Sitting in this beautiful adobe house, in the kitchen with sunlight pouring in through the skylight, surrounded by the inner sounds of her life and colors.
Santa Fe emerged like a little lagoon of light at the end of a sea of darkness as we drove into it from Mesa Verde, Colorado last night. We drove to La Posada where Melanie and Nacha were playing the most gorgeous music and singing Spanish songs that I did not need to understand the words of as I felt the love in them. A deep, secret, uninhibited love, that reflected the dark luxurious red of the room they performed in surrounded by the passionate paint of the artist whose work adorned the wall.
Lying in bed looking up at the beams and waves of the ceiling I allowed my mind's eye to flicker over the memories of the past few days. I saw Laguna Niguel and the house we stayed in - a house filled with the distinct sound of the four women who live there - who have lived in that house growing it since 41 years ago as they kept coming together 30 years ago and then 14 years back, bringing their own resins of energy to hold that family as it emerged into what it is today.
Disneyland saw me as a child, a child who was born 48 years ago and waited patiently for this jumping excitement of that day. The rides, the color, the crowds and the magickal possibility of a world joined together in fun. A place where a woman stood in the waiting lines celebrating her 70th birthday with her daughter and hundreds and thousands of other people whose sole objective for that day was to wear Mickey ears and walk or ride from one adventure to another screaming thrilling adventure. The most touching 'thing' that will hopefully be there for generations together - the statue of Walt Disney hand in hand with Mickey Mouse.
From the razzledazzle of Disneyland, the World of Color to the Joshua Tree lined road to Palm Springs. I liked it! The desert is beautiful. I liked Nancy's house - straight lines, gravel yard with low trees and cactii and a welcome for us, even though she herself was not there. I sat for hours in the morning under the tree, watching a humming bird and his friends come to inspect me and fly away to the rest of their day.
Back to Laguna Niguel and then a day in Hollywood and the Warner Brothers studio. What fun! Hotdogs at Pink's, hoping to see 'stars'. And then the walk of fame, or whatever that street outside the Grauman's theatre is called. Tiny little handprints in the cement belonging to Shirley Temple. Fred Astaire, WArren Beatty and many many other names - just for a moment letting all the stories and magazines and movies come together into a little imprint in a block of cement on a sidewalk, energized by the millions who have thronged there over the decades keeping the songs, the romance and the thrill of stardom spreading, spreading, alive.
An evening of reiki - going into the center.
And then, just as I recallled the majestic silence of the Grand Canyon my eyes closed and I slept in the world's most comfortable bed, watched over by the stars and the moon, sung to by creatures of the night.
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