It is hard to imagine that such a white world can be so dark. Images constantly come and go. Much like a mirage, they shimmer and fade in and out. Are they even real?
Marj and Robin have brought me to Chimayo. The ground swells up and down like foamy waves, making me dizzy and afraid. Marj holds my arm and steadies me. She and Robin are laughing at something. I think of maple syrup when I hear Robin talk. Her cadence is lazy and rich. Marj’s laugh is a hearty robust response to Robin’s comment. I hear the tones and nuances of voices more now, since I can’t see well.
People come here to be healed. Am I on a pilgrimage? There are pigeons on the roof beneath the cross. Their rhythmic cooing is soothing, almost hypnotic. Watching the people, the children laughing in the sun, everything is peaceful. We sit and take it in.
Being alive feels good.