Wild Altars: Chapter Three

I once walked into a thrift store and immediately whispered to the person with me, “This is where things go to die.” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. The mangy and matted stuffed animals . . . the stained-by-who-knew-what rugs . . . everything turned vampire, threatening to suck me dry.

Another time, I walked into an antique store in Japan. As soon as I picked up a humble tea bowl, it told me in no uncertain terms that I would be taking it back home with me.

Every time I cup that bowl in my hands, I can feel its quiet spirit flowing into me.

The older I get, the more alert I am to the energy of things. I find myself pulled to places and objects that possess an inexplicable, undeniable power. I liken it to a video game—where things like floating rubies or golden coins can suddenly and subtly appear. Upon touching them, a character’s life force gets stronger, recharged and ready to face whatever’s next.

I do the same thing when I hike. I am continually reaching out to touch stone.

Tree.

Creek.

When I first started doing this, I would have had a hard time explaining why. Now, I know I am honoring the numen of things.

Numen is the spirit or divine power of a thing or place. It’s the energetic force that flows inside. Numen inest means “there is a spirit here.”

That’s what this pilgrimage with my wild altar is all about—being in the world and honoring the good spirits here who meet me on my way.

When I finally reach New Mexico, literally called “the land of enchantment,” it is beautiful. There is something unnameable but palpable here. I can feel it seeping in, like soft rain after a long drought.

Still, as I drive mile after mile through the barren and bristling country, it’s difficult not to fall into despair. It feels like the entire world is falling apart right now.

Just like my world fell apart seven years ago.

Whenever that happens, it can feel impossible to know what to do, how to cope, how to live, how to hope.

I knew for me back then just as I know for me right now that I do not want to numb or armor my tender heart. I want to risk putting myself out there, even when I feel like I am too weird for words.

I want to find the good, in as many places as I can.

That’s why I am in a car, driving for too many hours to count on this pilgrimage.

That’s why, when I come upon a deep gash in the earth’s surface and sail across a steel bridge where a river shimmers below, I press hard on my brakes and turn left into a rest area.

When I get out, I see a First Nations artist braving the cold wind of the wide-open parking lot. She is selling her work a couple hundred feet from the edge.

Deer skulls encrusted with coral and turquoise.

Little boxes with secret doors.

Knives made from stone and bone.

I can’t decide which knife I want—I can feel three pulling me to them, just as I can feel myself starting to blush when I ask her, “Would you, please, mix those three up in front of me while I close my eyes? Then I’ll let my hand go to the one that I am supposed to get.”

She smiles. “Sure.”

I close my eyes.

Even in the big wind, I can hear the artist moving the knives around. “Okay,” she says.

I reach out, my hand hovering first here, then there.

“This one,” I say, opening my eyes.

The rabbit fur wrapped around the antler handle ruffles in the wind. Ground turquoise adorns the bottom of the handle and matches the earrings I will buy a few days later. The jasper blade symbolizes courage, strength, wisdom, and in ancient civilizations, it was used as a talisman to ward off negative energies.

I give the woman my money. She gives me her work.

I go back to my car, and my dogs leap out, their leashes binding my legs as they circle and dance. I untangle myself and gather the sheepskin rug, the two wooden pegs that balance the altar, support her.

The wild altar is hippy, like an ancient goddess, and the more I interact with her, the more I realize her numen is bright, tricksy. She doesn’t make it easy for me to carry her to the edge of the gorge. And when I try to set her up, she refuses to obey.

People stare as they walk by.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

When I finally get her balanced, when the dogs finally quit trying to pull me down the trail so they can smell all the new and amazing scents, I put my new knife on top of the altar.

Then a nearby stone that seems to jump in my hand.

I get on my knees and look at the wild altar. I can almost see her powering up as she gulps in that blue, as she drinks in the wind that tussles my hair and the rabbit fur on the knife.

She glows with light.

I lift my gaze to the bridge, a marvel, glinting in the sunshine. It connects this to that. Now to next.

Whatever that may be.