In the early morning chill of the high desert air with the downtown hotels filled with tourists…a new day was happening. I began my day knowing it was going to be a opportunity for a fresh start. I put on my best East Coast outfit: an avocado wool challis knife pleated skirt, a black silk blouse with a plum herringbone wool blazer . I pulled on my Tony Lama boots to go to New Mexico Santa Fe District bankruptcy court. When it was over I was left with $27.35 in my Merrill Lynch Money Market Account. In the past, I had an average of $1400 in the account. After leaving bankruptcy court, I headed over to West San Francisco Street where I had seen a FOR RENT sign hanging in one of the suites windows. There I met up with David Risser, the landlord of 325 West San Francisco Street. My rental terms were easy and flexible: first month free then month to month for $700 with no security deposit. We shook on it . I felt hopeful I had landed with a fresh start. I set up and prayed for some Divine Guidance. I was confident that this would happen.

Since l walked away from my last job on the East Coast where I was working for a NY PR firm whose biggest account was Forbes, working 90 plus hours a week had made me hungry to see blue sky. There was no better time than now to give notice. As I heard Steve Forbes ask where I was going Spirit showed up and I heard myself say Santa Fe. Steve said “you won’t make more than $5 an hour.” My response was “if you’d look at your books, you’ll see that is all you are paying me”. I heard Spirit call out to me . Once again I jumped in, knowing I had a fifty fifty chance of this going either way. So here I was in Santa Fe starting a business on West San Francisco Street with $27.35 in my Merrill Lynch Account. This was not only an historical building dating back to early 1900’s, it was also the home to a blessed, sacred religious community going back hundreds of years. Santa Fe is fascinating like that.Santa Fe is a Spanish phrase that translates to “Holy Faith”. It has long been a spiritual crossroads. It is truly a mecca of spirituality, attracting an incredible diverse spiritual and religious global community. According to the landlord, this address once was the home to the cloistered community of the Carmelite nuns. For the first time in a long time I was surrounded and embraced by grace. I was truly blessed indeed.

My first intro to the Guadalupe was in a therapy session with Christina Johnson. Arriving in Santa Fe , I was to join the community at the local massage school. Christina was part of the massage school community.It was part of the school curriculum to have sessions with her. During my first session, Christina asked when I had arrived in Santa Fe. When I responded 12/12, she immediately said that is The Feast of our Lady of Guadalupe. Looking bewildered at her, Christina shared the story of “the Miracle of the Roses.” I was immediately filled with wonder. I would soon discover the Guadalupe everywhere in Santa Fe. Affectionately know by the locals as the “Guadie”, she appeared on garden walls, on local building murals, as a statue in a rose garden, and even on the hoods of low rider cars. Soon to my surprise , I found myself buying Guadalupe candles . Here I was a nice Jewish girl who lit Shabbat candles 18 minutes before Sunset , reciting the “Baurch Atah Adonai…”setting up an alter where Guadie would brightly burn. It was official, I was a Guadalupana, a “devotee of Our Lady of Guadalupe”. The attachment ran deep like an imbilical cord. I was surrounded and cocooned by her love.

In four minutes, I could walk from my business on West San Francisco Street to Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. Being a “devotee”,this would be my morning pilgrimage. Picking a rose or two from the courtyard, in awe and wonderment, I would venture out into the glorious Santa Fe morning, falling in love with the incredible turquoise blue sky. After falling out of being Catholic then converting to Orthodox Judaism, I still felt something was missing in my life. Growing up, my parents constantly argued about fish on Friday, attending Sunday mass and so many other non religious things. My Mum belonged to the Church of England, while my Dad professed to being a Catholic. However, his bad temper was a far cry from following any of the Golden Rules. By the time I was 16, I was skipping church with my best friend, Peggy. Together we smoked cigarettes and drank black coffee anonymously at the East Windsor Diner on the other side of the Connecticut River. Costa Rica had awaken my senses of awe and wonderment for nature and now the “Guadie” connected me to the journey.

Daily, I found myself walking to the Santuario. Established in 1770’s, The Santuario is the oldest standing shrine in the United States dedicated to Our Lady of Guadalupe. Standing outside in front of the tiled likeness of her, I would offer my roses and thank her for being there for me. Over the next three plus decades, I would be living and working at several different locations on Aqua Fria , always in proximity of the Guadalupe. So began my Santa Fe journey as a pilgrim where I would walk to the Sanctuario and beyond. Soon I would become a “Santa Fe Pilgrim”. I was now among them. “Santa Fe Pilgrim” refers to the tens of thousands faithful who trek on Good Friday to El Santuario de Chimayo. The Church is a famous 19th-century adobe church on the National Historic Landmark. It is often called the “Lourdes of North America”. Annually hundreds of thousands of visitors visit for the holy dirt (pocito) believed to have miraculous healing powers. Over the next few decades I would journey for the dirt and send it to friends in need especially my dear one in Minnesota.

On my days off, a Tuesday or a Wednesday, I would often trek into Chimayo. I would find the village quiet and sacred. I could almost be a solo Pilgrim, gathering my thoughts and prayers in the blessed tranquility while taking in the serene and hallowed grounds of Chimayo. Over the years, the Good Friday pilgrimage had become very chaotic with thousands walking into this tiny mountain village 30 miles from Santa Fe. Today I needed solitude and found it especially on this Easter morning in 2002. The morning had begun with my greeting the rising Easter morning sun. For now I was living on Lomita Street which translates to little hill. My house on Agua Fria had been sold and I had to move. It was the first time I had missed trekking to Chimayo to celebrate Good Friday. Instead I was greeting this Easter Sunday with yoga sun salutations. Then for whatever reason I turned on the TV and was captivated by CBS News Sunday Morning story “The Daffodil Project”. It began right after 9/11. It was a project to honor the resilience of not not only NYC but of the Nation.

Since 2001, millions of daffodil bulbs have been planted by 10,000 volunteers. In response to the World Trade Center attack on 9/11, a Dutch Company, B&K Bulbs and the city of Rotterdam donated a million daffodil bulbs to NYC for “a remembrance project to create a yellow ribbon of remembrance throughout the city”. The morning interview began with Lynden Miller, New Yorkers for Parks Board Member,sharing how her friend, Hans van Waardenburg , a Dutch bulb grower, had called her after seeing the tragic attack on the World Trade Center. He called asking how “can I help?”. He offered her one million daffodil bulbs to create the much needed beauty in contrast to the horrific tragedy witnessed by the world. Together they agreed on planting daffodils as a living memorial to the victims. Looking down at her hands wondering how this could even happen. I felt how daunted she must have felt with this task at hand but soon that changed. The call went out for volunteers to get the task at hand done. This gift began the biggest gardening effort in the city’s history, creating “a yellow ribbon of remembrance through out the city ” and a symbol of “collective resilience”. Since the launch of the Daffodil Project in 2001, over nine million bulbs have been planted by volunteers and celebrated as the 1st sign of Spring. In 2007, Mayor Bloomberg named the Daffodil the city’s official flower.

Watching this on Easter Sunday, inspired me to go to El Santurario de Chimayo. I decided it was the day to celebrate Resurrection not Crucifixion. Soon I was driving to Nambe where I parked my little white Jetta VW. Grabbing my hat, water and walking stick I set out to walk the 7 miles into Chimayo. Feeling deeply connected to all the pilgrims who had walked on Good Friday and especially to Shirley Maclaine, once again I was embracing my quest on the road to spirituality. In one of my many trips to The Ark Bookstore in Santa Fe, I explored the realm of metaphysics, I had picked up “The Camino” by Shirley. The book was enlightening, propelling me deeper into my journey of self discovery.