By Chantelle Pence.
It takes a hell of a lot of work to create heaven on earth. When Zuki Moon arrived in Crestone 25 years ago, she was under no illusions that it would be easy. She wanted to build a foundation for her young son, and raise him away from the city. She didn’t know that the mountain town she had chosen was a “spiritual vortex,” she just knew it was a place she was drawn to. She wanted to build a sustainable home, be as self-sufficient as she could be, and practice the science and art of midwifery. She has done that, and more, and is now on the precipice of a new becoming.
I arrived at Zuki’s homestead, perched high in the Chalets of the Baca, on a snowy morning. I entered the Center, which is a straw-bale-constructed communal space that was created as a place of refuge and healing for expectant mothers, and others who are in the midst of a rebirth process. A small group of people was gathered, some of whom live on the property. A gentleman on the couch was strumming a guitar. His partner and their two children milled about. They looked fresh and healthy. A military veteran, who teaches meditation to those suffering PTSD, sat in an overstuffed chair. He was snowed in, after a visit, and had spent the night there. Zuki made breakfast for everybody. Embodying the spirit of a mother. Generous. Loving.
We talked about her experience of living in Crestone, building homes and creating a community. For over two decades Zuki worked to develop a space that could sustain not only her own family, but also others who want to live simply and sustainably. Many individuals have come and gone through her place. It’s a passageway.
I noticed that Zuki has the hallmark characteristics that all true healers possess. Authenticity. Humility. Confidence born of experience, not arrogance. Though she says she is more rooted in the spiritual realm, rather than the practical, it is obvious that she has worked hard. The fruits of her labor were visible all around. In the buildings, the landscaping, and the people she treats as family.
I asked her what she thought of those who come to Crestone seeking an enlightened society. Heaven on earth. Shambala. She said that people have to come with the intention of offering something. “Don’t just expect to come here and have all of your needs met.” While Crestone may be home to people who give generously, there is an increasing population of folks who seem to expect something for nothing. Zuki created her space as a place where people could live communally. With freedom. But not for free. Everyone has to contribute something. There are chickens to feed. Gardens to tend to. Floors to sweep.
Zuki believes that we can experience the mythical heaven on earth, but we all have to put in the work. No one will just hand it to us. The stories we tell about people, places, and ourselves will have a tremendous impact on our experience, as well. Many stories have been told about Crestone being a place for healing. Zuki cautioned newcomers to be wary of charlatans, phony shamans, and gurus. She also warned of contractors who have tools and charm, but who build foundations that will crumble. Don’t believe the hype that Crestone is heaven. It’s still under construction, and we all have to pitch in with our individual skills to see it through. I asked Zuki what the next chapter in the story of Crestone might be. “We need more infrastructure,” she said. “More opportunities for the kids.”
True to her mothering spirit, Zuki is concerned about the new generation and those yet to be born. “They are our future. What kind of place will we be leaving them? I thought of the youth I have seen, out and about in the community. Some with eyes that shine bright. Some are dulled by drugs or a hard life. I wondered how I might create more opportunities to connect. To nourish. To, also, be a mother in the community.”
Every mother will grow weary if not properly supported. Zuki feels very well supported. Physically. Spiritually. She has a strong faith and knows the abundance of the earth, if you work it. But decades of being on call as a midwife have taken a toll. To truly fulfill her role, she’s had to be on, 24/7. When she is working with a family, she is on their schedule. When on call, she doesn’t drink, smoke, or do anything that could interfere with being present and capable. She is now on sabbatical, waiting to see what other aspects of herself are about to be born.
I recall a story from an elder of the First Nations, a traditional healer. Her Yup’ik people live in extreme conditions of snow and ice, but many of her generation carry a fire in the eyes that is uniquely bright. Grandmother Rita said there are seven different kinds of healers, and they all interrelate. A midwife is one. How do you distinguish the real healers from the phony? Look at what they have created. Look for the fruits. Feel their energy. A true healer is not self-promoting. People find them as needed. Not always through a website, which Zuki doesn’t have, but through word of mouth. Through dreams. Through instinct.
I was reluctant to leave the Center. It felt like a womb. A place of warmth and safety. I could tell I was in the presence of a healer. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and something we each have within. The power to give birth—to a baby, a dream, a craft, a community. It takes authenticity. And a willingness to roll up our sleeves.
More information about Zuki can be found by reading her books, This Sacred Life, Transforming Our World through Birth, and The Eco-Friendly Family. She is also featured in a documentary called Believing Birth, Re-designing the Course of Humanity, available on YouTube.