093

I was glad I did. Drowsy as I was, waking up purposely at 5am, I arrived unprepared without a ticket. So naturally, I couldn’t catch the train that departed at 8am. I had to catch the 8:45 instead.

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Trains leaving downtown Silverton, Colorado

One thing I learned throughout my travels, applying to every location I went, was that I was never alone. I remember a dear one’s fear before I departed, saying I would be lonely in places where I didn’t know anybody. But if I was already lonely in a place where I knew everybody, what did I have to loose?

Instead, I found that strangers I became acquainted with during this trip were so open to conversation and dining– things I’d been forever wanting to happen for a year, but never did. After the train ride, I was invited to dinner with other passengers whom I dared to meet when I finally ventured out onto the open-air coach. We were all exhausted after being exposed to the freezing weather and snow in Silverton. We were also all travelers on interesting journeys~ one of which happened to be a parallel journey to my own (leaving one’s apartment and going solo despite the “crazy” remarks of others because it is simply part of one’s life path), only headed the opposite direction (north).

His quest was to find a hidden treasure. Literally. Apparently, Forrest Fenn hid a chest full of elaborate treasures somewhere within the Rocky Mountains, five years ago, and created a cryptic poem containing clues on how to find it. Thousands of people have attempted to search for the treasure but have not yet succeeded. I wish him the best of luck finding this treasure. However, he did mention that the treasure could simply be analyzed to mean what is found in the journey itself.

Though the weather was not comfortable, the company was so comforting and the meal at the end of the day was so satisfying.

Just in time to go hunt for the tipi after dark in the middle of nowhere- Hesperus, CO which was almost half an hour away -that I had booked on Air BNB because I couldn’t think of any faster or more interesting option. It had been used by John Denver at some point, and I was hoping that I would be inspired by any creative energy he left behind while sleeping in this tipi. There was just one problem: snow on the ground.

to be continued…

Day 7: Scenic Route to Durango

September Retreat

I would have had a hard time leaving Palisade if my journey hadn’t already been prolonged enough. I found myself leaving Poppy’s palace a little late, anyhow. I was sad to leave the new friends I made as well as the old ones I’d reconnected with. Originally the intention here was to experience the beauty of Colorado’s wine country, which I did… I just didn’t expect that in this place, I would obtain so many friends by magic.

I still found it mandatory to begin my day with yoga on the deck overlooking the vineyard; something I would never, ever grow tired of. How could I, when I’d never experienced so much energy in any other place before? I think that simply being surrounded by vineyards, orchards, and rivers were the things which caused Life to surge through me. I was completely restored and renewed.

Due to the wind, I decided to reroute my direction towards Utah instead of heading directly over the mountain. The day was a little shady and intense, but I found beauty along the side of the road. My destination was Durango, Colorado– a place I’d only recently felt pulled towards and booked an Air BNB last minute. I still had no place to stay the second night in Durango, but figured I’d decide soon enough.

I’d never been called, specifically, to the landscapes of Utah. But it was hard for me to deny my newfound taste for red rocks. I didn’t expect to find anything significant in Moab, but as I arrived I was astonished to encounter a plethora of kindred spirits and unique shops in downtown! I hadn’t even been expecting to visit this town, but I ended up purchasing my new favorite outfit at one of the shops. As I was driving away and sunlight fell in the windy valleys of golden grass and red mountains, I knew this was a place I would like to come back to eventually. More likely, on a real music tour than a solo road trip without sound equipment.

The drive towards Durango felt as though I was constantly in spiritual communication with the landscapes surrounding me. In what some would call “no man’s land”, I could sense the beautiful ancestral history of all that had occurred (all the while listening to historic country western radio). I wanted to be taking pictures while driving, but simply allowed the landscapes to become part of my spirit. The was a point in which traffic came to a halt, and I was grateful for this to admire the open land.

It was foreign, and I got lost only nearing the end of the drive, but I was still being pulled in the right direction.

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My temporary residence in Durango, CO

I hadn’t realized my Air BNB residency for my first night in Durango was 8 miles out of town. As I arrived, I was greeted by most host, chickens, dogs, and cats. Barbara and I immediately had ten thousand subjects to talk about. Her home was the warmest of all my travels so far; I had never felt so welcome in a stranger’s house before.

She happened to live less than a mile from Trimble Hot Springs– and I was craving a soak in a hot springs after my far drive into the beauty and mystery of southwest Colorado. When I arrived at the hot springs spa, it was dark. I was a little hesitant about being alone in a hot springs far out of town in the dark, but it felt more adventurous to me than frightening.

I met a new friend there, who was an amazing resource to my next destination: Albuquerque, New Mexico, as she had lived there for sixteen years prior to Durango. I left with a list of Albuquerque herb shops and Durango music festivals. I was also invited to a bluegrass festival out of town that Saturday, and I felt compelled to stay… However, I had already made plans for Albuquerque and didn’t want to cancel them…

Day 6: Solo biking, solo wine tasting, and multi-collaborative open mic

September Retreat
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Beginning of my bike ride along the Colorado River in Palisade and Clifton, CO.

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I cannot get over the energy I obtained while in the presence of those beautiful mesas.

I instantly found that downtown Palisade is easily the friendliest place on Earth. I took my time speaking with all the store owners who were full of inspiration and compliments.

My wine tastings in Wine Country were so enjoyable. I was referred to St. Kathryn’s Cellars, where I tasted various different fruity wines in the back room. These were, by far, my favorite. In the front room, I talked with the servers and tasted more prominent wines. All were delicious. I also savored fudge tastings, while I was at it. The last three photos were taken at Red Fox Cellars, where I stopped in but did not partake in wine tastings here.

img_3006I believe the highlight, and most magical part of this day and the ending of my Palisade/ Grand Junction journey was playing at an open mic with a kindred spirit I’d met only two days earlier. I persuaded another friend who happened to live in Grand Junction to participate in open mic as well– someone I had known as the result of frequently attending open mics in Cheyenne. This night definitely made me feel at home. I met so many friendly, welcoming musicians and friends of musicians at Rockslide in Grand Junction. Although it was a cold night, I didn’t notice, because there was so much warmth in the collective music scene.