Are we the only ones who take up space?

Have you ever wondered about the world around us? About the world we can't see? I don't want to wax too philosophical or metaphysical, but I have always believed there is a world in motion all around us that is invisible to our pathetic human eyesight.

So, are there places that emit positive energy? Yes, I believe so. I don't especially feel this energy much anymore, but now that I'm "tuning in" and gradually making my thoughts more peaceful, I'm remembering some special places where I've felt an unusual amount of positive energy.

One of these places was our home in Albuquerque, NM. The house was open, cheerful, where the neighborhood kids would often walk in without knocking. The house had an overall warm feeling, even though there was some discord starting between me and my husband at the time. He wasn't there often; he would work late, travel often, and spend his weekends at the gym. The whole area around the base of Sandia Mountain had that watermelon-y feeling.

Rainbow in over our neighborhood in the Sandia Foothills.

I remember riding my bike through the foothills every day. It was a difficult ride, but I wouldn't miss a day, even if it was pushing 105 degrees outside. In the Spring, there was color and life everywhere. And in the evenings, I could stand on my balcony and see all the lights of Albuquerque spread out far below. The light on the side of Sandia at certain times of the day inspired a lot of poetry. It was bright, and seemed to highlight every tree and shrub in an ethereal glow.

It was magical.

The kids strike a pose on a Sandia trail.

Add this time a million plus a million other colors for Albuquerque in Springtime.

Going back further, I remember a similar place near my old home in Merritt Island, FL. Us neighborhood kids would play in the "swamp," which was, literally, a swamp. There were trails that wound through the boggy woods to suddenly open at the shore of the Banana River. In that wilderness (our street was among the first neighborhoods built on the ancient Ais Indian treading grounds), Australian Pines would stretch to the sky, and back in there, among them, the breeze was always blowing, making a gentle whooshing sound through the pine needles. Some of these trees I could climb, and I would often go back there alone (can't do that nowadays!), climb a tree, and let my imagination wander. It was the most peaceful place I can ever remember, even when the bull alligators in the scattered ponds were "roaring" with their noses under water, blowing bubbles to attract a mate.

Not my pic, but this is sort of how it was, but the trees were closer together.

Places like these would be pocketed around the trails. I don't know who made the trails.

If I close my eyes, I can remember how it felt to step on the layer of dead pine needles blanketing the ground. I can smell the scent of the pines. I can feel the breeze on my skin. I can hear those alligators, hear the wind in the trees, the crickets at twilight, the cicadas on summer evenings. One thing I tried not to hear was the sound of my feet crunching the pine needles as I entered and exited the area. I had read about how silently Indians moved through the forest by walking a certain way, more on the sides of their feet. I smile as I remember trying to be as quiet as possible, walking as the Indians did. I wonder if my subconscious had picked up the energy of the sacred place, and somehow knew that there had been Indians there long before me (at the time, I didn't know the history of the area, and did not know about the former Indian population along the banks of the Indian and Banana Rivers, where my brand new neighborhood carved a path between them).

The Ais were fierce and warlike, and did not like the Spanish AT ALL.

Anyway, maybe there is energy of the Earth all around us, still shining like beacons for those who have the eyes to see.