There is a word in Portuguese - "saudade" - which has no exact equivalent in any other language. It is a combination of deep longing and nostalgia, but also more. Many Portuguese have tried to capture it in poetry and literature, but it's not easy to convey the meaning of such a deep-seated part of the culture. It is something beyond words. Fado music, sometimes called Portuguese blues, comes closer than anything to expressing this untranslatable word. 
 
One English author described it almost a century ago: "In a word saudade is a yearning: yearning for something so indefinite as to be indefinable: an unrestrained indulgence in yearning. It is a blend of German Sehnsucht, French nostalgia, and something else besides. It couples the vague longing of the Celt for the unattainable with a Latin sense of reality which induces realization that it is indeed unattainable, and with the resultant discouragement and resignation." 
 
It is perhaps rooted in the combination of three cultural inheritances that have come together in the Portuguese people, suggests Barry Hatton in The Portuguese: "the Celtic lyrical dreamer prone to poetic expression and religious sentiment; Faustian anxiety from the German bloodline (Visigoths and Suebi); and Arab fatalism." It is influenced by the Age of the Discoveries, the rise and fall of the Portuguese empire, and the winds of the Mediterranean and Atlantic that have carried the Portuguese to the far corners of the earth and brought intercontinental influences to their shores. Thus whatever saudade is, it most definitely is very Portuguese. A playwright of the Spanish Golden Age satirically wrote of the Portuguese:
 
A Portuguese who was weeping 
was asked why
He replied because of his heart
and that he was in love.
To ease his pain
he was asked with whom he was in love.
He answered: Well, nobody,
I'm crying from pure love.
 
Whether acknowledged or not, this bittersweet sentiment exists deep within the soul of all human beings. Have we not at one time found ourselves gazing wistfully at a distant horizon, while at the same time turning our searching eyes within…seeking what? Perhaps better than any other people, the Portuguese have come to embrace and live with this constant experience of "saudade," and so they also understand that it is something to be meant to be felt, not talked about.

Embodying saudade in this way is portuguese artist Salvador Sobral. Through his jazz-inspired interpretations of poetry, and particularly in his recent award-winning performance of the song Amar Pelos Dois, Salvador Sobral has gifted us all with an immersion into the depth of emotion called Saudade.

I was eighteen years old the first time I set foot in Paris. It was my second favorite city on my post-high school graduation grand European tour (Portugal was not on the itinerary). In a few short days in Paris, there was the requisite rainy ride on the Seine, a visit to a perfumery, deciphering of paintings at the Picasso museum, and shopping at Printemps culminating in the purchase of a t-shirt printed with "I love  you" in 15 different languages. I vacillated between admiration and terror at a modern ballet performance, was flashed on the Paris metro, learned that wine was cheaper than a Coca-cola, and repeatedly found myself apologizing for not ordering meals in French. ​

Rivers purify us. Rivers mirror the flow of blood in our veins, the directionality of time, and the fluctuation of human emotions. Rivers are vital, creative life force, flowing from source to merge with sea. Rivers are liminal and stand as boundaries as well as offer passage to the other side. The great French philosopher, Gaston Bachelard writes in Water and Dreams, "One cannot bathe twice in the same river because already, in his inmost recesses, the human being shares the destiny of flowing water...a being dedicated to water is a being in flux. He dies every minute; something of his substance is constantly falling away." This is the bittersweet purifying power of rivers that both inspires and terrifies us. It is the power of renewal, of emptying and filling ourselves again and again. This is the spirit that inhabits all of us poets, artists,  writers and beings who find ourselves in Paris. ​

I put together this list a few years ago and to share with friends and friends of friends who are planning to visit my beloved Lisboa. I hope these few recommendations will get you started exploring this lovely city of good light!

​This is a powerful and transformative meditation to use at the beginning and end of your regular meditative practice, whether it is walking the labyrinth, SoulCollage®, prayer, qigong, mindfulness, yoga, or other practices. Do this visualization with the image of a portal, archway, or gate in front of you.* It is particularly effective way to prepare to enter a labyrinth. ​Or you may choose to use it to help you maintain discipline around a new habit you are trying to form, such as exercising regularly or adhering to a new diet. In fact, it is beneficial to use the Threshold Meditation to start and finish any activity in which you are committed to being more present. 

Meditation:

Visualize a doorway, gateway or archway of Light in front of you: its opening as wide as your outstretched arms from fingertip to fingertip and as high as you can reach above your head with your feet still flat on the ground. Visualize a yellow-gold flame burning brightly and largely on the outside and inside edges of the entire archway, as if the entire structure and the opening within it are engulfed in yellow-gold flames. Once you have formed this image in your mind's eye, see yourself step into the archway and visualize that you are standing in the flames. Try to maintain this image and your presence in it for about ten minutes, then visualize yourself stepping through the doorway to the other side. 

*Catherine Anderson sells a lovely book of copyright free images of doors which could be used to create threshold art or SoulCollage® to support you in this meditation.

Begin by setting your intention for your sacred space. Are you creating a private sanctuary or a shared space for community prayer and meditation? How do you want your sacred space to support you? Do you want it to be inspiring, motivating, energizing, calming, grounding, or something else? Before you begin, take time to write out your intention for the space and how you would like to use it. 

 Simplicity is key. Choose a place in your home or garden where you will not be tempted with distractions. Make sure your space is clean, clear and uncluttered. This is your place of peaceful self-care, so avoid high traffic areas and transition rooms in the house or garden. Remove mobile devices and electronics, and do not work or have a home office where you create your sacred space. Once you’ve physically cleared your space, consider ritually clearing it as well by ringing a bell or chime, drumming, singing, chanting, burning sage, or using any element you choose. Bring into the space only a few basic furniture elements: a chair, cushion, or mat to sit on, a soft light, and a blanket to stay cozy. Choose colors that support your intention and create a comfortable ambiance based on your personal preferences. White or pastel colors enhance light and clarity, and dark, earth tones support going inward.

Select for your sacred space items that support your intention and remind you of what you love. Personal items that are meaningful to you might include: a painting, collage, statue of protective symbols, favorite poem, sacred texts or words of wisdom, bells or musical instruments, ritual objects, images of your Spirit animal, a talisman symbolizing your intention for your space, photographs of loved ones, a candle, incense, personal divination tools such as runes or oracle cards, and a journal specifically designated for your sacred practice. ​

If your sacred space is in a garden, then you will naturally feed your connection with Earth. In Earth Calling, authors Carter and Gunther recommend having a dawn and sunset practice outside “in which you pay homage to your life, the air you breathe into your lungs, and the earth that sustains you.” In your home, bring in a connection with the earth by adding natural elements to your sacred space, such as plants, stones, shells, fresh flowers, and water. Include objects or images from places of pilgrimage and special places that you have known. Add a photograph of your favorite tree, mountain peak, lake, river, seashore, or any place where you have felt your connection with nature. Every home, garden, or room has a point that resonates with the sacred energies of the land. Calen Rayne has named it the Genesis Point. It is from this point, he explains in his Genesis Point Training, that information and energy stream in and increase the transformational potential of a space. 

Use your intuition to gauge the energy of your sacred space, changing it with the seasons, special occasions, or to honor changes in your life. From time to time, review your intention for the space and update objects in it as life changes and you evolve. Make sure your sacred space is still supporting your intention, and if not, step back and look at what needs to be cleared or simplified in your space and in your spiritual practice. Asheville-based Feng Shui Consultant Jini Rayne suggests that you honor any changes you make in your space with ritual. Simply sounding a bell, lighting a candle, or saying a prayer will help you to reset your space and intention. ​

This is an excerpt from the article by Laura Esculcas, "Creating Space in Your Home or Garden," published in Fine Homes of Western North Carolina, Spring 2016 Issue, p. 34.

I recently stumbled across a scholarly article entitled The Poetics of Concealment, by Samir Akkach, which articulates an idea that has really struck a cord with me in my work. We attribute great significance to the architecture erected over sacred sites. The narrative about such sites is often centered on the building's historical origin and the original intent of its builders, or what we suppose it to be. The building is often the central focus of our attention when visiting great monuments, whether at an actively used temple such as a gothic cathedral in France, or the ruins of an ancient holy city such Machu Picchu in Peru. In part, our fascination can be attributed to the architectural mastery of the builders, and the fact that we humans naturally gravitate toward imposing structures and symbols of power. 

But what if we turn this around and view the temple not as the focus of the narrative, but as one part of the full narrative of the sacred sacred site? In other words, the site is sacred in its origin, and the building is something acquired by that already sacred site. This removes architecture from the center of the narrative, and with it the importance of who built it and why.  This frees our attention and shifts us out of the head, away from facts, and into our experience in the presence of the sacred. This is when we shift from traveler to pilgrim.

Akkach writes about one particular sacred site, the Dome of the Rock, but I believe this premise applies to many more sacred places. Akkach describes it: "At this point, it no longer matters what the original intent was, or who the author was, for the Rock seems to have its own ulterior motives that are independent of the consciousness of human agents. This inversion gives primacy to the sacred and its hierophantic acts and objects over human intentionality and architectural intervention."​

When we travel to sacred places, it's easy to get caught up in the photos, the facts, and the materiality of the place as the central focus of our visit. This is natural, because we have physically journeyed to be physically present in this physical structure. At times I've heard people say, "I don't feel anything." At these moments, it helps to remember that the sacred is always veiled, and must be, as we would find it nearly impossible to behold in its unveiled manifestation. “One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things,” said Henry Miller. And likewise Akkach so eloquently suggests that the challenge "seems to lie in one’s ability to see beyond the materiality of both the Rock and its beautiful architectural veil, to comprehend the enduring secrets that lie deep beneath the transience and ephemerality of both architecture and history." 

This very simple exercise is particularly effective if you have a drawing or photograph of a labyrinth, or if you're lucky enough to live close by a labyrinth. Do this visualization with the labyrinth design in front of you, or while in the center of the labyrinth. Any labyrinth design will do, as long as it is a unicursal path, not a maze. You are welcome to download and print the labyrinth patterns linked below.

Meditation: Visualize a labyrinth of Light with you at the center. Don't worry about getting the image exact; close is good enough. Visualize an indigo flame burning brightly and largely on the outside edge of the entire labyrinth, as if the circle containing the spiral path is engulfed in indigo flames.  Try to maintain this image and your presence in it for about ten minutes or longer. 

This simple exercise brings you into resonance with the labyrinth as a circle of Light, and the light going in all directions flowing into the places around you like water bubbling up from a spring. 
​

This mediation was written by Richard Leviton and is found in his book The Geomantic Year: A Calendar of Earth-Focused Festivals that Align the Planet with the Galaxy.

​I returned to Portugal in late September 2014, after 17 years of living abroad. Five countries, seven cities, four continents. What a journey! Still, I have always been and remain quintessentially Portuguese. Even my trajectory as a former emigrant, as well as the factors that led me to such journey, contribute to my quintessential “Portugueseness”. 

​We are deeply intertwined, myself and this being called Portugal. The love affair between a Portuguese person and this land is often not an easy one. I realize the depth of the resonance between my existential questions and those which affect Portugal as a whole. However, I do not wish to bore you to tears with a biographical litany, nor with a chronology of the events that made Portugal, and the Portuguese, the country we are today. I would like to call your attention to three moments in our collective consciousness. I will use metaphors from the plant kingdom to refer to them: The Rose, the Thorns and The Red Carnation. 

​I would like to invite you to a soul journey very far back in time. Imagine the blue of the sky reflected on the ocean, a shade of blue not very different from that which we see today. Imagine the roaring waves clashing against the rocks of the seashore, lined by stones similar to those of the stone circle of Almendres, as well as of other megalithic monuments across Portugal. Imagine also statues of goddesses, representations of the primordial life force, created by the same prehistoric humans that placed those stones on the seashore. Most of these statues are nowadays in very small, discrete museums in small cities. It’s unfortunate that most people in this country don’t even know they exist. I only learned about them very recently from Kathy Jones, a British national, as well as from one of her students, Portuguese-born Luiza Frazão. Both of them are Glastonbury-based researchers and practitioners of Goddess spirituality.

​Imagine this land as one of the last Celtic territories to be annexed to the Roman Empire. Imagine the Earth-based spirituality of the Celts remaining almost intact under a very dim Roman occupation and coexisting peacefully with that of Christians that arrived to this land, fleeing from imperial oppression. Imagine then this land being invaded by Germanic tribes, particularly the Visigoths, who briefly dominated Iberia between the fall of the Roman Empire and its annexation by the Muslim Moors. During the seven centuries of Moorish occupation, this land was a place where the old Pagan, matriarchal wisdom mingled with the Christian and Jewish faith that entered during the Roman and Visigoth periods. Islam and its love for mathematics, introduced by the Moorish rulers, contributed to make Iberia the only place in Europe where Greek philosophy and geometry was studied openly at the time, protected from the religious fundamentalism that predominated throughout the continent. 

​Although the following claims have not been fully confirmed by academic historiography, they are worthy of consideration, especially since the material clues and oral tradition supporting them are very strong. The work of “alternative historians” such as Paulo Alexandre Louҫão, Rainer Daenhardt, Manuel Gandra and Eduardo Amarante, as well as of the late Dalila Pereira da Costa and António Telmo, indicates that the so-called “Christian re-conquest” of the territory known today as Portugal, carried out by Visigoth warlords that kept their fiefdoms in the Cantabric mountains during the Moorish period, was done in a way that was significantly different from that of the rest of the Iberian peninsula. These authors provide strong clues that here, on the western shore of Iberia, although there were some significant battles and sieges, the predominant strategy of “re-conquest” was the establishment of diplomatic agreements between the Visigoth warlords and Moorish princes. 

In “História Secreta de Portugal”, António Telmo claims that, behind the scene, there was at work a spiritual order or network that wanted to transcend the dogmas of Christianity, Judaism and Islam, bring these three religions together and merge them with the ancient, feminine, Earth-based spiritual wisdom. The purpose would be to bring into manifestation, once again, the cellular memory of a primordial spiritual and cultural unity of the human species. It is highly possible that such entity was closely connected with the Templars and the Cistercian order, which also promoted the School of Chartres. There are strong indications that these two orders supported the creation of Portugal as an independent country, with the purpose of using its territory as a place of research, as well as a station of rest and replenishing for the earlier crusaders that went to the region known today as Israel/Palestine. 

​The age of Dom Afonso Henriques, Bernard de Clairvaux and the Templar order was also the golden period of the “Art of Courtly Love” promoted by the Troubadours, which was closely connected to the spirituality of the “Fidelli d’Amore” which included “heretic” spiritual groups such as the Cathars. Their poetry and spirituality entered into decline across Europe in the 14th century, after the carnage of the Albigensian Cathars and the Templars by the armies of the Vatican and King Phillip of France. That was also the time when the Cistercian order lost its prominence as the spiritual and intellectual vanguard of Christian mysticism, having been replaced by the Dominicans. However, the geographical distance of Portugal from the center of Europe allowed it to become a refuge for what was left of that worldview, at a time when the reification of analytical reason and the exclusion of active imagination from scientific production paved the way for the Renaissance, the Modern Age and a materialistic, mechanistic worldview. 

​After the execution, in 1314, of the last official Grand Master of the Templar order, Jacques de Molay, Portugal became one of the places of refuge for the surviving Templars. This was made possible by an archetypal couple: King Dinis, known as “The Troubadour” or “The Farmer King”, and Queen Isabel, a woman whose historical persona as a saint of the Catholic Church probably hid a much grander, and far more interesting “secret identity”. 

The work of Eduardo Amarante indicates that Isabel was a practitioner of Alchemy, having been initiated in this path by Saint Arnaldo de Vilanueva, one of the greatest alchemists of the time. She was a carrier of the ancient feminine wisdom of Nature. This knowledge made her a healer who knew how to use the human mind to get in contact with and mobilize the healing qualities of water, stones and plants. She was responsible for the foundation of the first Spa in Portugal, around which grew the town of Caldas da Rainha (The Queen’s Spa), which is nowadays one of the largest urban centers in the Tagus Valley region. Dinis, in his turn, was a “Fidelli d’Amore”, a poet of Courtly Love and a skilled strategist that managed to bypass the growing political pressure for the suppression of any knowledge, culture and spirituality that didn’t conform to the dogmas of the Vatican. ​

​Together, this visionary couple promoted the Golden Age of Portuguese culture. In 1290, they created the University of Coimbra, one of the oldest in the world. They received and protected Jews, Muslims, Templars, Troubadours and many other “heretics” that at the time were being persecuted by the Catholic Church across Europe. They also supported agriculture and agroforestry, namely through the planting of the pine forest of Leiria. Officially, the purpose of this pine forest was to prevent coastal erosion. Still, the aforementioned “alternative historians” indicate that Dinis and Isabel promoted this endeavor because they foresaw the Portuguese Discoveries, which started a century later. The earlier Caravels were built with wood taken from the pine forest of Leiria. 

Dalila Pereira da Costa, António Telmo and other authors in the same field claim that the earlier impulse of the Discoveries was not to conquer land and accumulate wealth, but to promote commercial and intellectual exchange between cultures, with the purpose of once again manifesting what was secretly believed to be the primordial unity of Humankind, in the form of a recognition of the Perennial Wisdom, which underlies Eastern and Western spirituality and is based on embodied experience, instead of “revelation” and dogma. However, human consciousness was at the time not yet ripe to bring such dream into manifestation. Soon, the Discoveries would manifest its total opposite: The hatching of global capitalism, built upon environmental destruction, the enslavement of indigenous peoples, the destruction of their cultures and the concentration of political power by authoritarian political bureaucracies in the European metropolis. ​

​Dinis and Isabel, as well as the multicultural community of sages they helped to create in this country, couldn’t foretell that the initial dream of the Discoveries would soon be boycotted by the manifestation of its shadow: Arrogance, greed and envy. Imagine Lisbon in the early 15th century, the vibration of church bells mingling with that of the Muslim call for prayer, as well as the recitation of Talmudian wisdom in the many Synagogues that existed along the bank of the river Tagus. In many urban and rural households, as well as in fish and farmers’ markets, women carried the old wisdom of the healing powers of Nature, at a time when witches were being massively burned across Europe. The spirit of King Manuel I was not strong enough to withstand his title as “Lord of Commerce with India, Africa and Brazil”. His power was immense, but he wanted even more, a goal that implied “pleasing the right people”. In the pursuit of his goal, he made a political alliance with King Fernando and Queen Isabel of Spain, which led to the introduction of the Inquisition in Portugal. This country experienced the latest and longest Inquisition in Europe, lasting until 1820. It promoted the expulsion or forced conversion of Jews and Muslims, which constituted a significant percentage of the scientific and cultural elite of the country; the public burning of wise women, branded as “witches”, as well as almost any woman who dared to rise above resignation and mediocrity and live her truth; and the transformation of the Discoveries into an exploitative, parasitic affair, which led the Portuguese economy onto a path of external dependence, high concentration of wealth and lack of strategic vision that can still be perceived today. 

​Once a vibrant multicultural community of daring thinkers and doers, it became gradually afflicted by what Portuguese philosopher José Gil calls “non-inscription” or a “fear of existing”. The author conceptualizes this phenomenon as a combination between two contradictory factors. There is a tendency for grandiose visions and dreams, often without a sense of strategy or even feasibility and accompanied by arrogance in a way that awkwardly disguises a collective low self-esteem, as well as a deep sense of shame and powerlessness. This creates a sort of energetic blockage that prevents us from manifesting our dreams. José Gil detects, in the collective behavior of the Portuguese, an underlying belief in the scarcity of opportunities for having one’s gifts manifested, seen and validated that leads to a fear of acting, as well as to a pronounced tendency for individualism, competition and envy of those who manage to manifest their own power and truth. This is accompanied by a tendency to underestimate our own cultural resources (often accompanied by an overestimation of fleeting present and past victories in football and colonial conquest), as well as to overestimate the economic and cultural achievements of countries seen as “richer” or “politically more powerful”. Such overestimation is often accompanied by an envy that prevents admiration to be accompanied by a true affection, or an openness to learn from difference and receive the gifts of that which we perceive as “better”. 

​Such twisted relationship to personal and collective power and abundance manifests itself not only in international relations, but also at the interpersonal level. Despite our hospitality and friendliness (especially to visitors from “better” countries whom we are often so eager to impress), we are often fearful and stingy in the demonstration of true affection. In “Portugal Hoje – O Medo de Existir” (Portugal Today – The Fear of Existing), José Gil analyses a collective pattern that is widely spread among us, the Portuguese, but seldom consciously perceived and understood: The fear that the manifestation of truth, power and inner light in another person triggers in us and the control and suppression mechanisms we create in order to cast a shadow upon it, so that it does not remind us of our own fear of showing ourselves and risk being punished by the same control and suppression mechanisms, manifested in our peers. This fear and compulsion, incubated by the Inquisition and the societal imbalances resulting from colonialism, contributed substantially to the longevity of fascism in this country, as well as to the lack of pluralistic and life-affirming resistance movements during that dark period of our history. The Communist Party, the only country-wide resistance movement during the dictatorship in Portugal, was known for its deeply centralized and authoritarian structures. It was also known for strict discipline, which often involved the denouncing to PIDE, the fascist political police, of comrades that did not abide by the rules of the party leaders. This collaboration between right- and left-wing authoritarianism ensured the maintenance of the status quo. Still, the grid formed by these political and cultural forces was not strong enough to suppress the collective desire for freedom, which erupted on April 25 1974.

From my perspective (as well as that of many of my fellow citizens), the most touching aspect of the April revolution was not the virile bravado with which the young “Capitães de Abril” risked their lives when facing the factions of the army that were loyal to the fascist regime. It was the collective eruption of courage and joy that led to a massive disobedience to their request that the people should stay home while they confronted the power structure of the state and the military. The people of Lisbon refused to stay quiet and invaded the streets in a collective catharsis of centuries of imposed silence. The desire to be the driver of one’s own personal and collective history proved to be much stronger than fear. The collective dream of freedom and democracy captured the hearts of young captains, who initially only aimed to promote a political change that would correspond to a goal they had as a professional group: To end the colonial war and the misery it caused among their brothers-in-arms and loved ones. 

​There was a magical moment in that fateful April day that will be remembered forever: That when a working class woman, a flower seller, introduced red carnations into the guns of the revolutionaries. The red carnation, like the rose, is a symbol of the Heart Chakra, which makes the bridge between the two hemispheres of the brain, as well as between the material and spiritual nature of the human being. As a collective, we still have a lot to overcome in order to raise ourselves to the beauty and significance of that moment. The legacy of fascism is still very much alive in the collective consciousness of the Portuguese. This is visible in the fact that we are still lacking a truly democratic public sphere. We still do not have sustainable grassroots social movements, focalized by empathic doers that are able to communicate an emancipatory vision in a way that is able to mobilize large, but socially and culturally diverse audiences. That can only happen if activists and their projects are able to think and communicate beyond the language and cultural references of their own class or political group. Instead, we have a fragmented public sphere, led by “opinion-makers” that regiment followers through charisma and forcefulness, instead of what Jürgen Habermas refers to as the rationally and communicatively-based power of the better argument. Such “opinion-makers” are often the protagonists of epic squabbles of ideas and agos that only contribute to the perpetuation ​of a fragmented public sphere, as well as of a generalized sense of hopelessness and cynicism.

​Despite the current circumstances, Portugal has all the resources it needs to successfully overcome the legacy of fascism. The last four years have witnessed a multiplication of grassroots resistance projects in fields such as political education, permaculture and community-building. Many professionals are leaving the corporate world to dedicate themselves to such projects. More and more young academic researchers are breaking free of the old constraints of academia and building grassroots networks of participatory action research. This is happening despite the economic crisis and the massive emigration of the generation born after the 1974 revolution. Many of us are staying in Portugal, joyfully facing the risks associated with manifesting alternatives in a country constrained by international creditors and a subservient political class that acts like a colonial administration. However, it is worth noticing that these projects of resistance are often led by culturally and economically privileged young people. What we need now is a realistic vision that democratizes the knowledge, tools, access to political networks and the financial resources needed to make the possibility of manifesting a realistic emancipatory vision accessible for all. 

This process could be supported by a rediscovery of the rich cultural and spiritual legacy of the “Rose” period, but in a centered, constructively critical manner, without romanticizing the past. It should also imply looking from a new perspective at the work of great minds that lived among us in the 20th century, a period when Portugal offered the world some of the greatest voices of European literature, such as Fernando Pessoa, Natália Correia, José Saramago, and Teixeira de Pascoaes, known as “the poet of Nature”. Their work offers much more than pleasure to the ears and brain: It is drenched in Perennial Wisdom, in a treasure that does not belong to Portugal alone, but to the whole of the Human Species, which is the dream of reunification of Eastern and Western spirituality, as well as of Reason and Eros, through the mediation of active Imagination. May the legacy of these great minds inspire us to overcome fear and live our truth. Having a happy love affair with one’s country should not be a privilege only accessible to a few of us. 

Our first full moon labyrinth walk happened under a cloudy sky, gifting us with a quietly introspective candlelight walk. As the days grow noticeably longer and warmer, the nights here in Portugal are still downright chilly. Winter and spring continue their dance as we stand at the threshold of season's change.

Why walk the labyrinth under a full moon? Besides the obvious benefit (on a cloudless night) of being able to easily see the path in luminous moonlight, there is the full moon symbolizing culmination of power, coming to the peak of clarity, and obtaining fullness of expression. Walking the labyrinth is one way to seek clarity or reflect on what has come into fullness recently in your life. On the day after the full moon, a cycle of release begins - the waning moon symbolizing the act of surrender, of turning inward into contemplation and a period of incubation. The first of the 3 Rs of walking the labyrinth is to Release.

Our April 22nd labyrinth walk, with no full moon in sight, adopted the latter tone, feeling much like a preparation for the cycle of release that is now upon us. I felt drawn to include the color purple in our walk - in part as a tribute to Prince, whose passing this week reminded me how much his music touched my heart and colored my more tender years - and because purple is the color associated with the crown chakra, which is said to connect us to the divine source of all that is. We began our walk with the Alice Walker quote from above, reflecting as we walked on what limits we could release as we made our way toward center.

Once at the center of the labyrinth, we were invited to take a long strand of deep purple ribbon to carry out with us - a tangible symbol of our connection with the divine. Upon exiting the labyrinth, we were encouraged to either tie our purple ribbon on the cord above the labyrinth entrance as a symbol of release, or carry it home as a reminder of our connection to the divine. We closed our evening recalling that each of us is not just an expression of the divine, but that we are also called to share that divine spark with the world. 

Alice Walker also wrote, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.” Perhaps not noticing the purple in a field is akin to keeping the lamp hidden from the world. As winter bows out of the dance this season, and spring puts on her best colors, plant a little something purple in your garden and remember Ms. Walker's words: We are as ourselves unlimited. Couldn't we all use a little more of the color purple?

"Pilgrimage is transformative travel to a sacred place." This is how Phil Cousineau, author of The Art of Pilgrimage, describes it. A sacred place in this context is a place to which people travel in search of meaning, which could be a baseball field in Boston, Peru's Machu Picchu, or Vatican City. What makes a place sacred is not so much what happened there, but what meaning we ascribe to the place itself.

It was 9 years ago that I left a high tech career in Silicon Valley and moved to Portugal to be with my husband. Since then, I have fallen in love with Portugal and have hosted people here on pilgrimage. In 2013, I completed a master of wisdom studies that has served to ignite my interest and explorations in mythology, transformational art, and earth energetics - particularly place-based legends and myths.

"The earth is full of Soul,” wrote Celtic mystic John O’Donohue, and in my experience place-based myth is the initation doorway into the soul of a place. Jeremy Taylor, founding member and past president of the International Association for the Study of Dreams, has said that “dreams have multiple layers of meaning and significance woven into them,” from the physical to the spiritual. Like dreams, myths, too, can be understood in layers of meaning and significance.  "A myth is a sacred story set in a time and place outside history, describing in fictional form the fundamental truths of nature and human life," writes Thomas Moore. Thus place-based myths offer insight into the deeper truth of a place and our experience of it.

A place-based myth is a legend or mythical story associated with a particular location. Sometimes the place name itself hints at the myth, for example, Rome is named for Romulus, its founder and one of the twins suckled by a she-wolf in Roman mythology. Richard Leviton, author and geomantic researcher, suggests looking at place-based myths “upside down and in a mirror” to peer into the deeper truth about what people have experienced at that site.

​Mount Rushmore, for example, was a sacred site for Native Americans long before its granite face was carved into the likeness of four US Presidents. Mount Rushmore was known to the Lakota Sioux as Six Grandfathers. It is interesting that the creators of the monument, envisioning the faces of four influential men on the peak, had a similar - although cruder - response to the mountain. Having never visited South Dakota, it makes me wonder if being at the mountain itself (without taking into account the sculpture), one would have the sensation of being in the presence of a council of wise male elders. If so, perhaps this reveals the soul of the place.

Ultimately, it could be said that in every place we encounter we   find in some way a reflection of ourselves. On pilgrimage into the soul of a place, thus, is where we meet ourselves. And this is why I go on pilgrimage, and why I invite you to join me. Pilgrimage offers us the opportunity to see ourselves anew, and thus within every pilgrimage is the possibility that we will be transformed. 
​