A group of 8 friends and I took off for full-moon skiing, the last one of the season, at the Valle Caldera. Spectacular. Bonfires greeted us at the visitor center and at the old movie set cabin we skied to. After about 3 hours, we returned to the cars and drove to Spence Hot Springs. We were a little bummed to find the springs filled with a group of sexually-obsessed kids from St. John’s College and a pod of Conspiracy Theory minded ex-military people from Corrales. Add to the mix the 8 of us from Santa Fe, plus one friend from Los Alamos. It turned out to be an entertaining, fascinating experience. Everyone a little out of their element out in the elements of a cold, nearly full moon March night into the early morning at the hot springs. I was acutely ware of the the edge between sacred and profane. That type of experience gets me wried to the realm of writing, takes me to the place of dreams, calls me to the moment of nothing else mattering, charges me to put it down.

The Grey Line Between
Is it balancing on razor edge?
Or teetering on tight rope?
This moon-beam and bottles night,
In the Jemez hot springs.
Smoke rings infiltrating steam,
And lungs of bodies soaking.
Catching sight of stars through
Tea lights saying silence,
Beautiful, golden flames,
Dance mutely with noisy voices,
Sinking into water cave,
Thinking sacred and profane.