Return to the White Place

            In July 2019 I returned to the White Place (to hear the story of the first visit to the White Place, read last week’s blog.)  This was my fourth visit to the White Place (other visits will come in future blogs).  It had been a couple of years since I had driven out there.  I wondered if I would remember how to get there, but my body knew exactly where it was going, and it simply informed my mind where to turn. 
As I drove up to the parking area for the White Place, a family had arrived just before me – a mom, dad and two young daughters.  My first thought was “I have to share this place with this family with kids.”  My second thought was “I get to share this place with this family with kids.”  I watched the oldest daughter, about age 5, explore the area with great interest.  She had taken her sandals off and enjoyed the soil on her feet, being careful not to step on the rocks that were scattered all around. How wonderful it is to see through the eyes of a child.  She touched this.  Picked up that. Looked around.
She got separated from her mother, as her mother had continued walking while she stopped to explore, and her dad had gone back to the car.  I was standing a few yards behind her, watching. Suddenly she looked up and saw she was alone.  She turned and ran to me, crying, “Daddy, Daddy.”  Then she looked at me and realized I was not her daddy.  I told her that her daddy had gone back to the car and her mom was just over that hill.  I also suggested she put her shoes back on.  That’s what I would have said to my kids. Lots of rocks.  Some cactus. Harsh environment.  Need foot protection.  Perhaps what I needed to do was to take off my own shoes.  I was walking on holy ground.
As the girl went over the hill and found her mother, I walked on.  I always veer to the left as I go down into the White Place.  I follow the same path as I had done before.  I put my hand on the white wall.  I listened deeply.  I heard, sensed, knew holiness.  I heard, sense, knew grief.  I heard, sense, knew love.  It was not as intense as the first time, but the holiness, grief, and love were still there.  That place will always hold those for me whenever I come and stop and touch and rest.
I walked all around the White Place, telling myself to breath, be present, listen.  Know where you are.  Look.  See.  I felt called over to a particular spot on the white wall where I could lean against the wall with my arms outstretched. I stayed a few minutes and felt a Yes arising from within me as this place held me.  But it was more than just this place.  It was the whole Earth holding me, but through that one particular place. I felt the deep grief I had known before and my unfulfilled desire to speak of her pain.  I felt the holiness of that place and of all the Earth.  I felt the love of the Divine and of the Earth.  I felt it throughout my body as my body leaned against that white wall. Breath. Be present. Listen.
I walked back to my car after a couple of hours. I thought “this time at the White Place was not as powerful as the previous times.  I guess it can never be as great as the first time. The more you come, the less impact it will have.”  I then found myself laughing out loud.  I asked “who’s speaking? My mind?”  My mind is just a portion of my brain and is not a very good judge of how powerful an experience is. It is quick to judge and discount. However, my body knows.  My body remembers. Listen to the body.  Feel what’s in the body.  That is a deeper intelligence than the mind. 
That would have been a great moment to take off my shoes.  I was standing on holy ground.  To let my feet know the Earth in that moment.  If only my mind had thought of it.

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