On day two, I awoke with anticipation for the day’s events. My plan: to rent a car and drive to the famous Mary Magdalene pilgrim site, Rennes-le-Chateau.

Well, that didn’t happen. I couldn’t get a car, so decided to postpone the trip for the following day. Annoyed, but not defeated, I decided to take a day trip by bus to nearby town, Alet-les-Bains. After much difficulty trying to figure out how to get there, how to buy the bus ticket, and where to catch the bus, I finally arrived in the peaceful hamlet of Alet-les-Bains. Reminiscent of a village straight out of Grimms’ fairytales, Alet-les-Bains lay at the foot of the Pyrenees. For centuries, it has been a destination for its natural springs and healing waters, perfect for the skin and digestion. Excellent! Who couldn’t use some special healing water after seven years living in NYC.

Enchanted by its picturesque perfection, I crossed over the ancient stone bridge that stood high above the swift-moving waters below. I made my way to an “island” between the town and the main road where I ate my picnic lunch. Meandering down to the river, I ran my hand along its waters, ceremoniously dipping my feet in its fresh stream.

Happiness filled my heart. I crossed the little pedestrian path back into town and came face-to-face with The Angel Sanctuary. Curious to see the sign written in English, I wondered what could be beyond the gates. Cautiously, I walked through the garden of The Angel Sanctuary and up the steps. As I looked around for where to go next, I noticed a few people sitting in chairs while sipping tea and coffee.

I walked through a non-descript door into The Angel Sanctuary, and was welcomed by a variety of colorful paintings and an Irishman named Eugene. Suddenly, I felt as if I had come home, fully at ease and welcomed in this serene space. Eugene and I spoke for some time about The Angel Sanctuary: How it came to be and why he and his companion, Lorrie, were there. The Angel Sanctuary was at one time a natural spring and spa. Cultivated by the Romans centuries ago, the spring had been used to remedy many physical conditions.

Lorrie and Eugene had come on vacation to Alet-les-Bains seven years ago and never left. They took over the spring grounds, which had stopped functioning as a spa a few years prior, and transformed it into The Angel Sanctuary, home to Lorrie’s visionary paintings.

Overcome with emotion, I began to cry as I told Eugene why I was in France, and what a miracle it was that I had serendipitously showed up on their doorstep. As some as you know, I don’t believe in coincidence, especially in a case, such as this.

Eugene encouraged me to step next door so I could experience the heart and soul of The Angel Sanctuary. Once next door, Eugene pointed to a tiny enclosed space at the center of the room. It was in fact, an alter, and at the center was a spout that dispensed the special healing waters. He warned me, “You’ll see. The water runs off and on at its own discretion.”

I slowly peaked around the corner and respectfully entered the alter space, as not to disrupt the divine flow. I stood before the water spout, in awe of its simple yet extraordinary abilities to bring about renewed life. Suddenly, the spout gurgled, and sacred water sprang forth from its mouth. In my fragile state, tears fell from my already moist eyes, and I gladly took part in its healing waters.

Taking my leave from the alter, the first painting that caught my eye was, Angels of Love:

“When one calls deep from one’s
own heart,
and deep from one’s soul,
to meet one’s eternal Love,

The Heavens Sing.

For not only has a true Love been
born,
but a great Love,
to grace the earth.
At that moment the heavenly Angels
are sent forth
to unite the eternal ties of Love,
where two truly become one.

And the link from heaven and earth
are bound together
To give birth to the true essence of
Love.”

Entranced by the serentiy of the space, I hypnotically sat before each painting, reading its inscription, and receiving the grace imparted by the angels of the sanctuary. There, among the paintings, immense love, like I have never known before, filled my heart. Deep-rooted pain dislodged itself from the darkest corners of my psyche, and I felt completely free and taken care of. “This must be what Heaven feels like,” I thought to myself.

After some time, I withdrew from the inner sanctuary and returned to the gift shop next door. It was difficult knowing I would have to leave soon. “I never want to leave this place. Never,” I thought. I went over and over in my mind, trying to figure out how I could stay, how I could remain there in the little sleepy town of Alet-les-Bains, close to the sanctuary, immersed in that deep love for the rest of my life.

I thanked Eugene and promised to stay in touch. For me, a bond had been forged. He told me that year after year, many return to The Angel Sanctuary. Some of whom, like myself, are on the Magdalene quest.

He then directed me to the community fountain, another healing water outlet, direct from the Pyrenees. Once upon a time, people would bathe and wash their clothes in the fountain. Now, it is used exclusively for drinking purposes. To my delight, I discovered people came to collect the water with empty bottles and jugs by the arm-full. “How pure and simple,” I thought to myself. “This is how it is meant to be, direct from nature herself, withouthuman intervention.”

Later, I realized it was the sancturay, the sacred space facilitated by Lorrie and Eugene, that I craved. Not necessarily Alet-les-Bains. The truth is that I can not live the rest of my days only in the house of angels. So the question became, (and still lingers), how do I bring that same feeling, that sense of ease, love and wholeness with me into the world, wherever I am and whomever I am with.

This is my challenge. For I am not meant to meditate it a cave high above the world. Not this time. Now it is time to bring the message of love and grace and light outward, into the world.

With a sadness in my heart, I left Alet-les-Bains. I could not forsake the remainder of my journey, and that which I had come so far to see. In the morning, I would head for the infamous Rennes-le-Chateau, to uncover the secrets of Mary Magdalene.

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Post Script: During a recent conversation with sage and dear friend, Hippie Lou, I began to realize that all of the books I’ve read, the lectures I’ve listened to, and the never-ending philosophical conversations I’ve been a part of, hold little weight until I transform that wisdom into action.

I finally understand the true meaning of a yogi, as described by my dear Indian teacher. A yogi is a person who puts her words in to action, who lives just as she speaks. Words are not mere concepts to a yogi, but an actual moment-to-moment daily practice. And this is when life becomes a meditation.

And my mode of action is the play itself. It IS the Pilgrimage. The transformation comes in how I choose to actualize this wisdom I’ve gathered.