I found a property up in Oregon that seemed perfect for the retreat I had in mind. It was 85 acres (though I eventually wanted something bigger). It was mostly wooded, with several clearings, a spring fed stream, and a few small hills. It was surrounded by many square miles of property that were also for sale, and I was told that they would be available for purchase if things worked out and we were ready to expand.
Paul and I spent a weekend camping on the property, and we both knew that this was the place. We visualized a ring of cabins built in one of the clearings, and a vegetable garden in another. There was a third open spot, at the base of a hill, that was perfect for a labyrinth. Have you ever been to a labyrinth? I had seen one at another retreat the year before and had experienced such a positive feeling as I walked through it that I knew I would have to build one of my own. But more on that later.
So we went ahead with the purchase of the property, and over the next several months we traveled up once a month to survey the land and decide what to build where. I also spoke with a number of builders, finally selecting one and ironing out the details. We planned to build ten cabins, each equipped with solar panels on the roof. The electricity generated would power a well pump and provide modest lighting and running water in each cabin.
The biggest challenge would be access. The property was several miles from the nearest main road, the only access being an overgrown dirt road, if you want to call it that. It was important to me that the retreat be as isolated and secluded as possible, and I planned to let the dirt road become overgrown once the construction of the cabins was completed. Visitors would have to walk along a long trail to reach the cabins.
Despite the inconvenience of such difficult access, to me it was worth it. I didn’t want to hear cars. I didn’t want people who didn’t really want to be there dropping by. The quiet seclusion was important to me – it was part of why I fell in love with the property. For visitors, the drive to Oregon and the hike to the site were part of the journey. I wanted people to leave their usual lives behind.
By early summer, the cabins were built, the solar equipment installed and operational, and lights and running water working well in one of the cabins. I began staying there for weeks at a time, with Paul coming up every other weekend. It was a long drive, but we were growing to love the place. And so the many hours in the car back and forth were a small price to pay.
I spent the summer planting perennials, clearing an area for next year’s vegetable garden, and building my labyrinth, a classical seventh circuit design. If you don’t know anything about labyrinths, I suggest you look into them. And visit one, if you can. Don’t take my word for it.
I intended to open up the retreat each spring, probably in mid-April, and close it for winter sometime in late fall, depending on the weather. So the retreat would be open for six months a year, and the rest of the year I would spend down in the Bay area, which I had grown to appreciate over the previous two years.
During my tour of California retreats I had made many acquaintances, a list of whom I had accumulated. I kept in contact with them via email, and there were many people who were interested in visiting once I had everything up and running. By the end of the summer, I had created a website with photos and a description of the property.
I became quite friendly with a number of people who were interested in being involved with the project. One person in particular, a woman named Beatrice (whom everyone called Bea) had been holding workshops for many years, all around the country. And after getting to know her, I came to realize that her feelings and thoughts regarding spirituality were very similar to my own.
Bea and I talked for hours and hours about our ideas for what a spiritual retreat should or could be. And eventually we arrived at a mission statement of sorts: our intent was to provide an environment that encourages contemplation and celebration. A place where individuals and groups can go to explore themselves, to explore ideas, and to pursue their spiritual interests. No specific denomination, no creed or doctrine, no specific purpose for being there, other than to be in an environment that is conducive to such activities.
I was questioned over and over again as to the reason for establishing such a place. People wanted to know why I was so passionate about it, what my purpose was, what would take place there. And although I answered somewhat differently each time, the common element of my responses was that every individual had their own reason for traveling there, and that it was not my place to specify what would take place. I was simply motivated to establish an uplifting and stimulating environment in which to interact or pursue or expand or celebrate, or all of the above.
I envisioned gatherings, perhaps yearly, of various kinds of groups. I saw workshops and other organized meetings, and I saw individuals who traveled alone, who knew no one there, and who may or may not interact with others during their stay.
My motivation was very open-ended, and I think that was part of what excited me so much – I didn’t know what would take place. I didn’t know exactly how things would develop. I am not a teacher, or a director, or anything of the sort. I am simply a person who desired to create an atmosphere of exploration and community. Beyond that, I had no expectations. And I think such openness is what allowed things to unfold the way they did.
By the fall, I had brought several small groups of friends up to Oregon with me. Among other things, we completed the labyrinth, added some decorative touches to the cabins, and established some rock-lined paths through the woods to the stream and to the various hills on the property, each of which had a unique and beautiful view of the surrounding area.
When November rolled around, we prepared the cabins for winter and bid farewell to the place until the following spring. There were six weekends already reserved for the following year, the first one in early May, and it was my intention to go up in mid-April to open things up and prepare for our first season.
There was, however, one thing that had yet to be resolved: a name. None of the ideas we had come up with so far had stuck. But that would change the following spring, when Paul and I went up in April to begin getting things in order. We spent a week cleaning up the cabins, tilling the garden and planting seeds, and planting the flowers we had brought up with us.
In the middle of the week, Paul suggested that we spend part of the day hiking through some of the surrounding areas. I agreed, and we packed a picnic lunch and got an early start. It was a beautiful spring morning, though rather chilly.
As we walked, Paul broke the news to me that he and Ravi had agreed on a buyout offer for the rest of the company. I grabbed his arm and turned him around to face me. I could tell by the look on his face that he was hiding something, and the gleam in his eyes told me that it was something good.
“How much?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. He just smiled. I realized that it didn’t matter how much, that whatever the offer was, Paul was going to take it. He and Ravi had known all along that they would sell the company eventually. Neither one of them was very interested in running it. Their passion was the development of their product, not the marketing of it. Once they had created what they set out to create, it was time to move on and let others do their part.
Paul took my hand in his and we began walking again. “If all goes well,” he said, “we’ll be able to buy as much of this land as we think we might need.”
My heart raced. It was really happening! Not only was I on the brink of opening the retreat I had been thinking about and planning for the past three years, but it appeared that we would have the resources to run it and to grow as much as we wanted or needed to. I was on a high unlike any I had felt before.
I thought about where I was at that moment, hiking through perhaps the most beautiful place I had ever seen or even imagined, on a cool spring morning, holding the hand of someone I loved dearly. I marveled at how incredibly wonderful life could be. Never in all my years had I felt such joy. Paul and I walked for a while without saying anything, just taking in the beauty and losing ourselves in our thoughts.
I pondered the path that led me to that place, to that moment. I decided that the turning point had been my willingness to give up my career and take a chance. A chance to pursue something meaningful in my life. It all began with my desire to move on, to change, to find my passion and to pursue it. We all have passions, and I felt grateful beyond words that I had decided to pursue mine. And I hoped that what I was building would provide an environment in which others could identify their own passions and decide to pursue them. That was definitely part of my intention.
At one point, Paul let go of my hand and stopped walking. I turned around to see what was wrong and noticed that he was looking up and to his left. I followed his eyes and saw that he was looking at a large hill that rose up from the clearing we had been walking across.
“What is it, honey?” I asked him. But he didn’t answer. He began walking toward the hill, and I followed him. It was an odd moment. I had never seen Paul look so intense.
He stopped at the foot of the hill and looked back at me. “There’s something about this place,” he said.
I realized that I felt something too. The way the hill rose up from the flat clearing, the shape of it. It was perhaps 80 feet tall, maybe a little less, and it appeared to be almost perfectly round. It looked as though someone had picked it up from someplace else and just dropped it in the clearing. Paul began to climb up the side of it. I followed.
The slope of the hill was fairly steep, maybe 35 degrees. It was covered with rock outcroppings and tufts of grass and weeds. It took about five minutes to climb to the top. When I arrived, Paul was already there, turning around and taking in the view. It was amazing. We could see for miles in all directions, all the way to the nearest peaks of the Cascades.
“Is this on the property that’s for sale?” he asked.
I nodded.“We have to buy it.”
I nodded again.
Paul continued, “And we have to create something here.”
I looked at him. “I agree, but what?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “A mound.”
I felt a surge of adrenaline run through my body. This may sound odd, but my entire body felt like it was vibrating. The feeling had started at the bottom of the hill, just slightly, but now it was strong. I don’t know what it was, and it startled me a bit, but I held my gaze upon Paul’s face.
He looked at me. “Like Harry’s.”
And just like that, it all became clear. I could see it. I saw the platform on top, I saw the steps leading down four sides of the hill. Not just one level, like the mound in Harry’s backyard, but many levels, leading all the way down to the base of the hill.
I saw it all. And as I looked at Paul’s face, I could tell that he did too. I think he may have seen it the moment he saw the hill ten minutes before. We sat down and pondered the possibility.
“I’m shaking,” he said with a smile.
“Me too,” I replied.
And I have to tell you, the thoughts and ideas and connections that ran through my head over the next few minutes startled and excited me at the same time. I had the rather odd thought that the previous three years had been leading me to that hilltop in some way. That all the plans and preparations, all the searching and organizing and implementing, had been a gradual movement toward the realization that I was now having.
“It needs a name,” Paul said.
“I agree,” I said.
“Soul Mound.”
I looked at Paul. “Soul Mound?” I asked. I said the words in my mind several times. “Soul Mound,” I said aloud again.
“Soul Mound,” Paul repeated. We sat quietly and let the name sink in.
“Okay,” I said. “And you’re in charge of building it.”
Paul smiled. “I’ll start right now.”
He stood up and walked several feet to his left. He bent down and picked up a flat rock, perhaps a foot across and two or three inches thick, and carried it back to where I was sitting. He placed the rock on the ground next to me and motioned for me to sit on it. I moved over onto it and looked up at him. He was smiling.
Tears formed in my eyes, and soon they were streaming down my cheeks. I can’t explain the emotion I was feeling. I can only liken it to perhaps seeing land for the first time after being out at sea for a very long time.
The place I was sitting felt like a safe harbor, a place where the fears and uncertainties within could fall away, leaving you with nothing but the surest feeling that you were right where you were supposed to be.
I looked out over the trees to the mountains in the distance. Something had changed in the last few minutes. Something big had fallen into place.
I finally knew for sure why I had been so drawn to Oregon all those years. I had found what I came there to find.
And then, an even more exciting thought crossed my mind:
Wait until Harry sees it.
