Boulder, Utah
SEPTEMBER 23, 2013
The oppressive silence here is so thick that it is noisy. It is a silence that seems to fill up the space between the stars, which are strewn across the sky like pixie dust. With no light pollution whatsoever, this is one of the best “night watching” skies in the nation. It seems to me that the desert here possesses people. The longer they live here, the more they become extensions of this living gallery of wind and sandstone and burning sky.
Boulder, Utah is a town on the border of the Grand Staircase -Escalante National Monument. It is a beautiful little isolated town with green meadows that run up to the base of sand colored rock monoliths and mesas. There are just over two hundred residents here. And the people that call this town home are a very unique blend of individuals. There are conservative Mormons (who were born and raised here). There are ranchers who breed cows and horses here. There are organic farmers and retired hippies who love the energy and beauty of this land. There are “end of the worlders” who are concerned about survival skills, stockpiling for the apocalypse and who have come here to disconnect from the government. And there are famous artists who use this land as the source of their inspiration. And there is not much else in between. It definitely makes for an odd group dynamic when you throw all of those different personality types together into one place and expect them to agree at city counsel meetings.
The Burr Trail Outpost is a tiny store, full of local crafts on the main road that winds through town. In the center of the store, there is a counter where people gather to have their coffee every day. It has become the mecca of the town. If you feel like socializing, all you need do is show up and sure enough, someone else is bound to be waiting there; just as eager to have a conversation as you are. It is easy to feel as if you are disconnected from the rest of the world here. The closest grocery store is over an hour drive away. There is no reason to obey traffic laws because seeing another car on the road is rare. But the people, who come here, don’t come here for the people. They come here for the land.
It does not take a genius to see that the energy of this place is unusual. The landscape gives it away. In places like this, the energy that is normally resident beneath the surface of the earth boils upwards and out of the earth. It is the same energy as is found inside of a hot spring; except you’re not immersed in it for minutes or hours… You live inside it all day long. You either love it so much that you cannot leave it or you hate the static hum of it. Personally, I can only stay here for short visits because of it; just long enough to re charge. It is an amazingly healing energy because it is so strong. The frequency of the energy here is perfect for healing any ailment that is the result of blocked energy within the body. I have entertained the idea of opening a healing center here for people with cancer several times (an idea that is still on the table). Today I am taking advantage of it myself and I’m excited to say that the tension in my lower back is nearly gone.
I spent an hour with a group of horses at a ranch today. When horse people (like myself) are without horses, we go into a kind of selective amnesia. We deliberately block out the pain of being separated from them. But then, we get around them and that pain floods back into our awareness. In my opinion, there is no creature on earth that is more beautiful than a horse. I fell in love with a paint horse today. I ran my hands across his black and white fur. I stared into his liquid, black eyes. I closed my eyes and hugged his neck; so his jaw was resting on my shoulder and listened to him breathe. Over the course of my life, I have never felt more safe anywhere than in the company of horses. It was the highlight of this trip. I was in the present moment the entire time, (something I’ve been trying to do since I arrived here). It felt so good to forget myself in the magic of their movements.
