“Trust an unknown future with a known God,” urges the sign in front of the Sangre de Cristo Christian Church on the outskirts of Crestone, Colo., which is close to a four-hour drive south of Denver off Highway 17. The town might seem to be in the middle of nowhere, but if you're seeking a taste of the divine, you've probably come to the right place.
At 8,000 feet on the edge of the desert plains of the San Luis Valley beneath the Sangre de Cristo Range, this town and its environs have about 1,500 residents and two dozen religious centers, including Buddhist monasteries, a Catholic monastery, a Taoist retreat, a Hindu ashram, a Shumei center and several American Indian sanctuaries. This forested hillside haven, nestled on an enormous aquifer below the 14,000-foot Crestone Peaks, has long been considered sacred.
“The Navajo and Hopi think of this as holy ground,” said John Milton, a naturalist who runs shamanic Indian workshops on the serene 210-acre Sacred Land Trust along North Crestone Creek. “Elders from the community still come here to worship. This area was probably considered holy thousands of years before Europeans ever set foot here,” Milton said.
It's easy to see why. There's an epic quality to these crags that rise out of the plains like ghost cathedrals of fantastic proportions.
“Places like Sedona and Santa Fe are full of healers and seekers who change what they seek every week,” said the local Zen abbot, Richard Baker Roshi, a fixture of the Beat scene in the 1960s and a major figure in introducing Zen Buddhism to the United States. “This has less distractions. Those who come here tend to be more directed in what they seek.”
Part of the lure is in the twilight. At dusk, the setting sun gives the Sangre de Cristo Mountains – Spanish for “Blood of Christ” – an ethereally red hue. Crestone itself, with its dozen ramshackle blocks of old miners' buildings, leaves no doubt that you are indeed in the West – though the sight of Tibetan monks in flowing robes and aging hippies lugging Vedic tomes prompts the question: How far West?
“Throw a brick around here and you'll hit a psychic,” said Mark Elliott, a British filmmaker and Buddhist who has lived in Crestone for two decades. “When I first came here, it was practically a ghost town. I thought I would drop off the face of the Earth. But Crestone has risen in the world since I've moved here, and I'm more connected to the worlds that interest me as a result.”
Crestone's emergence as an international religious crossroads started in the 1970s when Maurice Strong, a Canadian power company tycoon and an international diplomat, acquired a controlling interest in the 200,000-acre Baca Ranch next to the town. While Strong's wife, Hanne, was visiting the place, a local mystic named Glenn Anderson appeared at her doorstep.
“He was an old chap who had a lot of students in the valley,” Hanne Strong said. “He came right up and announced, 'I predicted in the '60s that a foreigner would come here and build an international religious center here. What took you so long?' ”
The Danish-born Hanne Strong was inspired enough to start the Manitou Foundation, which allocates land grants and money for religious orders that want to set up in the area. Tibetan and Bhutanese Buddhists have been the largest beneficiaries, with a half-dozen Buddhist centers in Crestone.
The hyperkinetic Hanne Strong is far from done: At least two new Buddhist centers are being built.
This isn't Aspen or Sedona chic. Those seeking high-thread-count inns, extravagant New Age knickknacks, easy-listening metaphysics and great sushi will be disappointed. Crestone is devoid of five-star luxuries, or even a strong sense of commerce. There, paradise arrives at everyday low prices and things are kept simple: Houses and cabins sometimes still sell for five figures, dinner checks are sometimes rounded down if you lack cash and locals crack a smile when newcomers lock car doors.
