Thinking About Chimayó

This morning during a meeting in the newsroom I volunteered to cover the annual pilgrimage to Chimayo, hoping no other reporter already had the assignment. Thankfully I got my wish and I'll be reporting live from Chimayo for the second time this year.

I can't say enough nor can I find the right words to express my regard and deep affection for the Santuario de Chimayo. I can only say when I visit the site, even under the guise of a stoic reporter, I feel I'm stepping into all that is New Mexico--an impossible place and aura to define, sort of like a soul.

Several years ago my father and I made the trek on foot from Santa Fe. We left at three in the afternoon and arrived at the church at one-thirty in the morning quite tired and cold. We slept in the church among the other pilgrims who appeared just as worn-out and exhausted as we felt. My feet ached and my father was also in quite a bit of pain. But sleeping in the holy place was like medicine and a blanket--I'll never forget it.

As a reporter I'll go to Chimayo looking for interviews with pilgrims. Out of the hundreds of stories that I have filed in the past, the stories pilgrims tell are the most touching for me.
I like to listen to the people who walk for their brother who has cancer, their sister who is in Iraq or a son walking for their father who passed-on. Everyone who walks has a story, a reason why they are there--be it for spiritual reasons or just to watch the spectacle of thousands of people flooding small little church.

And of course, I look forward to getting a sample of the holy dirt when I go. You can never leave Chimayo without taking some with you.