Yosemite National Park: Here I am in church again

As a globetrotter and travel journalist, I am often asked, “Where are your favorite places to travel?” It’s a hard question to answer because I love so many different places for so many different reasons; however, there is always one place that consistently makes my top-ten list and that is Yosemite National Park. I have been visiting there regularly for over two decades, and its majesty and magic have never lost their luster.

Bearing witness to the magnificence of Yosemite plunges me deeply into my love for the natural world. It expands my heart and creates space for the ancestors to communicate and be heard.

I give thanks and praise to the Native American Miwok people for being such remarkable stewards of this land for the 5,000 years it was under their care, and I salute their noble fight to keep it. European Americans began forcing them out in the 1850s, and though their land was conquered, the spirit of the land never was. It was and is considered a sacred space by Native people.

Sometimes when I am there, I feel as if my soul has plugged into an electrical outlet and is being recharged. At the same time, it feels as if the earth is pulling negative energy and useless desires away as it purges and purifies me.

When I am there, I always spend time in Leidig meadow where the wind whips through loudly. That same breeze sways the tall grass as it swirls around me, tingling my skin, mussing my hair and rocking my soul. I gaze out at the surrounding wonder: granite mountains, waterfalls, azure skies, beaming rays of sun, shape-shifting clouds and a surging river. I listen to bird songs of the passing flock that join in earth’s symphony. From that wide meadow that cradles me, I rest in the reverie and remembrance that I am on holy ancestral ground. I’m in my church again.

Being in Yosemite increases my appreciation for not only being alive but also my ability to experience a place through my senses. I celebrate that I can behold its wonder, hear the wind, smell the pine, feel the earth under my feet, taste the rain and sense the presence of its peopled past.

This year I made my regular trek to the top of Vernal Falls. Its always a good test for me to see how my body responds to such arduous exercise, as I age. The 600-step steep journey up the Mist Trail is extremely difficult and dangerous, but the journey is my offering to my celestial allies and ancestors, several of whom I have scattered as ashes among this park’s natural beauties.

For this is holy ground.

This story was originally published July 7, 2022 at 11:00 AM with the headline "Yosemite National Park: Here I am in church again."