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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