The story begins like this…Five hundred years ago, the large petroglyph rock that marks the border of the courtyard of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos was placed there by the Tiwa Indians to help anchor the energy of the Pueblo Mountain, from whose Blue Lake they trace their origins as a tribe.
The petroglyph rock has had an additional function over these years. It has been used as a navigational guide for extraterrestrial visitors because the site also marks the entranceway to other dimensions.
— Lois Palken Rudnick, Utopian Vistas: The Mabel Dodge Luhan House and the American Counterculture
Petroglyph Rock, courtyard of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House, Taos, New Mexico, February 2007, photo © 2007 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
This rock that sits in the courtyard of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos was the inspiration for the formation of a writing group by four participants of Natalie Goldberg’s writing workshop, Living Color, held at Mabel Dodge Luhan House in July of 2007.
The four women — Jeanie from North Carolina, Melissa and Katherine from Houston, and Sally from Rome, Italy — now come together by email the first and third Monday of each month to share their writing.
They follow the rules of writing practice as Natalie Goldberg teaches it. They write for ten minutes without interruption, their hands move across the page without stopping. They don’t comment on each other’s work; they provide a short recall of what they remember after they read each piece.
They call themselves the Petroglyph Practitioners in recognition of what writing practice, and the rock in the courtyard of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House are meant to offer — flight into other dimensions of the self, of the mind, and just possibly, the Divine.
But it’s best if the writers speak for themselves. Below are quotes from their writing practices on how they formed the Petroglyph Practitioners.
On my first night in Taos at Natalie Goldberg’s writing workshop, I walked out to the quiet courtyard for a view of the night sky and was hit with the aloneness of being with the crowd of ancestors who have written and painted in the Mabel Dodge Luhan home. As I opened the screen door I expected to see many people with writing notebooks, books, paper, and paints expressing their dreams yet there was a silence that haunts the breeze. I find the evocative colors of lanky hollyhocks, the dust of these faded red walls, and an empty wooden bench that calls me to sit a while and meet these ghosts that stay here because it is the place they call home.
—Jeanie Bernard
When I went to Taos I thought I needed a break, but what I really needed was to meet the mountain — and to meet the immutable within myself. I needed awareness of my interconnectivity with ants, sun, dust, hollyhock, and, yes, even other humans. I was already traveling with Katherine, but I learned her on a whole new level — what was before an intellectual friendship became also a spiritual friendship. I met Jeanie and Sally, and Sally helped me make sense of a meditation experience I’d had years before.
—Melissa Studdard
We wanted the practice to do what the stone was meant to do — open a portal into our minds, into our hearts, into places we needed to go. We finally hit upon a name. The Petroglyph Practitioners. We set rules. We would each submit a piece on any topic we wanted the first and third Monday of every month. We would each provide recall of each piece and share that response with the entire group. We would not edit our writing practices beyond punctuation and spelling errors. We would stay true to the practice as Natalie had taught it. If we wrote shit, that’s what we sent that day.
—Sally Sontheimer
That was an amazing night as Sally took us by flashlight and led us to the rock that had been there all this time. I had no idea it was there. I do know that Natalie always had us do walking meditation near that rock every year I had been there. Now I understood why. I felt a deep connection with Sally and Melissa that night. At the end of the week we decided to join together as a virtual writing group along with Jeanie, Sally’s friend, and we formed the Petroglyph writing practice group.
—Katherine Reynolds
We sit that last day anchored to the idea that we need each other to ground our practice and navigate beyond. For us, this solid rock shores us up for more writing. We talk of ways to sustain our desires, to witness our words and to prop us up. We make our plans: we write, we read, we recall and we dream…alone and together.
—Jeanie Bernard
She said petroglyphs were believed to be portals to other dimensions and that the Natives believed this and this is why the petroglyphs were considered sacred. I remember her telling me that that is why I always felt like I was home at Mabel’s. She told me that I didn’t need to move to Taos, but that it was always good to visit these places around the world because all petroglyphs feel like home. They connect us to the Source, The Over Soul, or as I choose to call it: God.
—Katherine Reynolds
I find that the rhythm we have set for ourselves is good; it’s neither so frequent that we feel stressed about it, nor too distant to lose interest. We all submit on time. We share emails in which we say how much we enjoy the sharing. We aren’t supposed to comment, but we do, just a little bit. We share support for one another, share a thought, give a pat on the back. Did the name live up to our expectations? For my part, I’d say so and I think the others would agree. Something new and unexpected always comes through for me. I discover myself, and I also discover the others by reading their work.
—Sally Sontheimer
Since then, we have all kept our obligation to the practice — we have shared humor, shame, defeat, happiness, spirituality, intellectual obsessions, family secrets, dreams, beliefs, insecurities, friendship, and respect. I have learned from these women how to listen, how to share, and how to grow my heart.
—Melissa Studdard
I’ve learned to honor the writing that comes out in each of us because it connects us. Katherine, Melissa, Jeanie, and I — we are the Petroglyph Practitioners, united in being there for each other, united in wanting to explore every other week together what it means to be human.
—Sally Sontheimer
Petroglyph Practitioners in Taos, NM, in front of the
petroglyph rock for which their group is named, July 2007,
photo © 2007 QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-Related to post The Petroglyph Practitioners On “I Want To Let Go Of…”.
Melissa, Jeanie, Katherine, & Sally, I might be offline for a bit so I wanted to jump in and get my thoughts on record before I head out!
It’s such a pleasure to have the 4 of you on red Ravine. When I look at the photograph of your smiles, it takes me right back to Taos last July. And I remember some of the practices that you each read. (Sometimes it’s the writing that sticks with me in retreats like these, even more than people’s faces.)
I passed by the Petroglyph Rock quite a few times over my trips to Taos, always drawn to it. (And look at the size of that cottonwood behind it!) I was amazed when I finally found out the history of the rock.
I believe in the openings created there at Mabel Dodge. And the ghosts that wander the premises. Did I ever mention that I felt Mabel the time I stayed in her room? (And I know there are others who have felt her there. But that’s a whole other write.)
You know, here are some things I wanted to ask when I reread this post:
1) Did any of you experience strange dreams or any other out of the ordinary things while you were there last summer? Anything you are willing to share.
2) Melissa said she experienced clarity around another meditation experience she’d had years before. What other things may have become clearer to you during your time there? And why do things seem clearer.
3) I’ve also met a few good writing friends in these retreats in Taos. And formed groups with the people I’ve met there. How has practicing in a group (as opposed to alone) strengthened your writing?
4) What was the hardest thing about being in the writing retreat in July? Was it reading your work? Keeping the hand moving. The times we were silent?
Those are a few questions that crossed my mind. Whatever comes to mind for any of you, I’d love to hear it. And anything else you want to share about writing, practice, or your writing group. And thank you.
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Thank you for noticing our smiles of pleasure…this picture was taken at the moment we knew we would continue our practices together…One extraordinary thing did happen…Sally and I were walking into town and cut through the graveyard and wandered upon Mabel’s grave marker…we felt we had been guided to witness her resting place….I stayed a moment and played the native flute to her music which resonates with us all…I am convinced that I write on the days I don’t feel like it because I have a group of writers there ready to receive me and my words…it is more than just recalls…we are present with open eyes and hearts to walk along the path of words that are offered each time…and you know what? we didn’t know each other before we got there…now I feel I am more vulnerable, exposed and willing because of them….jeanie
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Howdy Petroglyph Practitioners! I love your name and the story behind it.
jeanie, your comment about being more vulnerable, exposed, and willing because of these writing mentors and friends — that resonates with me. What is it about writing practice groups that energize us as individual writers? You captured the answer for me.
I’m curious about how your commitments have changed since you began in this group. Were you finding it hard to commit to a practice or schedule before this? Or was this, for some of you, a new and different venue to add to other approaches that you’d already been doing?
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Great questions QuionMonkey!
I will start by saying that, as strange as it sounds, in the meditation session I referred to in my quote, I had the classic signs of a near-death experience–yellow light at the end of a very womb-like tunnel, feelings of unconditional love and peace, a feeling of disconnection from my physical body. It frightened me to the extent that I did not meditate for quite some time; though, paradoxically, ever since the meditation experience I have not been afraid of death. Sally helped me to understand that although these signs can be signs of a near death experience, they can also be signs of other types of experiences, such as altered states of consciousness or entering portals into other dimensions. I meditated on the petroglyph before I left Taos in July, and I had a similar experience; only this time I chased it instead of running from it. Meditating on the petroglyph I saw small, dancing rectangles of light, and I felt that if I could still them, I could enter them. My concentration wasn’t strong enough though, and I was still a little afraid. I can’t wait to go back and try again!
As for Mabel–yes!!! I felt her. I went to her grave, and I felt compelled to leave something for her, though I had brought nothing. I walked around the park until I found a beautiful yellow leaf, and I placed it on her grave. I walked away feeling like an oaf. How stupid. A silly leaf for someone as grand as Mabel! Later that night, when I was just about to fall asleep, I heard a voice say,”thank you for the yellow leaf.” And though those were the only words spoken, what was somehow communicated without words was that the leaf was not only acceptable; it was perfect–just what she’d always wanted. It was a feeling of being completely accepted, the same kind of unconditional love I felt in my meditation experience, actually. In my head, I asked Mabel to be one of my spirit guides, and she accepted. I took off my sleeping mask, and I said to Katherine, who was in the twin bed next to mine, that I had to tell her something. I figured she would think I was bonkers. But when I removed my mask, I saw that she was crying, and she said, “I have to tell you something first.” She told me that she had been hearing her mother speak to her through the window in the bathroom of the room where we meditated with Natalie. I’ll let her tell that story, but I will say the timing was unbelieveable, and, of course, I no longer felt uncomfortable about telling her that I had heard Mabel’s voice in our room.
Practicing in a group has been a wonderful experience for me. Our group has a way of making me feel validated, that writing in general, and my writing in particluar, are important. In the past, I had long writing droughts, due not to lack of inspiration, but, rather, to the fact that I was afraid I was self-indulgent for writing, that it was a silly way to spend time. The group, however, continually affirms the value of writing, and because of it, my writing has gained strength. Honestly, the group has been such a great experience in so many ways, I could talk about it for hours.
The hardest thing for me about being at the retreat in July was being around so many people on such a constant basis. In the beginning I had to skip a couple of activities and just stay in my room, but I felt like everyone was okay with that. Also, by the time I left, I felt that being around people at the retreat was not the same as being around people in regular daily life. I didn’t need as much space as I normally would because the space was already bulit into the interactions. It took me a couple of days to learn that though. The second hardest thing was reading my work aloud. I only did it in my small group. I have given professional readings, but I was invited to do those. At the retreat, because the last night’s reading was on a volunteer basis, it felt like, “hey–look at me,” and I just couldn’t do it. I probably never will as many times as I go.
Thanks for the great questions!
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Very interesting that you should ask that first question, QuoinMonkey.
Yes I did experience two strange occurances that week.
First let me explain that I lost my 92 year old Mom in November of 2006 and I was in Taos that July of 2007. I had a huge bond with my mom and I was in deep grief in Taos.
One morning as usual, I walked to the classroom early so I could get a good seat and use the bathroom before Natalie started her class with a short silent meditation. I went into the bathroom and Heard my mom ask me a question. The energy came down through a window which was on my upper left. I was sitting there and I heard “her voice. There was no mistaking it.
”
She said, “Hi Kathy, are you ok?”
I answered back, “sorta. I guess so.”
She said, “You’ll be ok.”
That was it. I thought this is ridiculous, I just miss her and I’m imagining it. So I just kept going through my day.
The next morning it happened again.
“Hi Kathy”
“Hi Mom”
“Are you ok?”, she asked again.
“Kind of,” I said again
She said “you WILL be ok.”
She was very clear to me. I knew two things at that point: that wherever she was she was happy and that I really was going to be ok.
When I told Melissa about it, the more sense it made. That was the place where we all meditated as a group of 60.
I believe it drew her in and she could very briefly communicate with me. I never heard her again. But I knew in my bones she was there those two mornings.
And of course she would use the Ear, ar as her communication. She was a graduate of Julliard School of Music in New York, a brilliant pianist, and a music teacher.
All my life I experienced my mother through sound:
Listening to her talk to her students through the music room door when I was in the living room reading; Listening to her play the piano late at night when she was free to fly in her music; and at the end, Listening and talking to her over the phone every night until the day she died. It was all about sound.
This I believe is the gift the universe gave me and it was huge. This is why I was supposed to travel to Taos last July. And this is why I will keep going back.
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I enjoyed reading your individual quotes very much. Also, very interesting about the site being an entranceway to other dimensions. How many such places may there be?
Enjoy your journey ..the one alone and the one together.
Namaste’,
~suz
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Did we all have an extradimensional experience? You bet. I think that was what drew us together. We were each experiencing some mystery, which we could not explain with our logical minds, and which we felt was too weird, or as Melissa and Katherine said, too silly, to share with others.
That was a phenomenal week for me too. First and foremost, it threw me out of my isolation. I had to expose myself by getting up to read, and I even stood up three times and read to the larger group. I realize now that my problem as a writer, and something that was stopping my growth as a writer, was that I wasn’t sharing enough. And that’s why I for one really wanted to leave that workshop with a group. Natalie had struck upon a system of sharing that was stress free. She taught us that whatever we wrote was merely a study of the mind, in one particular moment – i.e. when you are writing – and thus there is nothing to criticize. If writing is a reflection of the mind then that is intrinsically interesting, and I found it to be so, both in the workshop, and also now with the Petroglyph Practitioners. Each of us has given the other three a key into our minds – and that has become a wonderful experience.
I did have an interesting experience that week. I was sitting in meditation one morning (this is what we did before we started our day) doing my usual thing when all of a sudden my mental space was filled up by the faces of ancient pueblo women. The Mabel Dodge Luhan house lies right up against Taos Pueblo and I knew that these beings who had come to visit me were The Grandmothers, female spirit beings so beloved to many native tribes. They had a message for me which they delivered. Their faces were very sweet, they smiled at me and made me feel reassured. ‘Writing is your medicine,’ they told me. The message felt like an arrow into my heart. It struck home. It was something that I had long wanted confirmed. I cried. They also had a message for the others. ‘Tell everyone here,’ they said ‘that writing is their medicine too.’
I wrote up that experience in a writing practice that day and then read it outloud to the group that last evening we were together. Melissa and Katherine came up to me later to tell me about their experiences. All of a sudden it wasn’t so strange anymore. Others were having weird experiences as welll. The next day we linked up with Jeanie who had discovered the purpose of the petroglyph and we formed our practice.
Has the group strengthened me as a writer? Yes, absolutely. It has helped me get over my fear of revealing the inner workings of my self. Through our feedback to each other, I’ve discovered what a reader finds interesting about what I have to say. What I find too far out, too risky, too inner, is in fact what the others find of interest. And its the same for me when I read their work. We enjoy seeing the insides out of each other. It’s immensely interesting.
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[…] The Petroglyph Practitioners are four women — Jeanie from North Carolina, Melissa and Katherine from Houston, and Sally from Rome, Italy — who write, alone and together, following the rules of Writing Practice. They tell the story of how they met and what their group means, in a post titled Alone Together – The Beginning of The Petroglyph Practitioners. […]
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I’m struck by how many similarities and coincidences there were in your individual experiences. I guess none of it was truly coincidental; rather, you were meant to find one another and come together.
QM, did you also experience strange dreams and/or extraordinary events at that particular retreat? Or was your question a reflection of other times when you’ve been at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos?
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ybonesy, I’ve always had strange dreams when I’m at Mabel Dodge. I receive lots of messages in them and always write them down in my practices. The Grandmothers almost always come.
Is it because we are closer to the ancestors there? Or that we slow down and are silent long enough to actually be aware of that part of our unconscious and conscious dreaming? Or is it both?
I’ve stayed in 5 or 6 different rooms there. Mabel’s room was by far the place I felt the most otherworldly presence. Last time I talked to the staff about it and they said it’s well documented that Mabel is around upstairs. And I felt a strong presence the time I stayed in her room and slept in the bed original to the room. Heavy.
In July, I stayed in the Gatehouse which was pretty loaded with energy, too. I sometimes had a hard time getting to sleep when I was there by myself (the 1st and last nights). It was dead still in there. And sometimes I’d see little lights darting around.
And like everyone mentions, Mabel’s grave at Kit Carson Memorial – well, that whole cemetery at night can be quite daunting. None of it seems harmful to me. I can simply feel how thin the veil is between the worlds.
I often hear other writers talk about extraordinary connections and experiences when they visit Taos Pueblo. Usually people they meet there. And objects they are drawn to.
This year Taos Pueblo was having a Summer gathering below the mountain. A few of us stayed an extra night and went over. But a huge thunderstorm moved in and they cancelled it after we got there. I heard later there was a giant rainbow that filled the sky.
What about you ybonesy? Did you experience anything extraordinary during the times you’ve been there?
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Thank you all for sharing about your time in Taos. Sally, I like what you say about how all the experiences we are each writing about don’t seem as strange anymore after we start talking to everyone else about their experiences. That’s so true.
And I bet you’ve all heard of the Taos Hum?
I wondered about something with the four of you – in your individual practices in the physical, geographic places where you live – do any of you write with people in person? If so, how does it compare to the virtual group you’ve formed?
I’ve been in several virtual groups and one hometown group. The virtual groups seem to go on for years. I think it’s the flexibility of them. The in person group met once a month for well over 2 years. It went strong for a while. But finally folded. It is sometimes hard to get people to show up in person to write, even when it’s only once a month.
I’m wondering about other people’s experiences with writing groups?
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I do have vivid dreams whenever I’m at Taos. But they’re also often filled with current events imagery — Angelina Jolie, for example. The thing that strikes me most about them is how much recall I have of them. They also show up in my writing practices during the time I’m there.
I did have one ghost experience. It was my first workshop, a speaking workshop. I roomed with a woman from Finland. She took the small bed, and generously left me the queen-sized.
One day my roommate noticed that her alarm clock was missing. We searched everywhere for it. Thought perhaps it had been misplaced while the room was being cleaned, or maybe it had been kicked under the bed by one of us. It later turned up, precisely placed upside down over by my bed. Yes, I suppose someone could have placed it like that, not noticing that it was upside-down. But we both felt spooked and said that the ghost — Mabel or someone else — had done it.
My roommate took a shot of me on my bed on the second-to-the-last day. She said she’d send me a photo when she got back to Finland. Sure enough, the photo arrived, and in it was a bright orb next to my hand. My roommate noted that the ghost had joined me for the photo opp. I peered into the picture, wondering if I was holding a flashlight or a glass that had reflected the light. There was nothing. Just the bright round light. It was eerie. I still have the photo.
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BTW, this was the same room that I later was assigned for four week-long workshops as part of the Intensive. At first I was a bit panicked that I was going to have to deal with the ghost for four weeks. And while I often felt something there whenever I was alone in the room, it wasn’t a frightening presence at all.
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ybonsey, I’m glad you asked QuoinMonkey about her experiences in Taos and shared yours as well. I’m also wondering how y’all would respond to the other question, “What has been the hardest part of the retreats?” And QM, what is the Taos hum? I have not heard of it.
To answer your question, I do have a group in Houston, but it is not a Writing Practice group. We work with polished pieces, go to readings together, read the same books about craft, that sort of thing. I find that the two diverse groups work beautifully together, and I like that the Writing Practice Group is online, though I wish I could visit with my group in person sometimes.
I wanted to mention also, QM, that I love the picture you took of the petroglyph in the snow.
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The hardest part of the retreat, for me, Melissa, had to do with my monkey mind wanting to judge myself, my writing, and others. Always the monkey started jabbering.
Also, in the intensives there was a period — the second and third in the series — where I felt completely empty of anything to write. I honestly felt that I had zero inside of me to put down on paper. It was almost a relief, feeling that I had exhausted my words. That’s when I started doodling in earnest, simply because I had no more to write.
Later, the writing came back. But for that period where the writing ran dry, I wandered around — to places at Mabel Dodge or to the cafe or to a gallery or the bookstore — and opened my notebook … no writing came.
The hardest parts for you — being around so many people on a constant basis and reading out loud — were both things that stand out, too. They weren’t the hardest aspects for me, but they were hard. The smaller, silent retreats made the first easier. Not so many people, although there was a certain intensity imposed by silence. And reading out loud, especially when it was an emotional piece, was horribly frightening. I cried a few times, and that felt embarrassing.
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I’ve heard so many people cry when they read their work aloud; even a good friend of mine, who is a scientist and very rational, cried when she read a poem to our Houston group. It wasn’t even a particularly emotional poem. I think it was just the release of tension that made her cry. It’s happened to me before too, and it does feel embarassing, but the vulnerability also feels very, very healthy somehow.
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Since I attended the Taos retreat and then the Petroglyph Pals writing group, I read every chance I get and I send my writing to a few of my friends. I often get the same response and that is they begin speaking about themselves,not the writing. I am pleased that I now have the courage to read with no expectations. I have included writing in most of the groups I am involved in, so it isn’t just a writing group but a group that writes along with other activities. The on line Petroglyph Pals really meets my needs.
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Melissa, the hardest thing for me (at the silent retreats in particular) is sitting through the fear that arises. Usually because I am still and quiet, the things I fear the most come to the surface. They are pretty loud, can sometimes be paralyzing. And they aren’t dissipated by talking. So they seem louder than ever.
I guess it’s a form of Monkey Mind. But it’s strange because underneath all the fear I have a strong presence and know that things will be fine; but inside my body things are all stirred up. My heart beats faster, my face gets red, and I get scared whatever I do won’t be enough. That *I* am not enough.
It was really valuable to sit with some of my biggest fears over the whole year in the Intensive. Things like my writing would never amount to anything (or *I* would never amount to anything), fear about digging things up from the past for the memoir, fear about how to make a living and still devote time to my personal writing. I kept writing through them, I brought them up in the small meetings, and read them aloud in the afternoon readings.
What is most valuable to me at writing retreats like the ones in Taos is to see how we are all reduced to zero – we are all the same, no matter our credentials, how many degrees we have, how much money we make, how old we are, single or married, what we do for a living. None of that matters anymore. No one there cares about any of that. We bring our humanness there and we all sit with whatever shows up.
Another hard thing about the retreats in Taos is the great effort it takes to get there. Money, miles traveled from wherever we are coming from, energy, giving up vacation, family, and personal time to focus on our writing. It’s a big commitment. For some reason, when it comes time to head to New Mexico, I never want to go back. Yet when I get there, it’s like coming home and I don’t want to leave.
I feel a lot of strength when I leave there. I think continuing to practice after I get home helps me to keep tapping into that strength. Thank you for asking.
BTW, I didn’t read out loud the last night at the first retreat I went to. It was just too daunting. I’ve since realized that it doesn’t matter what I read. It’s practice. I’m doing it for me. No one else. But, on the other hand, it’s not just for me – it helps other people when I read out loud, when I become vulnerable. And it helps me to hear them read.
But it took a while to let go. The release you talk about, and the vulnerability – it seems good to the end of creating a thicker skin for when our writing is tumbling around out there in the rest of the world.
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QuoinMonkey–I like what you say about vulnerability–you helped me see the readings from a new perspective.
Suz–I’ve been meaning to say I’m not sure how many such places there are, but I am certainly interested in learning about more petroglyphs now. I’ve also begun researching sacred sites.
The thing that surprises me about the energy from Taos is that it has stayed with me since I visited in July. I guess once you have tapped it, it never really goes away.
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[…] Alone Together – The Beginning Of The Petroglyph Practitioners by Jeanie Bernard, Katherine Reynolds… […]
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[…] Alone Together – The Beginning Of The Petroglyph Practitioners – meet a group of women who met at one of Natalie’s Writing Retreats in Taos and continue to write together. Read the story of the mystery of the Petroglyph Rock in Mabel’s courtyard. […]
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