Albuquerque Check Up

The one rest stop in New Mexico was closed and my patience for the road and spasms in my upper back was growing thin, so we looped back east to the opposing

Rest area and crashed into a great night’s sleep.  We awoke to the desert, estranged from the mountainous landscape we’d left at sunset the night before.  After sharing Veronika’s La Luna meal (another 4.95 IN YOUR FACE!) we headed into the city towards Eagle Feather Metaphysical Emporium in Albuquerque.  The store owner’s partner dazzled us with his moldavite collection.   I chose stones carefully for each of my sister Amy’s kids who love crystals and all things metaphysical, and two Native American art cards; one for them and one for Shane. I desperately wanted to show my appreciation for caring for Josie and allowing me the peace of mind I deserve on this journey.  Veronika purchased a book on Shamanism, a path that has been drawing her for years.

Veronika feelin the love in Albuquerque

We pulled over to climb, noting warning signs for bears and cougars which both suggested we “fight back aggressively if attacked.”  The mountain was a complete pile of enormous boulders, some delicatly balancing against one another.  We climbed separately, meditating while gazing over all of Albuquerque and beyond.  You could hear dogs barking for miles, peoples’ conversations in the parking lot, even the running footfalls of a jogger and his dog. 

Downtown we parked, intending to set up the Magic Eye painting and attempt to draw people to us, but before we could unload a man approached us and insisted he help us carry our stuff to a nearby park where we would be seen.  He is homeless, which astonishes me for the ideas and experiences he expressed are likened to that of a star child.  He offered us his blanket to sit upon and to use his EBT card to buy us anything we should need.  A homeless man, giving anything he can to strangers, this is a lesson to us all.  Everyone who stopped to speak to us was homeless.  We had amazing metaphysical conversations with each of them, some broadening our horizons while receiving healing guidance from us.  I was so touched emotionally by each of them.  The man who’d assisted us was named Angelo.  Veronika and I exchanged knowing glances, of course he is an angel!  Carlos, a former artist turned heroin addict currently looking for Seboxin, the drug that “cures” heroin addiction, although seemingly just exchanging one substance for the next, suggested an “us and them” view of society.  There are those wrapped up in their world of capitalism, technology, societal norms and class climbing.  Then there are those who broke free of the confines of current social standards and strive to remain apart from the “dream.”  He had first simplified these categories into the homed and the homeless.  I don’t know where we fall in those descriptions, but Veronika noted “We’re kinda homeless, too, dude. Just living in the car. And guess what? We’re happy and doing everything and anything we want!”  We were deeply saddened by Carlos’s defeatist stance in life, he reminisced while watching Veronika paint, claiming he would never again be able to express himself artistically as drugs and circumstance have banned him that right somehow.  He would not hear otherwise.

I gave my undivided attention to Angelo.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just paying attention.” “Don’t apologize!” He laughed, “I’m just not used to anyone making eye contact with me.”  We had a safety meeting in the center of the park with his homeless friends, who, not surprisingly, are no different than you and I except of course for the added experience of living outside.  Outside, outside the box, outside obligation and expectation.  They were kind, giving, happy and not complaining.  Angelo escorted us back to our car and saw us off safely. 

He had recommended we check out “Nob Hill” by heading straight up Central St passing UNM.  As the scene we passed grew steadily more interesting I said “here’s Nob Hill!”  After another quarter mile, “Oh this  is Nob Hill.”  Two or three more failed Nob identifications later, we arrived at the actual Nob Hill.  What an eclectic spot! A 1950’s-contemporary blend colored in deep yellows and turquoise, all alight with a young college aged buzz.  We drove up, down, and through surrounding neighborhoods as we often do in new places, just absorbing the lifestyle of the Albuquerque young.

I felt the excitement rise as 5:30 approached, the time my Aunt Emily would be home to receive us.  I had not seen her in probably 20 years, a family falling out on my mother’s side had closed the door between me and her a long time ago.  I didn’t know what to expect.  I assumed she had certainly heard of the splitting of families caused  in part by yours truly. I also considered fearfully the probability of her having sided with them in the disturbing pattern of protecting family members regardless of their crimes.  As soon as the door opened every ounce of fear and doubt shattered and I crumbled into her arms.  Her light penetrated mine immediately, her love radiated directly to the child in me that missed her and longed for a family connection.   She was so welcoming to me and Veronika, offered us each our own bed, plenty of food and anything we could possibly need.

Chloe Faith Wadsworth organized "Hollographic
Repatterning."

While dinner was being cooked, I sat silently, mouth agape, as she listed the multitude of alternative healing modalities she is practiced in from massage therapy to Reiki and everything in between.  She helped develop a school of healing known as “Holographic Repatterning” also known as “Resonance Repatterning.”  It’s a system of muscle checking a persons many systems: chakra, Chinese meridians, etc., to discover the best path to healing on all levels.   Veronika booked a treatment immediately and later insisted we find a way for me to also receive.  My travel funds dwindling, I didn’t see it as a possibility even in exchange.

Becca, Laura, Emily

As Emily cooked and spoke I tried to express the relief I felt in knowing I wasn’t the only one in the family into healing.  I felt emotional and the words wouldn’t come but she wrapped me in her arms and asked, with a kiss on the head, “Did you think you were the only little black sheep?”  She’d heard nothing, after all; she had left the family at the same age I did to blaze her own trail without condemnation.  She was sad, but not surprised that the patterns of abuse and denial had continued into the next generation, she offered me a treatment immediately.  We stayed an extra night to fit it, and a massage for her, in. The healing consisted of sound therapy with healing bowls, music and tuning forks; essential oils and flower essences; cranio-sacral therapy, clapping, bodily positioning and so much more.  She even helped me dissect a recurring dream and gave me a “prescription” for continued healing. 

We didn't realize the healing tour would be so good for us, we thought we were delivering but so far have received in so many ways. 

After catching up with Emily and my cousin, Becca, who might I add is absolutely and stunningly beautiful, we grabbed our auntie-made, oat bran cinnamon pancakes and traveled on.