Once Upon A Time In New Mexico

The soaring canyons and sagebrush plains of northern New Mexico have attracted artists, spiritual seekers and free thinkers for over a century. A road trip through the high desert—encountering a hippy commune, artists’ studios, futuristic eco-homes and a Benedictine monastery—uncovers the weird, wild and wonderful soul of the American Southwest

- Amelia Duggan

IT’S POSSIBLE TO GO YEARS—OR A WHOLE LIFETIME—WITHOUT CONSIDERING OUR INFINITESIMAL PLACE IN THE VASTNESS OF CREATION.

But in the desert of New Mexico, existential revelations seem to come thick and fast. It’s dusk in the Chama River Canyon. I’ve padded uphill from my guest quarters, through a meditation garden decorated with the Stations of the Cross, to join my hosts in their chapel. Soft light streams in through the patchwork of windowpanes, entombing a gory carving of Christ in a grid of radiance and shade. Black-robed Benedictine monks—some wizened, some fresh-faced, many occupying the years in between— chant psalms from the shadowy transepts. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” One monk wafts a thurible around the central altar, taking steady steps. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.” Finials of sweet-scented smoke wind languorously through the beams of light.

Outside the tall windows, a sliver of a moon rises over the canyon in a wan, cornflower-blue sky—the last vestiges of a blistering summer’s day. The colours of the landscape slowly intensify, emphasising russet veins in the rockface—sediment laid down by a powerful river millennia ago. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” the monks sing. I’ve now completely lost my place in the hymn book. All I can think about is the improbability of my being here.