You know how you can read a discourse over and over, discover something completely new and then insist that John-Roger must have just stuck that in? That’s what it was like for me visiting Windermere recently. I am writing this a month after my visit, yet the peace of it is still present. This was not a gift of flowers that bloom bright and then are gone; this was a gift apparently seeded in my Soul, for its essence lingers still.

More than a decade ago, I practically lived at Windermere. When that time ran its course, I co-led “Service Parties” there. The winds of change blew again; I got involved in other things and stopped going to Windermere except rarely. But Windermere kept going to me inside.

I got married and had two boys (Joshua, 5, and Daniel, 3).One afternoon recently, I asked the boys if they wanted to visit Windermere. They were incredibly enthusiastic to go. I marveled that Daniel even remembered it since he had not been there for a year (since he was a 2-year-old!).

I called Lynn and Ted and said I knew it was ridiculously late notice—but could we come visit and maybe let the kids ride a horse? They encouraged us to come on up. As I drove onto the property, I felt the city and my life’s hustle and bustle slip away. I began experiencing the peace that descends upon me when I enter the property. I do not understand it, yet it happens every time. Before I even got out of the car I asked myself why I had waited so long to come back.

The kids leapt out of the car and threw themselves at Ted whom they know and love. Though we had interrupted their workday, both Ted and Lynn acted as if entertaining us was the most important thing in the world for them to be doing. The boys were in heaven.

I wanted to visit Sonlight first. I put my arms around him and felt the surge of joy that comes with hugging a loved one. Daniel ran to Sonlight, squealed with delight, climbed up on the corral bars and started petting, kissing, and hugging him. Sonlight reciprocated, sticking his nose through the bars and nuzzling Daniel and anyone else around.

When I look at the pictures of these moments, what amazes me most is that in every one, Sonlight’s lower lip is softly hanging open. In horse language that means he was extremely relaxed. I spent lots of time around horses growing up. A “normal” horse that does not see children or strangers regularly would have been much more stand-offish, possibly aggressive, and certainly more skittish around an unfamiliar, noisy, boisterous child. Not Sonlight! Daniel climbed into the corral within close proximity to Sonlight’s massive legs and feet. Sonlight stood totally still while we retrieved my son who was not very convinced by our rationale that Sonlight needed to be treated with more caution than a huge puppy (though he certainly seemed to be acting like one).

I had learned that it is axiomatic that the more refined, pure-blooded, talented a horse is, the more high-strung and hard to manage he will be. Fortunately, nobody told this to the Windermere horses! Years ago, we would be with the Arabian horses until they would lay down with us—including the stallions! For those of you who are not horse people, that doesn’t happen—not with stallions, not with a high-strung breed like Arabians! It happened several times at Windermere.

I am reminded of a magical time many years ago when I was staying at Windermere. Something woke me very early. The sun was barely glowing through almost opaque shrouds of mist. I don’t know what moved me to do so, but I went outside and lay down in a meadow. I started dreamily praying in the early morning quiet. Suddenly, a herd of horses (the horses got to roam free in those days) appeared, and all of them literally started cantering in a circle around me. In this mystical communion of animal and human, I lay amazed, sending love into them and, I know, they into me. That moment was not a dream but it is still shrouded in mystery and mysticism for me.

That does not happen with horses. It does with Windermere horses. Maybe that’s what goes with living in a place of peace. (Just think what it could do for the rest of us…)

Ted noticed the boys’ interest in the “mule” (the ranch cart) and offered to take them for a ride. He took us on a long tour of Windermere-down by the “duck pond,” the swing, to Buddha Rock, to Quelin, and Cathedral rock. Memories flooded my consciousness—of sleeping on the barn floor with other participants during trainings, getting an initiation in that same barn, carriage rides, seeing tents dotting the land during Service parties, waking at dawn (effortlessly) to do Spiritual Exercises on Quelin rocks, PAT trainings in what was then the “church house,” the rock with the initials “J-R” etched in the 1800s.

I remember riding with J-R down “slippery rock” and thinking he was the most daring rider I had ridden with (and I had been around my share of professional riders in my youth). I remember closing my eyes and following him down the rocks, thinking, “Okay, I trust J-R so I probably won’t die doing this.” Of course, it always worked out fine and I was thrilled afterward by having done something I feared.

One of my most profound teachings from J-R occurred riding on horseback at Windermere… J-R told those of us riding with him to wait for him and he disappeared alone down some rocks. He came back several minutes later with dirt and brush on him. He calmly answered our alarmed questions, confirming that he had had a spill but was fine. He even laughed on the way back to the barn. I found out later that he had actually been rather seriously hurt in that fall and that the ride back to the barn had been painful for him. I asked him in amazement how he had been so chipper on the way back if he was in pain. He said something I’ll never forget. He said, “You have to get up laughing or crying. You might as well get up laughing.” (Which made me cry, I was so moved by his demonstration.)

We raced the rapidly setting sun back to the corrals. Joshua, who was waiting for us there, spotted a very steep rock nearby and asked to climb it. Joshua will often express desires to do things such as fly like a bird, sit on a cloud, etc. An answer I commonly give to such requests is “Of course you can—in your imagination.” I gave that answer this time, but Ted was having none of it. He found a hidden (to me) way to get a 3 and a 5-year-old up a rock that might be daunting for most adults. The boys were thrilled by a sense of accomplishment as Ted and I let them do as much as they could on their own to climb up and down the precipice. I am again reminded of how our beloved teacher reveals the hidden ways for us as to experience things we thought we could only do “in our imagination.”

Now it was dark. The boys, dirty from head to toe, were each clutching treasures (sticks from “their” rock) to take with them. They hugged and thanked Ted and Lynn. In addition to our sticks, we slowly drove away with invisible, crystalline treasures to take home from our magnificent place of peace. I am physically far from Windermere; Windermere is not far from me. What a gift that I can visit it physically, too! Perhaps it is a little like with J-R—he is so deeply within my heart and I still receive much from his physical satsang. Does Windermere have elements of that? I don’t know. What I do know is I won’t stay away so long again.

Please keep Windermere in the Light and in your prayers. And may you reside in a place of peace.