The Box Canyon involves a sort of ritual. It starts when we meet in front of the Great Hall to begin the short hike over. Always the same hike into the same canyon. A place within a place. Every time we finally arrive, there is a moment in which we simply, and quietly, look around. We take it in, for both its spaciousness and containment. For the effect it has on sound. For how the water has changed since we were there last. For any new rocks that may have fallen from the cliffs above. Then a spot is chosen. Songs are sung. Conversations amble. With every visit, all that transpires is in some way a response to the place itself.

It has been said that “sacred place is ordinary place, ritually made extraordinary.” If anything extraordinary has ever happened—or will happen—in the Box Canyon, surely it depends on such repeated attention to this precise place. Looking again, and finding something new. To discover the universal, we begin by attending to the particular.

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