07/09/2026
After organizing a gathering at Mount Shasta California, I eventually had to come home. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the mountain that stayed with me.
It was a traffic jam.
On the drive to the airport, traffic came to a complete stop. We had no idea whether we'd make our flight home.
Normally, I would have reached for my phone. Checked alternate flights. Started solving a problem that hadn't happened yet.
Instead, I looked out the window.
Not intentionally. I simply did.
Somewhere between the pine trees and the line of brake lights, I felt wrapped in a peace I can't quite explain. And it stayed, despite the reality that someone had likely been hurt and we might miss our flight.
Though the traffic hadn't moved, something inside me had.
The only words I have are that I recognized something sacred within myself.
And it changed how I reacted.
I've been wondering where such a feeling came from. Was it the mountain? The silence? The waters? The singing women, our circles? My joy that Carl was with us, happy to help as our cook and driver?
I’m not exactly sure.
I do know that after traveling intentionally to sacred lands for the past two years, there are places in this world that help us remember.
And once we've touched that remembrance, even for a moment, it has a way of finding us again.
Sometimes in the middle of a traffic jam.