Holy Dirt

April 1, 2006

We had a fiesta out West for vacation earlier this year. My husband and I flew to Albuquerque, the balloon city, and had a burger with red chili mayonnaise for dinner and the next morning drove by Old Town to see the miraculous staircase said to be built without nails at San Felipe de Neri Church, but it wasn't open yet. So it was 323 miles on to Flagstaff to a hotel on Route 66, down to the red rock monoliths in Sedona and back to Flagstaff, then to the Grand Canyon the next day. We wanted to see the amazing vistas at the Petrified Forest on the way west of Albuquerque, but it was closed due to a heavy snowfall. I was going to buy something from the gift shop, but several items I picked up were not native, saying "made in Pakistan."

After seeing the majestic canyon, we circled through Sleeping Ute Mountain that appears as a giant sleeping Ute Indian in Cortez, Durango but not Silverton, Aztec and Farmington to see Shiprock Pinnacle, igneous rock flanked by long upright walls of solidified lava. Driving by Sleeping Ute, we noted the feather, arms crossed at the chest, the hips and legs.

Stopping in Aztec at the Aztec Ruins National Monument, we saw an ancestral puebloan community with its great kiva, a circular ceremonial room. Ironically, the picture we took in there did not come out. You could almost smell the aroma of corn and venison stew simmering in clay pots over a fire of cedar and pinon wood and feel the presence of the people and the beating of the drums.

My husband is fascinated by Indians and we noted signage of such school mascots as Red Mesa Redskins, Tuba City Warriors and Shiprock Chieftains. We also noticed that numerous trains travel out West.

We then continued our drive through beautiful Chama, to get to Chimayo in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and ultimately, Santa Fe, which I've since read has the cleanest air in the United States, according to the American Lung Association, and some of the lowest overweight and obesity rates in the nation.

The only "must" destination in Chimayo was El Sanctuario de Chimayo, "the Lourdes of America," that my boss had told me about. Along the quaint route are crucifixes galore, in yards, on trees, on street signs, on backyard sheds, on the hillside.
According to www.roadsideamerica.com, somewhere around 1810, a Chimayo friar was performing customary penances on Good Friday when he saw a light bursting from a hillside. Digging, he found a crucifix, quickly dubbed the miraculous crucifix of Our Lord of Esquipulas. A local priest brought the crucifix to Santa Cruz, but three times it mysteriously disappeared and was later found back in its original location. By the third time, everyone understood that El Senor de Esquipulas wanted to remain in Chimayo, and so a small chapel was built on the site. Then the miraculous healings began. These grew so numerous that the chapel had to be replaced by the larger, current Chimayo Shrine -- an adobe mission -- in 1816.(Even the Wendy's Restaurants in this part of the country are adobe looking).

The crucifix still resides on the chapel altar, but for some reason its curative powers have been overshadowed by El Posito, the "sacred sand pit" from which it sprang, behind the main altar. Over 300,000 people visit every year, many taking the pilgrimage on Good Friday. Mass is still held daily.

The Prayer Room, which is located in the sacristy of the church (next to the pit), is filled with discarded crutches, braces and shrines.

There are two excellent gift shops where you can buy nice plastic containers for your free dirt, but beware of the man outside selling spices.

Unlike the old legend that taking lava rocks from Hawaii results in misfortune and calamity for tourists because one of the volcano goddesses punishes people who dare take something of value that belongs to her, I have four miraculous dirt stories to report since my return. I brought back six containers of blessed dirt and holy water. An acquaintance thought her colon cancer had spread, but a new PET scan the day after she got the dirt proved otherwise. Another friend no longer has a stomach cyst after an ultrasound received the week she got her dirt. An out-of-town friend who is having a difficult pregnancy and received her dirt in the mail found out her son will not be developmentally disabled after extensive tests and a close friend who had a biopsy last week got a benign report after retrieving her dirt from a mailbox delivery. This just in: my aunt was cured of shingles after her shipment. I am waiting on results of two other younger friends. It has also helped someone with a legal matter.

I wear my dirt around my neck in a cross that stays filled at all times and am making plans to return to Chimayo if the airline situation improves.
We came to the end of our trip at LaFonda, the inn at the end of the Santa Fe Trail and within walking distance of the plaza. Shopping ensued, but I didn't come back with any turquoise, only an appreciation for the beauty of the West, God's creation of the Grand Canyon and the healing power of dirt.