The Wings Of The Raven

For three years, Carmen was a student at Leslie University in Cambridge, MA while we still lived and worked in Orlando, FL. Every six months, Spring and Fall, she would fly to Boston, take a shuttle van to Rolling Ridge Conference Center in North Andover, and spend nine days with the professors. She would present the reading, writing and projects she had been working on in her spare time (that's a joke - the law firm worked her sixty to eighty hours a week) and then work out a plan for reading, writing and projects for the next six months. This, combined with the hodge-podge of college credits she had compiled over the preceeding twenty years, finally culminated in a Bachelor's Degree so she could go to Seminary for her Master Of Divinity.

As part of that program, in January of 2003 we flew to Albuquerque, spent one night, then drove a rented Hyundai Elantra to Abiquiu for a silent retreat at Ghost Ranch. This was when she learned that she loves New Mexico.

First we went to Old Town in Albuquerque for some excellent Mexican food and some funky shopping. Yes, she bought pottery. The memorable moment there was wandering into a shop featuring Native American merchandise. The Navajo man at the counter was looking at the newspaper while political talk radio played over the radio. Suddenly, he noticed we were there, whipped around and hit the button that changed the sound system to Native American flute music. Even so, we didn't buy anything there.

On the way back to the hotel, we saw a phenomenon that we have come to expect nowadays: The Sandia Mountains that border the east side of Albuquerque were lit up bright watermelon pink by the setting sun. This did nothing to diminish Carmen's love of New Mexico.

That evening we met some friends for dinner. Carmen had helped their mother in Orlando with paying her bills and keeping track of things. We ate at a Mexican restaurant in Old Town. One of them is a member of the church where Carmen is interning now, eight years later.

Bright and early the next morning, armed with my Rand McNally Road Atlas, we found our way up Interstate 25, through Santa Fe, and over to Abiquiu. We checked in, hauled our bags - I don't remember how many - to the room, and the silent retreat began. I was the guy who was charged with handling any situations that required speech, like buying pottery at the gift shop. I was also expedition photographer. We wandered the grounds. There were museum buildings, hiking trails, a labyrinth, a big dining hall and no TV anywhere. Perfect.

On day 2 she felt up to the challenge of hiking up to Chimney Rock. Carmen is not what one would call a physical person. Her idea of a hike is from Chico's to Avenue in the mall, so I was impressed when she decided to tackle this mountain. We found the trailhead and set out, over huge boulders and up steep slopes. About halfway up she sat down to rest. Rest turned into meditation. Meditation turned into one of those moments when one is acutely aware of all that is in the universe - a direct clear connection. The silence was nearly absolute until she became aware of the rhythmic whoosh of wings. She looked up. A raven flew directly over her head. We now knew enough about Native theology to know that Raven is the Creator - and the Trickster.

We came back down the mountain, had some lunch, she walked the labyrinth, and the day passed (mostly) in silence. That evening we called my brother in the nursing home in Denver. It was his birthday. My parents were there, and very puzzled about what the heck we were doing in New Mexico. A few months later, Carmen showed them the Ghost Ranch Silent Retreat scrapbook she'd made for presentation to Leslie U, and her grade for the term (4.0) and they understood.

Early in the morning on the third day we packed up the Elantra and headed back. Carmen hated to leave the Land Of Enchantment, but we resolved to return one day. And here we are.