Grace and allowing it

A few unexpected moments of Grace, and what may have helped them to come about

Juan and I, heading back from the dentist

It is 5:59 am and I am writing this post again. I finished it yesterday and it had some nice stories about a cathedral I visited, and a dentist, but it wasn’t quite right.

But I don’t write here to tell you stories, or compose long diary entries. I love stories and I do tell them. But that’s not why I do this.

I do this to explore things on a deeper level and share them with you as I hope it is helpful in some way, to those of you who read them.

I want to offer something here. Not because I am wiser, or better. Just because I can. I can do this, I want to, and so I am.

It feels good that writing this blog has also helped me let go of my attachment to getting paid. I have played with the energy of money these last few years and wondered about it a lot.

At one point, I hired someone to work with me so I could monetize some of my work.

That’s what people do now right? They monetize the “content” they create.

I paid a couple thousand dollars for that and those calls quickly veered away from what I originally intended and became “personal coaching sessions” which really meant I sat with a talented friend and explored things that had to do with me rather than other content. In the end, they probably did help me manifest more money, just not in the way I imagined.

On one of those calls, my friend had me envision a dragon breathing blue fire towards me and burning up any old, stuck energy I didn’t need.

It is funny to me that later, I saw a tiny blue dragon, made of stone, with labradorite eyes glinting at me with some humor as I held it in my hand. I was in a new store in my home town that sold crystals and I thought about purchasing it. But I sensed there was a conscious energy in it that might be a bit mischievous and I don’t typically purchase things like that. And I had forgotten right then, about those sessions with my friend.

So I left. Then, after one friend told me dragons were related to Lucifer, and another suggested I take a chi gong class and learn the Chinese take on them, which was more positive, I decided dragons weren’t bad after all (I liked the chi gong class, the dragon movements, and the fable that told of how they brought water back to the planet and saved it).

I wished I had purchased that little stone dragon and when I remembered the calls with my friend, I wished even more that I had made a different decision. At the time, the lady in the store told me some things wait for people to be ready and that she wouldn’t be surprised if she still had it when I came back, even if it was six months later. If it was meant for me, it would wait.

It is not the easiest thing for me to order from the US and get things shipped here. I still haven’t done it, except for once, to get that dragon. Now it is sitting where I saw it in a vision, on top of my wardrobe, watching over me from above as I sleep at night.

I like it.

All of that seems related to Grace.

I thought those calls were going to be about money, but they weren’t, they were about me. And I think I did release some stuck energy through them.

Meanwhile, I don’t feel a need to monetize things like I did and my sense of money and what it is has changed quite a bit.

I am not sure what got me to this point either and I have to imagine it is Grace again, working in a slow and gentle process. I remember the book, Happy Money, I read and how it changed how I felt about money. Slowly, I have relaxed more and offered it with more ease and care to those around me, just as I offer the same things to myself.

I learned to feel worthy of it, and noticed how good it felt to feel worthy. Just like the calls, that feeling was less about money than I imagined. I think those calls and my explorations around money were really about love. And it feels good to be worthy of love. Or success. In fact, in the end, perhaps it is all about worthiness which has nothing to do with ego, and a lot to do with recognizing one’s beauty.

Grace.

All that was Grace appearing and working with me in different ways I imagine.

And there is something key I did, without knowing it. Something that facilitated it.

And that’s why I write to you. To talk about things like that. Little discoveries.

When people say, “Oh you must get a lot out of writing that book, Terra,…or that blog, Terra,” I often feel a little annoyance. I don’t write for that. I do so many other things and transformation is a very living process in my life that I am curious about.

But if I wanted to “get something” out of my writing, like right now, I could simply sit and write for guidance. I know how to do that and I have written about how to do it here.

No, I am sometimes sweating to write because it feels like a mission and I am here for that. I am hear to learn to care for myself more, to transform as best I can, and to offer that, in whatever way presents. And I don’t want to teach.

And I do like to write.

So I am.

Grace again.

It was Grace when a friend signed up recently as a paid subscriber. This is a friend I have known before I married Tim. I have always remembered our time together with such gratitude. I didn’t know he was reading this. He is busy, going through a terribly difficult divorce, including child custody negotiations. He works a lot I imagine. And then an email came in that he was a new paid subscriber. That touched me a lot. It isn’t about the money, and it isn’t not about the money either. It is about what money can be, or carry in it, and that, interestingly enough, is love.

Not the kind Midas had.

I still am learning about all this. I am clear that if I spent money recklessly, I wouldn’t be caring for myself. I wouldn’t be making sure I am ok. And so however much I spent and however generous people told me I am, that money would not have enough love in it somehow.

So, what I am realizing is that to allow for Grace, there must be energy of care for myself, and acceptance.

I also need to not care at all.

And doesn’t that sound confusing?

So now I will weave some stories in to give you an idea how that contradiction can play out. Let’s get into it.

Non-Attachment doesn’t have to mean you don’t care it just means you allow things to happen differently than you may expect. You allow Grace to do her thing, her way and stop trying to force it.

There are three stories below and this is a rather long post this week, so feel free to scroll down and pick your favorite. Mine is Story #3, the last one.

Story #1: The Storage Unit (willingness to let go of where I was at, and figuring out what I needed to care for myself)

I have written recently about the room I am renting in what I call in my head, The Magdalene Mansion, as it feels like it is filled with divine feminine energy. It has also been filled at times with troubled young men, and a lot of less-than-peaceful activity. But I have been learning from all of that and I like it here.

I thought I could stay for about three months and then I was told the lease was coming up soon and my landlord did not want to renew it.

I won’t go into the details except to say that soon after, I was sitting at a table with a group of young men, who seemed to have discussed some of this amongst themselves prior to our meeting, and they wanted me to sign a new six month lease for the place, with one other person. Three other people would be here contributing to the rent, but he and I would be the ones responsible for paying it, along with the expenses. Here in El Salvador, I have learned that tenants also have to call repair men when things break.

It wasn’t feeling good to me, while the thought of moving in about two weeks also caused some familiar anxiety to creep in. My plans had been to finalize my permanent residency here in the next few months if that was possible, and then figure out my next steps, all from my seemingly-grounded, beautiful place in this mansion.

My biggest concern was what I would do with my things if I had to leave? I have been moving things here in suitcases from the US. And I know, things…how important are things, right? Well, one thing I have is a beautiful painting on my wall a friend made for me. I like it and it matters to me a lot. What would I do with that? I also brought a quilt here that I got when my grandmother passed away years ago. I don’t know who made it anymore and I know it was someone in my family. It is mostly pink, and has tiny stitches that took hours and hours for someone to weave into it. I feel supported with it when I snuggle under it at night on my bed.

Then there is my Berkey water filter and my tiny distiller, both of which I lugged here in suitcases from the US. And now, there is a little blue stone dragon that my friend recently brought back for me on his most recent trip.

So, I knew I wasn’t in a place to pack a small suitcase and just find another room somewhere, and I didn’t want to leave, nor did I want to sign that lease.

That’s when I decided I really needed to learn about storage units, and be ready to rent one by the end of the month.

I had to dig under all the things happening to figure that out, you see. Things like my fear about moving and not knowing where I might go, my frustration I was asked to sign a lease at what felt like the last minute, the pressure someone was putting on me to sign it that was about him and what felt good for his situation, and wasn’t about me and what would be in my best interests.

I had to put that all aside and say, “Terra, what is going to help you feel more free? What do you need?”

That’s when I knew I needed to find a storage unit. If I liked them, if they seemed clean and nice, I could move my things there and easily move around with one suitcase again. I could leave and go stay in the retreat center I like in Costa Rica. I could go to the US and visit my uncle. I could stay in a small hotel until I figured things out. A storage unit felt like taking a breath.

I set up a day for my friend and driver, Juan, to meet me. I told him I wanted to see more of the city and places I might like to live, and I wanted to look into storage units and see how much they cost.

Juan took me to a place nearby called Mr. B, while telling me that people in El Salvador didn’t rent storage units. He wasn’t too happy the shiny multi story building housing them had been built on top of a pretty house that used to be there either. But he knew what I needed and he told me he thought this place was the best, plus it was near where I live.

The receptionist ushered us up a nice elevator and showed me the smallest one they had. It was clean, with a colorful door. They told me it didn’t need air conditioning and I knew they were correct. In this part of the city, the climate really is extremely temperate.

The unit rents for eighty dollars a month and ever since I saw it, I feel more relaxed. I know that I can keep moving things here and if I want to go travel again, I can. I can take my time purchasing a condo or a house here. I can even take enough time to build a small place if I want. My “stuff” in the form of objects that feel infused with love, has a place to nestle in, if needed.

That was Grace again.

Soon after, more people agreed to add their names to the lease and I decided with four of us on it, I was willing to sign. But that all happened because I was also willing to walk away. I told them that. And I am still waiting to see it. I have also let them know I won’t sign it without my attorney going over it. The end of the month is approaching and I feel relaxed. I still am willing to walk away, thanks to Juan and that storage unit.

The main take away from that is that I figured out what I really needed in my situation. No one had to understand. Juan didn’t, but he helped me anyway. Then, I was unattached. I was unattached to this house and my room here. I still don’t know what will happen for sure. They may spring the lease on me on January 31st, which does not give my attorney time to read it. If so, I am not going to sign. And if I need to move out, I can. Ahhhhh. There is a subtle gentleness in all of it. Grace seems like she comes with gossamer robes and they waft over my skin now and then.

Grace can also be unexpected.

Story #2: The Dentist and Juan’s Friends (my teeth got the care I wanted years after I asked for it…Grace takes her time, but she listens; and Juan showed me that the world can work through friendship and support)

Juan and I were heading back from the dentist. It was our second trip and involved about seven hours of driving. He didn’t complain once.

My holistic dentist had replaced three fillings, and put a new one in. The same three fillings that my dentist in Durango told me would eventually need caps. I didn’t want that. I got those giant fillings when I was a kid. They used to be full of mercury back then. In my twenties, my husband worked for Qualcomm and had insurance that covered 100% of our dental expenses. We were lucky and we knew it. Soon he planned to move on, which would mean we would lose our dental coverage. I made an appointment with a dentist to get all my mercury fillings replaced.

I refused to let the him use novocaine as I really didn’t like needles. That might be why my new dentist said there was some residual mercury under one of the fillings he put in, and suggested we remove it. Maybe that original dentist was afraid of hurting me without novocaine so he left some mercury in.

My new dentist, Dr. Emily, doesn’t just say she is holistic; she really means it and for Dr. Emily, mercury is bad news.

When I showed up for my second appointment, her young sparkling eyes twinkled at me over a mask, her hair was covered, and she was wearing protective clothing. I wondered if she might be sick?

All I could think of was Covid.

But then she handed me my own hair protection and a gown.

“For the mercury,” she said.

My hair refused to fit in the cap and I did my best. I sat for hours in the dental chair and she sat beside me as she carefully found every filling in my mouth that was getting old, or worn, and replaced it, without novocaine as I requested.

After working for hours with me, gentle fingers moving here and there in my mouth, and managing to remove the mercury without a twinge of pain on my part, she finished.

Then, she asked me to bite down on a little paper that leaves bits of color where the fillings are a bit high so she could smooth them out a bit.

“My teeth feel strange,” I said, as I ground my teeth back and forth on the paper and hoped for the best.

I am not only sensitive to energy. I am sensitive to minute sensations in my body and especially my teeth. My friend, Bruce, says I am a lot like the Princess in the Princess and the Pea story. He means it kindly and in some ways it is true.

She told me, “I needed to really build them up for you and they are going to feel different.” She showed me before and after photos of my molars and looked at me with compassion as she worked a little more on them and had me grind my teeth on the paper again.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“This is what I need, isn’t it?” I said (because my teeth and bite felt unfamiliar and strange to me and I was not used to it at all).

“Yes…”

And I knew she was right. I had been talking about those fillings with dentists for years and at one point, I had asked one of them if he could just replace one and build my tooth up a bit, like it used to be before that first dentist had filled it?

“No, it’s too deep Terra. When the time comes, I’ll have to cap it.”

But here in El Salvador, this young new mother and passionately holistic and newly educated dentist from Columbia took the time to fix them all and didn’t suggest caps.

I am still getting used to what she did and I feel like God granted my wish. I chew a little slower as my molars feel like they could easily crack a macadamia, although I would never try. I want to take care of them and they don’t have as far to move when I chew as they used to, now that she has built them up with resin. She mentioned, as I ground against the paper with concern, I am sure, showing on my face, that they might last for ten to twenty years. That helped me relax and let go of things feeling the same way they had when I walked in. I hoped to drag them all the way to the finish line of life if I could. Maybe I could get forty out of them?

My bill was less than $500 for four fillings and about three hours of her time. She did it all in a simple office while she played soothing music and put colored glasses over my eyes to block the light shining over my head.

She never poked my gums or called out numbers to an assistant and my gums thanked her for it.

The three hour drive there had flown by. I truly think my new friend and driver, Juan, is one of the most interesting people in El Salvador. He has driven so many people who come here to work on things. Famous YouTubers, filmmakers, Bitcoin Developers, and most recently, Plan B students from around the world. The students had been learning about business and coding and how to build things on the Bitcoin network. The ones who came here last week had won a competition. Plan B paid to fly them here to work with some of their instructors in person for a few days and get to know one another. Then there would be a graduation ceremony in the newly renovated National Palace on the main square in the city.

Juan, who works for Plan B, at the graduation ceremony with his boss, Alex, at The National Palace

Two of them were from Africa and had never been on a plane. Juan told me it was expensive to get them here and hard. They didn’t have the US passport I did. At one point, the students were stranded in a country, without a required visa. Someone from the government here flew to meet them. Seventy two hours later they arrived and Juan picked them up. He said they were tired.

He also fetched someone who might be the most mysterious figure in the Bitcoin Ecosystem, but he didn’t know for sure. A documentary accused this person of being Satoshi Nakamoto, a software developer who created Bitcoin, along with help from some friends. Of course the young man denied the accusation, and most likely rightfully so. But now he was a target, as the mysterious Satoshi has one million Bitcoin that has never been moved out of the public address where it sits.

I pictured him sitting in my seat a few days before. Juan said he looked tired. But he, despite the situation, had come as a surprise guest to teach and celebrate the students and their achievements. That really touched me. I felt sorry he had a target painted on his back.

Juan also informed me that one of the executives of a company that makes hard wallets, to help store cryptocurrencies, had recently been abducted along with his girlfriend. I read about it this morning on X. He sustained physical injuries and his girlfriend had to go to the hospital due to the traumatic experience.

Targets.

I imagine now, I know lots of targets.

And you can see how the three hour drive, chatting with Juan, went by quite fast.

Juan went to visit Starbucks while I sat in Dr. Emily’s chair. He is friends with the owner. In fact, Juan seems to be friends with a lot of people in this country.

He doesn’t charge me much for this all day trip. He says he likes to talk to me. But I still felt a bit guilty we had to go so far and was grateful to simply sit in back and enjoy the scenery and conversation.

“Juan,” I said, as the car slowed down and I watched Juan manage the growing afternoon traffic. “Maybe you would like to see her too next time I go?” (I wouldn’t feel so guilty if he was getting his teeth looked after as well).

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he said. “I get all my dental work for free.”

“You do?” I asked.

I had no idea El Salvador offered free dental care to people here. I was a bit stunned really, to hear that, as Raul, my gardener friend at the beach, was missing some teeth and I heard some troubling stories about people’s teeth and parasites from my previous dentist. That is all I am going to say.

“How do you get your dental work for free?” I asked.

“Do you have friends from school?” he said.

I felt Juan was evading my question, but I thought about it.

“No, I don’t Juan. I think I have changed a lot in my life and I just never kept the same friends, even though I know people do. But not me. I have a good friend, Geri, and I have known her for about twenty five years. She has done so much for me….” and I trailed off a bit as that was a long story and might make me cry as I thought of The Divorce Years again or my recent visit to her couch and how much I loved sleeping on it.

“Well, I have been friends with someone since I was three,” he said.

“My school was small. Some of my friends are doctors, some are dentists, and some are lawyers. They never let me pay them. When I need a little legal work, my friend takes a look. And when my dentist’s mother was flying in from Florida to visit and needed a ride from the airport, she called me, and I picked her up. She offered to pay me and I said no. Of course I wouldn’t let her.”

And I realized right then that my driver Juan was living the life many people were trying to construct for themselves right now. He had community. He drove people like me around because he liked it. Juan went to the French school here starting at the age of three and because of that he said French felt somehow more like his first language than Spanish. And he was social. He spent time with his friends and told me maybe he should have focused more on studying. But it is very clear from our conversation, that both Juan and I are not fans of a 9-5 lifestyle and he was never going to be destined for a regular job, despite how much his dad wanted that for him.

The traffic eased up a bit as we neared the cathedral under construction we had passed a month before on my way to the dentist. I was really feeling tired. Juan suggested we go to a restaurant in the city where all the Plan B students were going to be along with the teachers, one of whom is my friend. I argued that we were not invited. “It’s not crashing the party Terra. The restaurant is open for other people too.” And I was fading fast. I have never been a night person and my social acumen can become very flat when I am really exhausted. This was one of those times and I knew it.

So I told him I just needed to go home. But as he continued to encourage me and told me about a couple upcoming events, I decided to text my friend Giacomo and see if I could officially join a dinner later in the week. I wasn’t big on crashing a party, and I would love to attend and immerse myself in so much young energy and hope.

My friend said yes and I am grateful to Juan, because without his encouragement and stories, I would have never asked.

A few nights later I visited the Bitcoin Office, where Max Keiser and his partner Stacy Herbert do a lot of work, and then drove with Juan to a beautiful place called Linda Vista high on a hill, with a mechanical dragon over a castle arch, a restaurant, and a hotel. There I got to sit next to my friend, Giacomo, where I spent a whole hour talking to the physicist about life, psychedelics, and relationships. I was in heaven. All thanks to Juan who drove me up and also saw to everyone’s transportation.

Me, with Eric from Iowa…one of the Plan B students who was selected to come and also a dad with three kids—at The Bitcoin Office

And I want to call that Grace again.

I wasn’t attached to my friend responding with a “yes”. In fact, I expected him to say “no.” And I also wasn’t going to crash a dinner with Juan when I just didn’t feel up to it, no matter how wonderful he thought it would be. I prioritized myself and my needs that night.

Then God gave me a second wind, because Grace decided to send a gift.

Story #3: The Cathedral (Grace got us in, and Grace blessed us…and somehow, I was non-attached)

Despite Juan’s agreement to take me home, he and I were not finished yet. The light was starting to fade as we approached the cathedral we passed a month before. It was under construction and dedicated to Fatima, a sacred site in Portugal where the Virgin Mary appeared.

My son and I visited Fatima a few years ago while I was on a quest to find a place to relocate. A sacred spring and divine feminine apparitions appealed to me, and Jeremy, a Catholic like his dad, was happy to go there as well.

Jeremy, at Fatima, lighting a candle for his dad

Juan told me on our previous trip that the Virgin Mary had been spotted about an hour away from the new cathedral being built outside San Salvador and I asked him if we could go to both places? But we didn’t have time then.

This is a screenshot from the website, linked above, which describes the new cathedral, dedicated to The Lady of Fatima, which I believe, is Mother Mary

Now, we were nearing the cathedral once more. Following our last trip, Juan sent me an article about it and I read that people were not allowed to go in. They could stand in the entrance, but otherwise, it was closed until construction finished.

We decided this time to pull off the road and see if we could stop for a short visit. I was mesmerized by the structure I saw from the highway. I had never seen anything like it. I loved to visit cathedrals in Europe and this one was just as big. The difference was, it was new, and dedicated to Mary. I really wanted to see it up close.

A few minutes later Juan drove onto a dirt road and pulled up in front of a chain link fence. There was a guard outside and he said a few things to him. I got out of the car. There was a chain link gate with a lock on it in front of our car and I could see the cathedral through it. I figured our chances were slim of getting in, and maybe I was too exhausted to feel attached. I could hear Juan trying hard to get us in.

I put my cell phone up to the fence and snapped a few photos, as I figured we would be leaving soon. Some dogs came out to join us, barking a bit and wagging their tails. Not the normal street dogs I see, that are often thin with actual mange. These dogs looked well fed and happy. One had a tiny puppy bouncing around its legs. I leaned down to pet them and the puppy and I played a game as it squeezed back under the fence and then jumped towards and away from my hand as I reached for it.

Another man had come outside and Juan was busy talking to him now, in Spanish. “They want my name, Terra,” he said. And he rolled his eyes a bit and looked kind of agitated. “And now they want my ID!” and he reached for his driver’s license.

“It’s OK Juan. We don’t have to go in. What are you worried about? Do you want me to give them my ID? I think I have it.”

“No Terra! That won’t work. They are making a call to see if they will let us in. They think I’m rich, Terra. There is only one other Juan in El Salvador with my name and he is a millionaire.”

“But Juan,” I said, as I glanced back at the small four door car we came in and noticed one headlight didn’t seem to be working, “The headlight is out and I like your car, Juan, but I don’t think the other Juan would be driving it.”

“Ahhhhh Terra!” he said, exasperated. “You don’t understand! He is calling someone to ask. They can’t see the car. They are deciding if they will let us in.”

And it was strange, as Juan was trying so very hard and I felt oddly centered, calm and detached. I felt reverent. And somehow, I was ok with whatever happened.

A moment later, a friendly man who was as cheerful and healthy looking as the dogs I had seen, opened the gate. Juan asked him more questions and he got in the front seat.

We were heading in.

One of the first things I saw was a statue of Mother Mary, with golden light surrounding her. It was so beautiful. My two friends were busy talking and I wanted to go back and pause with it. Not just to take a photo, although I told them that was my plan. This was Mary, in front of a cathedral. I needed to honor her.

Juan put the car in reverse and they watched me take my photos. And as I took them I started to feel what had drawn me to want to come before, and it had to do with sacredness.

Cruz, the gatekeeper now in the car with us, showed Juan where to park and we all walked up to the entrance.

I was stunned. It was so beautiful, so high. It seemed even taller than cathedrals I had seen in the past. I felt so much hope to see something like this here in El Salvador, a country so very recently struggling with gangs and violence. It felt like it was emerging from the Earth and the structure itself was a sacred spring.

In awe again, I took some more pictures.

Then, as I peeked through the entrance, Cruz gestured for us to go in.

I gasped. It couldn’t be. I knew this was not the way things were done and I felt the strong presence of Grace again. I felt so honored and touched, to be welcomed. In fact, I felt more that that. I felt beaconed in.

We were the only ones there as the workers had gone home. Cruz told me later that when construction began, there were two hundred and fifty of them. Now there were seventy.

But at that moment, as the sun set, there were only three of us. Each step I took was filled with reverence.

There was also hope. I felt hope to see that humans could construct something as sacred and beautiful as this.

Metal forms used to construct the arches sat in the center of the nave and towered above my head. Tall windows graced the walls. I noticed that what looked like a ceiling was only scaffolding. The top of the structure, the Clerestory, was even higher and pierced with more windows to let even more light in. It felt like it reached into heaven, just as I imagined the architects intended.

As we neared the front, where the altar and apse were, I saw a tiny wheelbarrow sitting on its own and it felt sweet and symbolic. People were building this, people with wheelbarrows. There was a beautiful and terrible sweetness in it, if sweetness can be terrible, that I couldn’t form into words.

I whispered a few questions and the three of us moved around it, towards the transept, like hobbits in Rivendell. As we circled the Apse, Cruz told me this is where the priests spoke from. It was a raised platform and underneath, were coffin sized openings. I wondered if this was going to be a crypt, that was not under the ground. Juan asked some questions for me and translated the answers. Yes, the priests would be buried there. I knew it would take hundreds of years to fill them and that Catholics felt a reverence for relics and the residual sacred energy left behind in the forms that had carried saintly persons.

I stopped for a moment and crawled a little bit into one of them and closed my eyes for a minute. I wanted to feel it. And it did feel sacred in there. I thought of the energy that they planned to use as a foundation for their teachings, the energy of all those priests. I wondered for a moment about the women and then I thought of the cathedral itself and how incredibly feminine it felt to me. Perhaps this would provide balance to it?

Like me, Juan and Cruz were mostly quiet. We were all feeling something beyond words, I am sure of it.

Cruz told me the land used to be covered in sugar cane and was donated by the farmer who owned it for this project.

By now, we had passed through the transept and stood outside where I saw a dark opening. Cruz was saying something in Spanish about it that had to do with water. “Is there a Spring here?” I managed to ask with the help of Google Translate.

“No,” he said through Juan, “that is to collect the rainwater.”

And I realized that despite my thought that Springs were part of the magical energy of Cathedrals, this one didn’t need it.

I pointed at part of the structure, a Chapel, behind the nave . “What is that for?” I asked.

“Oh,” said Cruz. “That is where the priest hears confessions. There will be two priests here, Father Fernando and Father Ivan.”

“Oh,” I said, as Juan looked at me quizzically and then asked, “What do you think about confession, Terra?”

And I had to pause and feel for a moment. The answer seemed important and I didn’t know what it was.

How did I feel about the people who would be going there to confess? Because it had become very clear to me as we walked through that I was in a sacred feminine energy and also that none of it was by chance. And I felt so grateful, I had started to cry a bit now and then.

But then the answer came to me. “I think Juan, that if it gives people some relief, then it is good. I don’t think Guilt is healthy, you know Juan? So if people can go and free themselves from it there, then that is a beautiful thing.”

The place to let go of guilt and regret…where people will go to confess

The sky was turning a deep purple and over the place where the confessions would happen, a bright light had appeared. I imagine it was a planet and it reminded me a lot of the bright star in the Bible, that shone over the birthplace of Jesus over two thousand years ago.

I knew we would have to leave soon. Cruz had spent a lot of time with us and I was incredibly honored and touched to be inside such a sacred place, just the three of us. I knew it was a rare event.

But Cruz was in no hurry. I think he saw how much it meant to me and I imagine, it meant something to him as well.

He asked us if we would like to go up into one of the towers in front and see the level above?

Of course, Juan and I said yes. I asked him if there was a spiral staircase, and was so pleased when he smiled and said, “Sí,” as he directed us towards it. These stairs were wide and spacious and I felt like I was walking towards heaven. Spirals remind me a lot of my life path, always taking me through experiences that seem similar to the past but feel different as I elevate my frequency as best I can.

Cruz told Juan and I that the other tower had an elevator, so disabled and elderly people could see the upper level as well.

Cruz leading us up the spiral staircase

Juan was fairly quiet and none of us seemed to be in a hurry. At the top, I glanced up at the cupola over head. A deep purple light formed outside the openings in front of me. As we moved around to the side, I saw flying buttresses which formed an arcade. I walked underneath them in awe again.

From the clerestory, above the scaffolding, that looks like a ceiling, underneath, but will be removed

.

By now we had to turn on flashlights to see where we stepped.

As we found our way back towards the entrance, I knew it was time to leave. I put my hand against one of the pillars as I stopped to say goodbye and to thank God, and Her, for the experience and for bringing us there.

We trailed out quietly together and left Cruz at the gate. It was dark as Juan drove towards my home.

“What were you doing, Terra?” he asked. “You’re not Catholic, are you?”

Juan had seen me put my hand on that pillar and close my eyes. He had seen me cry a little bit and he knew I was feeling something, and that something was a great deal of gratitude and reverence.

And I’m not Catholic. I don’t think She minded when she called us in.

I had thought, in the nave, of my ex husband, Tim, who had passed and how he would have felt in it. I thought of both our boys, the younger one who is Catholic and the older, who has studied the bible extensively and often quotes it to me now in texts he sends, and how much I would love them to experience the beauty of it.

Juan told me he wasn’t either. His father had been, but something had happened and he left the church. Juan said he never asked what it was.

As we drove home, Juan told me that on my prior visit to the dentist, he had challenged himself not to smoke on our trip. He said he made it three hours and was pleased he had been able to do it. He wanted to smoke less. He knew it wasn’t good for him and he didn’t want to have to pause on his drives with people to smoke a cigarette.

He was confused about something now.

"You know Terra, when I was in that church, I had no desire to smoke at all.”

And I could tell that Juan too, had experienced something miraculous and wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.

Grace had touched him too.

I’m not Catholic. At one point, I swore I would never go to another service again. Sometimes I feel like in a past life, I might have been. And sometimes I feel something I imagine that relates to why Juan’s father left.

So it’s funny to sit with the impulse to make a donation to that Cathedral isn’t it? When there are many things about Catholicism that don’t sit well in my system.

But then again, I feel Grace’s whisper. What are any of these religions about? Perhaps what really matters is what I felt in that cathedral. It is about love and sacredness. Some people will find that through Catholicism, and some will be Buddhist, or Mormon, or Atheist. I really don’t think it matters in the end. And I like to think that Cathedral will support people in some way. If I donate, it will be for that.

I walked into a church next to the main square. One that felt nice to me. I was going to light a candle for those three men in my family: Tim, Jeremy, and Christopher. But I didn’t see how to do it. What I did see was a frail woman, standing in front of the candles in distress, crying a bit and talking to God. I am pretty sure God was listening and I have been quietly praying for her, underneath my thoughts, ever since.

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