[linnie]

I don’t think we actually visited Memorial places as such when we were on our road trip through North-Western US and South-Western Canada 5 years ago, but the place that touched me the most, and stays with me still, was at Grand Canyon.

It wasn’t the sensational panorama that I felt so deep within my soul, but the simple stone foundations of an ancient village ruins.

We saw an information board mentioning an old ‘Indian Village Ruins’ while we were wading through tourists trying to get the best glimpse of the grand canyon, and it felt like a good idea to move away from the crowds and head just a little way into the woods nearby. It was beautiful over there, in that space so close yet worlds away from the swarming scenic rim.

As I approached the ruins, I felt an overwhelming rush of melancholy, and tears pricked my eyes. I honestly don’t know if it was just sorrow and a feeling of loss that the inhabitants of this space were long gone, or whether it was some past life thing (I do acknowledge that some people feel that non-indigenous persons would not have been indigenous Native Americans in previous lives). Whatever the cause, just standing quietly and walking slowly around the footprint of the ruins left me feeling acutely alert to the space, and keenly interested in who had once lived there, what the various rooms were used for, and etc.

I needed to go and sit for a while, to ground myself and gather my thoughts, and, as I was quietly sitting, getting the feel of the forest woodland, I saw a beautiful purple flower, starkly contrasted against the local earth… a perfect, miniature daisy. It made me smile, and I felt as though the space had welcomed me.

We left the village ruins and arrived at the entrance to the larger Tusayan Ruins, Large Kiva and the Museum. It was interesting, we learnt a lot, but I didn’t get the same feeling there of connection to the place, and my mind wandered back to the village ruins in the woods. As we left the Museum and were heading back, to the car, I stopped to tie my shoelaces. There, sitting in the middle of a flat rock on the ground was a perfectly-shaped heart, which was simply a small flat stone with a tiny quartz pebble embedded in it.

I’m conscious that permission needs to be sought when collecting things from a place… not from those overseeing an area, but from the land itself… In that moment, I knew that that tiny heart stone was a gift to me from that place… and years later, when I hold it in my hand, it transports me back there. That little stone feels full of love.

So, that wasn’t a memorial in terms of a sign that said “Memorial”, but it was a poignant reminder of people long past. Beyond all other wanderings to beautiful and historic places, that experience touched me most deeply, and is with me still.