"Igmu Tanka Chantay Weh", collage by Licia Berry 2007 copyright
I’m from the south…I was born in North Carolina and lived in the south most of my life. I’d never been west as a child (the furthest I got was Little Rock, Arkansas, but that’s a story for another time.) Oh, and we went on a family trip to Dallas, Texas. But I never got DEEP west until 1990, when I took a fateful trip with my husband that felt like pure destiny. I crossed the Mississippi and found a world that captured my heart.
As a young married couple, we were feeling the itch to get out from under our roots and see the world, seek our fortunes, find out who we were. We felt that a move out west was the right direction, but I’d never been there, so off we went during my summer break (I was a public school art teacher at the time). We traveled the southwest on a three week road trip with a lot of music, a camera and not very much money. It was the best trip ever.
I remember the feeling the first time we got west of the center of Texas and I saw the full moon rise behind us as we sped through the dark across the open plains. There was something about that giant sky and that wise open space that cracked my heart open. We went all over New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and a bit into Utah. We had multiple magical encounters on that trip; from outrageous coincidences to the awe inspired by the colors of the earth and the light, it was one head-over-heels experience after another. We fell in love with Tucson, AZ and moved there two years later.
We’ve lived in Tucson, Albuquerque NM and southern Colorado since…each time we have left the southwest to come back to the south (where we are now), but have boomeranged back, as if we are back to refill our cup with the magic that seems to live there. I have been missing it again lately, which is what prompted me to write this post.
I was thinking about why I am overcome every so often with a feeling in my heart, a beckoning, as if the desert is calling my name on the wind, yet it is inside my chest. I was wondering why the feeling I have when I feel the Sacred Feminine in my consciousness feels so similar to the feeling I have when I am in the wide open spaces, looking up at the giant blue sky and the mountains on the horizon. There is a feeling of awe and quiet, a feeling of being so small in such a big place, a feeling of being held and nurtured, and a sense of ancient knowing. It feels like Her.
Just a few days ago I realized that the desert is where I first consciously felt the Sacred Feminine. And it is there that I have continued to deepen my relationship with Her. Each time I have lived out west the ante gets higher; I am simultaneously driven to my knees and lifted up by Her magnificent presence, Her calling herself forward in me.
Maybe I come back to the south to bring what I’ve learned, a taste of the desert dream to this land that I come from and that holds so many hard memories of being a smart girl growing up in the bible belt. And maybe I will go back to the sit at Her feet every so often and drink of Her wisdom.
