Bound to Earth
Roswell, New Mexico and Other Sacred Spaces
Amy Lynn Reifsnyder
In 1947, a conspiracy of silence was created in a field outside of Roswell, New Mexico. This silence followed atomic testing in near-by areas. It came on the heels of yet another ‘war to end all wars’. This silence followed yet another ‘impossible’, ‘unbelievable’ experience – strangers from across the galaxy landed in a farm field.
The cattle apparently didn’t mind.
The United States government, on the other hand, most certainly did.
According to documents pasted in the UFO museum in downtown Roswell, anyone and everyone who knew anything were threatened to keep their silence, lest the government come and take them away – permanently.
Welcome to Earth.
But fear, violence, and ignorance are not the only characteristics of our planet. Despite their apparent strength, they don’t even run the place. Something else does. Maybe even ‘Someone’ else.
Having glimpsed this phenomenon previously – an older brother wrapping a sand-covered little brother in a beach towel; a solo dogsled rider and his dog; Eric Clapton’s hands; G. O. Smith and his guitar – I was still – am still – I don’t even know the word: ‘reeling’ sounds too chaotic; ‘amazed’ says nothing; ‘recovering’ sounds ominous. Maybe ‘laughing’, ‘smiling’, ‘glowing’, ‘celebrating’… Celebrating – in starlight and wonder; in sunlight and wind; in water and stone; in joy and springtime cascade; in snow from a million hillsides now water, now rain, now hail, tears and song.
‘Halleluiah’ doesn’t even come close. But it’s a start.
I know this because I was there. Am there. Will always be there, even when I’m miles and miles away.
If I give you directions to the place, you won’t find it. You’ll show up with expectations and judgement – and it will end up being another disappointment tacked onto a soul already beaten down by cynicism, loss, and regret.
You can’t look for – whatever it is. But if it shows up by the water’s edge, as hail in the nighttime, naughty dogs in the afternoon, and tea in the morning, you’ll know, recognize it; and celebrate.
No bells and whistle.
The stuff we are made of.
I belong to a people
to a galaxy
Meteors fly by
throwing light across the night sky
Water transfers energy from the spring in the chasm
to the waves on the shore
Fish nibble tender legs –
If you stop.
If you see.
If you hear.
When you become who you are and you find out
You’re not alone after all.
There is a woman of water.
A woman of colors.
A woman of compassion.
A woman of struggle.
A woman of stone, pebble, and glass.
And then there’s me.
Because these women hold up the sky wherever we are –
Bound to Earth.
For Emily, Kris, Rita, Jewel, Terri