I've just returned from a two-week pilgrimage to the New Mexican wilderness. Most of my time was spent in and around a little gem of a town, Silver City. It’s Geronimo’s birthplace and Billy the Kid’s childhood home. The land is steeped both in history and great beauty. It’s still undiscovered, though it was chosen by Oprah as one of the 10 Best Small Towns in America.

I also spent four extraordinary days at a Shaman’s retreat at The Anima Center, a bewitching wilderness sanctuary nestled deep in the Gila Mountains. No running water, no electricity, no indoor toilet—it was truly an adventure. Resting on 80 spectacular acres, surrounded by 3.4 million more of the most remote land in the country, I really had no idea what to expect when I arrived. I stumbled onto the Anima Center site quite by accident while roaming online for an antidote to New York’s anxious masses. I instantly knew this was the place I was to visit to renew my vows to Gaia, to the earth. Of course, I had to overcome obstacles. My own fears and those around me who thought I'd disappear into a cage in the ground or the belly of a bear.

I told myself I was heading west to make changes to my novel, soul seeds. And I know this experience helped on the long road I have traveled with Addie Mae. I have now completed the final edit of soul seeds, and it is in the hands of my agent at Namaste Literary. But what I really needed was to immerse myself back into the earth that feeds my soul, to sense every molecule and claim my rightful place there again.

After the pretty two-hour drive north from Silver City, I bounced down a long, wet dirt road and parked the car. This was the point of no return. With no electricity and no cell-phone service, I was on my own. I had to hike a mile or so through the primitive canyon, over seven testy river crossings, high and mighty from recent rains. All along the way, I felt chunks of decaying stress fall from my being to be anointed by the river’s cool breath.

The retreat’s group had gathered there from all over the country, from different walks of life but with the same commitment to support the planet. It’s amazing how much you have in common with strangers who share a deep love of the land. After being advised of the potential pitfalls of wilderness living—mountain lions and bears and rattlers, oh my!—we relaxed into what the earth and it’s compassionate custodians, Jesse Wolf Hardin, Loba and Kiva Rose, were there to teach us.

I felt the eyes of nature on me everywhere I went, whether meditating, surrounded by Mugwort in the fairy circle or hiking over the rocky arroyo. The most powerful experience was our journey upriver the night of the full moon; to the sacred ground Wolf so generously shared with us. We snaked through the high grass together in cloud-draped moonlight—a gift from the gods who temporarily stayed the monsoon rains. Walking in silence, listening to a distant flute's sweet promise while the cathedral rocks patiently waited on our arrival was intoxicating. We built a fire and gathered around it as generations of Indians had done before us. Loba's celestial singing, Wolf's shamanic drumming, Kiva's practiced wisdom, along with the energy of our gratitude conspired to raise our vibration. I could feel the pleasure of the land for our attendance.

Next morning, I walked back there alone and was privileged to witness in daylight what I had felt by moonlight. As I started off, four turkeys rose from the tall brush alongside the river...hundreds of grasshoppers snapped around me like firecrackers. Hummingbirds, butterflies and dragonflies floated everywhere. Footprints of elk stained the water’s edge. Above me, living within the rocks was a powerful Indian chief, an eagle in flight and a group of what seemed like wise, cosmic Elders. The river shook. Holy dirt clung to my bare feet. I didn't want to leave.

I thought about staying longer to feed what was just beginning to stir within me. But by late afternoon, I knew it was time to leave and return to my own world. Though my soul belongs to the wooded canyons, my hedonistic body craves the comforts of civilization: its hot showers, home delivery, and thick, Egyptian cotton towels. This was the first time in my life I've allowed my body to live so close to the land and experience such raw surrender. It was challenging but brought me into the moment and into the truth in a way that no hot shower ever could.

It's difficult to decide which moments mattered most because every one of them, whether profound or forgotten, held great importance. It had been a fairy tale. The magic was real, rooted in love, fueled by earthen energy. And secrets were revealed to me that are still simmering. But I've had enough mystical experiences to know the memory of them dissipates like a fragrance and soon I'll be questioning even my most certain experiences there.

All ten of us who found our way to the Anima Center feel blessed to have been called by this sacred place. We wished we could adequately communicate our experience to those we love, to strangers seeking a guidance on a conscious path. So much of what we truly yearn for can be found on the land and in our relationship with it. But we understood that for all we might say, for all the photographs we would offer; nothing could express what actually happened to us there. All we could do was make a pledge to share this place with others and trust that someday they would find their own way to this glorious piece of earth or to anywhere in nature that calls to them. Because for all of our searching, everything we need to know about life is out there waiting for us under our own bare feet.