SACRED DOOR TRAIL

I live in Montana, the 4th largest state in the nation, with only a million people, most of them arriving to isolate. At one point we had the largest number of x-CIA officers and Viet Nam Vets living in our lovely Western mountains! But I deeply believe this is the time to be making clans, tribes, alliances, and families, complete with all the hassles that entails!

Last week I was heartened in my belief by visiting with young people from around the world at a gathering in Big Hole, Montana. We were there to offer ceremony in the creation of the Sacred Door Trail, a long-held vision of Weston Pew, a 32-year old man of integrity and patience. The trail will be a 165-mile pilgrimage akin to the El Camino de Santiago in Spain, where pilgrims walk for several weeks, welcomed along the way by villagers. Weston had walked long pilgrimages in Spain, Ireland, and Peru as he incubated the idea for the Sacred Door. He envisioned the trail being a doorway to reconnect with one's ancestors, and in the present moment of putting one foot in front of the other, move into evolved conciousness that nurtures the earth and all her creatures.

I met Weston as we drove into the site. He surmised who I was by my license plate, apparently the only one from my county, and called me by name. Attendance was limited to 75 folks by the Forest Service, so I had registered early on. Long and lanky Weston wears a scruffy beard, and looks like a tree-planter or a gardener. His heart shines out from his blue eyes. He remembered names remarkably well, although many who gathered had met him elsewhere, at other gatherings, including Burning Man, which are taking place (and changing conciousness) all over the country.

The setting was a 40-acre meadow of blooming Blue Camus (cammasia), a food staple for native tribes in the past. This alone made it a sacred site, because miles and miles of camus have been eradicated through housing, highways, and civilization in general. Gazing across the meadow, the scene was of a shimmering lake surrounded by pined foothills, and intersected by Golden Willow guarding the meadering creek. As I wandered the area later I also found Elephant Head (pedicularis), a short stalk of tiny maroon blossoms which do resemble the tusks and trunks of elephants. Before the end of the first day, I had thrilled to the call of Sand Hill Cranes, and their echo from the mountains, like a hallelujah chorus. If I had doubts about what I was getting into, these elements encouraged me to stay. Magic was afoot.

As the first evening unfolded, we sat around a Sacred Fire to listen to a Lakota Elder, his wife and daughters, sing and talk about Weston's vision, and the need to turn away from "slash and burn" and embrace gentleness with every step. They sang old prayer/songs that moved our hearts without knowing the translations of the Lakota words. We gathered then under a shaded area and a Sacred Pipe was offered, touching every lip or shoulder, the smoke filled with prayers for the trail to assist the transformation of small selves to sacred selves.

After dinner we again gathered around the Fire Pit and experienced a shamanic offering by a young couple from Peru. They used instruments that mimicked sounds of nature, including a very small guitar with 10 strings that was played with a feather. Their voices called out to the night birds, who responded softly from the trees. The "pan pipe" enhanced the sense of sacred breath they created, as they blessed each one of us with Condor feathers and rose oil. The deep silence when they were done permeated every heart. We sat in stillness, only the fire dancing in front of our eyes.

The second day Weston asked us to identify the direction we resonated with, and be willing to hike and climb to the trail itself and build rock cairns, with ceremony. I found myself in one of two cars heading East, with folks who were instant friends, talking about the difficulty of living in a culture of death while carrying the Heart of Life within us. We hiked 4 miles in a another pristine meadow within sight of Maverick Mountain, where a long snowfield lingered like a wide chalkmark dividing thriving pine forests. We were not directed how/what/where to create this ceremony, but all of us knew the elements, and built a cairn for travelers to add to, imbued with prayers from the Christian, Jewish, Sufi, Goddess and Nature traditions, with chant and drum to complete the occasion. All of this excursion was accompanied by hundreds of mosquitos who, thankfully, were not biting, but made themselves known in ears, eyes, and any patch of skin left available.

Returning to Hogan's cabin, we wanted to stay and hear the stories of what the other folks from other directions experienced. But my friend and I needed to return home, and sadly packed up our little tents, and bid adieu to new found friends. Many impressions remain of this sweetest of events, but above all, I am so incredibly heartened at the young people I met, from all over the country, who are carrying the flame of unitive conciousness, of tolerance and of compassion. I strangely feel, as an elder, that I am marching in the front of the parade, singing my song of Peace, while they are numberless, bringing up the rear. This is a metaphor others might reverse: they are the leaders now, and I am standing watching the parade, as one who went before. Nonetheless, as polarity seems to grow, while the old regime dies, I feel far less angst about the future. Weston Pew and millions like him are there for my future, for our future. They will not let us down.