solo travel

Solo Road Trip as Rite of Passage: The Tree of Life + the Journey Home

When people rave about the magic of Joshua Tree, that shit is no joke. It’s like a real life Dr. Seuss land in the desert. That’s why the news of the vandalism in the park during the government shut down was so heartbreaking. We have literal Wonderlands on this planet. Our national parks are so precious. Vital ecosystems that have miraculously been preserved amidst a world of hyper development. Looking back at pictures doesn’t do the actual whimsy of it all justice. But this final leg of my trip happened way before the shutdown, and for that I am very grateful. 

JOSHUA TREE

Talking to trees / photo by Bridget Miller

Talking to trees / photo by Bridget Miller

After a hearty breakfast at Crossroads Cafe and consulting the delightful park rangers at the help center, B and I drove into Joshua Tree National Park while playing the Across the Universe soundtrack which was honestly perfect. 10/10 would recommend. Driving through the roads, surrounded by these magical, winding, wondrous trees was an insane experience. We stopped at Keys View which allowed us to take in a sweeping view of the San Bernardino Mountains. It was also insanely windy. Like push you over the edge kind of windy. Very very windy. There were many laughs some nervous some hearty. You had to be there. Or maybe not. 

Okay, so then we drove to the Lost Horse Mine Trail. This hike was a little disappointing because I read all these AllTrails reviews describing rattlesnakes and cool shit in the mine, but when we arrived, the abandoned mine was fenced in so my dreams of exploring this old shaft were dashed. We still had an amazing trek through dessert land, hanging out with cacti and beetles and birds, and I got to stare longingly at the old machinery. 

After we made it out of there, we stopped to walk through a field of Joshua Trees. It’s hard to describe what it’s like to walk through an open desert space full of these thin trees with twisted branches and bushy green heads. These trees that look like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Harder still to explain how they felt like magic. Like hope. Like home. I touched my forehead to one and let it speak to me, the way trees do. Not with words. With energy. I thanked it. I said goodbye for now.

We moved on to check out the Barker Dam Trail which had lots of fun rocks to climb, and a huge oasis of greenery in the middle of this dry desert land. We hopped from boulder to boulder and crawled into an opening full of petroglyphs. I found a vagina rock and immediately crawled inside it like a sapphic explorer. Bridget made an Italian friend. All around excellent time. In the car, we chowed down on our leftover breakfast while watching these really hot rock climbers pack up their gear and considered taking up rock climbing. I do have a belay certification from Brooklyn Boulders, you know. Dang. Rock climbers.

PIPES CANYON / YUCCA VALLEY

We then had a 30 minute drive to Pioneertown, where we met this really cool chick named Sarah who took us on a hike and showed us the properties of a bunch of different plants. I found her on AirBnB. 10/10 excellent time. We stopped on top of a boulder in the middle of the canyon and drank teas made from a bunch of the herbs and plants we had seen on our walk. This woman loves plants and ethically cultivating them in a sustainable way and was so generous with her passion and her knowledge. It made me feel better about the world and our future and the possibility of living more aligned with the laws of life and nature. We also saw cougar poop, but no cougars which have been my favorite animal since age 6 or something and maybe next time okay?! 

Everything was amazing, but the icing on the cake was LITERAL DOLLAR TACOS. It was Taco Tuesday and we paid $1 for each super full delicious authentic ass tacos. Perfect corn tortillas, the tastiest, most perfectly seasoned fillings. It was fucking heaven. 

Backyard at sunrise

Backyard at sunrise

We also got to know our AirBnB hosts a little who were insanely cool. An older couple, the woman was a civil rights lawyer and her husband was a jazz musician. Apparently, they saw a cougar a few days before we arrived literally hanging out on the telephone pole and I was so sad because yet another missed cougar opportunity. We talked politics past and present over French toast, eggs and bacon. As we got our things together, they did yoga together in the living room. Needless to say, I love them.

END OF THE ROAD

We hit the road for LAX where Bridget would be taking off back to Phoenix and I would be spending the evening with a very dear friend before heading to New Orleans to meet up with my sister for her bachelorette party which is another story entirely which will be omitted from this particular corner of the internet. This stretch of Route 66, which we embarked upon Halloween morning, was a little less eventful, but we did stop in Upland to get our hair washed and blow dried which is something I’m pretty sure I have never done, but loved every minute of in preparation to reintegrate with society. 

Still from La La Land… jk never

Still from La La Land… jk never

After I said bye to Bridget, I met up with the aforementioned darling pal who is one of those pals you can go without speaking to for months or even a year or two, but when you see each other it’s like you’re still in college trying to finish the screenplay that’s due tomorrow or strolling into class late with donuts and coffee. (He is now an actual screenwriter and my hero.) After a lovely catch up sesh, we watched the sunset at Griffith Observatory because I was in the mood for a romantic Halloween evening. It was my last sunset out west. My final chance to watch nature’s water color show so consistently. Aware of and noticing the miracle of the earth turning. It was beautiful and wonderful and everything I could have hoped for, even when the security guard yelled at me for sitting on the railing like a cool kid. 

We spent our Hallow’s Eve nomming on some of the best Thai food I’ve ever had which included a fried roti bread covered in sweetened condensed milk that was so good it make me cry literal tears of happiness. The next morning I said goodbye to my amigo, California, the west, and the best 2 weeks of my life so far. The world seemed bigger and more beautiful. I was very grateful to be in it. 


DARKNESS AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

so tired but still cute

so tired but still cute

So if it was so wonderful, why did it take me over 3 months to write about this trip? Well, two really fun things happened. First, I had major travel fatigue when I returned. After three weeks of constant moving and stimulation (because after the training in Loveland and the road trip, I was in Nola), my body was doneeee. I had a hard time getting out of bed. My muscles refused to move. All I wanted to do was sleep. It took everything in me just to unpack and do laundry.

Then, the relocation depression set in. (For anyone just joining us, I moved from NYC — my home for the last 7 years — to my hometown, Miami in the fall). In retrospect, moving and this trip were a lot to put myself through at the same time, but that’s how life works sometimes. You can make wonderful choices and create the life you know you want in the long term, but in the moment it can still be very very hard. And then the fact that it feels hard can make you feel weak. And your mind can latch onto that feeling and turn it into your identity. I was so looking forward to moving closer to my family. To reconnecting to my hometown, but I missed my friends. I missed Three Jewels and The Magnet Theater. I missed Prospect Park and Rockaway Beach. I missed the little connections you make with people on the subway. But I knew I left for a reason and I did not and do not miss the buzzing of the city that burrowed into my sensitive nervous system.

But time rests for no one. I had to find yoga studios and healing centers and finish my MFA applications. That last one was the most confronting of all. I think I wrote a post about this recently, but basically, I realized the sense of surrender required when you send your work off for evaluation. It’s in the phrase, “submit your application.” You release your words into the ether and they no longer belong to you. They are no longer your secret project. It all becomes real. I needed coffee to make this happen, a crutch I’m still working to ween myself back off. I’m nursing a withdrawal headache as I type these words. 

In this dark place the holidays happened and I distracted myself with family and social obligations. I drank more than usual. I downloaded dating apps (which is the tell tale sign that I’m going through some shit — that’s not judgement for people who use them earnestly, I just know for me personally it’s a distraction). So how did I get through it? How did I unspiral? 

By trusting the process.

I kept meditating. Journaled when I could. Didn’t practice as much yoga, but I did when I was able to drag myself onto the mat. I let myself sleep. And when I felt strong enough, I took it one step at a time. I cut out alcohol completely. I ate foods that made me feel better instead of whatever was easiest to manage. I exercised a little more. I got outside. I made connections. I started working at Books & Books instead of at home. I found yoga studios I love. I got better every day. I climbed out. 

It’s cool to have a physical reminder of the journey.

It’s cool to have a physical reminder of the journey.

It’s hard to trust the process. I can’t tell you how many times the idea that “if I can’t get my own shit together, how am I supposed to help anyone else” popped into my head. What I learned is the dip into the underworld is part of the process. Healers and teachers are no exception. That my ability to work in those spaces are the reason I’m good at what I do. They give me deeper layers of understanding. I know this mentally, but it’s easy to constantly put pressure of ourselves despite the circumstances. 

So when you’re scrolling along Instagram and seeing those #vanlife #roadtrip #adventure pics, know that they come with a cost. Know that it’s not just sweet views and smiles. There is difficulty everywhere. Would I do it again? 150% Am I planning on doing it again? You know it. Maybe the descent won’t be as hard. Maybe it will be harder. Maybe it will be plain different. But with every cycle and spiral, I learn how to surf the wave of life a little more gracefully. I hope you do, too.

Go back to part 5: Get Your Kicks, Grand Canyon + Route 66

Back to the beginning: Solo Road Trip as a Rite of Passage

Solo Road Trip as Rite of Passage: Challenges + Reservations

Santa Fe sunrise

I hit the road late the next morning, taking the time to catch the sunrise and organize and inevitably run a little bit behind schedule. I also bled on the sheets and had to clean them although my rock star host was like, “sweetie, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last.” Rock on.

First stop was the New Mexico Public Lands Information Center to pick up a physical map I didn’t end up needing, but am glad I have. I had heard that navigation got kind of spotty in the reservations, but I no issues with it at all so take that hours of research!

KASHA KATWE TENT ROCKS

By 9:30 AM I was in the Cochiti Reservation in the eeriest fog I had seen yet. A few days away from Halloween / Samhain / Die de los Muertos, this very literal veil covering the landscape delighted me. I was en route to the  Kasha Katwe Tent Rocks and growing concerned about visibility. Maybe I should just turn around and head straight to Albuquerque, I thought as the mist thickened around me. But I was so close and it would be fun and cool regardless. I paid the $5 entrance fee and the young man at the gate assured me I’d have a cozy hike with minimal other humans. My favorite.

Equipped with my very cool person’s hiking poles, I’m off on my way. The tent rocks are these very cool rock formations formed over ancient vocation eruptions and trekking through the fog with them and these massive trees with exposed roots and ravens flying overhead felt like a weird Poe-esque western and I was about it, baby. I ran into a few families and couples on my way. There’s a really lovely greeting that happens between people at national parks. It’s like we all know we’re here to appreciate the fucking majesty of nature and so every exchange is infused with love and respect even if it’s just a simple “good morning.” I fucking love that.

Okay, so I’m moving along, climbing through little cave like bits and then up and up this steeper rock formation towards the end and the most amazing thing happens. As I get to the top, THE FUCKING FOG LIFTS to reveal a crystal clear blue sky. I lost my shit. I started singing “I See the Light” from Tangled. Like running late this morning was pushing me to get the timing on this just right. I miss that feeling. Of trusting and feeling in flow with what is outside of me. That is what I chase. It was incredible to have it that day. Like seeing all the threads of the tapestry connecting. Zooming out. Big Picture.

And what a picture it was. I mean, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. Little tiny villages of big ass pointy tipped rocks. Layers and centuries and time and space interweaving and building infinitely. What a tiny speck a human life is compared to the enduring minerals entrenched here. Surprisingly, I caught some reception at the top and FaceTimed my mom who had tried reaching me earlier when I lost service. She was both puzzled, pleased and worried that I was at the top of a mountain alone.

Kasha Katwe Tent Rocks

The hike back down felt like a completely different place. The sunshine fed me, the trees and rocks spoke. I could listen. I could hear. I posted a poem about it, but a tree showed me the apocalypse. Where the humans were dead, and the mountains and trees remained. It reminded me of “All of Everything Erased.” I wondered if Kevine Devine spoke to trees, too. I realize this shit sounds crazy, and even more so since coming back and reintegrating into city life, but feeling self conscious and “othered” by these experiences and connections is fucking exhausting. In tarot, the Page of Cups calls us back to seeing the unseeable. It’s the child’s creative and connective spirit. I’m so afraid of appearing illogical, I sometime suffocate the parts of me that bring me the most joy. I’m so grateful to have found her in this place.

I stopped for tacos in Alburquerque. I didn’t have a ton of time since I wanted to make it to the last tour at Sky City at 3:30, but the few minutes I spent at the counter with my server, Annie, were delightful. How is it that every server in New Mexico made me feel so well taken care of?

ACOMA PUEBLO - SKY CITY

After a giant helping of speeding, I made it with 7 minutes to spare for the final tour of the Acoma Pueblo. The oldest continuously inhabited community in the United State (since 1150 ACE), Acoma is also know as “sky city” as it resides on the top of a 365 foot mesa. Our tour guide gave us detailed accounts of the communities history, the current supplemental residences in nearby towns, and was ever so patient when the middle aged white couple on the tour said things like, “but you don’t have to pay property taxes, right?” Responding oh so calmly, “no, we pay taxes just like every other US citizen.” 

As part of the tour, local artists has their pottery on display. For tours like this, it’s part of the deal to support the local economy. They’re graciously allowing tourists into their home. The least you can do is buy something straight from the source. I felt terrible being judgey about it, but I have to say it really bothered me that the white couple checked out every counter, and asked to take pictures, but didn’t buy a single item. (And it clearly wan’t a money thing because they were talking about buying property in Colorado.) I purchased a few things, but my favorite item that I kept for myself was a bear made with a horse hair technique that gives the piece intricate lined designs. Irvin Louis, the artist, held my hand and told me he hoped it would give me strength, power and courage. It now lives on my besides altar.

Throughout the pueblo, white ladders lean against buildings, granting men entrance to the kivas, rooms used for religious purposes. (The kivas are the only property owned by men, as the Acoma are a matrilineal people). The ladders allow access to the kivas and symbolize the connection between worlds. Some of them seemed to absorb the brightness of the sun. The perfection and power of the connection lies in its simplicity. It’s a beautiful thing. 

As stunning as the ladders were, the most powerful presence for me was a single cottonwood tree beside a small water source. I walked over and placed a hand on the soft bark and instantly felt a surge of energy. Like every part of me was being filled with thought and history and feeling. Like this tree was willingly giving me the centuries of love, heartbreak, death, destruction and resilience it had witnessed. I let go and walked away feeling kind of nuts. As the feeling faded, I turned back and watched the leaves shimmer. I heard them rattle as if saying, try again if you don’t believe it. I did and the same current moved through me, opening my heart and the eye that sees beyond this plane. I walked back to join my group and met eyes with one of the artists. “That tree is… powerful,” I managed to spit out. “Mmm hmm,” she replied with a knowing look.

At the end of the tour, we were taken to the cemetery and church. I’m still reeling from the tree like a very normal fairy person, but something about the dead makes me stop in my tracks. Something about structures of worship. The things we make sacred. I don’t have words for this, only feelings. Feelings I had to sob out of me int the car before I could continue driving. As we parted, my guide assured us we were invited to join her family on the two feast days the pueblo opens to the public. That kind of open hearted generosity floored me and continues to as I type this.

In the early evening hours, I literally drove into the sunset. After darkness fell, I drove past an oil refinery and nearly screamed it so vividly reminded me of the Mako Reactors from Final Fantasy VII. Eventually, I made it to Gallup where I showered, slept and awoke before dawn to make it to a 9AM tour of Monument Valley four hours away.

NAVAJO NATION

Before I hit the highway, I wanted to pick up some things in the Walgreens, but I had been warned to keep my eyes peeled in this part of town and a car followed me into the parking lot so I got the FUCK out of there, resigning myself to waiting until I passed a gas station that was better lit. I know that I drove past Window Rock, but it was still pitch black so I didn’t get to see it. Eventually, the sun did rise, on my right as the full moon glowed on my left. In yogic traditions, the right side is the sun / masculine energy and the left is the moon / feminine and I was flipping the fuck out at this perfect beautiful coincidence.

Monument Valley

Since so many westerns and space films have been shot out here, driving into Monument Valley feels like moving through another planet. So different, but so familiar. The red sand and structures held this ancient energy. Like you could feel mama earth in every speck of dust. Using words to describe it feels so lame. It’s such a feeling. Like a coming home, because it’s impossible to hear this clearly anywhere else. It felt like the ranch in Loveland or the Tent Rocks. 

I arrived with a few minutes to spare, but had a hard time finding my crew which led to many jokes between my mom (who I was on the phone with) and the tour guide at my expense. A textbook Capricorn, but sense of humor is not always the most fun in this department, but in this head space it was easy to see the kindness behind it. And besides, my tour guide, Larson (with Navajo Spirit Tours), was a next level G. So knowledgeable and kind and just next level buena gente. In between stories and myths and movie set sites, I grabbed some fry bread and sat in the dirt soaking in sun and wind and history. We stops at a few sites, but our last location was next level. We laid against a massive slab of rock while Larson played the Navajo flute and another guide we met up with sang this song about beauty. It sounded like an invitation back home. I was in tears by the end of it. 

Canyon de Chelly

Afterwards, I drove down towards Canyon de Chelly stopped at a grocery store to disinfect a cut and grab lunch, split a sandwich with a man asking for food, stopped to use the bathroom at Burger King and acquired some chicken tenders in the process (these would prove useful later, like acquiring key items in a video game). This was the first time driving started to feel difficult. I wandered into this out of body trance while listening to Led Zeppelin and had to switch to hardcore dubstep to keep myself focused and awake. Yeesh. One of my new friends in Santa Fe had recommended I book a horseback ride in Canyon de Chelly so I made my way to the stables by the Cottonwood Canyon more tired than I wanted to be, but hey, it’s a road trip and it’s still daylight. 

My guide was running behind, but here is where the tenders came in handy. I met the cutest, most adorable little pup and he went nuts for some morsels of chicken. He was so skinny and sweet and we snuggled until my guide, who was a very thin Navajo teen who very casually told me about his hobbies of riding bareback and bucking broncos. He had a very nonchalant attitude about his several concussions and broken bones and tons of stories about scaling the rocks along the canyon since his family has lived on either side of the canyon. We then got into his personal life and I did my best to crack his lone wolf attitude to little avail, but I did get him to smile a bit. Teenagers are awesome and weird. I do not miss being one.

Outside of Many Farms

That night I stayed in a hogon, a ceremonial hut that folks rent out when the structures aren’t being used for ritual, off an unnamed dirt road just north of Many Farms. My host had to leave town last minute so I stayed in the middle of nowhere alone. Very gracefully. Not freaking out at all. It was an adventure and I had peace, quiet, 360 sunset and sunrise, two lovely guard dogs to keep me company, some horses and I even saw a coyote. Every moment of fear was worth it to feel all that. I tell this part of the story really well in detail in person. Ask me about it ;)

Antelope Canyon

The next morning, I hit Antelope Canyon which was a really jarring contrast to everything so far. The two and a half hour drive included one stop to pee at the side of the road which I was very proud of myself for accomplishing without incident. You know you are truly alive and in a higher state of consciousness when going for a pee is exciting. After a gas station hot dog, (my options were limited and honestly it was way better than I expected) I met my guide and the most touristy group of tourist I had encountered so far. 

The Antelope Canyon tour is essentially a photography tour, which made it less magical than a lot of my experiences so far, until I started bonding with Oscar, my guide. I the only solo traveler in our group and comparatively extremely chill about getting these pictures taken despite whipping out the DSLR for the occasion. So, we got to chatting and brought up the rear on the way back to the truck. The canyon itself was gorgeous, and other worldly, but hanging with Oscar and learning to pronounce a few Navajo words properly was my favorite part of the trip. 

On the way back we exchanged info and he suggested a lunch spot so after picking up my companion for the rest of the trip at the the Paige airport, we popped on over for some bar food before continuing on for a long afternoon drive.

Check out part 5: Get Your Kicks, Grand Canyon + Route 66

Go back to part 3: Celestial Surprises in the Land of Enchantment

Solo Road Trip as Rite of Passage: Sand Dunes + the road to Santa Fe

Sandstone on the dash, Cemetery ahead

Sandstone on the dash, Cemetery ahead

My first stop on day two, just after 9AM, was a tiny town called Villa Grove. Before I entered the town proper, the cemetery called me and I pulled off onto a short dirt road. I like to meet the dead of the places I visit. Pay my respects and my attention to what the history feels like. I’ll have you know, they were quite charming. Quiet, peaceful, serene, tender, simple. Small town cemeteries fascinate me. Instead of lavish stones and sculptures, their simple, sometimes uneven slabs and crosses make them feel uniquely cared for by an intimate community that knew each member well. Unlike the cemeteries I am most familiar with that require a vehicle to travel the length of, here, all the departed tenets remain within eyeshot. 

 After taking in the silence, I moved on to the small general store / coffee shop to use the bathroom and grab a second cup of coffee. A woman named Amber made me a cappuccino while I browsed the store and overheard a couple of old men chatting about immigration. 

Did you hear about those people from Guatemala? They’re sayin’ it’s so bad down there, they’d rather die at the border than stay. Can you imagine?

It was a relief to hear born and bred Americans speaking with empathy instead of the usual fear and anger.

Amber passed me my drink and wouldn’t let me tip her. “No, honey. You might need that on the road.” I thanked her and smiled, overcome by the kindness of strangers.

At the instructions of a friend, I stopped at the Mosca Pit Stop before turning towards the dunes to pick up quinoa, which I should probably make this week, and beef jerky, which I ate pretty much immediately. There, too, I encountered kind women happy to help and answer questions before sending me on my way. I spent so much of this trip preparing for danger, I was genuinely surprised by how easy and friendly and wonderful every human being I met had been thus far.

Then I spent a solid 10 minutes watching a raven go to town on a trash can before I pulling back onto the road.

Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve

IMG_3796.jpeg

At the base of the dunes, I found a ton of pretty rocks and every couple of steps I just HAD to bend down to inspect them. The variety of colors and shapes and patterns could make a kaleidoscope envious. I am not ashamed to say I talk to all beings now and saying hello to every rock that called to me, granted a certain kind of playfulness and community to the whole endeavor. Maybe that’s why I never felt alone… Then again, maybe it’s because as I organized my shit in the car, a man in his 70s crowned with uniformly white hair and clad in a university sweater chatted with me for about 20 minutes after I said hello. (Or both)

Barefoot hiking FTW

Barefoot hiking FTW

Hiking up a mountain of sand is partially Sisyphean. For every step up you take, you sink down at least a half step. The dunes also don’t form linearly. You go up one, then you have to come down a bit to make it to the next one that reaches a bit higher. This would be frustrating if it weren’t so fun. After about an hour of trekking up and careening down, I ran into a mother and her child trotting along barefoot. BINGO.

I sat down and ripped off my hiking boots and socks, tied my laces around the strap of my backpack and continued on, lighter, freer, with the familiar scratch of sand wrapping me in it’s warm blanket like embrace. I also noticed the soft padding of my feet allowed me to stay elevated on the harder patches of sand and sink a little less in the softer ones with me weight distributing more evenly. Also, I was hiking barefoot and it was dope AF.

When I finally made it to the 2nd highest dune (the highest one was much much further and not happening), I snuggled up and journaled, closing my eyes for a bit to enjoy the feeling. I watched the sand shift soft and steady in packed black layers among the tan, feeling cool shifts beneath the surface. Looking around you could see the shadows morph and change and I kept hearing Mufasa in my head saying, “everything the light touches in our kingdom.”

“non-lesson” learned

“non-lesson” learned

Hiking back down was magic, sliding and swirling in the sand like a friggin earth bender. I found a patch of grass and a few flowers and laid beside them, asking the mountain what it was teaching me. I felt heat spread like a flower blooming between my shoulder blades. Translating the messages isn’t an exact science, but it was something like, “not everything has to be a lesson, it can just be joyful.” Which, of course, was a lesson in and of itself. 

I constantly wonder, how did I get so lucky? How do these places I’ve never been feel like coming home?

Driving to New Mexico

Cruising down CO-159 in the mid-late afternoon, felt like drifting towards a portal. Somethings about the vast valleys, the outline of the mountain ranges, the surprisingly symmetrical cloud formations, the way the blue and whites of the sky contrasted the yellow beige and grey below… sent me reeling. And then my raven friends would say hello and bring me back. And then my navigation would remind me to keep going straight. Cool.

San Luis Peoples Ditch

San Luis Peoples Ditch

Still not bored, still digging my amazing playlist, still awestruck by every ranch and tree and abandoned hut along my path. My favorite thins to drive past were these yards littered with multicolored tractors. They looked like abandoned adult playgrounds. I stopped in San Luis, described as the oldest continuously occupied town in Colorado, to talk to another tree and stare at the San Luis Peoples Ditch, which is a small channel of water and not a ditch of people like it sounds at first. Yikes.

I stopped for gas, and a man in his 40s let me know my hood was slightly popped. I thanked him and pressed down hard, high on human kindness and the music of his Burqueño accent, so different, but reminiscent of the Miami accent back home.

I eventually made it into Taos for a very late lunch / early dinner at around 4 PM and stopped at a spot called Bella’s. My server was a delightfully polite and slightly awkward young man named Scott. I had my first taste of green Chile which can I tell you, my friends, did not disappoint. It was the most delicious plate of chiles rellenos I has ever had. As I was finishing up, older couples started to tickle in. A pair sat next to one another (instead of across) at a four top table. It looked like love.

After dinner I decided to walk around and saw a beautiful Adobe church. It warmed my heart until I saw a fake grave for all the aborted fetuses. Double yikes. I stepped into a store within the historic Taos Plaza and picked up a few locally made items like incense and soap. I talked with the woman at the counter, Sunshyne, about arrowheads and how my dad wants a viking funeral and she mentioned that Vikings was her favorite show and she was opening an Etsy store and will be selling custom obsidian arrowheads so you’re welcome, dad, I have your funeral arrow.

I also noticed the sage bundles and asked her how she felt about non-native using white sage and the de-colonization of spiritual practices. She said that people’s intentions matter, sourcing matters. There are people whose livelihood is linked to harvesting sage in safe and responsible ways. Buying from them is not a problem. Of course, this is not everyone’s opinion and this is a longer conversation and I honestly hesitated including this, but I thought I’d would be better to share it for anyone who might be interested. (I personally no longer use white sage in my practice, nor do I use the term “smudging”.) There were also bundles of non-native plants that are harmful for the environment and make great alternatives.

After a quick stroll around town, I was on my way to my final destination of the day. The sun was starting to set, and the Land of Enchantment was coming to life. Within the hour, warm oranges and pinks gave way to cool blues. Rolling throw the mountains in the dark, I could see a sliver of light though the clouds, as if the kids were holding up a flashlight. Clouds gave way to a nearly full moon, and by her light, I made it to Santa Fe.

Read part 3: Celestial Surprises in the Land of Enchantment

Go back to part 1: An Introduction