The journey here was a twisting road, leading us always north, always expectant, more than once lost, or disappointed, looking for tiny clues swept clean by the hot desert winds that teased and preceeded us and left the landscape rolling and tidal and smelling of sunlit juniper and sage. We've been told [by those who know such things] that the high desert here will draw you in with a force like a magnet, and instigate your dreams - not the angel-sugared bedtime dreams of lullabies, but the tough stuff. The unconscious Self. The Shadow. And if you falter, if you brace yourself with old defenses and cling to the familiarity of ego, she spits you out. And sends you packing. It's not for everyone.
I took the sign of four ravens, perched high in a tall juniper near the casita in the rain, as a good omen. I've always been a friend to crows and crooked beaks. A rainbow over the mesa at dusk didn't hurt my feelings, either. There have been hummingbirds visiting daily. And this morning, as Steve wrote in silence by the window at daybreak, the golden hued coyote that trotted past hunting for rabbits made us both smile in gratitude. This is a dream come true all right. But as a wise soul once said, be careful what you wish for. You just might get it. In other words, be ready for it when it comes. Be awake. Be open. Shed the old. Embrace the different.
The desert is living, sacred ground with a heartstopping spirit of place. You sense life force in every direction. Presence. Vigilance. And dreaming. The desert conjures her own dreams, you soon realise; and you are only a grain in the palm of her sweeping change.
As we settle in and cook and read and walk and converse, the desert infuses us. The skies exhilarate us. The vivid moon and stars inspire us.
Next, I will post recipes, and photographs of my new kitchen, my painting studio, our kivas [we have two!]. Until then, I thought I'd share some slices of our view.
Thank you all for your messages these past weeks - I read every one - and it made me full and fat with gratitude.
I took the sign of four ravens, perched high in a tall juniper near the casita in the rain, as a good omen. I've always been a friend to crows and crooked beaks. A rainbow over the mesa at dusk didn't hurt my feelings, either. There have been hummingbirds visiting daily. And this morning, as Steve wrote in silence by the window at daybreak, the golden hued coyote that trotted past hunting for rabbits made us both smile in gratitude. This is a dream come true all right. But as a wise soul once said, be careful what you wish for. You just might get it. In other words, be ready for it when it comes. Be awake. Be open. Shed the old. Embrace the different.
The desert is living, sacred ground with a heartstopping spirit of place. You sense life force in every direction. Presence. Vigilance. And dreaming. The desert conjures her own dreams, you soon realise; and you are only a grain in the palm of her sweeping change.
As we settle in and cook and read and walk and converse, the desert infuses us. The skies exhilarate us. The vivid moon and stars inspire us.
Next, I will post recipes, and photographs of my new kitchen, my painting studio, our kivas [we have two!]. Until then, I thought I'd share some slices of our view.
Thank you all for your messages these past weeks - I read every one - and it made me full and fat with gratitude.
New Mexico desert dreams Jungian
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