The Church In New Mexico

I went to New Mexico because an astrologer told me it was a good place for me. Seriously. That’s why. In my ongoing search for a place in this country that meets all my qualifications of diversity, wellness culture and weather, I’ll follow any lead I get a wiff of.

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In New Mexico, I found very little that felt like home. The colors were beautiful, the aesthetic appealing, the native presence intriguing, the sky truly magical. But so what? There I was alone and seeking, seeking, turning over the dust and dirt for a fulfillment I have been carrying around in my own mind and finding nothing, but the absence of that fulfillment.

It is a hard lesson when the physics of longing push something further from our grasp. When the thing inside reaches out with yearning and prevents us from receiving what life actually has to give in return. This has happened to me with place, with people, with God, with all kinds of potential love.

I’m sorry New Mexico. Next time I’ll want a little less and listen a little more. Next time, when I find myself held in your meadows and churches, when your natives are singing to me and showing me the sunflowers they grew in your soil, I will come home to the moment and try to sing along.

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