Home of the Sprucetree: Making Sacred

Dwarfed by the Sprucetree

I have often wondered what makes a place sacred. Is a place intrinsically sacred or made sacred because a miracle—something wholly-other-than—occurred there? Could a place that had never been seen by a human be considered sacred? Is a place sacred because the ley lines intersect and bring in an unseen charged energy or because a hidden spring lives beneath its mundane surface or because it is populated with beings known as devas or angels, fairies or brownies?

Or is a place made sacred because of the people who visit it, who declare it to be so, who make it sacred by their veneration and their oblations, who bring their prayers, their votive candles, their altar gifts, their mindfulness? 

Or is it a combination? Meaning that it’s a place that has native elements of sacrality but does not become sacred until those elements are recognized, experienced, venerated and continually renewed with sacred pilgrimages?

It seems to me that the sacrality of the Sprucetree starts with its sacred geography—with its natural springs that feed the Blue Spruces and then this native sacrality is compounded by its lineage as a Ute Indian Healing site. Its sacrality is augmented by an All-Faiths chapel that draws pilgrims to its altar and to its sacred center. Its sacrality is amplified by the sacred gatherings under the spruces and around the table in the gazebo and in front of the fireplace in the downstairs living room. Perhaps sites that are considered sacred require a lineage of story and legend that excite the imagination of the traveler with its essence of Place. 

Beyond geography and a strong sense of Place, there have been sightings that have added to its sacrality—of two mountain lions stretched across the bridge, a gaggle of turkeys returning again and again to graze in the seedbeds under the trees, bears lumbering down the hillside and sniffing out a picnic dinner they were hoping to make theirs, skunks with their distinctive scent always released at inopportune times, porcupines who aimed their quills at the family dogs, salamanders lurking beneath the surface of a garden, and the arms of trees laden with jays and hawks and magpies; laden with chickadees and hummingbirds and crows, laden with squirrels and chipmunks wrestling pinecones to the ground, and finally foxes, orange, brown and elusively black, making guest appearances with wild cries in the night. All these sightings add to the joy of this place and the sacrality of all that is native to it.  Perhaps sacred sites require an intersection of spirit animals, totems and sightings that resonate with and forever change the beholder.

Not only is a place made sacred by its geography, its sense of Place and its intersection with Nature but by the pilgrims who recognize it to be sacred and make it so by their periodic visits. For the Sprucetree, these pilgrims include those who have had such a profound impact on so many lives including Laurel Keyes, Paul Chivington, Bill Schul, William Boast—pioneers of myth, of science, of Spirit.  I am told this is where Dr. Norm Shealy first instituted the American Holistic Nurses Association . Interesting people—artists, musicians, gurus, and spiritual teachers—more than can be named have been drawn to this place.  For many years the Sprucetree bore the name of “The Restorium” and it was home to the Fransisters, a lay order of women dedicated to the essence of St. Francis’ teachings. It was the annual August Retreat destination for forty years of “the Kansas group”—not all of whom were from Kansas, but all of whom became our dear friends. And, in front of the fireplace, and around the picnic table and under the gazebo, the Christuman community and family has gathered forever, it would seem, for great discussions, and shared insights, laughter, food and moments of deepest soul friendship.  

A place is made sacred not only by the magical people who are drawn to it but by the magical occurrences that continue to take place on its premises There are the chapel times of singing with Bob and Ann Nunley; there are moments in the chapel when you can still hear the sound of Bob’s tambura resonating. The Place of the Sprucetree is made rich by those who sang here, laughed here, cried here, were married here, were memorialized here, were christened here and those who, at one time or another, took shelter and refuge here. Even the very earth of the Sprucetree property is made rich by those whose remnants of stars—whose ashes—are buried here.

I do vividly remember in 1976 looking out the window of a Swiss train onto a beautiful landscape of the Alps and clearly hearing a voice say to me, “Return to the mountains of Colorado.” And the minute I stepped onto the property in 1977, I knew I had found sacred ground. Perhaps, being sacred is not a binary—either sacred or not sacred. Perhaps, it is made sacred for some by what occurs to them while in the presence of the place and it remains mundane for others who receive nothing from their visit. For me, I touched on something wholly-other-than here that totally threw me off my expected course and rerouted me down a remarkable journey of Soul. 

It was the Sprucetree in 1978 that taught me how much I missed the presence of Teri and moved me to ask her to come back and be with me and to live out our days together, aka, marry me. It was the Sprucetree that introduced me to Bill Boast and set me on a journey all my own. It was the Sprucetree where I went after my ordination to assimilate what beneficences had just entered my life.

So while I think the Sprucetree property is intrinsically sacred, it is made even more so with each visitor, with each song, with each prayer offered here, with each veneration, with each milestone ceremony that occurs here, with each wholly-other-than occurrence. I am grateful to have heard the call in the Swiss Alps in 1976 and to have returned to Colorado to have found a residence in 1977 and then to become such an integral part of something wholly-other-than and to finally become its official caretaker in 1997. Bless you, oh Mother Blue Spruces, and this beautiful place you continue to make sacred.