This essay was originally written and published on October 2, 2021; I wrote it from start to finish on the train ride back to Paris.
This is how mystical experiences flow out of me in words.
I’m sharing it here again today (with a few edits) because so many of you are new readers since I first posted this. And, I’m preparing once again for five weeks of guiding sisters in Sainte Baume in September, and several of them have asked me about my first visit and this mystical experience on the top of the mountain.
For a long time I kept this story softly placed here, very deliberately. I don’t like to place myself at the center of the pilgrimages that I have the great honor of guiding. But I think it is also important to know what happened here for me, and how much this place means to me.
And, why I promised to return every year for the rest of my life.
My very first, quick instinct was to send her my Guiding Spirit (Guardian Angel).
I cannot explain the exquisite feeling of losing something that you are giving. I’ve had this feeling many times in my life; when the sudden and true thought is to let go of something, or to give or offer something dear to me, and the feeling of rightness in the thought, the truth of it is so undeniable that the after feeling of deep, deep sadness is tempered just a bit by the knowing (and trusting) the divinity in the giving.
I felt this the instant I wanted to offer my dear, close and beloved Guiding Spirit to my sister Liz the minute I knew she needed her more than I did in that moment.
I wasn’t certain that it could be done so I consulted my intuitive healer to ask and she cautioned me to be sure, and told me that Liz would have to accept.
And accept she did.
Several weeks later I felt this loving energy leave my field and I cried for days, tears of sadness for my loss and tears of bigness in the knowing I was doing something beyond me.
I wondered after Liz left us, and returned to the Light, if my Guiding Spirit would return to me. I hadn’t felt her close since I sent her to a bigger duty to watch over Liz, and I wasn’t sure if she would steward Liz home or stay close to her earthly treasure.
There is a special day in the Catholic faith for honoring Guardian Angels, it’s called “The Feast of Angels.”
A few days ago as I was packing to follow my heart to a pilgrimage that has been calling me for many, many years I heard a voice inside tell me to take the little crystal angel on my altar that I bought with my niece years ago on one of the many trips back to Oakland to be with Liz. This coveted angel has represented little Zana for years; she selected it in a shop full of shiny crystals and gem stones that we loved to visit together when I would return from Paris to help her mama. It has traveled with me and taken up precious space on my altar ever since.
Without hesitation I placed it in my little traveling altar bag along with a few other sacred trinkets and made my way to Saint Baume.
When I arrived in my home away from home, with a perfect view of Mary Magdalene’s cave from my room, I felt an instant anchoring in my heart and began to answer the call to go to the cave. Into my pocket went the crystal angel, and I made my way through the magic of the Provençal forest full of fairies and ancient tree spirits that began to snicker and whistle and conspire with the sun ray medicine and the wind spirits as they welcomed me and ushered me for the 45-minute pilgrimage straight up the mountain.
As the magic of the mountain began to fill me, tears began a silent stream that didn’t stop until later that evening.
I arrived to the cave just as a service was beginning, the chapel filled with high-school aged children singing like angels. Here, in this chapel carved into the façade of Saint Baume where Mary once lived, standing room only for a serendipitous first welcome.
I will never forget the gift in this lifetime of hearing The Lord’s Prayer in French, and the beautiful reminder that it is universal no matter what language the one praying is speaking.
This late afternoon, as the sun was quickly setting, the chapel went from full of spirit to silence within minutes once the service was finished — a stoic contrast full of palpable emotion that was not lost on me.
I remember standing, frozen still almost, in awe at first.
Just taking in the sacred space.
And then I heard the singing continuing below, and I intuitively found my way to the lower level where a small circle of students stood before the altar there singing a soft and heartfelt melody. This spot in the cave was calling to me with soft mother energy and so much love, it is where one of the many statues of Mary is surrounded by candles lit by hands of loved ones from around the world, and plaques I later learned of baby souls honored for their short time here.
(Without knowing anything, because I like to follow the calls of my heart to sacred places without doing too much research…)
It was here that I felt the instant, and sudden call, to take the precious crystal angel from my pocket and place it at the foot of Mary along with all of the other offerings and prayers tucked in the the stone pockets which made an organic altar of blessings and reminded me of The Western Wall in Jerusalem.
And I felt that exquisite sadness again of leaving a treasure behind. This time with a soul-knowing that I wanted a piece of Zana to live here in this sacred place along with the prayers for her mama and a constant lighting of candles left by mothers.
(I only learned about the Path of Consolation after this first visit, I had no idea this altar and place in the cave is the space to place a mother’s grief. And the grieving mothers I have witnessed here in all the years of my visits has touched me deeply.)
Two days later, in the same cave, the spirit of water blessed me right on the crown of my head as a drop of holy water fell gracefully from the ceiling of the cave and landed in perfect silence – stunned for a moment by the odds of such a blessing, I stood perfectly still hoping for a second one that never came.
My circle grows with each share from my beloved readers. If this post is touching you, it would mean a lot to me if you shared it (or restacked it) with your community. Thank you.
From the cave on this day I made my way to the summit of the mountain, by accident. I was searching for another cave (the Cave of Eggs) and found myself at the top of the mountain after climbing along the tree line. I could see a tiny building in the distance when I arrived at the top, and I wondered if I could make my way to it. Just as I was contemplating, with the wind whipping in the newly exposed terrain, an elderly woman appeared with hiking poles and I asked her if it was possible to reach the little building from here - she smiled and said “bien sur!” (of course).
I began to make my way, feeling the pull without knowing why, but trusting each step.
I learned later that the little white building is a very special chapel called La Chapelle du Saint Pilon. It is precariously placed on the edge of the façade (just above Mary’s cave) – and very close to Heaven. It is here that the angels lifted Mary five times a day to pray, for all the years that she lived on the mountain.
Along the ridge line, on top of the earth’s spine, I was summoned with the wind spirit whipping and the ancient stones receiving the kisses of my feet with each footstep as I made my way to this holy spot.
Arriving at the chapel just before 4pm, the dear one traveling with me and I peered into the chapel and we quickly discovered the acoustics welcomed the urge to sing by accompanying us with a lasting melody – we played for a bit marveling at the angelic sound in this tiny chapel on top of the world.
This dear one’s attuning reminded me of an Alexia Chellun song on the playlist I made for Liz, I haven’t been able to listen to the song for a year because it reminds me too much of my sister - I found it on my phone and played it into the chapel as the walls echoed back and my sweet friend added her heart in chords; a soulful tribute.
As we made our way back out into the late afternoon sunshine a priest appeared from the path which seemed so strange at first glance, a mirage to go with the divine bliss we were feeling in the moment completing the perfect postcard we were in - until we learned that a real mass was about to begin.
A mass for The Feast of Angels.
The Feast of Angels happens on October 2nd every year (since 1883), once a year, and it is a holy day to honor guardian angels. And, every year a priest from the Dominican of Friars in charge of the chapels on this mountain makes his way to the summit to perform a full mass at 4pm.
On this day, my Guiding Spirit led me here to this holy place on this holiest day with the most beautiful serendipity that is indicative of the magical life I live in this incarnation – to say hello, to remind me, to reunite once again…just at the moment that I need her the most.
I feel her here with me, back with Liz’s blessing and love too, and I feel incredibly blessed.
It was in this same moment that I heard myself say, through the tears, that I would return to this mountain every year for the rest of my life — and I have.
And every return is a blessing unto itself.
I feel blessed to receive the fullness of this land, the place, and the Love of Mary that I feel deeply here (for myself) — and to have the honor on top of this of guiding others brings me to my knees most days.
I did not know during this first visit that I would be guided (it was a directive, actually) to create Sacred Paris, to steward this sacred work, and to live a life of even deeper service on a physical path. This came years later, growing organically bit by beautiful bit. As did reading the book of my beloved teacher Meggan Watterson, which changed the place once again for me.
For the last four years I have been a member of The House of Mary, Meggan’s “spiritual community of radical love,” studying the Gospel of Mary with her, my rabboni.
Every year I light candles for Meggan in the cave, and we pull cards from her deck each morning at the end of the practices I lead. She has been with us in spirit for the last four years.
Next year we will arrive at Mary’s feet together, two devotees obedient to Love and a life of service.
Walking with a love that only expands.
May you know that you are this Love,
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