A Season of Lights: When Dust Devils Dance
- Feb 11
- 3 min read
by Charel Morris
The morning after Christmas dawned crisp and clear as I left Lynn Andrews' home, my mind swirling with the wisdom and magic we'd shared. Lynn, an extraordinary writer and shaman, had a way of making the mundane mystical, and our conversations about the upcoming retreat had stretched from sunrise deep into the starlit night.
As I merged onto Highway 10 heading back to Santa Monica, the desert spread before me like a blank canvas. Years of traveling these roads had taught me to love this landscape – its stark beauty, its silent strength, its hidden mysteries. The early morning sun painted the sky in delicate winter hues, and the road was eerily empty, as if the universe had cleared a path just for me.
About an hour into my journey, movement caught my eye – a single dust devil dancing off to my right. Desert peoples have long seen these whirling spirits as messengers, bridges between worlds. Having spent the past week immersed in deep wisdom, sharing meals and dreams with Lynn, perhaps I was more attuned to the subtle whispers of the desert.
Then, as if responding to an unseen conductor, more dust devils began to appear. Two, then five, then a dozen – each one spinning its own sacred dance across the desert floor. They weren't random or chaotic; they moved with purpose, keeping pace with my car like an honor guard of whirling spirits.
As their numbers grew, I felt a familiar surge of energy, an instinctive call to create a sphere of protection that encompassed not just myself, but all beings sharing this desert space. The highway thrummed beneath my wheels as I drove deeper into this extraordinary moment.
The sight was unprecedented – I'd seen dust devils before, but never like this. They grew taller, more defined, some reaching toward the winter sky like ancient beings stretching after a long slumber. Soon, I counted more than forty of these swirling columns, and they were... transforming.
Like master artists sculpting with wind and sand, the dust devils began to shift and change, taking on the unmistakable forms of Kachina spirits – those sacred healers and messengers of the Southwest peoples. Each manifestation was unique, their forms brilliant and ethereal, radiating an inner light that seemed to dance between worlds.
Together, we "eased on down the road," as the song goes – my car gliding through the morning as these ancient spirits twirled beside me, their dance an echo of ceremonies performed in these lands for countless generations. The desert itself seemed to hold its breath, witnessing this extraordinary convergence of the mundane and the mystical.
In this moment, the boundary between past and present dissolved on this empty stretch of highway, and I understood why I had been called to this journey on this winter morning to celebrate this Season of Lights.
Extraordinary moments appear when we're ready to receive them.
As this sacred season approaches, I'm sharing two gifts of transformation:
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