UNSTUCK: SANTA FE, SPIRITUAL

Reflection, Rumination & Rhetoric from the Road

Santa Fe, where I’ve been more than a handful of times, used to be (for me) about perusing its many vibrant art galleries—especially the Meyer Gallery on Canyon Road and Nedra Matteucci.

But when all your past purchases are bubble-wrapped, boxed and stored, it makes little sense to acquire anything more—and the material world takes a backseat.

Instead, my wanderings around this charming state capital of adobe dwellings, take on a spiritual perspective.

I’m an Omnist, believing in religious pluralism i.e., there is some truth (and overlap) in all religions, toss in theosophy, an open-minded inquiry into religion, philosophy, science and the arts to understand wisdom of the ages.

The traditional religions from the East—Tao, Hinduism and Buddhism (the latter actually a philosophy)—and the West—Christianity, Judaism, Islam (their mystical factions, anyway—Christian mystics, Kabbalah and Sufiism that have more in common with one another than their parent religions) express the same underlying truth: The spirit of “God” (Infinite Spirit) is within us all.

Meaning: The energy in each of us—all of us—is a manifestation of the cosmos.

Walt Whitman, a true mystic, put it another way: “I am divine and make holy whatever I touch.” 

In other words, you don’t need a middleman to Infinite Spirit (my Godly term of choice) because you already have a direct line that you may or may not have awakened to; a direct line to the divine within you.  

Philosopher-entertainer Alan Watts wrote: Faith is not clinging but letting go.

Even Jesus of Nazareth, much misinterpreted by the middle-men of organized religion, strove to impart upon his disciples: “YOU are the spirit of God.”

Inside Loretto Chapel

Any and every place of worship is special.

Here in Santa Fe, the two most spiritual temples are San Miguel Mission (the oldest church in America, founded in 1610) and the Loretto Chapel.

San Miguel Mission

The thing is do (for me) is take a pew when no one is around and, in solitude, breathe in the positive vibes.

Loretto Chapel

Back on streets, it is sad to see that the abundant silver and turquoise jewelry shops seem to have been taken over by cigarette-smoking males from Middle Eastern countries who seem more interested in quantity than quality and run their gift shops like a souk, a focus on negotiation over craftsmanship.

At my favorite such stop, still run by Native Americans, when an owl fetish hoots at me I cannot resist recruiting it for my parliament—and christening it with this name: Owl-B-Hittin’-the-Road.

Best meal since embarking on this cross-country trek: The Secreto Lounge inside the St. Francis Hotel:

Smoked Sage Margarita; Pan Seared Foie Gras (blueberry jam, roasted peanut crumble, brioche toast) and Spiced Colorado Lamb T-bones with sautéed asparagus and whipped potatoes; Ken Wright pinot noir from Willamette Valley, Oregon.

(Needless to say, Lulu made out like a bandit with the bones.)

Kudos to Kathleen Crook, a former rodeo star turned chef.

And a hearty shoutout of thanks to the Inn at the Anasazi—a Rosewood property—for the coziest, most comfortable room yet and smiley, caring staff.