“Faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart.”

― Abraham Joshua Heschel

 

This is more than community, this is communion.

When we love, with no god between us, just the one that dwells in our hearts, eyes that see each other, and a goddess who seeps through our skin, sometimes we can truly touch each other, and in holy-human presence, open.

I love feeling in tune with my body, I love people, community and nature. Nature is my church. Water is my sacrament, especially. Hot springs combine these holy-human elements. Every time I make this trip, to this source of wellness, it is a pilgrimage

Grabbing my colorful bag, yellow, mostly, with pops of red and blue, water bottle and bikini tucked in, I toss it on the passenger seat of my black Jetta and bounce. Driving west out of town, with the sun sinking, fields and mountains alit in the phenomenon known as alpine glow, I drive over rough back roads, surrounded by dusky pastures, a creature prowling twilight.

This is church– here, now, surrounded by nature. 

Rolling back the moon-roof back, phone on video mode, I extend my arm and try to capture this moment. Pink and gold, blue-fading, stars peeking through an indigo coverlet, a slivered-silver moon shines. Bowie croons about the ‘Golden Years’ through the speakers, CD player turning silently.. 

This is the golden hour. 

Sometimes I imagine making this drive from my little cottage, in the heart of my little city to the outskirts of town, with the love I long to know, partaking of ceremony as we go. I am moved by this journey, every-time, moved by the grace of nature, moved by my own inherent longing for Her— I don’t feel I need him. I don’t need my projection of him anyway. Fantasies are fun but love arises in the present. I am present. I leave space.

Space— in me— filled with longing that I cannot turn off, that no one can touch nor maybe ever should, no matter how much I open. Longing lifting me on electric currents, vibes more visceral than legendary, Bowie can croon. 

Pulling into the parking lot, my breath is taken away. I gawp, consistently, in parking lots where I live because everything is so damn beautiful. The setting sun casts rainbows in parking lot puddles. In the distance, the mountains catch fire with his last rays.

Ahhh! 

I hope I never lose this simple, holy awe.

The Yellowstone Caldera bubbles and seethes below the ground here, seeping through, converging the natural, human and sacred. I have rediscovered, with the help of this place, my own intrinsic essence. 

Bozeman Hot Springs. 

Gallatin Valley was a neutral zone amongst indigenous tribes. As one of the first places settled, it has quite the history, including the risqué claim, to once have been a brothel. Everyone needs these springs, and no-one could own them, until now. Midst bitter, Montana winter they give life and that must be cared for, and treasured. 

They call this place the Treasure State. Between places like this–the endless sky, and forests, startling peeks, rolling valleys, rivers, lakes, and the precious veins of minerals and gems, that run through her bedrock, it’s not hard to see why– she, Montana, is beautiful! 

I make my way to the counter and the little key-pass thing for members, is busted tonight, so I get to smile and flirt with the guy behind the desk. He asks me to spell my last name. “B-A-R-T-L-E-T-T ya know, like the pear.” He blushes as he notices the, Justice, attached to that in the computer, then waves me through. The members locker-room is inviting, wood paneled, far more secure and less leaky than the public one. 

I adjust tonight’s suit in front of the mirror. I have many. This one is a high-waisted, black-bikini- bottom. Knots across the front of the hips expose one of my favorite tattoos, a bright pink and orange plumeria glows against my pale skin, and in perfect contrast with the black. It was inked in Hawaii, where I’d gotten to, actually fondle a sea-turtle, in the wild! My top is blue, pink and purple geometric patterns, and ties behind my back. It nicely offsets the rest of my tattoos, especially the art nouveau-style one, on my right upper arm. A vivid, stained-glass framed, nude woman, emerging from an opening lily. I love lilies.

Walking my long legs out of the changing room, I head, down to the other end of the big pool where the sauna and steam room are located, pinning my unruly waves atop my head, as I move. As I open the door I’m met by a warm, “Why, hello.” Once again, my breath is taken. 

This man is gorgeous. Bright clear eyes take me in, as his generous mouth, framed by a red-gold beard, opens in greeting. I find a spot in the dimly lit sauna, atop one of the cedar benches and settle into my favorite self-care ritual–breathing and stretching. 

Within moments, a few more guys join this well-muscled, beautiful man and we all start talking. The Thor looking fellow gets up to cool off, and I continue chatting with his buddies. They all rearrange themselves around me, and I am utterly in my element, surrounded by bright, intelligent, beautiful men. 

They’re all coming back from being adventure guides, in Alaska, for the summer. They tell me of long bright days, dark-wild woods and sea kayaking with a killer whale!  

Once again, there goes my breath. I have to bring my excitement into my body, and ground the awe into a deep stretch. 

Ahhh! 

Sometimes I am so completely quiet in here, the outer world disappears, and the subtle sounds of my inner world and my body are all I notice for hours. 

Sometimes I like to talk, loudly and opinionated. A heated discussion breaks out over privilege and capitalism and the school system. And white, middle-aged men, who have come up from destitution and trauma have a hard time acknowledging that, even through hardships, they are still privileged. This guy on the bench across from me is going on in true Murican style, how if you just pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you can accomplish anything. 

I insert, “Maybe. What you focus all that energy on is really dependent on what you value. What do you value and what has it cost you?”

He doesn’t like the question, I can tell. And he blusters about his business investments and all those material gains he has struggled for. 

I astutely asked, “What about relationships?”

“Well, my exes all took the kids whenever they left. Kids are grown. Fine now, have good careers.” He looks resolved. This is his reality, and he has lost nothing in pursuit of his goals so I dropped it–almost. 

“I guess all of our values come with a cost,” I say. 

Those little lines around a person’s mouth that show, when they temporarily drop their determination, make an appearance, for just a moment. And I feel a bit sad for him. 

Then we both agree that you can self educate, in this day and age, learn what you need, and make yourself invaluable– if you are curious and determined. And I, as a self educated woman, who last attended any formal school, in tenth grade, and have been an entrepreneur since I was twenty-five, agree. 

I gotta cool off! 

I burst through the sauna doors, dizzy and quickly rinse before plunging into the ice-cold pool, bracing and breathing until I start to tingle all over. 

The bright young guys are all hanging around, and heading to the outside pools. They invite me to join, which I do. I prefer their light-hearted, nature-oriented company to capitalist determination. Lovely, young, outdoorsy, chatting about driving up to Hyalite Lake reservoir. Playing, hanging out in a dry suit and floating midst the pristine, glass-clear water while sky-gazing, surrounded by mountains. 

I listen, seeing in my minds eye, a place familiar to me, and once again–there goes my breath. 

One of them laments how they forgot their yoga mats that day and his buddy goes, “Next time.” And they smile, and we float, staring at the stars, together, and I am in love with this place, this moment, these young wild-hearted men, a little.

I’m saturated. 

We rise to leave and one escorts me back to my own changing room, so chivalrous. I feel like a goddess amongst them. We bid each other farewell. We are pilgrims to this holy-human place, midst our busy modern lives and sacred adventures.

A woman, with salt and pepper coiffed curls, is performing her post-spa ritual with creams and oils, as we women do. Somehow we get into a conversation about her health challenges. 

I’m a healer. People sense it. They often tell me terribly, personal things within moments of meeting me. 

This woman has been going through something wicked with mold, lurking sinisterly in the Birch near her home, and then, a surprise discovery of cancer in her kidney. The woman on the other side of locker room now exclaims, “The same thing happened to me! I went in for a routine test to discover an aggressive bone cancer.”

These two women, who were moments ago, strangers, are suddenly, intently, chatting with each other. I give my shaggy waves a quick dry with the blow-dryer, then click it off. Turning, I see them touching and exchanging phone numbers, I ask, “Are you two looking out for each other?” 

There are tears in eyes, of all of us, and the entire aura of the locker room has shifted. 

“Yes,” the older one replies. “We’re women, caring is what we do.”

My own heart grows ten times the size of the silly Grinches, and we, three women— a crone, a mother and a maiden– all glow with each other, basking in the unspoken love of the goddess, triple, made manifest, right here in this locker room. 

Once again…my breath.

Ahhhh! 

This is almost too much and just right. I walk with the younger one, Cat, out to her car and she is trembling. I touch her arm and tell her, “This is how we are meant to be, with each other.” 

She smiles and nods, still shaking, and cries a bit more, as I offer her my number, too. She calls me, gawping at my 425 area code, it’s a Washington one, and tells me she’s a 253. We’re both relocated, recently, from the PNW, though this is where I grew up. 

The Lady of the Caldera is with us, I feel, as we part ways with a quick hug and get in our cars.

The slivered-sliver moon smiles benevolently. 

Taking a moment to ground this exchange, I sink into my car seat, back where I started– breathing deeply before I turn the key in the ignition. My body is tingling, not quite cooled from absorbing so much heat, a light chill covers my skin. Truth bumps arise. I am filled with awe and deep gratitude for these last few hours. It seeps from my cells, pulsing from the depths of my womb, the source of life. The goddess smiles on the back of my heart. I find the divine in strangers, and in the water is the one.

 

 

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