The completion of the 7 mile hike under desert skies in Chaco Canyon was nearly upon us- nearly back to the truck and the cold mango lemonade which seemed it would be a mirage. There had been visions seen, of a brilliant macaw, a native mother and 9 year old daughter in brightly colored clothing, ancient carvings touched, pottery shards marveled, many many tears cried, in these last few hours. I had heard the unmistakable words “you are welcome” as we reached the threshold of Penasco Blanco, and enveloped by them I walked rapidly, faster, faster, knowing my place in this great house, and pressed my body against the walls like a long lost lover, a presence, so joyous and strong, and I cried. I cried to have made the return journey, for me, how many times? Twice in this lifetime. I cried for many.
Child of the sun. Woman of the stars. Embrace the centuries as one and come with us. Though the pathways of constellations never named, through the corridors of timelessness and expansion. Yes. Now visions of peoples of Africa, the four legged lions, the Egyptians, pyramids, gold, shrinking, squeezing through a tunnel with no end. Please join us. We are here. Traveling through your veins to find the opening to talk. Has it come. Yes. Messages without words, and words, words valuable and cherished and timely and right. Their value is yet reverberating through my awareness.
We had nearly reached the truck. Then a sound, large, behind us. I thought it was a vehicle coming near. We stopped and turned to see. There, in a shallow arroyo stood three cottonwood trees equally distant from each other in a line. The second was immersed in a consuming wind which singularly buffeted it’s leaves and branches, offering a surreal roar and a wildly tossing torch of flickering leaves in the afternnon heat. The other two trees were not affected. I made eye contact with the native worker with black braid glistening down his back one more time. Our eyes locked, for a moment, and we smiled. He had a question for me, in his gaze. Gentle. The answer may come in my next trip to the canyon. It may come as my knife squeaks through the crisp yellow apples I’m chopping for applesauce today. The answer still awaits.

In gentle awe we find ourselves

wondrously suspended in the space between blossoms and buds. Gloriously aware our human form has melded into the past, cast aside, former identity no longer desired. This space of creation a freeing joy from the consricts of culture and human world view. This space filled with the Light and pure essence of the One Source Love of which all are created. The anonymity of being Light, desiring to be, creating it so. The sloughing off of patterns of the past where there was desire to be acknowledged, to be right, to be noticed. This is the environment…. entering the Lilac Realm creates. Lush, inclusive embrace of flowers in motion through the Universal Desire which created them. Relax. Float and glide here. Remain awhile.