Xina Ortega

Beneath the Harvest Moon

Some years ago, I found myself on a spontaneous road trip from Los Angeles to Arizona. My traveling companion convinced me to venture further out to see friends of his in a small rural town in New Mexico. I remember late one night while driving, he pulled the truck over to the side of the road so we could sit on the hood and watch the elk come down from the hills. We observed in stillness as a ghost-like herd crossed the road directly in front of us and, just as silently, glided over the creek toward the grassy meadow where they would lay for the night. It was a hushed spectacle that took place under the light of a burgeoning full moon.

We soon arrived in the Land of Enchantment to stay with Tony's friends whose names are now lost to memory. They were a sweet, middle-aged couple and were devout Christians with the husband working part-time in ministry. During our visit, the husband offered to baptize me -- full immersion-style as opposed to the forehead sprinkle version the Catholic church had done to me as an infant. I agreed to this not so much because I felt it necessary, but because the search for home had been a persistent hallmark throughout my life. I was on a search for my people. In other words, I wanted to belong. To something. To somebody. To a place and time. We trundled off together to a nearby mountain lake surrounded by nothing but tree-lined vistas. I remember wading into the cool water as the first signs of dusk colored the heavens. I stood waist-high in the lake while Mr. Part-Time Minister said some prayers over me. And just before he gently pushed me backward beneath the serene surface, I could see the sun hanging low in the sky at one end of the lake and a brilliant harvest moon rising up over the other. I felt the lake rush over me and swallow my entire being and then I was brought back up again to breathe new air.

So many things have changed and expanded since that night of my mountain baptism, but one thing I can say for certain is the experience shifted something unseen from within. Like the River Jordan, the water revealed itself to be a vessel for ancestral wisdom to embrace me through the walls of time. I now realize how much my body belongs to this land and its waters. My bones, hair, skin, soul, and mind are borne of this southwestern kingdom. Its dirt is the bloodline in my veins. Its vastness is a beacon to my spirit and its harvest moon is like a lamp unto my feet.