I am blessed to have, in my life, several sanctuaries, one of which I am able to visit daily, the others at least once a week.
I have been thinking about faith, manifested in two of its aspects in Taos: The Penitente Morada behind Mabel’s house, and the nearby graveyard.
I am particularly blessed in these special places that seem to have come into my life by chance or luck but are in fact the material manifestations of prayer.
For most of Grandfather’s neighbors and friends, memory of the communes is sharp and sour. We have yet to sweeten it.
In Mabel’s case, as in the case of so many women, it’s the myths rather than the facts that are remembered.
It seems we are still confined, in our appreciation of women, to admiring our roles as facilitators of other people’s lives.
Abandon professionalism. Hard work, always, is essential, but the notion that there is such a thing as “success”—a large audience, critical acclaim, and money—is, for nearly all of us, a delusion.
I am wishing all of you, friends, acquaintances and strangers, who are kind enough to read these thoughts, the most beneficial, peaceful and fruitful new year—a cold winter with lots of snow, a spring full of bloom.
Pip watches intently as though monitoring our progress through the sixty miles from overpopulated Santa Fe to the little mountain town of Taos.
Dillen ends with her arms raised high above her head, exhorting her audience, and particularly the women in her audience, to be shining stars, rising to shed our light on the parched and desolate landscape that surrounds us.