Apache Dancer at Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, Santa Fe

Ihad an experience this past Thursday afternoon (full moon, partial lunar eclipse) at the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture in Santa Fe. The museum struck me with it’s breathtaking perfection of presentation and purpose—like coyotes’ distant callings when the sun is nearly set.

Well within the museum, at a juncture, my friend said, “I think you’ll like this,” her hand enticing toward the entry intoThey Wove for Horses: Diné Saddle Blankets.  I was glad of the suggestion, but chose the other fork, saving dessert for last.

That fork brought me immediately to a glassed case where I was suddenly confronted with my woven baskets that I strongly felt/knew I had finally found the whereabouts of, having put them aside some time ago. It was enough to take my breath in, quick. “O-kaaay,” I said to myself, steadying, before stepping on to drink in more and more glassed cases of what felt to be manna from heaven. This path in the museum turned out to be a basket-filled tributary that circled back and up, returning again to the entrance into Diné Saddle Blankets

At that entrance I stood before a poem painted on the wall that set our welcome into what was to come. The poem was titled Horse’s Song.  Two lines into it I felt a rush of energy like a river that had sprung up from somewhere underneath my feet yet was deep within me, and about to spill out my eyes as tears. “I feel like I’m going to cry,” I puzzled out loud to my friend. With that, a swoosh of champagne bubble energy zipped up and down my back. All this was just the beginning, though, to what would happen next.

I returned focus to completing my reading of the poem. This took some doing, as I now felt riveted by something like a best-intentioned tractor beam that grew stronger with each word accomplished. Every effort of my neurons glowed to know what I was reading. My mind stretched to wonder if some part of me helped write that poem, its impact was so strong. Whoever wrote it knew a love for horse more vital than any seed that sunshine’s ever blossomed on this earth.

At this point the charged energy was way beyond anything I’d experienced before. It was all the suns’ light with all the oceans’ power in a wave of sparkling sea foam fizz expanding upward and outward, from my feet to crown, in every cell, like the universe’s birth.

I experimented. I backed up a few feet, took steps to one side, then the other, and found the spatial boundaries of the tractor beam’s hold. When I stepped beyond the boundaries, the hold let go. When I stepped into range, the sensation immediately returned. Ultimately, I didn’t want to leave that space but knew it had served its purpose, whatever that might be.

“Now, that was fun,” I said to my friend when sharing what had happened.