6
A Little
of
Everything
When Buddha walked into a pizzeria and said, “Make me one—with everything,” he must have been talking about New Jersey. The Garden State—a good chunk of New Jersey’s economy is powered by farms—is one of those small states that packs in a great deal of variety. Drive the “Turnpike” or “Parkway,” either of the two conduits that run up and down the length of the state, and you’ll find beach and boardwalk, immigrants and indigenous, eagle aeries and dark demons—and, of course, an abundance of fruit and vegetables. There’s a slice of enlightenment for all who visit.
Enchanting Emblems
As of this writing, New Jersey has no official gem, stone, or mineral—but it does have an unofficial stone: brownstone, that distinct oxblood block used for building everything from basilicas to bridges to elegant row houses. Brownstone, a form of sandstone formed from the late Triassic Period (210 million years ago), represents longevity, stability, and practicality. New Jersey was the country’s largest producer of this plentiful, practical, and sturdy building block, and it was used in the Northeast for almost 200 years.
Find a brownstone structure as you travel through the Northeast; chances are the stone came from the Garden State. Run your hands over its rough surface to take in its qualities and touch the past. Not surprisingly, sandstone is a stone of creativity, cooperation, and collaboration, as the various minerals that make it up have to work together to give it its strength, while heavy iron deposits are responsible for its distinct hue. Acquire a small piece to represent the cornerstone—that first building block that holds everything together—for a project or cause that is dear to your heart. Write your wishes on it, then bury it as the foundation of your dreams.
In 1950 New Jersey made the red oak its tree, chosen for its strength, dignity, and structural beauty. Straight-standing red oaks are flexible and thrive in a variety of habitats. Oaks, of course, are sturdy trees known for their staying power. If you’re looking for a straight and practical solution to a problem, a talisman made from red oak wood is the way to go; with a little trimming and TLC, a fallen red oak limb can make a fine wand or walking stick. Carve or wood-burn words and symbols for strength into the wood to set your intention before using it.
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Help the red oak (and other plants) thrive in the Garden State: New Jersey’s Forest Nursery Program encourages the collection and distribution of seedlings of native trees and shrubs and, of course, acorns. Anyone can collect acorns and bring them to drop-off location points throughout the state. Download a free field guide at www.fs.fed.us/foresthealth/technology/pdfs/fieldguide.pdf to help you identify the acorns you collect. Store each species separately in clean, uncapped plastic milk jugs or loosely tied plastic bags in a cool, dry place for up to ten days before dropping them off.
It took a little over fifty years (and the enthusiasm of a small army of garden clubs) for the hardy and tenacious common meadow violet to become New Jersey’s official flower. New Jersey shares the violet with three other states—Wisconsin, Illinois, and Rhode Island—but this little lady was chosen to represent the Garden State because she can be found everywhere, in rural areas as well as cracks in city streets. Magically, violets are a source of inspiration and good fortune, especially for women. They’re associated with Venus, the element of water, and the spring equinox, and they can represent water, emotions, and life reborn. Violets are just as edible as they are pretty, containing vitamins A and C—more vitamin C than an orange. Nibble a candied violet as a tasty snack imbibed with the blessings of the goddess and the Garden State.
Bewitching Tidbits
Jersey City was the birthplace of Evangeline Adams, “America’s First Astrological Superstar,” and Pierre Claveloux Davis, better known as Pete Pathfinder. A colleague of Aleister Crowley, Adams predicted a New York City fire that killed over fifty people, the death of England’s King Edward VII, and was arrested for fortunetelling. Pete Pathfinder, who passed away at Samhain in 2014, played a leading role in the Veteran’s Pentacle Quest (pentacles on veterans’ headstones), founded the Aquarian Tabernacle Church, the Woolsten Steen Theological Seminary, and Spiral Scouts International. He was also the former mayor of the town of Hanover.
A staple talk show of the 1970s, The Amazing World of Kreskin was hosted by hypnotist, mentalist, and Montclair native George Joseph Kresge (http://www.amazingkreskin.com). In his weekly program Kreskin explored the powers of the mind with celebrities as well as occult luminaries such as Sybil Leek.
Love him or loathe him, whatever folks think of Aleister Crowley— ceremonial magician, member of the Golden Dawn, founder of the Ordo Templi Orientis, and “wickedest man in the world”—he was instrumental in changing the face of spirituality. He left his mark in several spots across the United States, the last of which might be in Lebanon Township in western New Jersey.
Crowley died at his lodgings in Hastings in the United Kingdom, but his ashes were given into the custody of his OTO successor Karl Germer, who, for a time, resided in western New Jersey at a residence he called “the White House.” According to Germer, while he was at the New Jersey house he buried the ashes at the foot of a pine tree on the property—and when he moved, he tried to dig the box up, only to find that it had rotted away.
Fellow OTO member Grady Louis McMurtry (known among his brethren as Hymenaeus Alpha 777, a name bestowed by Crowley himself) tells a different story. On a visit to the White House, he said that Germer pointed out “the Crowley tree,” supposedly where he’d buried and lost the ashes—then went on to reveal that his wife had smashed the container containing the ashes at its foot. If either tale is true, the remains of Aleister Crowley have found their final resting place in the Garden State.
Today the White House is a dairy farm on private property, but as fate would have it, the place isn’t far from the Point, the highest peak of the nearby Musconetcong mountain range. Crowley was, among other things, a mountaineer, so perhaps it isn’t a coincidence.
If you can, climb to the top of the Point. Trace a unicursal hexagram (below) in the dirt or on a stone in chalk, then, facing each direction, recite the tenant of Thelema—“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law, love under will”—to invoke and spread love, and invoke the power of free will.
Magic “Down the Shore”
The sun barely peeks over the rippling horizon of the shoreline. Breath smokes in the air; ocean waves rumble. There is no traffic at this hour of the morning or this time of the year. If it was summer, the beach already would be bustling, but it’s the winter solstice, the shore is blissfully uncrowded, and magic is about to happen.
A small clutch of folks gather on the beach. Runes are drawn in the sand, libations are poured, and bread—ready to offer to the seagulls, swooping low—is in hand, but eyes are always flicking toward the horizon. The line between sea and sky is blurred until the upper portion lightens ever so slightly. Now things progress quickly; the crown of the sun bursts over the horizon as if it is being birthed from the water. Orange-pink light gilds the endlessly lapping waves, and warmth—not from the still-distant sun but something inside—creeps through you. A huzzah and offerings are made, and with a final shiver—it’s officially winter, after all—it is time to retire to a local diner for breakfast. The Grove of the Other Gods (http://www.othergods.org) is one of the oldest Ár nDraíocht Féin (ADF) Druid groups in the United States (http://www.adf.org). At each turn of the wheel they conduct established, well-planned, and comfortable rituals at different sites throughout New Jersey, all of them open to guests.
Fantastic Festivals
The Grove’s Beltane celebration is held at sunrise on the Princeton Battlefield in the town of Princeton. This twenty-year tradition supports the Millstone River Morris Dancers, who perform on the field along with a hobby horse, singers, and, of course, a spin ’round the Maypole.
Built in 1650, the Seabrook-Wilson Homestead had been a tavern frequented by British troops during the American Revolution—the root of the legend that would earn the building the name of “the Spy House.” Tales say that the owner, Thomas Seabrook, would eavesdrop on his patrons, then sell them out to patriots—but it’s doubtful that Mr. Seabrook was really a spy. The energy of the ever-churning Atlantic has made the length of the Jersey Shore a hotbed of spirit activity, and the Spy House is said to be one of the most haunted houses in America. A woman in white, a little boy, and a grizzled sea captain have been seen inside.
Find a Haunted House
Humans have always been fascinated by the spirit world, and why not? Death is our ultimate unknown. Haunted houses are a conduit by which we can see and feel the life beyond this one, and they can be found all over the country. Visit hauntedhouses.com or www.hauntedhouseassociation.org, click on your state, and open your mind. Who—or what—will you encounter?
Elephants are creatures of ancient wisdom and removers of obstacles. One of Buddha’s incarnations was a white elephant, and Ganesha’s elephantine form is the embodiment of prosperity and good fortune. Honor the elephant essence with a visit to Lucy, the world’s oldest standing piece of zoomorphic architecture.
Built in 1881 by James Lafferty, a real-estate developer with a flair for whimsy and an eye for fashion (all things “Eastern” were all the rage in the latter nineteenth century), Lucy is a survivor. Despite attacks of harsh weather, years of neglect, and a move to knock her down, she’s still standing—all 6 stories of her—though not on her original site. Visit the heart of Lucy and let her good luck rub off on you. Climb up to her howdah (the carriage on her back), look out to sea, draw on her spirit, and make a wish.
with its Victorian gingerbread-house-lined streets, Cape May has been a picturesque point for seaside sunsets for over a century. However, something a bit more moving takes place away from the shops and cafes and summer homes at the heart of Delaware Bay, Cape May Point. From Memorial Day to Labor Day an American flag is lowered as the sun sinks into the ocean. Everything stops, and everyone seems to be united as the music starts. Sometimes “Taps” is played—the flags used are veteran casket flags—and it is almost certain that there is at least one veteran present as the flag goes down.
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Cape May Point’s pebbly beach is also the solitary source for clear tumbled quartz known as Cape May diamonds. Collect the stones and use them as you would any quartz crystal: for magnification and clarity.
It was a dark and stormy night—really—the night the Jersey Devil was born. There are several versions of the legend, each naming different mothers and exact places of birth, but all agree that the hoofed, winged, and fork-tailed creature came to earth somewhere in the Pine Barrens, the marshland forest that covers a good portion of southern New Jersey.
There have been thousands of sightings in the almost 300 years since the devil made his first appearance, and hunts through the pinelands are still conducted by folks hoping to catch a glimpse of the state’s legendary mascot. But it’s not the devil that makes the woods down here a magical place; it’s his environment. Over a million acres of trees have created a miracle of nature: the Kirkwood-Cohansey aquifer.
The water that flows forms marsh, river, and stream as it feeds the pines and other trees and shrubs, then is filtered by the lower layers of soil to become some of the purest drinking water in the country. This filtering system is also home to a wide variety of plant and animal life. The landscape is vast and changeable; trails nearer to the sea are made of sugary white sand and lined with scrub pines, white oak, birch, bay, and sassafras trees, which rise out of lush fern seas further inland.
Visit the Pinelands Preservation Alliance at www.pinelandsalliance.org to find the many accessible state parks, wildlife refuges, trails, and forests that can be explored in any season by water, foot, or bike. You can also camp—if you dare. The night is the devil’s time.
Charles Godfrey Leland, author of Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches, is an alumnus of Princeton University. Wander through his old haunts on the Nassau Street campus—though you might not want to pass through the Fitzrandolph Gate (at the corner of Nassau and Witherspoon Streets) if you’re attending Princeton yourself. Tradition says that if you cross the gate before you’ve finished your coursework, you might not graduate.
Visit the Firestone Library, where a collection of Leland’s correspondence and other writings are kept. The library also houses other treasures: a scrapbook kept by Hans Christian Andersen, illustrated letters by Beatrix Potter, and the Laurence Hutton collection of Life and Death Masks; this last one can also be viewed online at http://library.princeton.edu/libraries/firestone/rbsc/aids/C0770.
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While you’re chasing Leland’s spirit around Princeton, visit the university’s art museum, where you can gaze into the face of Max Ernst’s Witch. (Witches were one of Ernst’s favorite subjects to paint; he was spellbound by what he perceived as their powers of transformation.) You’ll also find images of Isis and Hathor, objects created for the service of Oshun and Esu-Elegba, and representations of deities from the Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Mayan, and African pantheons.
On October 12 in the year 1730, 300 people gathered in the town of Mount Holly to “see an experiment or two tried on some Persons accused of Witchcraft.” The accused insisted that their accusers be tried with them, and it was discovered that each of them weighed more than a Bible and that all of them were able to swim, more or less. The report appeared in the Pennsylvania Gazette over a week later and just may have been penned by Benjamin Franklin (not all scholars agree on this last point). Whoever wrote it exposed by satire that witch hunts were just as much of a hoax as the Mount Holly “trial.”
The day before Samhain in 1938, Orson Welles’s dramatization of the War of the Worlds convinced folks all over the country that extraterrestrials had indeed landed on earth—in Grover’s Mill (now West Windsor), New Jersey. A bronze plaque marking the spot—and telling the true story of what really happened—is a reminder of the power of belief and the human imagination.
Fantastic Festivals
May brings the opportunity for time (and perhaps space) travel to central New Jersey with the annual Steampunk World’s Fair, a tradition since 2010. Attendees explore that magical space that exists between science, fiction, and spirit through brass-framed goggles.
• http://www.steampunkworldsfair.com
New Jersey rocks—really. The state is considered one of the world’s richest sources for minerals and fossils, and there are several places where you can see this firsthand.
- • Pick through the Mine Run dump at the Sterling Hill Mining Museum to find fluorite, hematite, rhodochrosite, and even gold; over 350 minerals have been found here, 24 of which are unique to the area. It’s likely you’ll pick up a piece of zinc ore laced with willemite, franklinite or zincite, which, when placed under a black light, will reveal its fluorescence. Passing through the black-lit mines piled with thousands of these stones is a magical experience.
- • In addition to a vast mineral collection, you can also see a fully articulated mastodon skeleton (unearthed in Salem County) and a 2,400-year-old Egyptian mummy complete with sarcophagus at the Rutgers University Geology Museum. Experts are available on specified days to identify crystals.
- • The geology collections of the Morris Museum focus on New Jersey’s minerals. In fact, there is a specimen of every mineral, gem, and crystal found in the Garden State on display.
Magical Monuments
New Jersey’s only Egyptian tomb belongs to Hoboken businessman Charles F. Harms. An amateur astronomer, he’d taken a trip to Egypt and was smitten with what he saw there. He had a smaller version of the Great Pyramid made for himself—complete with two sphinxes to guard the entrance—for his journey to the afterlife.
A survivor of childhood polio, Pauline Campanelli was one of America’s most popular modern artists. Her work in oils depicting homey, rustic Americana are instantly recognizable. Her deep connection to earth and ancient ritual—lesser known but equally, if not more, powerful—is expressed in her books Circles, Groves and Sanctuaries and The Wheel of the Year. Pauline was also a keen herbalist and craftswoman, growing and processing plants to make dye, carding and spinning wool from sheep she had raised, and creating magical quilts. She passed to the Summerland in 2001. Flying Witch Farm (now a private residence), the historic home she rebuilt with her husband, Dan, still stands in western New Jersey, near the Delaware River.
A rotunda crowns O’Donnell Park, a memorial to those who served in the First World War. Inside, Liberty personified in bronze cries out over the lifeless body of a fallen soldier, but there is more to this monument in the middle of Atlantic City. Modeled after a Grecian temple, it is an enclosed ring of sixteen Doric columns with four entrances, each one marking a cardinal direction.
Art is all around you—especially in a cemetery. Most of the time we don’t know who created the tombstones carved with images that convey comfort and faith through their symbolism—but sometimes we do. If you wander around New Jersey cemeteries, especially the older ones, chances are you’ve seen the work of Ebenezer Price. The brownstone headstones he carved with soul effigies, columns, and flowers date from the middle of the eighteenth century and are often signed with his initials or his full name. His own stone is brown, like those that he carved, and decorated with an angel-like soul effigy.
New Jersey’s own wizard, Thomas Edison, made his mark in Menlo Park, the site of his first laboratory, and then his larger facility and home in West Orange. A controversial figure in life and beyond, Edison had a keen interest in the occult, attending theosophical meetings and trying to invent a “spirit phone”—a device to hear the dead. Edison’s remains are interred in his Glenmont estate, but his true legacy lies in his laboratory—a veritable steampunk dreamscape—just across the road from his former lab.
No character is more sacred—or wise—than the fool. America’s most famous fool (or clown) was Dan Rice. Part of the circus culture that flourished at the time of the Civil War, Rice rubbed elbows with the political elite, campaigning for Zachary Taylor (where he’s credited with coining the phrase “jump on the bandwagon”) and then running for the highest office himself (he dropped out, probably figuring it was a foolish quest). Believed to be a model for the iconic Uncle Sam figure (there are several candidates, New York butcher Sam Wilson being the most widely accepted), Rice took his final bows in the seaside town of Long Branch.
Walt Whitman’s writing expressed the desire of humanity to be one with nature, the heart of heathenry. Today he rests in idyllic Harleigh Cemetery.
Sacred Sites and Magical Spots
Ellis Island
There’s only one way to get there, the same way tens of millions have: by water. And when you arrive, chances are that the Great Hall of Ellis Island will be filled with people, just as it was when immigrants started arriving in 1892.
Places of passage are vortexes of energy, and the tiled walls and polished floors of the Great Hall are alive with the still-palpable feelings of hope, terror, excitement, and promise felt by those who came to America through this portal. They’d come for a better life, if not directly for themselves, then for future generations. While many immigrants crossed the river to New York City, just as many settled on the Jersey side.
Ellis Island was an active portal for sixty years. Before colonial settlers came to this area, Native Americans called it Oyster Island for the hearty crops of shellfish that were gathered in its shallows. The island was bought by Samuel Ellis in 1774 when it became a strategic point during the Revolution, and it remained a fortress into the nineteenth century. It did a short stint as a theater and concert hall before being used as a site for processing immigrants. About 40 percent of the people in the United States can trace their heritage back to folks who passed through Ellis Island.
Reenactment, even on a small scale, is ritual. Make a journey by water to Ellis Island, then walk through the Great Hall and through the processing rooms. Even though the latter are sanitized (though full of really interesting information, artifacts, and photos), these are the rooms where people passed through medical screenings, hearings, and, sometimes, indefinite waiting. Once you’ve gone through the main building, go outside and gaze across the water to the abandoned portion of the island, where the hospital lies dormant and untouched, the ghosts of its past not sponged away. Toss a penny (a nod to the Statue of Liberty, made of copper) into the Hudson River as a tribute to their bravery for making the journey. Recite their names aloud as you do so.
Note: Boats to both Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty can be taken from Liberty State Park or Battery Park in New York.
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In view of Ellis Island is the lady in the harbor, America’s green goddess, the Statue of Liberty. New Jersey and New York share Ellis Island, but technically most of it is designated as part of New Jersey. The Statue of Liberty and her island are a part of New York City. A gift from France, she is a classical figure with nineteenth-century style (particularly her hairdo). Three smaller replicas (and a life-size second version of the torch) face their sister from Paris.
Rendered in copper—an excellent conductor of energy—her now-oxidized color invokes life and rebirth. She was the first thing the folks on the boats saw coming in. How could she—majestic, motherly, and fearless—fail to inspire hope and strength for those who saw her? Visit the statue and walk around her clockwise, speaking lines from Emma Lazarus’s poem as a mantra—“I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”—to be a light and an inspiration to those still coming to America in the hopes of a better life.
The BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir
When you step under the center of the main dome, a flower rendered in glittering polished stone, geometric and precise, blooms outward under your feet. Above your head, another in purest white seems to reach down and touch you. All around, you are watched by the eyes of a thousand figures delicately carved into the stone. You have entered the heart of the BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir: a space to quiet the mind.
Mandir means “abode of Bhagwans” (Bhagwan translates to God). This particular mandir follows the teachings of Bhagwan Swaminarayan, the eighteenth-century social reformer and incarnation of God, and is one of only a handful of such traditional mandirs in North America. A place of culture as well as spirit, visitors will find the soul of India in these walls.
Each morning at 11:30 a.m. the arti ritual is performed at the mandir. Arti is an expression of one’s complete and unflinching love toward God, and at this ceremony of light participants wave ghee-soaked wicks before the sacred images to greet and honor them, and invoke their blessings and love into the flame. This tradition dates back several thousands of years to when fire was needed to view the sacred images in the absence of light and electricity.
Filled with sacred images (murtis), every square inch of wall, floor, and ceiling tells a story. Facial expressions, held objects, and costumes identify deities and symbolic figures who gaze at you with kind eyes and bless you with love.
Find a Mandir
Hindu temples come in all shapes and sizes, with beauty inside and out. They are houses of prayer and places of respite. Visit www.hindutemples.us to find one in your home state.
Pyramid Mountain
Follow the blue-marked trail to ascend Pyramid Mountain and you’ll encounter evidence of the glacial pathway that shaped this land: stones pave a way around trees and tall grasses, then under a grove of rhododendron shrubs. The rocks get bigger and bigger until the very ground is solid stone. When you reach the top of the mountain, you’ll see it: the Tripod.
As solid as it is precarious, the Tripod is overwhelming; the large boulder is the size of a small house, and the ones beneath it are so very much smaller. It can look almost comic, a gigantic stone bear on stubby legs. Most likely it’s a glacial erratic—stones set precariously on top of each other or dangling on the edge of a precipice by the relentless path of the glacier that carved the mountain.
The Tripod’s presence lends energy to this place—the reason, perhaps, that fifty yards away is a structure that is the work of human hands (or great coincidence). Two stones set side by side are aligned with the rising summer solstice sun. Smaller stones are propped up under them as if to put them at the right angle to focus the light. Veins of quartz crystal run down the large boulder and on the solstice stones, catching the light of the sun when it penetrates the platform.
Genesis Farm
She sits quietly between the farmhouse and the barn, resting like a rocking chair, branches of fanning evergreen making a curtain, a shelter from sun, rain, and cold mist. When the wind blows they shake slightly, making the whisper sound of comfortable breath and carrying the scent of cedar and pine. Her limbs are thick and low, broad and cradlelike. In her arms you will feel safe and loved.
He stands at the center of the land, an elder black walnut named and blessed by Cherokee healer Chief Thundercloud. He is Grandfather Tree, the heart of Genesis Farm, but she, the unnamed evergreen, is the soul. If he is grandfather, she is grandmother, and here masculine and feminine energy dwell in balance, dancing across the land, this sacred space that is gently and respectfully cared for by human hands.
Run by the sisters of St. Domenic for over thirty years, Genesis Farm is a model of self-sufficiency, environmental awareness, and green living. A variety of habitats—wetlands, forests, hills, and gardens—lay next to each other in harmony. Seeds are planted, the harvest shared with the community, and new seeds, heirlooms saved for another spin ’round the wheel, are planted again. The original buildings to the property have been reclaimed for practical use and fitted with environmentally friendly amenities; new buildings are of sustainable and innovative hay-bale construction. It is a gentle ongoing experiment, an honest attempt to reconnect with the heart and soul of the earth.
Radiating out from Grandfather Tree, the landscape is dotted with sacred spaces, places of meditation and healing. Some are wide and open—copses of woods, a memorial garden, a medicine wheel that overlooks the hills rolling toward the Kittatiny Ridge of the Allamuchy Mountains that you can see on a clear day, and some small nooks that you will only see if you stumble upon them: a shrine, a sun wheel, or finding a tiny frog in the grass by the pond. What the eyes may miss, other senses see: the scent of damp earth, dry leaves, snow on the way, and the pulse of life beneath your feet, the earth’s steady heartbeat. The land is alive; if you listen, it will speak to you, and you will find that it speaks many languages.
Fantastic Festivals
Portals and Passages, a cycle of rituals that celebrate the turning Wheel of the Year are held the day before (the opening of the Portal of Passage), the day of, and the day after (the closing of the Portal of Passage) each transition at Genesis Farm. Simple in form, the rites acknowledge the wisdom of all paths—major religions, indigenous spirituality, science, and the human heart. Materials are available for visitors to walk through the rites themselves if they wish; the opening and closing of the portals are conducted by the staff. The name the farm has given this work is “earth literacy and transition culture,” a seamless blending of science and spirituality, and a deliberate search to find the Divine in all things.
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About five miles from Genesis Farm on Route 519 at the Warren and Sussex County borders is Dark Moon Preservation, where you can experience the land as it was when the Lenni Lenape—the Native American nation who called New Jersey home—walked here. Unmarked but publically accessible, fields of milkweed and other flowers make for glorious butterfly sightings in the warmer months. Make your way back into the woods (the site is also home to a substantial stand of cedar trees) to see the remnants of a 600-year old Lenni Lenape village.
Visit the Ridge and Valley Conservancy’s webpage for Dark Moon Preserve (www.ridgeandvalleyconservancy.org/preserves/dark-moon-preserve) to print out a trail map that also shows the access point along Route 519 in Blairstown (there is no street address). The conservancy also conducts butterfly walks and guided tours of the Lenape village.
Find a Farm
One of Genesis Farm’s purposes is to be a model of living in harmony with the earth and her seasons. To that end, it is a working community farm cooperative. Eating locally grown and seasonal food brings the temporal and the spiritual into alignment. Find a local farm in your area by visiting www.localharvest.org or www.eatlocalgrown.com to bring earth-friendly lifestyle aspects to your practices.
The Rabbit Tree
Canal Road in Vernon Township runs into a grassy patch of the Appalachian Trail that is the site—possibly—of one of a handful of vanishing treasures. Walk around the barrier that prevents cars from entering the walking path and you’ll see it immediately on your right: the Rabbit Tree.
It’s called the Rabbit Tree because with a little imagination the trunk can seem to have a rabbit’s face: a nose about to twitch; two dark, deep-set eyes; ears reaching toward the sky. More unusual is the sharp angle made by the trunk. Are these features a natural occurrence or was the tree manipulated to grow like this on purpose? Nothing has been proven, but this just might be a Native American trail marker.
Native American nations all over the country practiced tree bending to create natural markers that show directions, resources, and sacred sites. Many of these trees—and sometimes stones near them—were shaped, stacked, and carved to look like animals for protection, to invoke energy, or to indicate hunting grounds. The method for manipulating the trees is not unlike the practice of espaliering (the training of trees—usually fruit trees—to grow against a wall in a garden where space is limited). Trunks were tied down and staked, the bend supported by a thong.
Because of development and, of course, natural occurrences, many trail trees are lost to us. They’re not easy to identify. Not only shape but age is taken into consideration. Native Americans were active in this area up until the end of the eighteenth century, which would mean existing trail trees should be about 200 to 300 years old.
Although it is the right kind of tree (black walnut, a hardwood), the age of the Rabbit Tree is uncertain, so its authenticity is questionable. This could be an example of Colonial handiwork; it’s possible that settlers learned about trail trees from Native Americans and took up the practice themselves. Whatever its history, the Rabbit Tree embodies the spirit of a trail tree marker. Know that they exist, and work to protect them.
Note: Take Canal Road to the end (the closest intersection is Bucky Lane). There is a small parking area to your left. The tree is just inside the footpath.
Find a Trail Tree
The Mountain Stewards have been seeking out and documenting trail trees for over a decade. Visit www.mountainstewards.org/project/internal_index.html to see documented trail trees in different states. It is important to note that the trees on this site have been authenticated by Native American nations and are considered sacred ancestral sites. The exact locations are not disclosed.
The New Jersey Vihara and Meditation Center
Traveling from New Brunswick to Princeton on Route 27 you’ll pass through a burgeoning city and suburban neighborhoods before things start to get a bit rural. The change becomes evident when you get to an area called Monmouth Junction, a woodsy stretch of road that leads into the quaint town of Kingston. Suddenly, on the southbound side, the trees fall away to reveal a massive snow-white Buddha. He sits on a pink lotus against a backdrop of green. And if it’s nighttime, he glows against a curtain of sparkling lights.
The Samadhi Statue (so called because of its meditative position) is the tallest statue of Buddha in a meditative pose in the United States. Its purpose, and that of the Meditation Center, is to invoke and promote a peaceful world. Stand at the foot of Buddha and join your spirit to this most worthy cause. Up close, Buddha is surrounded by marble tile where you can approach him barefoot. Crafted by a Sri Lankan monk, he and his lotus base are made of steel, brick, and concrete.
The Samadhi Statue is only one aspect of this sacred space, the New Jersey Vihara and Meditation Center. The house is now a residence for the monks who live on the property, but anyone can visit, spend a peaceful hour in Buddha’s presence, and then explore the wooded area beyond. Trails wind through the ten-acre property, marked with inspirational and thought- provoking signs, courtesy of local Boy Scouts. When you are back in the presence of Buddha, you will have walked the circuit between human, the Divine, and nature—here, all one. Be changed, then be the change you want to see in the world.
Stop By for a Spell…
Christopher Alan Midose is a lifelong resident of Monmouth County, New Jersey. His family roots in the state can be traced back to the late seventeenth century. Christopher is a professional astrologer, tarot reader, and teacher of various occult and metaphysical subjects. He is co-owner of Earth Spirit New Age Center in Red Bank, New Jersey, which has been serving the area’s metaphysical community since 1991. Christopher was initiated into the Tuatha De Danann by Elder Katharine Clark in 1993. Since then he has followed a very eclectic magical path, drawing inspiration from various heritages. He lives with his longtime partner in Red Bank, New Jersey, where he owns a home.
The ocean has always been a spiritual place to me. Growing up in New Jersey, many of the summer days of my childhood were spent playing on the beach and swimming in the ocean. There was something magical to me about it, coming home with the smell of the ocean and suntan oil on my skin and that all-over relaxed feeling that I would get from a day well spent swimming, building sand castles, and sometimes just floating in the water, looking up at the sun and the sky.
Later, in my teen years, I discovered the joys of sneaking down to the beach at night and swimming under the moon and stars. One of my favorite things on summer nights was sliding my hand a few inches down into the sand to feel the heat of the day still locked under the surface. One of my most vivid memories is of a summer night spent on the beach with friends, skinny-dipping under the full moon rising over the eastern horizon. I felt as if I was swimming in moonlight—as if the light itself was something physical. I painted a picture a few days later of the experience, and it hangs today in my office where I do psychic and astrology readings as a constant reminder to me of the magic that the world of night and the sea carry.
About that time, one day I was on the beach by myself; I had come down to clear my mind of some problem I was having. For some reason it occurred to me to write that problem down. I believe the word I wrote was “fear” in the sand just a little in from where the water met the shore. The tide was coming in, and in just a few minutes the waves had completely washed the word away. I took this as a sign that spirit had taken away my fear. That night I remember facing that situation with a new sense of strength. For many years after that, whenever I had the need, I would sneak down and write on the sand the things I needed to get out of my life, and then I’d let the sea take it out. I would always imagine mermaids or mermen swimming just under the waves, watching me and sometimes sending me their love to help me deal with whatever was troubling me. I never put a person’s name down; for some reason, even before I started to study Wicca, I knew it was wrong to try manipulating the karma and actions of others…even those individuals whom I did not like.
As time went on, I began to ask for certain things to be manifested into my life. These things, too, I would write into the sand—love, money, good health, new friends. When I started my studies of Wicca in the early 1990s, both with an elder and later on my own, I started to incorporate the writing manifestation onto candles of appropriate color. I would burn them on the right day and magical hour very formally, and the result was usually quite successful. In time, though, it felt to me there was always something more powerful about actually going down to the shore and writing out under the sky and the sun or moon what I needed. Often when I look at the ephemeris afterward and check where the planets were at the time of my spellcasting, it almost always was the perfect time. We always know best deep down inside, and I suggest you try following your intuitive impulse. There is a problem in becoming too restricted by tradition and timing; the older I get, the more I see that magic done spontaneously has the best overall outcome. Learn to listen to the voices of the ocean, the moon, the sun, and the stars; they will call you when the time is best.