A fork in the road.

J and I often say to each other "as long as we're together, it's going to be ok" and for 16 years that statement has held true. It doesn't matter if we're broke, or grieving, or fretting, or sick...we always find a way to make each other laugh, lend an ear, lend a hand. When we arrived at the casita in New Mexico I immediately started to unpack and decorate, and J immediately set up his slide guitar and serenaded me, made chai, cooked our food, hauled things up the kiva ladder to the loft bedroom. It immediately felt like home because it was - as long as we were together.

These past 24 hours of watching J pack to leave and then bringing him to the airport and watching the plane fly away above me until it disappeared into the sky has been, by far, the most frightening and devestating of my life thus far and not something I want to repeat, ever. I put what I care the most about in this world at risk. The casita was no longer home when I returned. My home turns out to not be a place, which may be why when J and I are in NYC together I feel we could happily move to the city, and when we are Maine I feel we could happily move to some remote bit of coastline, and when we were here I could imagine us living in the desert.

In the weeks leading up to this move I began to lose my passion for studying and chanting, thinking it was just the preparations distracting me. Emails or calls from the school suddenly felt unwelcome. I plowed through. I thought once I landed here I would recover the "I can't wait to start" feeling, thought I would find some small spark of excitement about having my own place. I thought as soon as I put the chant music on and settled into the big tub in the bathroom here I'd begin to remember why I came. But when I listen to the chants all I can think about is mornings in Massachusetts. I'm not sure a chant exists that could lift me from what I'm feeling. When we looked out across the sandy hills here together, J and I found so much filling them. When I look out at them alone now, all I see is their emptiness.

So many people have cheered me on in these whirlwind months leading up to coming here to study. And J has been my greatest cheerleader, never questioning, never putting his needs or fears ahead of mine. All I know right now is that
I feel undeserving of such unconditional, generous love and that as beautiful as it is
being here doesn't feel at all right on a gut level. At all.

Jemez Springs

Yesterday J and I set off for the Indian pueblos and hot springs outside of Santa Fe. Unfortunately we found the road we'd hoped to take abruptly closed due to a wildfire and flooding. We were forced to return to where we started from and take Rt. 550 instead - never expecting to find such beauty in the red rocks of the Jemez mountain range.

And such a sweet little town...

We had lunch on the outside deck of this charming little restaurant saloon.

Then headed out to hike to Spence Hot Springs, two beautiful pools that bubble up from the side of a mountain.

The hot springs were very peaceful for about 5 minutes - until a carload of noisy teenagers showed up, at which point we moved on to return back to the foothills by sunset. We'll return here again when J visits, hopefully under quieter conditions.

As J and I prepare to spend our last day together for a while, I'm experiencing the overwhelming doubts, fears, and sadness that I knew would come with this journey. We were close to begin with, and this trip has only brought us closer. Part of me worries I'll be too overcome with loneliness to properly focus on my upcoming studies, though part of me also knows that when I set my mind to do something, I can. It's the setting my mind straight while my heart feels as if it's breaking that worries me.

My immediate concern is that J have a safe flight home tomorrow. When I return to the casita from the airport I plan to sit in the sacred ceremony space only steps outside my door and chant, probably the Mahamrityunjaya Mantra, the great death-defying mantra to Shiva, until I know he's home. 5 hours of chanting should revive my practice nicely.

Om Tryambakam Yajamahe
Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam
Urvarukamiva Bandhanan
Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat


OM. We worship and adore you, O three-eyed one, O Shiva. You are sweet gladness, the fragrance of life, who nourishes us, restores our health, and causes us to thrive. As, in due time, the stem of the cucumber weakens, and the gourd is freed from the vine, so free us from attachment and death, and do not withhold immortality.

Is it a coincidence that this sacred space is here for me to visit whenever I want?

After tomorrow I can only take this one day at a time, maybe even one hour at a time. Even if I "fail," at least I tried, and that in itself is a success. I don't need to accomplish everything in this one lifetime.

I know that I've been led here to the desert for a reason, and I know that in our drive across the country and in the days since we've arrived here, we've been blessed. In Hinduism they say that for every step you take towards God, he takes 7 towards you. Drawn by my spiritual teacher, I've come 2,000 miles with J's blessing and help. That's a long way, and a lot of faith.

"I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home." — Rumi

Flight #25

Have I mentioned that in addition to being afraid of snakes I'm afraid of heights?

What better reason to take the "longest tramway in the world" to the top of Sandia Peak, 10,378 feet up above the Cibola National Forest? Here's what an 11,000 square-mile panoramic view of the Rio Grande Valley and the Land of Enchantment looks like at sunset...

Old Town...

Before I found the casita, I considered renting a place in Old Town, in this plaza. I was attracted to the adobe walls and kiva fireplace in the apartment — but most of all to the small chapel just steps away...

This place is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman in a long black dress who sits on a bench in the dark chapel and weeps. 

 No doubt, it was a powerful place.

Passing through Beauty

"My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of church-going."

— Aldous Huxley

On the trip out to the Southwest, Colorado was just as gorgeous and untamed as I'd been dreaming all these years. I'll write more about our time passing through thre soon — it's a place of angels and mountains. When J returns to take me home in June we're hoping to spend some time camping in the Rockies, more than just one night. 

As for today we're off to Santa Fe, hopefully stopping to visit an Indian Pueblo and perhaps soak in some hot springs by evening...

Don't Tread on Me

There have been so many sights, sounds and experiences to digest since last Wednesday I hardly know where to begin. Every day amazing gets piled on top of amazing.

Yesterday J and I decided to hike in the Sandia foothills. It was late afternoon when we set out, the temperature perfect, the light golden.

I'm thrilled to be meeting new plants, and as we hiked my attention was divided between the minute details of the foliage and the stunning vistas beyond them.

 

 

In this photo you can see the smoke from distant wildfires rising above the mountain range.

I am always the worrier, always the cautious one in our relationship, and as J and I hiked farther and farther along I began to wonder if perhaps we should turn back while we still had plenty of light. For once I decided to keep quiet — but minutes later J noticed the sun quickly sinking into clouds that had gathered on the horizon and suggested we turn back and perhaps even jog for a bit to make up for the fact that we should have turned around sooner.

Even in the high altitude running felt fun, and despite the ground we needed to cover I felt more adventurous than worried. As usual J and I were joking and laughing about something silly as we barreled down the sandy trail when suddenly, instinctively, I found myself screaming SNAKE! GO TO YOUR RIGHT! at the top of my lungs and watching J skirt around the head of a Diamondback Rattlesnake who had come out and stretched himself straight in the middle of the path. My feet came to a complete halt as we stood on either side of it, stunned by what I believe is actually a rare sighting...

I think the Diamondback is the only Southwestern snake I can accurately identify at this point, and I knew this was one immediately by the black and white banding at the tip of his tail (just before the rattles). Positively terrified of snakes, I've read the reptile section of my Field Guide to the Sandia Mountains several times in the past month and joked with friends back home about my phobia.

Everyone we talk to about the encounter tells us snakes are a symbol of transformation; of shedding your old skin for a new; of powerful medicine. All I know is that once we reached the parking lot we decided to bring home a nice bottle of wine to have with dinner.

This quest is presenting my deepest fears to me like a hand of playing cards, asking me to pick a different one each day and simply acknowledge it. Still, I'm pleased to have taken a seat at the game table.

PS: a friend just emailed this to me...

"Meeting up with a snake is another sign of good fortune. Whether in your garden, inside the home, or out trekking, if you meet up with a snake, it means something or someone important is coming into your life. Never ever try to harm or kill a snake when confronted with one. The more poisonous the snake, the better is the good fortune. The king cobra is described as a snake of extreme good fortune. Whatever you do, never kill a snake as they are also associated with some spiritual presence. They usually slither away themselves when they sense human presence.

and
Snakes represent rebirth and renewal. The shedding of the skin shows us that we can leave old baggage behind and begin again."