So alright, I’m going to talk about Atlantis now. Yes, I can see you all backing off, making hex signs and funny faces because isn’t “Atlantis” a thought experiment by Plato? A totally mythical place where only fictional stories can happen? Isn’t it like Mu, a land to long for, maybe wish you could be like that? Didn’t someone turn that into a cartoon full of doomed characters? Why the heck does Rev. Wolfie want to talk about Atlantis, anyway? Has she cracked up and is about to join all the crazies searching the ocean floor for the remainders of an ancient civilization that probably never actually existed? Has she bought into her own stories of Drake Crow and the magical island resort?
Well, no, I’m still rooted firmly in the here and now, thank you very much. I’m not about to take diving lessons so I can join the people examining the Bimini Road. And Crow’s stories are supposed to be entertainment first and we won’t talk about why I wrote them or what I learned along the way. That’s my story behind the story and I’d rather you just enjoy the fiction.
But I’m still going to talk about Atlantis.
Before I do, let me take you way back to the beginnings of my spiritual journey, to the time when I was just beginning to learn what it was the spirits wanted me to know. I was young then, didn’t ache so much, and was still searching for the “religion” that would work for me. I was about 14 when the Lutheran Church I grew up in and was confirmed in started it’s campaign against things. Specifically, against the backmasked satanic messages that “evil” hard rock bands were putting in their music. You know, I might not have backed away if the preacher had simply warned us away from those bands - had preached the way of making good choices and avoiding the Devil’s work. But my church had proposed a “record smashing” where all the albums could be brought and destroyed. They even provided a list of “evil” records so we young folk could go through our collections and weed out what was wrong.
I was appalled. In my young mind I saw the Nazi’s burning books, the medieval destructions of “seditious art” and the South’s banning of certain books from school libraries. It was absolutely nothing less than censorship of the worst kind, and it stopped me cold. It was wrong. It was forcing one person’s opinion on someone else, requiring everyone to conform without thinking for themselves.
I left the church of my childhood, but I took along the teachings of a great man. A man who spoke of loving other people, of taking care of the sick and injured and doing what you can to make the world a better place. I took along the moral tales out of the Bible, too, of being kind to strangers and not allowing those in power to take advantage of you, like the money changers in the temple had taken advantage of those who came to worship. And I went looking for a religion that didn’t preach hatred, separation, stereotypes, fear or destruction.
Even back then I knew in my heart those things were not what this life was about.
I started at the library, searching through books on religion. I looked at a lot of things from Buddhist teachings to Wiccan to Tao to the Norse Pantheon to Jewish teachings and Native American Spiritualism. In them, I began to find some similar paths, some echoes of what my heart already knew was true. And through some of the new age books I found the kernels of truth that I needed. I found the way to connect to my own spirit guides, to quest for visions and journey for answers. That didn’t take more than five or six years. Piece of cake!
In the meantime, I finished high school and started college. I began studying a creative writing curriculum, since by then I was already writing fiction stories and plotting game scenarios for my AD&D and Champions playing friends. Yes, I’m that kind of geek, and I have the dice to prove it.
I was thrilled to discover all kinds of classes, recommended by my advisor, that would help improve my writing skills. I filled my first few semesters with writing, reading and a couple of other interesting and degree necessary courses like history, psychology and sociology. (As a side note, the reason I have no degree from all my years of study is: Math. I might have to talk about that sometime.) I thrived in that study rich environment and in the fiction and nonfiction books I read even while taking classes that required some pretty heavy reading.
It was in an elective on creative thinking that I learned my first meditation technique, a very simple way of clearing the mind and emotions of clutter in order to bring a fresh perspective to a problem, a plotline, an article. It’s a technique I still use and teach today. It was that meditation technique that helped me along on my very first vision quest ever.
Okay, picture this. Young woman with a beaten up twentieth hand car full of the detritus of commuter college living drives out to a park on the outskirts of town and walks far down a path to a cliff where she knows she won’t be bothered. Nevermind that she’s alone. Nevermind that she has absolutely nothing with her, not even a bottle of water. Nevermind that she’s about to try something she isn’t totally sure she’s ready to do, yet. Nevermind that cell phones weren’t even invented yet. She goes deep into the park’s wooded area, sits on a cliff overlooking some tall trees, closes her eyes and proceeds to block out everything in the outside world.
Don’t do that, okay?
That journey was the first time I walked in the spirit world. It was the first time I met a spirit guide - the white wolf who still guides me in the lower world (not that I knew to call it that, then). It was the first time I walked in my spirit wolf form. That journey wasn’t about anything but meeting my guide, seeing a little of the spirit realm and seeing myself there. And yet it taught me a lot.
Starting with; if you’re going to journey in the woods, take along at least a bottle of water. And maybe a snack. Because when I came back into this world over an hour later, my body was tired and trembling. I made it back to my car because I was young and used to taking long walks in hilly parks.
Seriously, don’t do that.
From that moment on, though, I knew I didn’t have to go to such extremes. I could talk to my guides anytime, anywhere. And over the next few years I learned more from following their advice than I did from anything else. There were books, but they were ones my guides led me to. There were rocks, too. That was when I really started talking to the spirits of things, and rocks were the easiest for me. Thank you spirits for guiding me to try the easy stuff first. Rocks are simple, easily focused and befriended spirits. Smartphones are a bit more complex and flighty.
During this time my outer life progressed, too. Different jobs from theatre costumer and set grunt to short order cook and chef’s understudy to retail work and even a volunteer stint teaching inner city kids remedial reading skills kept me plenty busy. Not to mention family obligations and gaming friends who actually got together weekly. And the Society for Creative Anachronism, where research actually was necessary for participation.
And there was that man. That college student who just caught and kept my eye, who made me laugh and shared comic books with me. The one I dated even when he moved away to attend another college in another town. The one whose Jewish family taught me another view of spirituality. The man I married.
Okay, he was not the first guy I’d dated. Not the first one I had sex with, even. I was certain marriage was the right thing to do, even though on our wedding day I had laryngitis and ended up whispering my vows. It’s funny, looking back, to see how spirit is working in your life. Because obviously, life with my first husband didn’t work out. Still, I learned a lot from him and from the experience. I saw Florida because his family gathered there one summer. I experienced the big ouch of having to let go of someone I really cared for because we had grown apart instead of together. Because he wanted to bring me back into the conformity our society treasured and his family valued. He sought comfort where I sought growth.
I stayed unmarried for a while but I had friends and experiences in plenty during that time. And I even met the second man I married, the man who sparked my interest in herbal medicine and taught me more about how bodies work from the chiropractic perspective. The one who moved to the mountains with me and adventured there in hiking and vegetarian cooking and eco conscious living. The one who handled the despair of losing our business by losing his drive and a lot of his interest in life while I handled it by finding new positive things to involve myself in. He too crawled back into conformity while I took the lessons and moved on.
There were rocky parts of my life, and there were good parts. I like to remember the lessons and the teachers I met. There were many spirits - birds, mountains, trees, rocks, caves, ruins where people once lived. There was a Great Lake and a bunch of rivers and some bitter cold and baking dry heat. There were sacred places, too, where energy flowed so strongly that even those who didn’t feel the more subtle places were moved. Petrified forests, mineral springs, black sand beaches, cliffs, groves of trees. There were also many people. A young man who taught me to relax into my sexuality. A woman who taught me to use salt or white light to cleanse places. A young gentleman who taught me to live in a big city unharmed and still free to move. A woman who taught me to talk the language of horse. A horse who taught me to pay attention. A Ute woman who taught me to put an imperfection in each beaded piece to remind us of the imperfection of life. A pagan couple who taught me that love can get plenty done. A nurse who taught me to listen to my body to catch the next ear infection early. A ghost spirit who taught me that even spirits get taken by surprise sometimes. A man who taught me music and food can both be as simple or as complex as we want them to be. A cat who taught me that unconditional love doesn’t make life perfect. A woman who taught me that constant drama and tension are not a good way to live, no matter how good things are otherwise. An oak tree who taught me the meaning of patience. So many teachers, this doesn’t begin to touch the surface of them all.
I learned new skills, too. How to journey while walking. How to be truly still, right down to my emotions and thoughts. How to carve wood badly. How to keep an old car running when it probably shouldn’t still work. How to read runes. How to leave a job gracefully, and how to do it poorly. How to stitch beads into patterns. How to pinch pennies until they cry. How to let go of what is hurting me. How to wire wrap. How to reach deep into Mother Earth for healing energy. How to tap into the natural energy of our planet and weave it with intent into solid objects. What aromatherapy is all about. How to find what I’m looking for, and how to let things that need to come to or through me find me.
The rest of my spirit wolf pack joined me - the big black male who protects me and the two tan wolves, male and female, who do everything from offering comfort to joining adventures and explorations. I journeyed a lot, learned to work with many different tools, and listened to lots of different music. I crafted some stories, wrote in my journals, and read lots and lots of books.
And then I came home to the Midwest, where my adventures got shorter and my focus became very small. These were my still years, when all the things I’d learned started to digest in my mind. When the internet and its flood of information gave me the opportunity to look up anything I needed. When I learned even more about illness and the slow decay of body and mind that happens to us with age. When I found a simple job and kept it far longer than I should have. When I spent my time outwardly portraying conformity while I inwardly discovered truths about myself I’d never thought were more than parts of fictitious characters.
And I wrote, and wrote some more.
Then, one day, not all that long ago when I’m looking back over forty five years of life, I began to feel the urge to move again. Not physically move, but to start thinking seriously about my spirituality, to start journeying again, and to visit places where the energy of the world could fill me up again. I started talking to the spirits again. And I started following their advice again. I reached out to find a community that would accept me and at least most of my quirks. And I found people. Teachers, friends, new family and a few people who just needed what the spirits had taught me over the years.
My old path ended when I realized what that old recurring dream of mine meant, what the symbols were for and what the long lesson of my life so far had taught me. The old path ended, and I stepped onto my new path with confidence and joy.
The spirits pushed hard then to get me to learn and do some new things. To become ordained. To learn to lead rituals, not just participate in them. To push my own limits and try things I’d never thought I could do. It was preparation, all that learning about drums and moon cycles and pagan holidays and how the turn of the seasons echos the turn of our lives and how to apply what I’d learned in that dream I’d had over and over for so long. To play in a drum circle, to make a rattle, to safely tie someone motionless with hemp rope, to call the elemental spirits to witness, to journey to the upper world as easily as I have always journeyed to the lower world and in the middle world. To forgive and release a spirit who was doing no one any good. To bring what I’d always thought of as separate parts of my identity together as one much less confused whole. To get together and talk to my old friend, now a Kumu in her own right. To meet her teacher, and through her another teacher, a voice of the ancestors.
To hear Mu mentioned, and consider it along with Atlantis as serious possible realities that simply don’t share the same resonance as our own familiar physical world.
All along my path, I’d research a faith, a religion, a set of beliefs. And as I considered the parts that seemed to echo my own inner knowledge, I’d realize it wasn’t all of what I was looking for. When I asked the spirits, all they kept telling me was “what you seek is older than that.” Older than aboriginal beliefs? Older than written histories? Older than paintings in caves where the meaning is lost?
Yes.
Older, perhaps, than this fragile physical world.
So old that the spirits wearing bodies of flesh, wood and stone here only remember tiny bits of it. We call it Mu, Lemuria, Atlantis, Faerie, other things. We think it is lost, destroyed or receded so far it’s hard to get to. It lives in some tales, always warped a bit by whatever culture talks about it and whatever social agenda they have for doing so. But those are echos of another place, another time, another state of being for the spirits who walk around within us.
In talking about Atlantis, I know that I am only talking about one of these distant place/times. One that I can visit, though, now that I’ve chosen to open my mind and take the journey. One where I can meet some of my own ancestors and old friends. I honestly can’t say that I’m using the name the inhabitants use for it. The language there is filtered through my own perceptions, because it’s so much less a language of words than it is a language of concepts and thoughts. Some things are simple, like baked fish and potatoes. Some is harder to convey, though, like the use for the central pyramid’s top plaza, and it will take many words to try to get my meaning onto a page so that someone else can comprehend.
Is this why there’s always seemed to be so much left out of the books I’ve found? The fact that some of it seems so simple and some of it nearly defies description? Parts of it sound silly, even though some of those parts hold the most important concepts. Have they not been written because those who knew them realized that without enough core understanding, they would sound ridiculous?
As ridiculous as visiting Atlantis and talking to dragons and dolphins?
There are places here on this world where people understand that simplicity is good enough and that love and laughter heal. They are oasis in a world so separated from the spiritual that we forget that we are spiritual. There is a place in the islands where they know that love and light are what really matters, and everything else is just a vacation of experiences. There is a place deep in mountains where they know that the purpose of life here is simple - eat when you’re hungry and sleep when you’re tired. There is a place deep in the jungle where they know that the river has tasty fish, the trees have tasty fruit, and wide leaves make plenty of roof to keep off the rain. There are places where they still know that the Earth provides what they need and living is enough for any of us to do. It’s quite possible they are closer to the truth than the rest of us who are caught up in this world of want and fear.
Where spirits live, life is both simple and complex, all at once. Those worlds are rich with reminders of knowledge and lessons learned in other places. They are lived at a different pace, with different reasons for being, different priorities and different motivations. This world of ours is as novel to them as their world is to us. That’s why they chose to put on solid coverings and visit here - the same reason we chose to step out of this frequency and visit there. We learn. The insights open our thoughts to realities we hadn’t imagined before.
So when I’m talking about Atlantis, I want you to know that it’s perfectly real. We just can’t see it from where we stand. I’ll visit that realm and come back to here and now to offer insights to some of you. Don’t worry if you don’t understand, if it sparks nothing for you or sounds ridiculous. Believe me, parts of it sounded pretty silly to me not all that long ago. Consider what you do understand, and enjoy the rest of the ride. And don't forget to think for yourself.
Di, the Reverend Wolfie,
Walker in Two Worlds
Showing posts with label wolf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wolf. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Two Wolves
This is an old, old story - older than some of the hills. I’m sure you’ve heard it before somewhere, maybe in another form with different characters or told with different words. I’ve heard many versions, myself. It’s as true today as it was yesterday, and as it will be tomorrow. Because it’s true, and because some people I know need to hear it, I’ll tell it again. I hope you like it enough to share it where it needs to be heard, as well.
***
Once there was a young boy who sought out his grandfather. Tears were running down his face as he plopped himself down in the dirt at the older man’s feet. The grandfather set aside his work and asked the boy what was wrong.
“Oh Grandfather,” wailed the boy, “I hurt so much! I feel like there is an angry wolf inside me trying to tear me to pieces!”
The older man nodded. He’d seen this before.. “That’s because there is,” he told his grandson. And when the boy looked startled, he gathered him into his arms. “Actually, there are two wolves inside each of us.”
The boy wiped tears from his eyes. “Two wolves? How can we live with two wolves inside us? Won’t they just rip us to shreds?”
The grandfather shook his head. “Those two wolves always battle each other first, grandson. Only when they’re done do they turn to us. One wolf is the wolf you feel now - the wolf of anger, hatred, sorrow, despair and worry. It will happily eat you up from the inside. But there is another wolf, too - the wolf of love, happiness, compassion, peace and gratitude. It would rather lick you than eat you.” He licked his grandson’s cheek to show him just what he meant.
The boy giggled, just as the older man knew he would. “I want that wolf to win! How can I help the good wolf win, Grandfather?”
The grandfather put the boy on his feet again and looked him in the eye. “The strongest wolf will always win. You choose which wolf grows best within you by what you feed them most, with your words, your actions, and your thoughts.” With that, the grandfather picked up his work again and sent the boy off to think about his wolves.
***
Hating is easy. Blaming someone else for our sorrow and pain is easy, too. But what we feel in the end comes down to exactly which of those wolves inside us we choose to feed.
I offer up this tale with gratitude that I have learned it, compassion for those who need to hear it, and love for all who listen. Thank you! And thank you too, for spreading this tale around more!
dwolf34, 11/20/2013
***
Once there was a young boy who sought out his grandfather. Tears were running down his face as he plopped himself down in the dirt at the older man’s feet. The grandfather set aside his work and asked the boy what was wrong.
“Oh Grandfather,” wailed the boy, “I hurt so much! I feel like there is an angry wolf inside me trying to tear me to pieces!”
The older man nodded. He’d seen this before.. “That’s because there is,” he told his grandson. And when the boy looked startled, he gathered him into his arms. “Actually, there are two wolves inside each of us.”
The boy wiped tears from his eyes. “Two wolves? How can we live with two wolves inside us? Won’t they just rip us to shreds?”
The grandfather shook his head. “Those two wolves always battle each other first, grandson. Only when they’re done do they turn to us. One wolf is the wolf you feel now - the wolf of anger, hatred, sorrow, despair and worry. It will happily eat you up from the inside. But there is another wolf, too - the wolf of love, happiness, compassion, peace and gratitude. It would rather lick you than eat you.” He licked his grandson’s cheek to show him just what he meant.
The boy giggled, just as the older man knew he would. “I want that wolf to win! How can I help the good wolf win, Grandfather?”
The grandfather put the boy on his feet again and looked him in the eye. “The strongest wolf will always win. You choose which wolf grows best within you by what you feed them most, with your words, your actions, and your thoughts.” With that, the grandfather picked up his work again and sent the boy off to think about his wolves.
***
Hating is easy. Blaming someone else for our sorrow and pain is easy, too. But what we feel in the end comes down to exactly which of those wolves inside us we choose to feed.
I offer up this tale with gratitude that I have learned it, compassion for those who need to hear it, and love for all who listen. Thank you! And thank you too, for spreading this tale around more!
dwolf34, 11/20/2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
To Live Between
I live between. Between the world and the sky. Between the spirits and the people. Between man and woman. Between carnal and ascetic. Between dominant and submissive. Between teacher and student. Between body, mind and spirit. Between Mother, Father and Creator. Between the North, South, East and West. Between Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Wood.
I could go on, but that’s enough.
It’s not a perfect middle, this place where I’m at. I look like a woman, sometimes think like one and even rarely act like one. My contact with the spirits is often brief, and contact with people only sometimes longer. I am far more submissive in one world than the other. I stand strong between two or three or sometimes four realities and begin to waver among more. I feed my pleasures more often than my denials. My body is a bit overweight and my spirit a bit underfed. But I’m still between, still here, still touching more edges of things than most do.
And this is my place. Not dominant or submissive, but both and neither. Not male or female, but both and neither. Not only my Mother’s servant, but also my Father’s energy worker and my Creator’s shaman. And nothing at all; an empty bowl, a hollow bone, a blank page, a silent room. This is what it means to be shaman, to be me, to walk this path I’m on.
When you need to speak, I’ll strive to listen. When there is something for you to hear, I will talk. When you ask for help, I will seek it for you. If you ask a question, I’ll give you the best answer I have. When you need my focus, you will have all of it. And more often than not, I’ll respond to what you most need, either bringing out that side of myself for you or leading you to see that you need it.
But know this, too. When Mother needs me, I am hers to command. When the spirits tell me to wait, I do. When my feet itch to walk, I walk. If I am distracted, there is probably a reason. And if I give you a feather, a rock, a bone, a book, there is probably a reason for that, too. If I don’t seem to be acting the way you want, then there’s a reason for that, too, even if I might not be aware of it.
There is peace and joy in this life between, so much that it overwhelms me at times. Is there any wonder that I try to stay here, to continue this path, to do what those I have given myself to tell me to do? Even though I live between, confuse people around me and make few strong ties because of it. Even though so many things in my life are only things I’m holding for someone else. Even though the needs of others so often come before my own. Even though I gain new scars along with the experiences I’m given to grow from. Even though I end up explaining things to death and spending a lot of time examining my own self. Even though it may mean that I can’t belong to the pack I still long for. Every time I open my senses, still the chattering monkey brain, and simply feel where I am, I know that this is my place of harmony. That I am meant to live between.
Maybe all that made some things about me clear for you. Maybe it just muddied the waters more or ensured that you think I’m a total nut case. You can ask and I’ll try to explain, if you’d like. But if you understand, if you’ve been here, or are on this path yourself, I hope that you’ll talk to me. It’s a wonder filled path, but lonely, too. I know. I’m here. And I’ve taken this step.
I could go on, but that’s enough.
It’s not a perfect middle, this place where I’m at. I look like a woman, sometimes think like one and even rarely act like one. My contact with the spirits is often brief, and contact with people only sometimes longer. I am far more submissive in one world than the other. I stand strong between two or three or sometimes four realities and begin to waver among more. I feed my pleasures more often than my denials. My body is a bit overweight and my spirit a bit underfed. But I’m still between, still here, still touching more edges of things than most do.
And this is my place. Not dominant or submissive, but both and neither. Not male or female, but both and neither. Not only my Mother’s servant, but also my Father’s energy worker and my Creator’s shaman. And nothing at all; an empty bowl, a hollow bone, a blank page, a silent room. This is what it means to be shaman, to be me, to walk this path I’m on.
When you need to speak, I’ll strive to listen. When there is something for you to hear, I will talk. When you ask for help, I will seek it for you. If you ask a question, I’ll give you the best answer I have. When you need my focus, you will have all of it. And more often than not, I’ll respond to what you most need, either bringing out that side of myself for you or leading you to see that you need it.
But know this, too. When Mother needs me, I am hers to command. When the spirits tell me to wait, I do. When my feet itch to walk, I walk. If I am distracted, there is probably a reason. And if I give you a feather, a rock, a bone, a book, there is probably a reason for that, too. If I don’t seem to be acting the way you want, then there’s a reason for that, too, even if I might not be aware of it.
There is peace and joy in this life between, so much that it overwhelms me at times. Is there any wonder that I try to stay here, to continue this path, to do what those I have given myself to tell me to do? Even though I live between, confuse people around me and make few strong ties because of it. Even though so many things in my life are only things I’m holding for someone else. Even though the needs of others so often come before my own. Even though I gain new scars along with the experiences I’m given to grow from. Even though I end up explaining things to death and spending a lot of time examining my own self. Even though it may mean that I can’t belong to the pack I still long for. Every time I open my senses, still the chattering monkey brain, and simply feel where I am, I know that this is my place of harmony. That I am meant to live between.
Maybe all that made some things about me clear for you. Maybe it just muddied the waters more or ensured that you think I’m a total nut case. You can ask and I’ll try to explain, if you’d like. But if you understand, if you’ve been here, or are on this path yourself, I hope that you’ll talk to me. It’s a wonder filled path, but lonely, too. I know. I’m here. And I’ve taken this step.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Walking With Wolves
Yesterday I went on a tiny little hike, a planned walking journey, looking to recharge and, honestly, to find the courage to take the next step on my new Path. My introverted little cave where I've spent the last thirty years learning so much was comfortable. Reaching out to others, getting involved with a community, that's not comfortable at all. And pushing myself out of that comfort zone because of an intuitive leap is just downright scary. It's going to take courage, I know. This journey would at least allow me to walk off some of my nerves, even if nothing else happened.
I made my preparations, gathered water, nuts for a snack, notebook and pens, a warm shirt. My walking stick. The camera, tucked into the little day pack at the last minute. And then I drove out to the park.
I knew where I wanted to go. Frenchman's Bluff has a cliff overlooking the river, a place where wind and sun touch the bare rocky bones of the planet. A place where power gathers and will tingle up through my feet. I've meditated there before. I hadn't made the hike since I gained titanium enhancements to my ankle, but I knew there was a shortcut from the Equestrian Camp, and I was taking it.
My phone's mapping app helped me find the right turns, the right parking lot. I took my pack and my stick and started my hike. Three deep breaths, clearing my mind of negative thoughts. A moment taken to ground and center myself. A check of my shields. Then off toward the gravel road that would lead to the trail I wanted, with easy, sure steps, paced to my breathing, my heartbeat, and the click-thump of my stick at every other step.
Monkey brain, that chattering part of me that needs to know why and how, that analyzes everything, all the time, I set to watching for the trail markers, to making sure my feet came down safely, to keeping the rhythm of my pace. Wolf brain, that intuitive, curious part of me that lives now and here and also in the place where spirits travel, I set free to take the lead, to see and feel and do whatever I needed to do on this journey. Wolf saw the path up to the cliff before the rest of me did, and up the hill I went. Out of shape me panted my way to the top, but Monkey kept the rhythm even and Wolf kept me going until there was bare rock under my feet, open air before me and running water far below. I stood in the tingle of power and caught my breath.
There were steps on the trail. A woman. A dog. A man. I said hello to all three. Friendly people. Friendly dog. They went on their hike. I picked my place and sat. Monkey brain kept watch for danger, kept my breathing even. Wolf took in details. A yellow flower right in front of me. Wind noisy in the cottonwoods across the river. Two little songbirds that skimmed out of the trees behind me and disappeared into those same cottonwoods. A skinny little cedar tree clinging to the side of the cliff to my right. The smell of turning leaves. A daddy long legs hunting around on the rocks beside me. The drone of a combine off in the not so far distance. A white playball floating in a cage of roots at the edge of the river, slowly turning and bumping against it's woody bars. Wolf wanted pictures to take home, so I snapped a few.
And then just sat and breathed and felt the wind. Eventually, Wolf remembered my purpose and sent out a call the spirits, asking for assistance. My spirit pack came first. The white wolf, the black wolf, they nosed me a moment, let me know they were watching, and moved off. Brother wolf and Sister wolf came and stayed, bouncy and playful as always. Before long, I had to move. Sitting still is so hard for them, it always makes it hard for me. I stood, stretched, gathered my pack and stick, took a moment to thank the place for the energy it had shared, then headed back down the trail.
Wolf (and Brother and Sister) could have taken other trails, could have sent me on a long walk, but they didn't. They headed back toward the horse camp, toward the car. There was so much to see, though. Tree roots and tiny flowers. Fallen logs with shelf fungus. Broken rocks littering a steep hillside in patterns that resembled houses seen from an airplane. Walnuts falling to the ground with dull thumps. Two cars went past me on the narrow gravel road, and I waved at their drivers. Monkey brain stayed focused on it's task, and I didn't turn an ankle or take a single sliding step on the rocky, washed path. My stick tapped the ground with every other measured pace. Brother and Sister ghosted off into the woods, playing in the sunshine and the sound of wind in the leaves all around us. They stopped at the edge of the paved road I'd have to cross to get back to my car. Stopped just as the hawk flew over my head and landed in a tree just past that road.
I smiled and said hello to her. Brother and Sister left quietly, deferring to this living, shy creature. Wolf took me on along the path, across the road, beside the tree where the hawk waited. She watched me. Let me get a good look at her. And then she flew, skimming just a couple of feet off the ground, past my car and onto the top of a dead, cut tree. I followed. I left my pack and stick leaning against my car but took the camera with me. The hawk let me take her picture, not once but several times, while she alternately watched me and the field below her.
Then she flew. Past a cluster of shade trees, along the fence line, then up and gone. Did I snap a picture? No. I was busy watching her glide so effortlessly, until my attention was caught by a tree. An oak tree, of course, with leaves starting to turn red in patterns that were fascinating. I leaned against his trunk to look up, and was welcomed there, comforted by the solid, peaceful, happy presence of him. It didn't matter that he was a stranger to me. I basked in his welcome and shared my own joyful energy with him before I took some pictures, then leaned on him again, hugging him, thanking him for his kindness, welcome and the breathtaking beauty he'd shared with me. I wish the photo really did him justice, but it's a pale view of the experience.
When I turned from him, I was gifted with another photo op, some huge mushrooms growing at the base of another oak nearby. And when I turned back to my car, there was a beautiful view of early fall colors and clear blue sky.
It was enough, really. Although, on my way out of the park by way of a road I'd never followed far but my phone's map said went through to the highway, I met a small flock of turkeys, was waved at by a groundhog, and was totally ignored by a box turtle walking patiently down the side of the road.
This morning, Monkey brain (who has been analyzing all this all night and this morning while editing photos), says; "Look what happens when you just remember; Be, See, Play, and Balance. You have beautiful memories, nice pictures, and a new tree friend. And you're all charged and ready for tomorrow. You can do this new thing, if you just remember those things. Be your own authentic self. See what's there without judging. Play, because you can't take everything so seriously. And remember your balance, because when you are balanced, you are confident and sure of your capabilities." Wolf brain simply knows that I am ready.
I made my preparations, gathered water, nuts for a snack, notebook and pens, a warm shirt. My walking stick. The camera, tucked into the little day pack at the last minute. And then I drove out to the park.
I knew where I wanted to go. Frenchman's Bluff has a cliff overlooking the river, a place where wind and sun touch the bare rocky bones of the planet. A place where power gathers and will tingle up through my feet. I've meditated there before. I hadn't made the hike since I gained titanium enhancements to my ankle, but I knew there was a shortcut from the Equestrian Camp, and I was taking it.
My phone's mapping app helped me find the right turns, the right parking lot. I took my pack and my stick and started my hike. Three deep breaths, clearing my mind of negative thoughts. A moment taken to ground and center myself. A check of my shields. Then off toward the gravel road that would lead to the trail I wanted, with easy, sure steps, paced to my breathing, my heartbeat, and the click-thump of my stick at every other step.
Monkey brain, that chattering part of me that needs to know why and how, that analyzes everything, all the time, I set to watching for the trail markers, to making sure my feet came down safely, to keeping the rhythm of my pace. Wolf brain, that intuitive, curious part of me that lives now and here and also in the place where spirits travel, I set free to take the lead, to see and feel and do whatever I needed to do on this journey. Wolf saw the path up to the cliff before the rest of me did, and up the hill I went. Out of shape me panted my way to the top, but Monkey kept the rhythm even and Wolf kept me going until there was bare rock under my feet, open air before me and running water far below. I stood in the tingle of power and caught my breath.
There were steps on the trail. A woman. A dog. A man. I said hello to all three. Friendly people. Friendly dog. They went on their hike. I picked my place and sat. Monkey brain kept watch for danger, kept my breathing even. Wolf took in details. A yellow flower right in front of me. Wind noisy in the cottonwoods across the river. Two little songbirds that skimmed out of the trees behind me and disappeared into those same cottonwoods. A skinny little cedar tree clinging to the side of the cliff to my right. The smell of turning leaves. A daddy long legs hunting around on the rocks beside me. The drone of a combine off in the not so far distance. A white playball floating in a cage of roots at the edge of the river, slowly turning and bumping against it's woody bars. Wolf wanted pictures to take home, so I snapped a few.
And then just sat and breathed and felt the wind. Eventually, Wolf remembered my purpose and sent out a call the spirits, asking for assistance. My spirit pack came first. The white wolf, the black wolf, they nosed me a moment, let me know they were watching, and moved off. Brother wolf and Sister wolf came and stayed, bouncy and playful as always. Before long, I had to move. Sitting still is so hard for them, it always makes it hard for me. I stood, stretched, gathered my pack and stick, took a moment to thank the place for the energy it had shared, then headed back down the trail.
Wolf (and Brother and Sister) could have taken other trails, could have sent me on a long walk, but they didn't. They headed back toward the horse camp, toward the car. There was so much to see, though. Tree roots and tiny flowers. Fallen logs with shelf fungus. Broken rocks littering a steep hillside in patterns that resembled houses seen from an airplane. Walnuts falling to the ground with dull thumps. Two cars went past me on the narrow gravel road, and I waved at their drivers. Monkey brain stayed focused on it's task, and I didn't turn an ankle or take a single sliding step on the rocky, washed path. My stick tapped the ground with every other measured pace. Brother and Sister ghosted off into the woods, playing in the sunshine and the sound of wind in the leaves all around us. They stopped at the edge of the paved road I'd have to cross to get back to my car. Stopped just as the hawk flew over my head and landed in a tree just past that road.
I smiled and said hello to her. Brother and Sister left quietly, deferring to this living, shy creature. Wolf took me on along the path, across the road, beside the tree where the hawk waited. She watched me. Let me get a good look at her. And then she flew, skimming just a couple of feet off the ground, past my car and onto the top of a dead, cut tree. I followed. I left my pack and stick leaning against my car but took the camera with me. The hawk let me take her picture, not once but several times, while she alternately watched me and the field below her.
Then she flew. Past a cluster of shade trees, along the fence line, then up and gone. Did I snap a picture? No. I was busy watching her glide so effortlessly, until my attention was caught by a tree. An oak tree, of course, with leaves starting to turn red in patterns that were fascinating. I leaned against his trunk to look up, and was welcomed there, comforted by the solid, peaceful, happy presence of him. It didn't matter that he was a stranger to me. I basked in his welcome and shared my own joyful energy with him before I took some pictures, then leaned on him again, hugging him, thanking him for his kindness, welcome and the breathtaking beauty he'd shared with me. I wish the photo really did him justice, but it's a pale view of the experience.
When I turned from him, I was gifted with another photo op, some huge mushrooms growing at the base of another oak nearby. And when I turned back to my car, there was a beautiful view of early fall colors and clear blue sky.
It was enough, really. Although, on my way out of the park by way of a road I'd never followed far but my phone's map said went through to the highway, I met a small flock of turkeys, was waved at by a groundhog, and was totally ignored by a box turtle walking patiently down the side of the road.
This morning, Monkey brain (who has been analyzing all this all night and this morning while editing photos), says; "Look what happens when you just remember; Be, See, Play, and Balance. You have beautiful memories, nice pictures, and a new tree friend. And you're all charged and ready for tomorrow. You can do this new thing, if you just remember those things. Be your own authentic self. See what's there without judging. Play, because you can't take everything so seriously. And remember your balance, because when you are balanced, you are confident and sure of your capabilities." Wolf brain simply knows that I am ready.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
The Dream
Many of us dream, but those dreams that come back over and over are the ones that have bring us deeper meaning.
In my dream, I’m sitting in my favorite park under an oak tree, but not my long time burr oak friend. It’s a stranger tree, but still very old and patient. Quiet, this one, it doesn’t like to talk much. But it will take my energy to ground with it, be a presence in meditation. I knew all this in my dream, even though I'd never sat under that particular tree. There’s more I know, things important only to me and my personal symbology. I wore four marks in the dream, although I’m sure they weren’t physical. Filling my right palm in vivid bloody red was a paw print, the mark of the wolf. Filling my left palm was a bright green oak leaf, the same round lobed leaf that the bur oak bears. On the sole of my left foot was the black feather of a crow. On the sole of my right foot was a blue horse shoe, although that last image wasn’t clear and changed over the years, flickering, as unsure as I was. In the dream I wasn’t meditating, just sitting grounded and centered and resting with the tree at my back, enjoying the day, my eyes closed and a breeze bringing scents to my nose. I could hear waves on the lake, leaves sighing above me, birds calling to each other. And then some rustling in the grass and a sense of movement nearby prompted me to open my eyes. Standing some ten or fifteen feet away were some people. Three people, two men and a woman (although that configuration has changed off and on as well). One is the leader, and he speaks, his voice light and clear and full of joy. “Welcome, sister. We’ve been waiting a long time for you.” I know he is dark haired, and his body has changed over the years, and I actually think I’d know him if I saw him.
Those four things, wolf, oak, crow and horse, have come into my life in many ways, full of lessons of all shapes and sizes. But these things are the most important that each one has taught me.
Wolf, my totem, taught me to play.
Oak, my ground, taught me to be.
Crow, my messenger, taught me to see.
Horse, my companion, taught me to balance.
Simple things, and so profound. What have your dreams taught you?
In my dream, I’m sitting in my favorite park under an oak tree, but not my long time burr oak friend. It’s a stranger tree, but still very old and patient. Quiet, this one, it doesn’t like to talk much. But it will take my energy to ground with it, be a presence in meditation. I knew all this in my dream, even though I'd never sat under that particular tree. There’s more I know, things important only to me and my personal symbology. I wore four marks in the dream, although I’m sure they weren’t physical. Filling my right palm in vivid bloody red was a paw print, the mark of the wolf. Filling my left palm was a bright green oak leaf, the same round lobed leaf that the bur oak bears. On the sole of my left foot was the black feather of a crow. On the sole of my right foot was a blue horse shoe, although that last image wasn’t clear and changed over the years, flickering, as unsure as I was. In the dream I wasn’t meditating, just sitting grounded and centered and resting with the tree at my back, enjoying the day, my eyes closed and a breeze bringing scents to my nose. I could hear waves on the lake, leaves sighing above me, birds calling to each other. And then some rustling in the grass and a sense of movement nearby prompted me to open my eyes. Standing some ten or fifteen feet away were some people. Three people, two men and a woman (although that configuration has changed off and on as well). One is the leader, and he speaks, his voice light and clear and full of joy. “Welcome, sister. We’ve been waiting a long time for you.” I know he is dark haired, and his body has changed over the years, and I actually think I’d know him if I saw him.
Those four things, wolf, oak, crow and horse, have come into my life in many ways, full of lessons of all shapes and sizes. But these things are the most important that each one has taught me.
Wolf, my totem, taught me to play.
Oak, my ground, taught me to be.
Crow, my messenger, taught me to see.
Horse, my companion, taught me to balance.
Simple things, and so profound. What have your dreams taught you?
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