Ra Paulette Cave Tour

You know how sometimes you just need to escape? Not from your job or your in-laws—I mean really escape. Like, leave the planet for a bit. Well, folks, you don’t need a spaceship. You just need to follow some dirt road in New Mexico to a place that looks like a hobbit’s fever dream.

I’m talking about Ra Paulette’s Cave. It’s a cave, sure. But calling it a “cave” is like calling the Mona Lisa a “nice sketch.” Paulette is this 70-something-year-old guy who spent decades carving cathedrals of light into sandstone hills with nothing but hand tools. He’s like if Michelangelo decided to quit painting ceilings and instead built a bunker for elves.

The "Wait, This Isn't a Hotel" Moment

When you arrive, your car will probably complain about the dusty road. You’ll walk up a hill, and then you’ll see it: a small, unassuming hole in the rock. Your brain will say, “Cool, a hole. We drove three hours for a hole.” Don’t trust your brain.

Step inside, and your jaw will hit the floor. Sunlight pours in from tiny openings, hitting carved alcoves and pillars that look like they grew there. It’s like nature and a mad sculptor had a secret handshake, and they’re both winking at you.

I remember standing there, mouth open, smelling that cool, dusty air. My friend whispered, “Is this a church?” I whispered back, “No, it’s Ra’s living room. He just forgot to install a couch.”

Carved by a Guy Who Hated Bosses

Here’s the wild part: Ra Paulette is not a trained architect. He’s a former ditch digger and hippie who just started chipping away because he wanted to. He spent ten years on one cave, alone, listening to NPR and eating granola bars.

He’s basically the human version of a dad who says, “I can build that deck myself.” Except instead of a crooked deck, he built a multi-chambered masterpiece that makes you feel small in the best way. The guy even said he got kicked off his own property by the landowner once. Now that’s a boss-level plot twist.

You’ll find these little details everywhere: a curve that perfectly cradles a shaft of light, a smooth stone bench that feels like it was made for your back. It’s like Ra knew you were coming, even though he’s never met you.

The Tour: A Walk for Your Brain

The tour isn’t a guided thing with a microphone. It’s more of a “wander while holding a flashlight” situation. You’ll duck through low passages, crawl over small ridges, and suddenly be in a circular room that echoes when you cough. It feels like a secret clubhouse for adults who never grew up.

One room looks like a stone jellyfish turning inside out. Another has a “window” that frames a patch of sky that seems to change color every ten minutes. I sat on a rock for twenty minutes, just watching shadows crawl across the walls. I haven’t been that quiet since I accidentally muted myself on a Zoom call.

And yes, you will definitely bonk your head. It’s not a real adventure until you’ve smacked your skull on a million-year-old rock. Wear a hat. Trust me. You’ll laugh about it later, while rubbing the bump.

What It Feels Like (in Your Regular Life)

You know that feeling when you finally sit down after a long day, and your shoulders drop? That’s what this cave does to your soul. It’s like a weighted blanket for your anxieties. The air smells like rain and ancient dust, and the silence is so full it’s loud.

I saw a guy just press his palm against the wall and close his eyes. Was he meditating? Trying to absorb the Wi-Fi signal of the universe? Who knows. But he looked happier than anyone I’ve ever seen at a DMV.

It’s the kind of place that makes you forget your phone exists. No cell service, no Instagram check-ins. Just you, the rocks, and the ghost of a guy who decided to dig a hole for the sake of digging a hole. And honestly? That’s a pretty good life lesson.

Final Verdict: Go Before You Forget

Ra Paulette is still alive, still carving things, and still not taking your calls. The tours are limited—you have to book way in advance, like trying to get a table at a cool brunch spot. But it’s worth the effort.

You’ll leave with dirt in your shoes, a story to tell, and a weird urge to pick up a sharp rock and start chipping your own basement wall. Don’t do that. But do go. Because sometimes the best escape from a crazy world is just walking into a crazy man’s dream.

And if you find a little alcove with a round window and a patch of afternoon sun—that’s the spot. Sit there. Nod at the silence. You’ll smile. I promise.