This really needs to be a series, and I’m not the one to write it. But I believe there’s some truth to the idea, and I can relate a few stories from personal experience. (I also know that a lot of people think this is nonsense, so if you’re one of those, just move along and have a great day!)
I think a lot of people come to Taos to be healed, whether they know it or not. That’s part of the reason I rail against coming here to “retire” (whatever the hell that means), because “healing” frequently involves having to watch your life blow up: spiritual energy is powerful stuff, exposing every weakness, flaying psychic flesh from bone, and there’s a lot of it here. I doubt this affects tourists, but stay here long enough, and you may end up with an invented name, your own religion, and a diet of mushrooms and yak gristle. Anything is possible, true most anywhere of course, but the “can’ts” and “shoulds” seem to fall away here. In fact, if you move to Taos from a place where your friends think they have all the answers and you DON’T experience a radical transformation, life-shattering crisis, or get a divorce, you’re probably wasting your time and ought to high-tail it back to the land of curbs and functional government.
But I digress. One aspect of this energy that deserves mention is an apparent physical healing power, frequently associated with springs and other power spots in the natural landscape.
A couple of years ago I was visiting someone who lives nearby, close to a certain hot spring, and when I turned to face a certain direction toward the wilderness, my abdominal muscles started vibrating strongly — yes, vibrating, literally shaking really hard. I was sure my hosts would notice, but they didn’t. So I experimented, first shifting my chair 45 degrees to the left and then back to the right: each time I moved to face that certain direction back into the hills, the vibration increased. When I turned away, it died down. I was flabbergasted. At the same time, I heard a thought in my mind that said, “Take care of your body…”
A week later, a surgeon told me I needed a hernia repair.
I had the operation at Holy Cross Hospital, almost in sight (if I’d known just where to look) of where I’d been sitting up by the hot spring. In fact, the warning, diagnosis, repair, and recuperation at home all took place within a five-mile circle — AND the county paid most of the bill, because I qualified for help from a special fund. (When I recovered, I took a hike to find the place that made my belly vibrate, and you can read about that here.)
There are so many stories like this. I personally know three women with diagnosed cervical cancer who’ve experienced complete remission, for example. One of them cured herself by snorting mescalin above the Arctic Circle and having a critical ephiphany, so maybe that doesn’t count for this piece, but still. The other two followed a special diet and wrote a book about it, which may be available soon (I’ll post the details when I know more). You hear these kinds of things all the time in the bizarro universe of this town beside the rift valley…
And then today, my poor long-suffering classical pianist wife finally got herself to a proper female doctor [thank you, Medicare] for a physical and consultation about her painfully swollen wrists and hands. It was an extraordinary, life-changing experience. For at least three years, you see, my honey has feared she had a degenerative disease (arthritis), and that she would come to a point where she couldn’t play the piano any more. Since music is her life, you can imagine what a devastating prospect that would be. But guess what? She has a form of tendonitis, not arthritis, and they can treat it with specialized massage. The doctor started working with her hands and knew right away what it was — my wife was stunned! What’s more, the therapy is available right down the street from another female practitioner.
FEMALE energy, chilluns. Earth mother stuff, loving, all-encompassing, and very, very strong.
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