NADA: It means nothing

My writing tools laid out in the NADA Cloister library.

I write daily pages. That's my pad in the photo above. Today I'll share one of my daily pages, for August 8, 2018. Because my script may be difficult, I'll transcribe it.

All things come to an end and so it is with NADA. I leave tomorrow making this my last full day here. I was surprised by eight bucks in velvet (or perhaps I surprised them). They appeared from the area of the clothesline below the deck I'd used last night for sky watching. They appeared on the rise between Lindbergh and More, then trotted west, disappearing over a ridge beyond the hermitage. Seven. I counted them, all bucks in velvet.
Finally, an eighth appeared. He was the largest. He was unhurried. I stood still for a moment as I know they are unable to discern you when you are still. I considered waiting there, but accepted the beauty I'd been given and went on my way.
In the space where soon I'll hang clothes their tracks, and in particular his tracks, were clear.

The prints of the largest buck in the desert sand.

Father Eric arrived at the Cloister soon after I did. We resolved to visit an ancient juniper right then. Our walk was in the direction the deer had traversed and I could see scat, in great abundance, on the ground.
Eric had watered a huge tree nestled out of sight near Lindbergh. It was green and gray and huge, perhaps six or even eight feet in diameter. From its trunk it had spread out with branches and roots in all directions. Erosion had removed much of the space under the trunk. It was here that the now holy water from St. Dymphna's, St. Bridget's and other wells had found a home in this desert, nourishing this ancient and sacred juniper.

Two trees in the space between Lindbergh and the boundary with the National Wildlife Refuge. The larger tree on the right received the water I'd brought from the Irish Holy Wells as gifts.

I reflected on our Sunday morning breakfast discussion of the "illusion of permanence". Eric agreed this spot was as good as any for a healing blessing and that too was resolved there.
Healing and creativity co-exist here, sort of working in opposition and in harmony. It is a sacred spot at any rate for me. I've been able to tap both those powers, unaware of the healing present but open to creation. This place is for sale. It will transition. For better or worse it will change. It will stay in my heart as I search for another place that creates healing and creativity.

My clothes dry against the vastness of the desert, looking south, across the Great Sand Dunes and toward the sacred White Mountain. How insignificant we are in comparison to nature.