For The Sake of The World, We Must Make a Holy Pilgrimage to Ourselves

I’m not religious or spiritual, rather I’m an observer of time and a student of compassion. As a cult survivor, I’ve wrestled with organized religion all my life. As a man of reason and science, there is no room in my worldview for invisible men in the sky telling me how to live.

Yet, it’s in our human nature to experience events and things that are spiritual. The birth of your child, the awe of the Grand Canyon, or the feeling and connection of love. There are many things in the human condition that cause our neurons to fire in ecstasy. It becomes a religious experience when a group of people experience ecstasy together.

I often think about these shared ecstatic experiences. I still think of this one woman I shared a dance with during an open-air concert in Central Park. I was moving about through the crowd, grooving to the beat, and she was dancing. She spun around, and we locked eyes. I fell deep into her soul and felt something I’d never felt before.

I can’t explain what happened, but her eyes and me falling into her soul haunt me to this day.

When I lived in New Mexico, I spied an advertisement in the back of one of those nickel newspapers. It said, “Become a Minister, send in $10 to the Universal Life Church.” I don’t remember if they had a website at the time, but I sent in $10.

A few weeks later, I got a certificate in the mail that said I was now an ordained minister. My duties as a minister were broad, but I had to uphold their code of “To do what’s right.” At the time, I thought that was a pretty cool code and something I could do.

You see, I was working on finding out who I am. I was dating a woman who was a member of the Unitarian Church, and we went to their service a few times. I was experimenting with Buddhism and meditating, and it felt right to me.

One day, my girlfriend suggested we visit the church in Chimayo and feel its healing powers. El Santuario de Chimayo is a small sanctuary in the village of Chimayo. Locals swore that the sanctuary had a pit that contained “holy dirt” that could heal you.

We planned a trip along the high road to Taos from Santa Fe; Chimayo was one of the stops. It took us two hours to get there after many twists and turns. I remember it being a sunny and cool September day.

The village was busy. I looked for parking as many faithful people gathered. They were making a pilgrimage, and a line formed to get in. When we finally got inside the tiny church, I felt a buzz of energy. I felt the shared communal ecstasy and believed. I heard my name whispered in the breeze. I heard my calling.

Two years ago, I took my family on a Southwest desert trip. I remember standing at an overlook east of Escalante, seeing the badlands in front of me. I felt a warm breeze roll over me, and I heard my name whispered again.

The logical and reasonable side of me screamed I was hearing things, but something woke up inside me. My spirit which lay dormant for two decades woke up and said, “We have work to do.”

The question was, what was the work I should be doing? Confused, I took stock of what was happening in my life.

A year before the trip, we lost my father; he passed away in his sleep. Later in the year, my mother’s vertebrae started crumbling. That would start one and a half years of rushing my mother to the hospital.

I was under a lot of stress, and it was taking its toll on my health. I gained a lot of weight, and I was drinking way too much. I looked in the mirror, and the face that stared back at me was me, but different.

I struggled, but I found my stride. I started writing and going outside more. I walked in my woods, I listened to the birds, and I swam. I started to reconnect with Nature at deeper levels and began to appreciate the short time we have on Earth.

I read more Existential philosophical texts and learned that this is it. In three generations, no one will remember me, and it’s my privilege to live my life on my terms.

Then one day, it hit me. I was swimming in my lake when I saw a barn swallow skim the lake for insects. I paused for a moment and watched the little bird twist and turn like a ballerina picking off an insect. Then it was gone. In an instant, it flew away. It was grace personified. It was perfection in action.

At that very moment, I realized what my spirit wanted me to do. It wanted me to work on myself, and in doing so, I would honor the reality I was entrusted with. I am to share the ecstasy of this reality with all those who would listen, but first I must forgive myself.

For the sake of the world, we need to forgive ourselves. We must wash away our sins and work on ourselves to be better. We must awaken our spirits and no longer deny who we are. We must honor this reality and share its ecstasy. We owe it to ourselves to make a Holy Pilgrimage to ourselves and come home. We are to come home to ourselves, to this reality, and to realize that we are the ecstasy we seek.

Later this year, I will visit El Santuario de Chimayo with my partner. We will take the high road to Chimayo and stop at all the stops. I will show her this small place and share with her the ecstasy I felt all those years ago. For her, it will be something new to experience; for me, it’s a holy pilgrimage home.

I’m coming home to something that made me who I am all those years ago. I will go there and ask for forgiveness, not from any God, but from myself and for myself. I will no longer deny my calling; instead, I will follow it.