my star valley secret

here's the secret I've been keeping since lotoja, 16 days ago. I haven't told anyone, not a soul.

liz joined me for a brief time, in a spot so close to the place she joined me last year that it's as good as one and the same.
it was at the bottom of the salt river pass, heading east, just as the land evens out and forms the great and grand star valley.
when she visits chills swamp my entire body and I have this compelling desire to look up, as if to find her face within the visible celestial landscape. she may have stayed just a minute or two, a quick peck on the cheek to bestow encouragement and grace. or perhaps she was with me longer, supporting me more than I knew.

both this year and last I was within miles of her husband, chris, when she visited me. this suggests to me that she is often with him, around him, surrounding him with love and compassion.

I am open to all beliefs, knowing that until something is proven absolutely impossible and false there is a strong chance that it is true. I am not some wacky new-age type goofball who lives on a different plane: I am as grounded---if not more so---as anyone. but I also believe that there is much, much more to our existences than any of us truly know. I can't see guides and ghosts, and I don't hear communications from beyond . . . but, at times, I feel the presence of someone or something who is not visible to my eyes. and sometimes I am able to put a name to that presence.
two weeks ago, it was liz.

I know that one of liz's favorite places on earth was storm mountain, up big cottonwood canyon here in salt lake. yesterday I rode past storm mountain twice, looking at the place she loved to climb and sit and look out over the stunning tableau in front of her. I did not feel her presence at all: no shivers, no chills, no pull of my eyes heavenward. I didn't expect to feel her, but I would have welcomed a visit had it occurred.
thus I know what I felt in star valley was different, was real, was a connection with a powerful being who just happens to no longer reside here on our earth.

that's my secret. which is no longer a secret.
spread it if you wish, or keep it to yourself: I've now given it up, given it wings, and plan to watch it soar away and work its own new magic.