What? We’re in Madrid? Huh?. Yeah, we are. Not Madrid, Spain because we quit the getting lost thing. But Madrid, New Mexico because we’re all about finding something.
Well, we found something. It’s the place where hippies and all the Volkswagen vans and original teardrop campers of the 60’s go to live out their days in the high desert of New Mexico.
Madrid. Lots of chilled-out locals and overly touristy tourists visiting a ½ mile stretch of in-the-middle-of-nowhere-
but-along-the-turquoise-highway
top-ten places to visit. We did visit. And then..
In the hammock. On the mesa. Up a 2 mile road that takes 20 minutes and a gazillion bumpity bumps to climb. Our HipCamp hideaway. The host is friendly. The grasses are all waving their welcome.
I love sinking into someone else’s dream. Shelly, a road-wise hippie, artist. musician, vagabond, yoga teacher, nature lover, free spirit who loves the road but dreams of community brings the gifts of nomadic life to this sacred ground. Full-time wanderers as well as weekend adventurers find their place here. Anyone who has stood barefoot on holy ground knows this to be true: there are sacred places where the energy is mysterious and healing. A sense of present moment intersects with timelessness.
We are over six weeks on the road now. And this is the perfect time to land here. After our 4th day of desert heat which requires our limited doing and increased being. Our HipCamp on a mesa. The totally off-grid Shanti Community. To find our place in the shade. To gaze across endless mesas. Hike the canyon as the sun is setting. Watch clouds form and re-form. Taking the shapes of Pegasus and such. Allowing this magical time and space to bring about some tiny bits of integration. And also give my questions a chance to emerge in their own way. From body and soul rather than culture or logistics.
I think of a mantra I acquired from Tara Brach. This too is part of me.
So many parts to ponder.
From Sisters of the Earth, 2nd edition.
Why Do You Keep Those Cats, by Judith Minty
All winter those cats of mine
Doze like old women in front of the fire
Curl their fur around saucers of sunlight
they have trapped on my rug. Sometimes
they bury themselves in the wool of blankets
to sniff dreams I left there.
And from Steve. ELVIS
Last night we went to the Elvis movie. So much of what made Elvis special was formed in his childhood. As a child he lived inshanty towns in rural Mississippi. He grew up in black culture with the blues, soul music, Penecostal trances, and watching people shaking their booties.
In indigenous culture he might’ve been a shaman as children who could go into deep trance mode could often bring a vision back to their people and inspire healing.
And Elvis brought healing through his music his inhibition , his swirling pelvis, channeling an energy that was raw and powerful. His manager and mentor played by Tom Hanks was a circus illusionist who knew the con. His brilliance and his understanding of the music business brought Elvis fame and fortune. He knew how to manipulate people and the system Yet his fears and dark shadows in his personality contributed to Elvis‘s destruction as well as his own.
It’s common for people in the public area to be unable to handle adulation and fame. It’s hard to stay grounded when the next high of performance and audience is right around the corner. It’s hard to create healthy boundaries.
I recall the story of one famous eccentric New York author who lived outside of the city and refused to let anyone know his whereabouts. He would come in to town and receive his royalties in a large paper bag filled with cash in different phone booths in the city.
10 minutes from the end of the movie Debbie and I ducked out as we knew Elvis’ tragic ending. A flawed hero singing LOVE ME TENDER.
Steve & Debbie’s Grand Adventure 