The tradition of pilgrimage has been a time-honored practice in virtually all cultures beyond recorded history, its popularity undiminished to this day. Regardless of the goal,

a basic purpose of a pilgrimage is to make a special journey to a site that offers a unique connection with the sacred, the supernatural, the mysterious or the extraordinary in some way. The journey’s destination brings the pilgrim to a place “where the physical world meets the spiritual world.”

Religious pilgrimage is no doubt the most familiar kind and nearly all faiths encourage their followers in such journeys. For millennia Christians have aspired to visit the Holy Land of Jerusalem or places where Christian saints lived and performed their deeds. The annual Muslim pilgrimage, the Hajj, calls pilgrims to Mecca in Saudi Arabia to circle the Ka’Ba, the square, black-shrouded structure that houses the sacred Black Stone. The veneration of this sacred stone, thought now to be a meteorite, actually predates the formation of Islam. Hindus travel to the Ganges River in India seeking spiritual purification and believe life is incomplete without bathing at least once in its waters. In their eyes the river is a goddess, Ganga ma, (mother Ganga) who offers renewal and salvation.

Pilgrimage journeys are often undertaken for purposes of healing, be it of body, mind, or spirit. The destination may be humanmade such as the shrine of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupre in a little Canadian town of the same name just outside of Quebec. The miraculous healings that have occurred there for several hundred years attract more than a million people every year. People stand in awe before ancient monuments such as Stonehenge in England, its towering, silent stones erected by our ancestors. It attracts over 800,000 visitors per year and several thousand gather on the summer solstice to watch the sunrise at this ancient and mystical site. Visitors from a variety of religious backgrounds have reported a strong sense of mystery and spiritual energy there.

On every continent Earth’s natural wonders also are points of pilgrimage offering their stunning beauties and grandeurs as balm for the spirit. A very few to mention are the Grand Canyon, the towering plume of Old Faithful’s geyser in Yellowstone National Park, and sacred mountains such as Mt. Fuji in Japan and Mt. Shasta in northern California. Ayers Rock in Australia, its native name, Uluru, like Mt. Shasta is considered a place of mystical power by native peoples and New Age practitioners alike. And circling all the continents is the Ocean herself, a source of inspiration and renewal for those of us who dwell inland.

On a smaller scale, a labyrinth is very much a place “where the physical world meets the spiritual world.” The labyrinth’s gently curved path leads the walker on a quiet, contemplative journey to its center. In my work with labyrinth I have witnessed people utilizing the labyrinth’s pathway for something that can well be described as an “inner pilgrimage”. So much of modern life urges us to focus on the outer world, but more and more people are seeking ways to explore “inner landscapes”. In my view, this yearning accounts in part for the resurgence of interest in the labyrinth, an ancient spiritual resource. I invite you to read my article on this at www.GoldenSpiralJourney.com

Other means to pursue a personal pilgrimage of our vast and unexplored inner world can be through meditation, journal or poetry writing, and seeking places of quiet and silence where “we can hear the soul speaking”.

Pilgrimage has always been and is still “work of the soul” from the planning, to the traveling, to reaching the journey’s destination. If you do not come from a religious or cultural tradition of pilgrimage, the call is sometimes more subtle. The poet Mary Oliver poses the question, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?” There is an ever-increasing desire to live our lives from a deeper place, to spend more of our time “being” and less in “doing.” Oliver’s question beckons us to step outside the confines of our consumer focused, ego-driven culture. For those seeking this more conscious and spiritually-focused way of living, a pilgrimage journey offers abundant support in searching out this larger, more holistic life.

My own experience of pilgrimage came when I entered my fifth decade, wondering what I might do with “the rest of my life”. Some truly marvelous synchronicities (a good sign you’re on the right path) brought me to Glastonbury, England, and to its evocative and mystical energies. It has been a place of pilgrimage for a thousand years and more as early peoples came to drink and bathe in the healing waters of the two springs issuing from beneath the brooding hill or “Tor”. Of Glastonbury’s many myths, one is that the Holy Grail was brought here by Joseph of Arimatheia who is said to have founded the first Christian church in England. It grew into a fabulous and famous Abbey that drew devout pilgrims for hundreds of years. The legend of the Grail grew to encompass the mythical life of King Arthur and Guinevere, the energies of that story woven into all the rest. Down through the centuries, the Chalice Well at the “red spring”, sacred to the Divine Feminine, maintained its presence not far beyond the Abbey walls. In the summer of 2001, just another New Age pilgrim, I set foot on Glastonbury’s streets and climbed the Tor to find my own revelations.

The Chalice Well, set within its beautiful and peace-filled Garden, continues to draw people from all over the world in quest of the healing energies of its red-tinged waters, rising ever rising from its deep hidden source. During a visit there one summer afternoon, I saw a Spanish pilgrimage group clad in white outfits performing a healing ritual in the shallow bathing pool. Observing them, I was struck by how timeless this scene was and how all of us in the Garden that day were following in the footsteps of countless generations of pilgrims.

What one finds on a pilgrimage is often ineffable, and while I can only speak for myself, beyond a doubt my annual pilgrimages to Glastonbury continue to enlarge my life. I invite you to explore this ages-old pilgrimage destination by visiting my website. And since one article cannot possibly cover this tremendously large topic, I encourage you to explore further. Wonderful resources are just a mouse-click away on the World Wide Web. Enjoy your journey and Bright Blessings!

Carol Ohmart-Behan is a certified labyrinth-facilitator, pilgrimage leader, and published novelist. Details of her annual pilgrimages to Glastonbury and Southwest England (as well as information on her other work) can be found at www.GoldenSpiralJourney.com and www.MagdaleneGrailCircle.com

“We may be hitting on one of those ‘lost secrets’,” says Linda Eneix, President of The OTS Foundation, dedicated to archaeology research and education related to the ancient temples (http://www.otsf.org/index.html) of Mediterranean Malta.

Located south of Sicily, the islands of Malta and Gozo are home to megalithic structures that were created by a highly developed people more than a thousand years ahead of Stonehenge and the pyramids. The monuments, including ancient temples, represent free-standing architecture in its purest and most original form. Design features including corbelled ceilings, are mirrored in subterranean mortuary shrines that have been carved out of solid limestone. (In architecture, corbelling is a system of a row of stones oversailing the one below it, reducing the area of the ceiling with each row upward and distributing its weight.) Malta’s Hal Saflieni Hypogeum provides the most extraordinary example. A multi-leveled complex of caves and ritual chambers, it is a gem of archaeology (http://www.otsf.org/Institute.htm) that lay undisturbed until workers broke into it accidentally in 1902.

Science Officer at the Hypogeum, Joseph Farrugia describes unusual sound effects in the UNESCO World Heritage Site: “There is a small niche in what we call ‘The Oracle Chamber’, and if someone with a deep voice speaks inside, the voice echoes all over the hypogeum. The resonance in the ancient temple is something exceptional. You can hear the voice rumbling all over.”

As anyone who sings in the shower knows, sound echoing back and amplifying itself from hard walls can do unusual things. That effect is magnified several times over in the stone chambers. “Standing in the Hypogeum is like being inside a giant bell,” says Eneix. “You feel the sound in your bones as much as you hear it with your ears. It’s really thrilling!”

After catching a film about the “Sounds of the Stone Age” on a flight from London, Eneix jumped on the chance to explore further and sought out the principals.

A consortium called The PEAR Proposition: Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research are pioneers in the field of archaeo-acoustics, merging archaeology and sound science. Directed by Physicist Dr. Robert Jahn, the PEAR group set out in 1994 to test acoustic behavior in megalithic sites such as Newgrange and Wayland‘s Smithy in the UK. They found that the ancient chambers all sustained a strong resonance at a sound frequency between 95 and 120 hertz: well within the range of a low male voice.

In subsequent OTSF testing, stone rooms in ancient temples in Malta were found to match the same pattern of resonance, registering at the frequency of 110 or 111 hz. This turns out to be a significant level for the human brain. Whether it was deliberate or not, the people who spent time in such an environment were exposing themselves to vibrations that impacted their minds.

Sound scientist, Prof. Daniel Talma of the University of Malta explains: “At certain frequencies you have standing waves that emphasize each and other waves that de-emphasize each other. The idea that it was used thousands of years ago to create a certain trance — that’s what fascinates me.”

Dr. Ian A. Cook of UCLA and colleagues published findings in 2008 of an experiment in which regional brain activity in a number of healthy volunteers was monitored by EEG through different resonance frequencies. Findings indicated that at 110 hz the patterns of activity over the prefrontal cortex abruptly shifted, resulting in a relative deactivation of the language center and a temporary switching from left to right-sided dominance related to emotional processing. People regularly exposed to resonant sound in the frequency of 110 or 111 hz would have been “turning on” an area of the brain that bio-behavioral scientists believe relates to mood, empathy and social behavior.

Although archaeologists had not found an explanation for such sophisticated engineering suddenly blossoming nearly six thousand years ago, Prof. Richard England, a Fellow of the American Institute of Architects, sees an evolution: “. . . a gradual growth, from the cave to the tomb. The idea of continuity comes from an underground architecture. Gradually from these ovular rock-hewn spaces, man moved above ground, and above ground he fashioned an architecture of the living which followed the form of an architecture for the dead.”

“Once you know what you are looking for, you can see these same ceiling curves in natural caves in Malta.” Eneix observes. “It’s logical that the ancient temple builders observed the echoes and sound characteristics in the caves and came up with the idea of recreating the same environment in a more controlled way. Were they doing it intentionally to facilitate an altered state of consciousness? There is a lot that we are never going to know.”

Acoustics may well have been part of a widespread religious tradition. Old photos in an early edition of National Geographic Magazine show the discovery in securely dated levels of the Malta temples, of conical shaped stones bearing a distinct resemblance to the Omphalos or “belly-button” oracle stone at Delphi, used much later in time by ancient Greek priestesses who listened to the voice of the earth for guidance. The Omphalos became an Umbilicus when the Romans took over the concept and spread it over their empire. The timeline places the ancient Temple Builders at the head of a long chain of “coincidence.”

Research about Malta’s Temple Culture has been documented on a DVD available from the foundation at http://www.otsf.org/Legacy.htm. This captivating documentary details how inquiry into ancient temples in Malta mirrors the evolution of a discovery, branching beyond archaeology to become a multi-disciplinary fascination.

Though hard to believe as you walk down Kilburn High Road today, (in the suburb of London where I have spent most of my life) back in the 18th century taking the local medicinal waterous used to be a highly popular pastime and attracted many people to the neighbourhood.

Kilburn grew up on the banks of a stream which has been known variously as Cuneburna, Kelebourne and Cyebourne, which flows from Hampstead down through Hyde Park and into the River Thames. It is suggested the name means either Royal River or Cattle River (’Bourne’ being an Anglo-Saxon word for ‘river’). The river is known today as the River Westbourne. From the 1850s it was piped underground and is now one of London’s many underground rivers.

The name Kilburn was first recorded in 1134 as Cuneburna, referring to a priory which had been built on the site of the cell of a hermit known as Godwyn. Godwyn had built his hermitage by the Kilburn river during the reign of Henry I, and both his hermitage and the priory took their name from the river. Kilburn Priory was a community of Augustinian canonesses. It was founded in 1134 at the Kilburn river crossing on Watling Street (the modern-day junction of Kilburn High Road and Belsize Road). Kilburn Priory’s position on Watling Street meant that it became a popular resting point for pilgrims heading for the shrines at St Albans and Willesden. The Priory was dissolved in 1536 by Henry VIII, and nothing remains of it today.

The priory lands included a mansion and a hostium (a guesthouse), which may have been the origin of the Red Lion pub, thought to have been founded in 1444. Opposite, the Bell Inn was opened around 1600, on the site of the old mansion.

The fashion for taking ‘medicinal waters’ in the 18th century came to Kilburn when a well of chalybeate waters (water impregnated with iron) was discovered near the Bell Inn in 1714. In an attempt to compete with the nearby Hampstead Well, gardens and a ‘great room’ were opened to promote the well, and its waters were promoted in journals of the day as cure for ’stomach ailments’:
Kilburn Wells, near Paddington.-The waters are now in the utmost perfection; the gardens enlarged and greatly improved; the house and offices re-painted and beautified in the most elegant manner. The whole is now open for the reception of the public, the great room being particularly adapted to the use and amusement of the politest companies. Fit either for music, dancing, or entertainments. This happy spot is equally celebrated for its rural situation, extensive prospects, and the acknowledged efficacy of its waters; is most delightfully situated on the site of the once famous Abbey of Kilburn, on the Edgware Road, at an easy distance, being but a morning’s walk, from the metropolis, two miles from Oxford Street; the footway from the Mary-bone across the fields still nearer. A plentiful larder is always provided, together with the best of wines and other liquors. Breakfasting and hot loaves. A printed account of the waters, as drawn up by an eminent physician, is given gratis at the Wells. ”
-The Public Advertiser, July 17 1773.

In the 19th century the wells declined, but the Kilburn Wells remained popular as a tea garden. The Bell was demolished and rebuilt in 1863, the building which stands there today.

The following information on the waters was found in The Domestic Encyclopaedia Vol 4 by A. F. M. Willich, which was published in 1802:

Kilburn-Water, is a saline mineral fluid, obtained from a spring at Kilburn-well, about two miles from the end of Oxford-street, London. This water was formerly in great repute, but is at present seldom employed. Nevertheless, it promises to be serviceable in cases of habitual costiveness, where powerful laxatives would be productive of dangerous consequences ; as it may be used with safety, till the intestines have recovered their natural tone. It may farther be advantageously taken by persons of sedentary lives, who are peculiarly subject to hypochondriasis, indigestion, and other disorders arising from relaxed habits. The dose is from one to three pints, which should be drunk at short intervals, till it produce a purgative effect : and, as its operation is very slow, it appears to be eminently calculated for persons, whose stomachs are delicate or impaired.

The only evidence that remains today of the existence of the former Wells is a commemorative paving stone, on the corner of Belsize Road and Kilburn High Road.

The following extract from Edward Walford’s 1878 publication Old and New London: Volume 5. throws further light on what the neighbourhood used to be like. It also shows how complaints about the frightening pace of change in the modern world are actually nothing new, for people were making them in the last century too:
… Such has been the growth of London in this north-westerly direction, within the last half-century, … and such the progress of bricks and mortar in swallowing up all that was once green and sylvan in this quiet suburb of the metropolis, that the “village of Kilburn,” which within the last fifty years was still famous for its tea-gardens and its mineral spring, has almost become completely absorbed into that vast and “still increasing” City, and in a very short space of time all its old landmarks will have been swept away.
… Kilbourne … took its name from the little “bourne,” or brook, … rising on the southern slope of the Hampstead uplands. It found its way from the slope of West End, Hampstead, towards Bayswater, and thence passing under the Uxbridge Road, fed the Serpentine in Hyde Park. The brook, however, has long since disappeared from view, having been arched over, and made to do duty as a sewer.
… before the end of the sixteenth century, and even perhaps earlier, near a mineral spring … there arose a rural house, known to the holiday folks of London as the “Kilburn Wells.” The well is still to be seen adjoining a cottage at the corner of the Station Road, on some premises belonging to the London and North-Western Railway. The water rises about twelve feet below the surface, and is enclosed in a brick reservoir of about five feet in diameter, surmounted by a cupola. The key-stone of the arch over the doorway bears the date 1714. The water collected in this reservoir is usually about five or six feet in depth, though in a dry summer it is shallower; and it is said that its purgative qualities are increased as its bulk diminishes. These wells, in fact, were once famous for their saline and purgative waters. A writer in the Kilburn Almanack observes:-”Upon a recent visit we found about five feet six inches of water in the well, and the water very clear and bright, with little or no sediment at the bottom; probably the water has been as high as it now is ever since the roadway parted it from the ‘Bell’ Tea Gardens, not having been so much used lately as of old.” “Is it not strange,” asks Mr. W. Harrison Ainsworth, “that, in these water-drinking times, the wells of Hampstead and Kilburn should not come again into vogue?”
From: ‘Kilburn and St John’s Wood’, Old and New London: Volume 5 (1878), pp. 243-253. URL: www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=45234 [accessed: 02 September 2009].

Unfortunately, however, the wells never did. And these days, as you struggle to make your way through crowds of shoppers heading for Sainsbury’s, Primark, Poundland and the like, it is hard to imagine they ever even existed. What you can do, though, is to drown your sorrows at the passing of an era in the rebuilt Old Bell (pictured below).

Well dressing is the art of decorating (dressing) wells, springs or other water sources with pictures made of growing things. This ancient custom, still popular all over Derbyshire, is thought to date back to the Celts or even earlier. The church banned it as water worship, but the tradition refused to die. The wells are dressed with large framed panels decorated with elaborate mosaic-like pictures made of flower petals, seeds, grasses, leaves, tree bark, berries and moss. Wooden trays are covered with clay, mixed with water and salt. A design is drawn and its outline pricked out onto the surface of the clay. The design is then filled in with natural materials, predominantly flower petals and mosses, but also beans, seeds and small cones. Well-dressings are beautiful and delicate and take a lot of work to make, and yet they only last for a few days. After the well dressing is erected next to the well it is blessed in a short outdoor service. In towns and villages that have several wells, a short procession from well to well is carried out during the blessing of the wells. The well dressing season spans from May through to late September. And, who knows? Perhaps there was a time when the Kilburn Wells were dressed in this manner too.

Michael Berman BA, MPhil, PhD, works as a teacher and a writer.
Publications include The Power of Metaphor for Crown House, and The Nature
of Shamanism and the Shamanic Story for Cambridge Scholars Publishing.
Shamanic Journeys through Daghestan and Shamanic Journeys through the
Caucasus are both due to be published in paperback by O-Books in 2009. A
resource book for teachers on storytelling, In a Faraway Land, will be
coming out in 2010.

As for his work in the field of religious studies, although Michael
originally trained as a Core Shamanic Counsellor with the Scandinavian
Centre for Shamanic Studies under Jonathan Horwitz, these days his focus
is more on the academic side of shamanism, with a particular interest in
the folktales with shamanic themes told by and collected from the peoples
of the Caucasus. For more information please visit
www.Thestoryteller.org.uk

My hubby and I leave our plush traditional-style bure at Jean-Michel Cousteau resort in Savu Savu on Vanua Levu, travel over its luxuriant mountain and within two scenic hours arrive in Labasa [Lam-basa], Fiji’s third largest city. Our quest lies east of this bustling town.

Breezing smoothly into pastoral countryside past prosperous-looking villages with guide Cio, the pavement ends abruptly; our driver Ari quips, “Now it’ll be rough…hey, no charge for back and butt massages!”

Rattling and bumping over ruts and potholes we concentrate on feathery blossoming sugarcane stretching to the base of lush coastal mountains; tethered goats, cattle and bullocks grazing along the roadside; farmers harvesting rice for domestic use; thriving dark-green cassava patches and scattered trees flaunting showy red and yellow blooms.

Eventually stopping for directions, a farmer points out rutted dirt tracks cutting through his sugarcane fields, shouting, “Yer almost there!” Parked, we stumble through open pastureland choked with thick, tangled reeds. Cio notes, “…They’re commonly used to weave mats.”

Up to our ankles in foul black muck and swampy water…and unable to reach the small lake as hoped…we return to the cane farmer who now advises,  “Gotta go to the village chief on the hill…hear about the Floating Island.”

After miraculously maneuvering a narrow rocky road, we’re there! Greeted by an excited mob of children, we follow them up a steep pathway feeling a bit like mountain goats. We finally sit cross-legged on the chief’s porch. Before Cio translates the legend, he grins, “I didn’t know a taxi could make it up this far!”

“In the old days, our forefathers rode all the way to the sea, fishing from three floating islands the size of large houses. Over two hundred years ago, tribes from across the mountains wanted two islands for themselves, but an agreement could not be struck. So…they blocked up the channel, leaving just one island in our lake. Now, when our priest chants, it’ll move from place-to-place…eventually stopping along the shore…” After sharing coconut-cups of kava, we thank the chief and his family for their warm hospitality and return toward Labasa.

About fifteen kilometers from town we enter Naag Mandir, respectfully  removing our sandals. An elderly man slowly sweeps dust from gleaming blue-tiled floors where several hundred Hindu devotees worship daily.

The red, blue and yellow Snake Temple soars almost three stories. Inside, lavish flower and tinsel garlands drape a black basalt stone resembling a cobra poised to strike; citrus fruits surround its base. We meet two sisters, praying as they minister to the altar.

Slowly circling the famed cobra-rock three times, Ranu lights sweet-smelling incense sticks, drizzles coconut milk and sprinkles golden tumeric powder, gifts to the snake god.

During this ritual, Rada, eldest of the sisters, whispers, “When my Grandmother was young, this rock was just two feet high. When I was an adult, it had grown as tall as me. Now, look! It’s gigantic,” she beams. Growing to almost 15 feet over the years, the roof has been raised twice; devotees believe the rock still grows…

Through a narrow door, a stairway ascends gradually skyward to Shivalay or Shiva. Radu had told us that believers murmur the god’s 108 names as they tread these low-rise steps;we climb to the prayer-gazebo to see Shiva’s likeness sitting next to his godly mate.

At day’s end, we return to town past the frenetic Saturday market and stay at the historic Great Eastern Hotel along the Labasa River.  There, over luscious seafood suppers we savor these two magical phenomena… marveling at remarkable wonders often found off the beaten track.

A much-traveled freelance writer/photographer living near Vancouver, BC, Chris Millikan is a former teacher and elementary school administrator now presenting the joys of travel as an inviting ‘curriculum.’ Her travel articles appear in the Vancouver Sun, Province, in-flight magazines and many community newspapers. As Vice President of the BC Association of Travel Writers, she supports her colleagues’ aspirations. Traveling off the beaten track with writer/photographer partner and hubby Rick, their accounts in Senior Living Magazine and Open Road Magazine reflect zany, cultural and historic adventures. The 2009 Kalama Award acknowledges this team’s array of stories reflecting the rich culture of Maui, Molokai and Lanai. Contact her at millikan@ axion.net

The walk was only a mile and a half, taking about half an hour, but it felt as though I were walking back in time ten thousand years.

It was the end of a western United States journey–mostly be car–in which I retraced a 1939 journey taken by my grandparents. I had visited the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Yellowstone and other natural wonders, and decided that a 10,000-foot mountain plateau that had a recognized human history spanning thousands of years, one that denoted a special sacredness for Native American people, was a fitting conclusion.

Wyoming’s flat-topped Medicine Mountain, part of the Bighorn National Forest, hosts one of the largest prehistoric medicine wheels in North America. The eighty-foot wide stone circle, with twenty-eight spokes around a central rock mound and six rock piles or cairns situated at different outer points, is estimated to have been in use for millennia by various Plains and mountain tribes. Today, the wheel is still frequented by several tribes, the most common practice being the vision quest where individuals seek spiritual direction and harmony, and leave prayer offerings in return.

The origin story of the wheel varies from tribe to tribe. Crow Indians claimed it existed when they first arrived, believing that the sun built it to show people how to make a teepee. The Shoshone and others believe that little people built the wheel and that they still live in caverns beneath it. An early ethnologist, G.B. Grinnell, suggested that the wheel is a stone model of the Cheyenne sun dance lodge, built where wood was scarce.

Perhaps the wheel served as a timepiece or calendar for specific rituals and ceremonies. In studying the wheel for National Geographic, noted astronomer John A. Eddy found that many of the cairns line up for the summer solstice sunrise and sunset, and the rising points of three bright stars-Aldebaran, Rigel and Sirius. “The early Indians of the plains made use of the sun and stars in fairly sophisticated ways,” Eddy concluded.

In the early evening, I had pulled into the unpaved Forest Service parking area near the base of Medicine Mountain and began the 1.5-mile walking ascent. Vehicle access to the site is heavily regulated, and that seemed appropriate. One has to earn the right to visit the wheel, I felt. After all, native people through the ages had once walked to this spot for days and even weeks, seekers of the sacred.

Ascending the winding road, I soon met the last group of visitors who were on their way down since only one other car was in the parking area. Visitation had been rising steadily in recent years, so I felt it was almost miraculous that I found myself walking alone up the mountain. The western sun was dipping in and out of clouds, bathing the mountaintop in soft yellow light–a spectacular sight. Then I spotted the unmistakable form of a fox running down the trail towards me. We nearly met face to face before he quickly scooted off into the brush. People may have left the mountain for the evening, but not the wildlife.

At a gap before the last rise, a sign told of how this was the conjunction of an ancient trail where buffalo-oriented Plains people interacted with the more hunter-gatherer mountain people, going back 10,000 years. Medicine Mountain was always a place of peace, where even traditional enemies such as the Crow, Blackfeet and Sioux could gather unmolested. The same is true of other sites, such as the Pipestone area in southwestern Minnesota, where red catlinite was obtained for medicine pipes.

Appropriately, on the last leg of the climb, the trail was red pea gravel, perhaps symbolic of the sacred red road one follows when they dedicate their life in service of Creator.

Approaching the wheel, colorful prayer flags, tobacco ties, medicine pouches and other offerings that had been tied on the rope perimeter fence danced in the wind. The power of the place was permeable. I had been climbing with exuberance, feeling more energized than I had in days, but I slowed when I neared the top and walked around the wheel in a clockwise fashion. Sitting in the west, facing east, I then knelt and pulled out the long-stemmed medicine pipe I had received from a Muskogee spiritual leader named Bear Heart more than twenty-five years before. I smudged myself and the pipe with cedar leaves-purifying natural incense–as I filled the red bowl with pure tobacco, humming a chant Bear Heart had taught me. As I had first been instructed, I pointed the stem towards the four directions, then toward the sky and earth, before bringing it towards my own heart and to my lips to light it.

Many native people believe that Creator placed spirit helpers in all four directions, and in the sky and earth, and that a piece of divinity was placed inside each of us. That is why the number seven is often considered a sacred number.

I smoked the pipe and prayed for all life on earth, for my family and loved ones, for my ancestors and future generations, and for spiritual harmony and clarity in my life. I gave thanks for my journey and how it had first come about. And I gave thanks for the public lands that are being carefully protected into the future, and for those people who remain vigilant in their stewardship of those lands.

With my eyes closed, I lifted the pipe to the sky in thanksgiving just as a young voice called out from the trail, “Indians!” Startled, I glanced over at a sandy-haired boy who had fixated on the colorful prayer flags and other objects tied to the fence. He was racing up the hill. Behind him was a man and woman, a young girl of about four, and a large black dog. I backed away quietly as the father tried to keep the boy from handling the offerings. They talked loudly, snapped a few pictures, and stayed only a few minutes, barely noticing me. This was clearly a tourist stop for them, a curiosity. So what if someone was praying? In that instant when that boy had cried out “Indians!” I realized the tremendous educational challenge that remains regarding Native American sacred sites that are open to the general public. What if I had been on a vision quest, sitting inside the wheel praying for up to four days without food or water, and tourists strolled up taking photos of me? How would I feel? One wouldn’t enter a Catholic Church and scream, “Nuns!”

Signs can be effective-if people stop long enough to read them. One sign explained that some native leaders believe the medicine wheel belongs to all people, but with that access comes a tremendous responsibility. Visitors should approach sacred Native American sites with respect and reverence, as they would their own church or temple. Of course, children will be children, and I bore no ill will towards the young boy.

What is the best way to regulate a sacred site? When numerous tribes are using it, such as the medicine wheel, you can’t put it in the hands of one tribe, and if you allowed only Native Americans to use it, who would determine who is a Native American? The lines are blurry after generations of racial mixing and the fact that some tribes and groups are not recognized by the federal government, even though members may have bona-fide native blood and cultural heritage. And what about those sincere seekers who are not Native American? Is there a place for them?

I remembered a visit to another holy site–Bear Butte in South Dakota-many years before where a clear-eyed caretaker reminded every visitor to be quiet and to not disturb people who were praying. One on one human contact can be very useful in educating visitors. The sacred can remain sacred, and all visitors can leave and take away something that is good.

A good start regarding the stone wheel on Medicine Mountain was the formation of two Native American tribal organizations, the Medicine Wheel Alliance and the Medicine Wheel Coalition, in response to a 1988 Forest Service proposal to build a viewing platform at the wheel. With help from environmental and historic preservation groups, the platform proposal was successfully blocked and a long dialogue was begun on how best to protect the integrity of the site. The groups and the Forest Service eventually developed an historic preservation plan for the wheel and the surrounding 18,000 acres, the entire mountain. One tenet allows for privacy by Native American practitioners when requested. Additionally, efforts are being made for more Native American interpreters during the tourist season.

In trying to explain the spiritual importance of places such as the medicine wheel, the author T. H. Watkins points out that modern classifications such as “national forests” or “national parks” are virtually meaningless because Native American belief systems and practices have no walls. “They [sacred places] represent a quality whose value cannot be measured by boundaries drawn or ecosystems measured or wildlife inventoried,” he wrote. “There is a spiritual dimension to these lands that can only be measured by the protocols of the heart, a dimension that has to do with the ancient connection between human beings and the wild world that sustains them. The Indians, the First Peoples of this continent, have honored that connection more faithfully than those who have followed them as the dominant human presence on this land. It is, traditional Indians believe, a sacred connection, and they validate it where and when they can with rituals older than recorded time.”

Bill Tall Bull, a Northern Cheyenne elder, put it even more succinctly, “The Earth has a spirit. All of creation has a spirit. Everything that comes from the sacred earth is sacred.”

Traditional native people point out that there is a danger to protecting certain sacred sites, or, in a broader sense, parks and wilderness areas, if the rest of the lands are then open for rampant exploitation. If all of our actions were done with careful planning and attunement to the land, our entire economy and way of life would become more sustainable, and our problems would be solved from the ground up, with day to day choices. Pie in the sky, I know, but places such as the medicine wheel have given me a glimpse of the possibilities.

Before leaving the wheel, I placed tobacco and ash from my pipe along the perimeter where I had been sitting. I knew not to leave crystals or other objects that have not been traditionally used in this region. Tobacco, on the other hand, is sacred to nearly all Native American tribes on this continent. It was always used with prayer and ritual; only since the arrival of Europeans has tobacco been used in an addictive and recreational fashion, with numerous health consequences. Even chemicals are added to some brands to enhance addiction. One has to question the moral efficacy of such practices.

The next morning, after sleeping on the ground for the last time, I drove south, towards Denver and a plane ride home. I felt less alone than I had in my entire journey. It is that way when you touch the sacred-you feel a part of everything and everyone. My highest hope was for our nation’s sacred landscape to remain as steadfast guideposts to point the way for future travelers, helping us to honor and strengthen an age-old compact between humans and the earth.

Doug Alderson is the author of numerous magazine articles and three books, including The Vision Keepers (Quest Books 2007), about walks across the United States and experiences with Native American people. His first book, Waters Less Traveled (University Press of Florida) was runner-up for best travel book in 2006 by the North American Travel Journalists Association. His newest book, New Dawn for the Kissimmee River: Orlando to Lake Okeechobee by Kayak, will be released by the University Press of Florida in late summer of 2009. To learn more about his work, log onto www.dougalderson.net.

Thousands of ancient footsteps pound on the stones which lead all the way up the Temple of the Sun. Taught bronze bodies glisten in the afternoon light; their breathing comes in low rumbling gasps as they ascend higher, where the air is thin and the stairs below become increasingly steep. Once at the top, their eyes reach across the land to watch over their sacred home; the lush green fields, the Temple of the Sun and of the Moon, and the ceremonial platforms connected like freckles by a stretch of road called ‘The Avenue of the Dead.’ And then comes the whistling of their handmade instruments; carried over the site by a crisp wind. This is the feeling of Teotihuacan.

I find it no small wonder that Teotihuacan is one of the most visited archeological sites in Mexico. Located approximately twenty five miles northeast of Mexico City, it is easily accessible by bus from Mexico City and also most regions in central Mexico, including Monterrey, San Miguel de Allende and Leon. Personally, I traveled three and a half hours from San Miguel de Allende by bus, which is a pleasant, flat ride through vast desert land peppered with the largest Aloe and Cacti plants I have ever seen.

On the ride to Teotihuacan, my tour guide told me a bit about the site, starting with the mysterious nature of its former inhabitants.

“It has been agreed,” He said, “that Teotihuacan contained many different ethnic peoples. The Totonec, the Zapotec and then the Maya, and then lastly, the Aztecs.”

This was actually news to me, since I always thought of Teotihuacan as an Aztec site. Indeed they were the last inhabitants before Hernan Cortez traveled to Mexico in the hopes of expanding the Spanish Empire, and ended their entire civilization in 1521. My tour guide went on to say a few things about the Aztecs, including what is most widely known about them; the act of human sacrifice. When Cortez first landed in Mexico, the Aztecs mistook him for a God and so decided to perform their ritual sacrifices to make him happy. This included decapitation, bludgeoning and most famously, cutting out a still-beating heart. Cortez was appalled by this display, but at the time it was common practice for the Aztecs in honor of their Rain God and Feathered Serpent God.

Nowadays the Rain God and Feathered Serpent God are honored in such practices as carving shot glasses in their image, which can be found at the resident Teotihuacan tourist trap on the way into the site. It is the first place you will enter and it is filled with many cozy shops offering crystal pyramid paper weights, mock sacrificial knives and other obsidian trinkets, reminiscent of Aztec tools.

In place of these stands, in the time of the ancient civilizations, there stood a great market. I found that the modern market contains the resonance of the previous one; the look of ancient times coupled with modern merchandise. In fact I venture to say that the entire journey through Teotihuacan felt like a journey back and forth through time; a place where two eras exist simultaneously in the same space. The native peoples have been replaced by khaki-sporting tourists and locals and the indigenous music is now played by craftsmen selling their work on the sides of the Avenue of the Dead. I walked on this road with my sneakers when in the 1500s only bare feet and simple shoes touched the ground. I looked to the temples as I was told their story, when so many years ago they were living it. And finally, huffing and puffing, I reached the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, and looked out to the altars, the Avenue of the Dead and the green paradise around me with the same adoration I know the ancient peoples did.

As it began to rain, I followed my group into the Museum of Teotihuacan. Inside, a string of exhibits and short scripts line the walls, telling stories of the Aztecs’ inconceivable advances in astronomy, medicine and mathematics. (Interesting to note that the meticulous grid of Teotihuacan is aligned to precisely 15.5 degrees northeast) I learned that Teotihuacan translates to ‘birthplace of the Gods.’ During the first millennium CE, Teotihuacan was one of the largest cities in the world and the largest city in the pre-Columbian Americas. The influence of Teotihuacan was wide-reaching, as evidenced by the similar architecture found in other areas of Mexico which is believed to be modeled after the great site.

Obsidian was used to make tools and all sorts of other artifacts; some of which are now poised proudly behind glass cases. I was struck by the artistic precision of these artifacts including the pottery and masks. Every contour has a purpose; no line out of place. Anyone who took pottery in high school will know first-hand the difficulty of spinning a simple bowl, let alone such perfectly constructed items as these. Finally I read about the fall of Teotihuacan; the environmental issues and malnutrition, and my tour guide told me about how, later on, Cortez was able to conquer the Aztec civilization in three months.

When I finished reading up on the archeological and anthropological facts about Teotihuacan, I thought about the almost absurd placement of this museum. I have never been to one which is placed directly in the center of the actual site it was created for. I have stood in the Egyptian wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, my hands hovering inches away from an altar, trying to feel the energy of those who used it. I have looked up at a huge Tyrannosaurus Rex in the Museum of Natural History, wondering how fast it could run and how I would feel if I suddenly stumbled into Jurassic Park. And I have frequented the Hayden Planetarium, gazing up at the dark silky imitation sky, my arms spread out like a bird thinking about zero-gravity and what would be the most out-of-this-world view ever. In this way the museum of Teotihuacan is no different than those experiences; it pales in comparison to the real thing.

I found that once I stepped outside of the museum’s doors I was teleported back into the past and no modern educational exhibit could possibly duplicate the sense of what surrounded me. No hovering hands necessary to feel the energy here. Once again I traveled down the Avenue of the Dead, past the altars and fields, all the while looking up to the tops of the pyramids and listening to the music of a time long since past. This is what I will remember most about my Teotihuacan experience; the resonance of the native people in the stones, the wind, the rain and the sky. It is the feeling that these voices will always echo beyond the boundaries of time.

Merridith Allen is a writer living in New York City. She is currently enrolled in the Low-Residency Creative Writing Program at the University of New Orleans, which brought her to Mexico in the summer of 2008 to write, learn and explore the Mexican landscape. http://newagetravel.com/sacred-places-journeys/?p=52 By Tobias Lars BS, MBA, Mensa

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