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Return to the Jungle and Ayahuasca, Part 2

7/5/2017

This marsh was close to the lodge were he had the Ayahuasca ceremonies. Therefore, bullfrog serenades were our backdrop every night. It helped me feel grounded. The frog is about transformation and living in two worlds: earth and water. As always, our surroundings participated and supported us on our journeys. This night chorus was different from my 2012 experience in another part of the amazon, where birds and monkey whoops dominated.
The day after my first ceremony, we took a jungle walk, lead by Oscar, an extremely knowledgeable guide. After lunch, in small groups, we did a guided meditation and healing work with Linda. I extricated my father's judgmental voice, which had showed up the previous night during ceremony.
     All day, I knew what my next topic would be -- my 7.5 year old sci-fi book, which was instigated by my first Shamanic training with the Four Winds. I intend to finish it this summer and simultaneously begin searching for agents and publishers, and to begin the next book in the Convergence series. www.convergenceepic.com
I formulated the following question for my second night: "Please show me how to finish my book to my best ability and how to get it published, so many readers will enjoy it." It seems wordy, but it was easy to repeat. Sensing my readiness, Don Guido gave me about 2 tablespoons that night. 15 minutes after taking the dose, while he was still giving it to others and I was unaffected, I got up and peed.
   Satisfied, I took my seated position, with water bottle at hand. I had resolved to offer no resistance or snarky remarks this time. In fact, I mentally repeated a welcome to Ayahuasca as the effects began -- the buzzing noise and numbness were strong, but I had no fear. I kept my breath smooth and deep, sipped water when I wanted and stayed still. As the heavy dullness creeps over me, my mouth tends to hang open -- which is great because I tend to have jaw tension, however, I didn't want my mouth to dry out. I compromised by sticking my lower lip to my upper teeth, so it wouldn't gape. The mouth stuff was my only struggle as the trip came on. Whereas on the previous night, I got a flush of heat at this phase, probably because it had been 5 years since my last Ayahuasca experience, on this night, I was comfortable.
   Because Don Guido gave me more, I was in for a longer ride. One of the first images I got was a sword cutting through all 4 fingers of a hand. This would have been disturbing, if my topic wasn't my book. This was the solution to a dilemma I was wrestling with -- how my protagonist will be wounded in a key battle later on. After giving thanks, the image never reappeared. I had many scenes from Astovar, a paradise planet that the Empire is trying to colonize -- wildflowers cloaking foothills with mountains beyond, millions of butterflies and more. Ayahuasca tends to show me images like kaleidoscopes, with multiple copies fanning out in rainbows. One theme that came throughout the night was honeybees. I took its meaning as I need to be industrious and produce my honey to share with others.
Excitingly, I had an image of the book cover. Previously, I kept getting caught up in an unoriginal Star Wars menagerie of overlapping faces when I thought about it. Well Doctor Aya had a different idea -- rows of the skulls of my four species of humanoids, wrapped around a sphere or cylinder with a rainbow tie dyed nebula background. It was stunning. Trusting it completely, I gave thanks.
At some point, I got a funny cartoon of rabbits and frogs in a marching band -- the rabbits played percussion and frogs, the horns. I assumed this had to do with a publisher, though I still don't know what. There was also a name in big block letters: H.W. Fog. Agent? Editor? Publisher? Who knows, but I took it. I also had an army of spiders, marching down a Wizard of Oz-like hallway -- I don't know how I'll incorporate it, or even if I should, literally. But, it was cool. Amusingly, nail polish came up again that night, also lots of male and female genitals -- this time, not warped. It's fun, but the deeper meaning is all about creativity and passion.

I saw General Huascar, my protagonist (pictured) inhabit a phase I've been considering whether or not to have happen later on. I took that as a yes. Also, I had scenes from the surface of his polluted home planet of Darskov, where the people have migrated to underground cities. I could practically smell the filth and chemicals, telling me that I need to emphasize that more in my writing. There were also a large number of lions on the surface, which resemble an extinct species from Darskov called the Tygiri. I've wondered if I could somehow bring them back -- I got my answer.
The trip continued for a while and these aren't the only images I had, but I wasn't able to write down more than this in my diary from the time. However, most remarkable was how smooth it was, despite its length. How quickly Ayahuasca responded to my saying, "I got it, thank you." It was a partnership! The only doubt I have in retrospect is how I didn't question any image further, figuring that meanings will trickle in slowly. I'm not sure if that was wise, but that's what I did. When the purging came on, all I had was diarrhea a couple of times. I only threw up once on the first night and that's most likely because I snuck in an apple at around 3 in the afternoon. The last food we were supposed to have was lunch.
As the trip began to fade, it stayed at a gentle level for a while, with images, but minimal numbness and no more purging. I lay down and enjoyed that sublime state. When the last effects left, most of the group was also winding down. We finished up not long after that.
The guidance I received was invaluable and inspiring. Aside from finishing the book, I have also resolved to do more artwork for it. My art can be found on my book's website, listed in the marsh picture section of this blog and elsewhere. I feel equipped to complete this baby. Thank you, Doctor Ayahuasca.

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A Return to the Jungle and Doctor Ayahuasca, Part 1

7/2/2017

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It's been a few months since my March journey and I am ready to share. I had several reasons to return to the Peruvian jungle. I was in a period when I kept re-injuring of my left quad, a year after my hip replacement. It happened when I overdid my exercise or had a tripping incident -- catching myself with leg strength. In either case, the damage wasn't apparent until hours or a day later. Then it took 5 days to a week of restricted movement to get better. Every time this happened, my mood dragged into frustration, sadness and anger. Then I would get better, have a week or two of feeling cautiously optimistic, then re-injure it. The back and forth was an obstacle to losing the 20 lbs. that I had gained since the surgery.

   Additionally, I was writing in fits and stops, hindered by anxiety and the unknown pressures to come, as well as having to work out logistical complications for each new section of Convergence, my Sci-Fi epic. www.convergenceepic.com Fear of rejection and of an excruciatingly lengthy search to get it published added to my stress. Also, it's taken over 7 years to write the first book and after it's published, how can I produce the second one within a year or two, as expected in the industry? Time management has never been my strong suit and for me, writing is a slow process of building, honing and chiseling away.

     The stop/start pattern is one that I tend to get trapped in when I'm out of balance. It told me that deeper things were preventing me from moving forward in these two important areas. The desire to refresh myself with a return to my jungle home (as it has felt before) or the ache for a vacation were secondary to addressing these issues. I knew that Ayahuasca would be cleansing and healing for me. It was time to return.

   As chronicled in earlier blog posts on this site, my previous Ayahuasca experiences were wild, and as the first night of ceremony drew closer, I had trepidation about taking it again. My fears began to be allayed by Don Guido's extremely generous and soothing introduction to us. His every word (in Spanish and translated) was gentle and reassuring. He explained the purpose of each prop that he used during ceremonies and passed them around our group. The huge bundle of hand rolled cigarettes were a pang -- I had forgotten about how much smoke was a part of the ceremony -- my sinuses collect pollution all too well, and I left my netti pot in the hotel in Lima. On the other hand, the "rattle" a branch of copious, dried leaves (the name of which I forgot) make a delicious, soothing sound when shaken and were a treat to handle. But, most heartening was Don Guido's explanation that he would take each participant's pulse to determine the dose to give them. While I'm sure in my previous experience the shamans assessed us in their own way, taking pulses is a more fastidious method. I had a suspicion that I had been given too much in the past. And finally, he assured our group that he never closes ceremony until everyone has returned to a peaceful state -- it was also requested that no one leave until that point. This was a comforting logistical difference from my past experiences of the ceremony ending before I was "back" and people leaving of their own accord. All 16 of us, plus Don Guido, his staff and helpers held space for everyone to process what needed to be processed.

   Being once again instructed about meditating on what questions to ask during the ceremony and framing your questions as succinctly as possible, I was ambivalent. I wondered if it was too controlling, recalling that my desire to control my experience was an obstacle before, and felt that being open is key. Yet, I also was determined not to approach ceremony as a tourist, as I had before -- too disorganized and overwhelmed to form questions. I decided to follow Linda Fitch's advice and made "Show me what to do to achieve my best health," the question for my first night.

   It was fascinating -- after I had taken the tablespoon Don Guido gave me (much less than the previous 1/4 cup that I was given), I felt calm while waiting for the trip to begin and watching him give the others their dose, and finally switching the lights off. But, as the numbness and buzzing in my ears started about half an hour later, I balked and had to repetedly remind myself that it's ok, I wanted to do this. I had the sarcastic thought of my body reacting like, "oh no, not this stuff again." I also encountered my first mistake -- not peeing just after taking my dose. The result was that as I monitored the increasing pressure in my bladder, I went into the strongest part of the trip, when physical movement is very challenging. Your body is numb and heavy, and moving tears you out -- it takes forever to even move your fingers. Thus, it took about 15 minutes for me to gradually get up and begin to walk toward the bathroom to pee. Brandishing hand-held flashlights, the helpers guided me there, once they saw me shuffling along at a snail's pace. Once I got there and did my business, it was challenging to get up again. I sat on the commode, empty barf bowl in my hands and powerful images coming at me -- while I thought over and over, I should get up, others may need this toilet. Finally, I got the momentum to leave. I didn't make that mistake twice.

This was the first time that I engaged with Ayahuasca with a question in mind -- it was pretty great. I was strict about restating my query when the images that I was shown felt off-message -- warped genitals, for example -- and the Doctor responded by getting back on track. In fact each time I dialogued with the Aya, it kindly reacted. When I told it that I got a specific message and said thank you, it continued to the next one. If I didn't acknowledge and give gratitude for a message, I found that it would keep repeating it in different forms until I did. The rules were simple and courteous! I had no sense that my adherence to my question hindered my trip -- it kept it focused. Meanwhile, I balanced my intention with being open to what I was shown. It was a break-through!

     Doctor Ayahuasca has a sense of humor. On that night, I was shown lots of burlesque or belly dancers with Betty Boop hair, many tattoos, fishnets and make-up. This was a unique stage because I had a negative, critical voice come in and call me a whore, and "Look at you, just giving yourself to this." The voice seemed outside myself, but of course, no one said that in the room. Then more dancers would appear and the voice cut in again. Finally, I hushed it by commanding no more negative or snide comments. The next day, after I discussed that struggle with the voice, I realized it was an internalized message from my often critical and harsh father. Me and a small group of peers did a healing piece on it. A more humorous facet from this section of the trip was an often repeated image of nail polish -- especially in dark colors like black, blue and deep burgundy. It was funny! For your best health -- paint your nails! I kept ignoring the message -- not getting it, so it kept coming back. Only in hind sight did I understand the broader scope -- it was about being artistic and colorful, to create with my hands. I took the dancers to simply mean that I need to dance -- great!

     Most movingly, that night I reunited with Shakti (the name I gave my new hip, but also the Divine Feminine force of creativity). She came to me as a blond, blue-eyed beauty with billowing, blue veils, creamy skin and graceful hands. I immediately recognized her, though I'd never seen her in that form before. I also learned that night that I already know plenty of things to do for my health, I just need to DO them. I asked about my hips and was given no specific images, which I took to mean either I don't need to focus so much on them, or I already know. Same response when I asked about diet. The only definite was that I shouldn't eat cheese. Ayahuasca doesn't waste time on things you already know.

After the stronger, more disorientating section of the trip, then comes purging for most people. It was the same for me and not too terrible, even though I knew I was cleansing out residue of three surgeries since my last Ayahuasca experience in 2012. I had my bowl in hand and bottom over the toilet -- a hard-won lesson from last time -- never trust that you'll only purge from one end at a time.

     After that phase, the trip dissipates about as fast as it comes on. I remember thinking that Don Guido's brew is excellent in how smooth the transitions are. When I wasn't in the throes of my process, I was grateful for and in awe of the quality and longevity of his care over several hours. It began at 7pm and we got to our cabins around 12:30 that night. During this Peruvian journey, I realized that the shamans also partake of Ayahuasca when they're leading a ceremony. It seems impossible to be so skilled, so sensitive to the group and so musical, and to be on your own trip!

Best of all, after he finished the group chanting, he checked in that we're all ok and when we said yes, he began to come to each individual and do about 10 minutes of unique healing for each participant, with chants and rattle rhythms tailor-made for that person. A beautiful peace had settled over all of us. When that night was complete, my fears had vanished and were replaced with reverence and awe for this unique opportunity and for all those who were a part of it. My burdens were considerably lighter too and I slept very well with gentle residual images. I was ready for two more nights.

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Welcoming Shakti

6/19/2016

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As some of you may have known, I have hip dysplasia in both hips. That means that the ball of the femur bones are not cradled properly in the acetabulum or cup of the pelvic bones. I discovered that I had this at age 42 (for Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy fans, that's the meaning of life, the universe and everything), when arthritic damage from regular use without the normal structural protection announced itself as pain, especially after physical activities. After a few times of denial with excruciating results, my activities began to drop away. I stopped running first, then curtailed yoga until I stopped all together. Later, my bellydance had to go, along with hiking. It became painful to walk up my driveway, get in or out of the car, stand after sitting for a while, or to get out of bed in the mornings. I could no longer sit cross-legged on the floor, bend over or squat, and sexual positions were limited. It was depressing. My body looked no different, but felt like it was 70 years old, except when I was swimming -- the only exercise that helped. But, I had to mind my shoulders, so I couldn't do it as often as I would like.

     My left hip was worse than my right. At age 43, I had an arthroscopy on it (two small incisions made for a camera and lasers to go in and clean out the damaged cartilage in the joint). In the end, the operation didn't help one bit. Yet, I turned down offers for steroid shots in my hips time and again. I didn't want that toxic junk in my system, and only for temporary relief anyways. I knew I was headed toward complete hip replacements on both sides. I no longer felt this was unfair -- I had been doing my work around it and began to accept it as my path for a reason, though I wasn't sure what the reason was.

Time passed. I used my hot tub several times a week and eliminated or limited my sugar, gluten, caffeine and alcohol intake, but, at age 45, I was creaking painfully along in the winter of 2015. Cold weather aggravated my condition. By spring 2016, it was time to take action, otherwise the following winter would be wretched. I carted my x-rays, list of supplements and dietary habits, eliminated activities and painful activities around -- shopping for surgeons. After having 3 consultations, I chose Dr. John Masonis at CMC Mercy Hospital, Charlotte, NC. His credentials were great (specializing in hip dysplasia), and he entered the room like a dynamo -- all encouragement and confidence. He was going to completely replace my left hip, and access it through the anterior (front), which is less invasive than a posterior entry. A had a few weeks to prepare.

   I used the time well, swimming 3 times a week, becoming more strict with my diet, and making the house ready (night lights, taped down wires, raised lounge chair, wheeled adjustable desk). The prep time was less emotional than the period before my hysterectomy, but had it's own qualities. I had carried lots of frustrations and misplaced energies in my flexible, poppy hips all these years. When I was younger, I would vibrate along with someone else's emotions or the suffering of many around the world, and had to carefully part my way through a space filled with tension or dysfunction. These sensitivities are still a part of me -- now I'm more protected and am better prepared. The hips are a place for such excesses to reside -- mine were. Yet, they also harbor pleasure, joy and creative expression, along with the shadow: guilt. They'er related to the 2nd Chakra. I was going to lose a site for these emotions and memories and a joint that had served me very well most of the time. After it was over, getting through airport security will to require me to flash my scar. As my Sci-Fi and Fantasy writer friends said -- I would be a cyborg.

     On the other hand, I have a new focus. Instead of attending only to my diminishing capabilities and increased pain, I began to visualize myself after both hips are replaced (next year will probably be the right). There I was, able to bend and move without care, hiking and dancing again, perhaps even doing yoga -- all without stiffness or having to pay with several days of pain afterwards. I decided that my new left hip (the left side of the body is feminine) is named Shakti, for the dancing goddess of creation and destruction. It personalized it, and emphasized that my situation is no accident or misfortune -- I was excited to receive her. My right hip obviously will be named Shiva -- master of Yoga, and her mate.

We drove to Charlotte the eve of the operation and stayed at a hotel. The May 2nd surgery went well. They didn't use general anesthesia, but a spinal tap, so I was "partially awake" during the procedure. However, before inserting the spinal, they gave me a drug that wiped out a piece of my consciousness. I have no memory past that point, except of waking up afterwards. Yet, they said they were able to speak to me during the surgery -- weird! My spouse, Drew spent many hours in my hospital room, while I would cycle between sleeping after getting my dose of oxycodone and waking. He was terribly sweet, but I had to convince him to leave at 11pm to get a good night's rest at the hotel -- after all, he would drive us home the next day.

     Nurses visited my every couple of hours all night. I began to suspect the oxycodone was bad for me. Though it wiped me out almost immediately, I couldn't sleep because I was trapped in an endless REM sleep with the intense, random images drifting before me. I also began to develop chest congestion and several times, my throat partially closed when I was reclined. Of course, reclining was nicer on my incision. I though I was coming down with something, so covered up liberally with blankets and sweated it out. By the morning, I had put the pieces together and refused the final dose of oxycodone. I took Tylenol instead. After a long anticipated shower to remove the sticky tape residue -- they used like half a roll of tape on me during the surgery, we were discharged. I was spotted making a distraction in a Panera along 64, where we stopped for lunch. For some reason, a person using a walker, with hospital bracelets dangling on their wrist and their leg sporting yellow iodine drippings was an odd sight.

   Recovery has been quick. The above photo is from Mother's Day, a mere 6 days after my surgery. I walked around with the crutches for a couple of hours. When I got home, I iced my leg, but there were no ill affects. For every visit, my PT was stunned by my progress and minimal swelling and bruising. I used the walker for 3 days, then crutches for 4 more, then a cane for a while longer. I threw the prescription oxycodone in the trash and only took Melexocam -- a once a day anti-inflammatory that seemed to have no side effects, Tylenol, and lots of Traumeel cream. Still, I'm humbled and blessed by how quick my recovery has been -- while my healthy lifestyle played a large part, my Spirit Guides held me close -- informing me just how much I could push and when to rest. It took about a week to get back to my personal practice -- but, I cleansed the incision site with sage and florida water and rewound my 2nd Chakra when I did. I've done it a few more times since then, to remove any leftovers and seal up my luminous energy field (LEF). I had my first Shamanic client since the operation yesterday.

As of tomorrow, it will be 7 weeks since the surgery. While I still have some internal ligaments and muscles to heal, there's no more bone deep pain. My scar is smooth, I'm swimming and walking again, doing gardening, able to sleep on my sides at night, and to slowly put on shoes without pain. Shakti and I have more acclimating to do, but I'm grateful to her, to all the doctors and staff at CMC Mercy and to my loved ones for their support. When I'm completely healed, there's a possibility that my right hip may feel better too -- healing has given it extra work, and winter will have a say as well. But, when I'm ready, I will welcome Shiva -- the holy pair will be together again and I'll be shimmying!

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Swimming With My Otter

11/12/2015

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For the past few years, I've gone through changes in my exercise regimen, due to my hip dysplasia and arthritis. High impact exercise such as running is now too painful for me, as is deep stretches in the hip/groin region. My yoga practice has become very mild and therapeutic. I've also had to curtail my belly dancing, no longer taking lessons -- where repetition is key to learning -- now, I dance a little on my own. Whereas, I used to free-form dance at events or clubs for hours, now I can only do so for under an hour, and then, my hips hurt for a couple of days.

     I've gone through lots of inner transformations around this issue, from being depressed, to frustrated, to focusing on other things than my body i.e., might as well have that beer and cake, and back to attempting to work with my body. While adjusting my diet has helped somewhat: eliminating sugar, gluten, caffeine and alcohol is often uncomfortable. It can trigger resentfulness in me -- honestly, I still break the rules, to my own detriment. I'm exploring the roots of this struggle.

But, something else beautiful has emerged: I've reunited with my totem animal, the otter. Ever since I was a tiny tot and unable to swim, I've loved water and would go in on any possible occasion. Much of my childhood experiences has been in creeks: catching crayfish and salamanders with my hands, building dams, swinging on vines over it, walking up long stretches barefoot, etc. Also, when I'm at the beach, I'm in the water for hours, boogie boarding and body surfing, until exhaustion and hunger force me out. At lakes and pools I would dive, twisting and spinning underwater, do handstands, you name it. I've never lost this drive to get in the water -- you can ask anyone whose been on vacations with me! So, when many of my favorite activities became painful, I embarked on a long-term study of lap swimming. I intend it to last the rest of my life.

   No surprise, I love swimming! It's been fascinating and motivating to notice the improvements I've made in a couple of years. For example, when I began, I would crawl stroke for half a lap (from one end of the pool to the other) and have to rest a minute, letting my breathing slow down, before I could go back. Back stroke used to hurt my shoulders and crawl stroke used to hurt my neck, until I changed how I was doing them. Bending my elbows some in backstroke, I can distribute the effort, instead of it being pinpointed in my shoulders. During the underwater portion of crawl stroke, I now reach each arm across my body -- like taking a sword across me. This makes the opposite shoulder roll out of the water, so when I need to breathe, I don't have to wrench my neck. I'm now exploring butterfly stroke -- something I never thought I could do! While I'm not super fast, I'm now able to stay in pretty constant motion, mixing up several different strokes, lap after lap.

Swimming feels so good! It stretches my back, tones my whole body, strengthens around my pelvis, and challenges my cardiovascular system and coordination. More importantly, it's drawn me closer to my core self -- that self is very otter-like -- playful, strong, creative, bold, re-connecting with an integral part of my childhood. When I was little I had a stuffed otter named Otto. He was my favorite stuffed animal. Fairly soon after beginning my Shamanic training, I had purchased a gorgeous carved otter fetish made of turquoise. See the above picture. It's a permanent part of my Mesa (medicine tools).

When I realized all of this, I felt like celebrating with a tattoo, with the laurel flowers that are prevalent in the Mountains of Virginia, and North Carolina; favorite places I've hiked. While I'm not saying tattoos are for everyone -- they're a serious commitment, not terribly cheap and do hurt to get -- but, in my case, I'm loving it. It's fun, artistic and a statement. And the statement is, this is a big part of who I am.

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The Grief Journey, Part 4

11/5/2015

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I've been remiss in sharing what I feel will be the final installment of the Grief Journey over our greyhound, Charlie. I'm not certain why it's taken me this long to share, other than it was a beautiful and perhaps private experience. We released his ashes to the Haw River early Sept.

We had adopted Darla, our third Greyhound in February and had some issues with her peeing in the house. They occurred off and on, it was frustrating; sometimes it seemed that she was not understanding the need to communicate -- to indicate that she does want to go outside when we ask; then other times, she peed inside out of upset or stubbornness -- when she wasn't getting what she wanted or I was leaving for a few days. I'm the main care-taker of the dogs, so it's often difficult when I travel. Other traits, like her desire to take Oliver's beds and toys or eat his food also could have meant she's insecure, head-strong, or both.   Additionally, just before we adopted her, we had her fixed, which means a hysterectomy and her ovaries were also removed -- the hormonal shifts must have been difficult and confusing for her. Having rented a carpet cleaner several times to clean the wall-to wall carpets in Drew's office and in the guest bedroom, and gone through cycles of feeling like she's over it, only to have another accident, it was getting old. On the other hand, my grief-pains for Charlie had sunk to mild levels.

   In late August, I went to Eagle, CO for a splendid Shamanic training with Linda Fitch on working with dreams. On the last day of the training, we paired off with a partner and did an inquiry about a question or issue of our choice. I chose to examine Darla's house training problem. Tuning in to my Spirit Guides, I got a very clear message -- she wasn't sure whether she belongs with us, also it was time to release Charlie's ashes. Of course!

After arriving home, we decided to make a day of it, take the dogs and my Shaman kit bag to the Haw River, where I had taken Charlie and Oliver a few times. It had been dry and the creek next to our house had not flowed in a few months, but I knew that the Haw still did. After walking for about 15 minutes, Drew made it known that he'd never been there. I realized that I had been with my friend, Petra, and by myself, but not with him. So, I guided us to a good spot for wading with some above-water rocks to put stuff on. We brought the dogs out too -- Oliver loves water and will wallow in it on a hot day, but we had been teaching Darla its benefits too, she was cooperative.

I opened Sacred Space, then gave thanks and prayers for Charlie and for Oliver and Darla too. Drew added a couple of lines. It felt poignant, but peaceful. Then we opened the substantial bag of ashes and, with both of our hands on it, poured the powder into the river. It was heavier than I had expected -- the bulk of it sank to the river floor, but I knew that with time, it would wash away or be blended into Mother Earth. A good friend in CO had given me two roses to be used in a ceremony of my choice. I took apart the velvety petals, and we released them, watching the red and pink gently bob down stream. It felt complete, so I closed Sacred Space. The whole thing lasted no more than 15 minutes, but I felt things shift -- like a soft hug for us all. After a while, Darla had perched on a dry rock in the river, but was not disturbed as I finished up. Afterwards, we waded on dry land and all had a lovely hike along the river.

After coming home, my Spirit Guides said that the obstacle to entering Darla's ID on the pet finder site has gone. We had her microchipped before we adopted her and were given instructions to enter her address, name, etc. on line, only when I had tried, the amount of numbers were far more than could fit. I had tried several times -- breaking the long train of numbers into fragments, and had placed several calls to the adoption agency, to no avail. Lo and behold, I entered the numbers with no issues and was able to include a beautiful photo, with important info. Done!

     Now Darla knows that she's ours -- there's not been an accident since, and Charlie's remains are with Pacha Mama. This doesn't mean that his memory is gone, or that I don't still sometimes miss him, yet everything is in Ayni, or right relationship. In this, there is peace.

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A Grief Journey, Part 3

2/11/2015

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We flew home from Costa Rica and arrived around midnight. The next morning, we cleaned and stored Charlie's bed, stuffed toys, ect., before picking up Oliver, so he won't be confused. I'll never forget how Oliver trembled with joy, when we met him at the kennel.

As we all settled back into home life, Charlie's absence was huge, and we were all affected. I cuddled with Oliver and thanked him for being such a good friend to Charlie -- for helping draw him out of his shell with his affection-hound ways. In subtle ways, he responded whenever I spoke to him -- it connected us by a fine thread of understanding and mutual loss. However, walking Oliver alone was hard for a few weeks -- visiting all the usual places that they'd both sniff and mark, like a team of explorers. Walking the paths in the woods behind our home, I'd once again be reminded that it was Charlie who was good at tracking our way, and not so much, Oliver, who's far more interested in spotting possible prey. Yet, Oliver practically jumps into the creek, no matter how cold it is, while Charlie (the super tall) always had to be coaxed into it -- he was fearful of slipping on the rocks and preferred sandy beaches. Little differences like this were and still are poignant. I moved through a heavy cloud of stillness and pain for a few weeks, with little desire to leave the house or talk to others. Yet, I was productive in my writing, and comforted myself with meditation and music.

I payed Charlie's large vet bill -- it was amazing how many medicines were used -- and, about a week after coming home, I had to pick up his ashes and collar from the vet that he was taken to (not our usual one, because it happened on a Saturday). While helpfully putting this new vet on my car's GPS, it was a painful trip. I had planned on releasing the ashes fairly soon after getting them, thinking that, like all the previous cat burials we'd had, this would help all of us process. I had decided to hold a ceremony and release them into the creek that flows by our house.

Several times, I told Drew that we would do it today, only to face a fresh onslaught of agony that left me drained. I realized that this was different than a burial, not just because there is no decay issue, but it seemed that Charlie wanted to be with us a bit longer. Still, I fought against this idea for a while, wanting to move on and distance myself from the pain of the quiet house, the big empty space where his bed was, Oliver's sadness, all of it -- and wanting to release him completely. Yet, every time I built up my courage to have the ceremony, I became a shuddering, tearful heap when the time came. I felt stuck.

After a couple of phone calls to supportive friends and family about this stuck-ness, I decided to take my dear cousin's advice, and stop pressuring myself into doing it -- that it was unkind to me. We had went with her to distribute her mother's ashes at Walden Pond several years after her death -- it was a loving, peaceful experience. So, I agreed. His ashes and collar now reside in my office, next to my altar. Perhaps he only wants to help usher in a new greyhound friend for us, and then will be ready to be accepted back into the earth, or perhaps, he'll stay a few years. I'm open to whatever messages he sends.

It's been a couple of months since Charlie left, and writing this is bringing back the familiar feeling of heart-burn and tightness. But, I'm not impatient, but humbled by how powerful this journey is. On Facebook, one of those memes with nature photos said something like, "to grieve well is the greatest gift to your loved ones." This, and treasuring Bjork's new album, Vulnicura -- which was compelled by a romantic breakup, but resonates to the universal themes of loss, I'm getting better. I'm even considering hosting another writer's event in my house in a month or so -- my hermit phase will eventually end.

We've decided this week-end to take Oliver and choose another greyhound to adopt. I can feel Charlie urging us to do it -- bring another friend into our home, and complete the perfect 4 household members that we are used to. I feel so lucky that I can sense his support and know that he will guide entire process. I truly have gained another beloved spirit guide. What a beautiful blessing death is!

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A Grief Journey, Part 2

2/4/2015

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The next morning I did a shamanic journey to the upper world, to check on Charlie. Though I was crying throughout, I was able to enter the animal realm, accompanied by my guide. Charlie greeted me -- frisking around me, leaping up and down, but never with a hint of barking or biting (even in fun), as he always did. He was healthy and free of the arthritis, which had begun to bother him in his last years.

Describing how it felt seeing him like this is almost beyond words -- I was utterly relieved! He settled down and I hugged him and rubbed his ears, thanking him once again for sharing himself with us (he was our first dog and we had him 6 years), for being so loving and patient with us, and for being a wonderful big brother to Oliver. I apologized that he had to leave us so soon and unexpectedly.

He said, (not with those moving mouths in animated movies, but as a voice coming from the whole environment), "it's ok, I'm wonderful. Thank you for giving me a beautiful life. I love you and will see you again. Now, go have fun!"

I said, "ok, I will." After we parted and I returned to my body, I knew we would. While the rainy, fecund jungle held us softly, we would enjoy all that we can. I told Drew Charlie's message and he and I agreed.

The people at the ranch, both staff and guests, were open-hearted and interesting to meet. Even the resident dogs were extra sweet to us. I was able to focus on the activities, such as horseback riding, kayaking, hiking, and enjoyed the meals and discussions we had.

But, the nights were the hardest. We had purposely not taken our computers and only brought a pack of cards, a couple of books, and Drew's travel guitar. How I regretted not bringing my computer -- I couldn't write my Sci-Fi book, journal entries, anything. Our bungalow had no TV, or internet/phone coverage, which was also how we had planned it. Each night, I was faced with a pain which seemed to transform the wafting mosquito net above the bed into a white tunnel of sadness, pouring down over our bed. My heart, my whole chest burned and ached, and the pain clasped me like a possessive lover, like death.

Despite the very real visit that I had paid Charlie in the upper world, the fact that we wouldn't be picking him up from the kennel when we returned -- his final look of disappointment at being left there haunted me. Why hadn't I given both of our boys an extra cuddle before leaving? I couldn't rub his belly and hear his appreciative sighs anymore, or his joyful teeth-chatters when I got the dog harnesses ready to walk, his goofy hip-checks and bumps when walking him with his jacket on, even his annoying habit of barking at all the wildlife in our yard -- it all, just crushed me. Also, the thought of Oliver witnessing the onset of Charlie's crisis, but seeing him no more afterward -- without explanation rended me. As gentle as he was, Charlie's presence was so big in all of our lives, part of me just couldn't believe he was gone.

Yet, there was something sweet about the pain -- a sense of humbleness, of gratitude for something that can not be repaid, a sense of shared blessings and peacefulness. Also, sharing the grief process with Drew has brought a new tenderness and depth to our relations since.

As our lovely week was coming to a close, and my pain continued to wrack me like powerful contractions, one thing was certain, going home was going to be difficult.

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A Grief Journey, Part 1

2/2/2015

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We finally went on our dream vacation to Costa Rica in early Dec, 2014. Before our travel day, I had dropped off our greyhounds, Oliver and Charlie, at the kennel. They normally enjoy staying there (it's privately owned and at a house) and it's owned by another shaman, whom I really like and trust.

When we finally arrived at our hotel in Costa Rica, after a full day of travel, there was an urgent message at reception. We had to call about our dog -- whom had gotten sick, the message didn't say which one. Strung-out from the travel, we had a quick meal, then called the vet. The wi-fi coverage is spotty at our jungle lodge, so the call had to take place in the dining area.

Charlie, the spotted one in the photo, was in serious trouble. I heard though my increasing alarm, that his esophagus had collapsed (this can happen with larger dogs, but I had never heard of it), and in his struggle to breathe, he went into heat stroke -- which can be deadly. The kennel owner had brought him in time to be sedated and his breathing restored, but we had serious decisions. The vet wasn't sure he could be healed, as there was a risk of his getting pneumonia, his body was covered in bruises -- heat stroke and his struggles had burst capillaries, and there were many possible complications. But, she would know whether he could recover after performing tests and more time passes. Treating him could involve a couple of weeks of intense care, with tubes everywhere and thousands of dollars.

I replied, "that's Charlie's idea of hell," and explained that he's mellow, but nervous when we dremel his nails at home; on slippery floors/stairs; with high winds or thunder.

"Oh, what a sweet boy," she said through tears. She understood exactly what kind of dog he was. I knew this was the end -- we had to put him down. It was excruciating and surreal. After hearing about what his life would be like, even if he did recover (I'd have to worry about the recurrence of heat stroke, and his esophagus could re-collapse, unless complicated surgery is done), I said, I'd call back in a few minutes with a decision.

My husband, Drew and I cried and wrestled with the harsh facts. For about 2 minutes, it was tempting to wait and see whether he was recoverable, to avoid ending his life. But, I pictured his fear of being in the vet, hooked to machines, with people doing unexplainable things to him, and without us being able to visit. We couldn't do that to him, especially with such unpredictable results.

Even after we had decided to put him down, initiating the return call was unimaginably hard. But, I did it. The vet and I were both crying, but I told her that we're ready to let him go. She said that's the bravest and most humane thing to do. I asked when it would happen and she said within an hour.

After the call, we were shell-shocked and still not checked into our room! Moving through a painful miasma, we were helped by respectful staff onto an electric car with our luggage, and driven over dark jungle paths to our bungalow. After getting into the room and figuring out the lights/bathroom, I got out my mesas and candles.

Drew and I opened Sacred Space with our tearful prayers to all the directions. Spirit guided me with the words. Even through our agony, I felt the energy shift into a receptive mode of Grace. The vet had said they would give Charlie plenty of love and petting when they did it, and I knew that was true. I had a vague sense of a pathway opening for him to be welcomed through, lined with love and acceptance. When we had run out of things to say about our lovely boy, we ended. Sleeping that night was tough.

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In the Face of Destruction, Part 2

10/5/2014

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After 5 weeks, they've stopped logging. This past week, the sounds of destruction and violence did not occur. I was immensely relieved, but knew that the trouble is not over. I had last visited the site about 3 weeks into the job -- I needed to revisit it -- not only to see the scope of the wreckage, but also to do Shamanic work on the site.
Yesterday, me, my husband, Drew and our two dogs surveyed it. It was awful! In the photo above, beyond the rim of the hill is another vast, ruined landscape. They scraped away and took trees from probably 2-3 square miles of forest, leaving a few strips of trees in skinny, haphazard lines. I wondered if those lines were predetermined, ie. they will be borders for whatever will come into the space next, or if they were rejected as the wrong kind of trees. This was a gorgeous and vibrant wood, mostly pine and veined with miles of walking paths, that we had frequented with our dogs. Now it's gone.
I came with the intent to do Shamanic work, to help bring the affected area back into balance, as well as to help myself process the grief and rage I was feeling these past 5 weeks about it. The photo above shows where I set up to do my work.
When I opened Sacred Space: saying a prayer or poem to all 4 directions, plus Mother Earth (Pachamama) and Father Sky (Intityty), I just let the words and tears flow. I asked for forgiveness on behalf of all humans, called for help and guidance, and asked for new growth and health to come back to the wounded land. In those minutes, I felt my small ego not being diminished, but being joined by greater, benevolent forces. This is the magic of Shamanic work -- every time, it's such a consolation. I was graced be a channel for the beautiful work again.
I created a Huaca in the space. A Huaca is an energy vortex which lasts 28 days and will bring things back into right relationship, or into Aynee, as the Incans say. We were cautioned during our training, to perform these with discernment, for no one can predict what changes will occur after doing one. Therefore, it's best not to make one in your home, per say, because Great Spirit might decide that dropping a tree on it would bring it into right relationship! However, I felt it safe to do in those circumstances. Doing a Huaca is somewhat strenuous -- powerful breath work is involved, but when the time came, the vortex flooded down over me and my Mesa like a pillar of whirling light.
After I let the Huaca be on the land for a couple of minutes, I transferred it to my Mesa, so that I can feed it with daily offerings for the next 28 days, without having to hike out to the site. Then, I hastily closed my Mesa -- feeling that it needed time to brew. I played my little clay Peruvian flute, made an offering (in the photo below), then closed Sacred Space. I was still sad, but I had catalyzed my inner turmoil toward a more useful direction. Then, I left slowly and deliberately, somewhat tired.
I am so grateful for having stepped on to my Shamanic path in Aug. 2009 and seen it through, so that I can be of service in this way. It is a huge blessing to be able to do constructive things with fraught experiences -- not just to help myself feel better, but help bring healing energy into the mix. Many thanks for all who have read this. May you also walk the Beauty Way.

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What to Do in the Face of Destruction

9/17/2014

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It's been over four weeks that there has been logging in the land behind our house. Though the damage is not visible from the house -- an untouched wooded hill slopes down to a stream (also not visible) just behind us, the noise and the pain has been an almost constant presence here. The sounds vary from the loud truck engines to the screaming saws to the splitting of trees -- but it's all torturous for me to cope with.
The affected area had a network of trails that we frequently walked with the dogs. They also were used by horseback riders -- there was even a horse jump at the bottom of a hill. Depending on how much time we had, we could choose between several loops of trails, from walking about 2 miles total, to more like 5 -- this last choice lead to the horse farm where the riders came from.
Every time I've gone has been joyous -- peaceful and engaging. Though the height of tick season often kept me at bay (after a few yucky times, picking ticks off us every few feet), when they were not copious, I relished the chance to shake off my computer world and get back to where I belong, in the woods.
I had not the heart to go out and see the damage until yesterday. I needed to see just how bad and big it was. They're still cutting today, so I will have to return to see the full aftermath. After yesterday, I still don't know the manner in which I need to return. The following is an account of yesterday's exploration. Please excuse the rawness of the writing and the lack of photos.
Me and our two greyhounds left after most of the noise had ended -- around 5:30. Right away, the dogs displayed an unwillingness to go -- which would be unheard of in normal circumstances. They knew we were going to see bad/scary things, but we continued on the trail through the woods on our side of the creek. I kept having to urge Charlie, our eldest and most sensitive one to keep moving, sometimes I had to shove at his haunches. I told them "we have to see how bad it is," this seemed to make them a little more co-operative.
The damage became visible as we were descending the hill toward the creek. Between the thick growth of trees in the foreground, I saw earth shades and the criss-crossed browns of fallen trees across the valley. The sight of it was a painful jolt. As we continued toward the creek on the untamed path, the view became more clear -- they had felled/taken away trees very close to the other side of the creek. I was surprised, because that ground was also rugged.
By the time we stood creekside, the scope of the damage was in our faces. The entire woods that had covered many acres of hills on the other side had been knocked down and stripped away. We clamored over the rocks and through the water, up the rugged bank. Then we mowed our way through the thick grass/wildflowers on the other side and on to the trail that runs along the creek. Literally 20 feet from the trail lay the damage boundary. I was hit by the sheer violence of it -- not only the deed, but mere the sight of it felt like a violation of huge proportions. That people would willingly do this was incomprehensible. It made me gasp.
Numbly, we forged on. I wanted to see how much of the trail remained. We took a left -- where the trail had climbed uphill and into two loops among the vibrant pines. We had barely gotten uphill when we were blocked by fallen trees on the margin of destruction. That they hadn't attempted to leave the trail angered me even more. Turning around, we headed back along the creek some ways. I was hit by the scent of honey suckle. The incongruity made my tears start. Birds were singing, flowers were out on my right, but to my left was man-made desolation.
As we threaded our way through high grass, I found that my usual concerns about ticks or tearing my naked legs on thorns had gone. I marched through in my crocks, with nary a scratch, all the same. I was on a mission. The scent of fresh cut pine -- the sap/blood of trees -- the freshly disturbed earth only heightened my crying.
As the creek turned, we found that they had not taken the tree with the old platform nailed into it. I'd never climbed it because I've always had the dogs and don't want to let them off leash -- greyhounds are too fast -- they can disappear, chasing wildlife. Now the view from the platform can only be one of destruction. Finally, the dogs accepted their plight and stopped lagging, they began to sniff and pee more. A squirrel chirped and bounced its tail on a tree on the fringe of the ruin -- this was like a lance in my gut. Who knows whether that squirrel was mourning its lost home and family.
Where the trail had turned uphill and where that horse jump used to be, had become the access road for the huge vehicles. To my dismay, there were a couple of men on the rim of the destroyed hill -- shouting directions to each other from the cabs of monstrous trucks. One of them saw me. I considered going up to him and blasting him with hysterical invective, but didn't see anything positive coming of that.
I decided to follow the road, which was laid with wooden pallets across the shallow creek and away from the wreckage. This used to be a much neglected lane that lead to a small house and private land. Now, the house was gone.
We wended on, past an old trailer, then through a wire-fenced pasture containing some stunning horses. It felt surreal to have come out of such a catastrophe and then admire these creatures. A couple of them came to check us out. Our dogs always seem to stir more-than-average curiosity in farm animals because they're so tall and skinny.
I got the impression that the horses were also disturbed by the activity -- the loud, stinky trucks passing by daily is stressful, but the strongest impression was that they were consoling me. The wisdom and kindness of their eyes, their strength and patience just said it. I apologized to them and said that no all people destroy things.
I continued down the road a bit more, still shaken after all I'd seen. We approached another pasture -- this one had an electrical wire along the top. I soon saw why -- we were regarded by a solid black, fiery stallion. His ears were perked at the sight of us and he was stomping his front hoof and snorting. It was the Black Stallion -- the Walter Farley tale horse of my dreams! He looked Arabian, with a compact, muscular body, small, dished head, kingly bearing. He was too nervous to come close enough to be touched, but pranced and stomped and flared about as we got closer. We neared the sight of the main barn, it adjoined the property of the horse farm that we'd visited before. They had extended their holdings, in a sense.
We turned around at the sight of parked cars and a girl going out on horseback toward the practice ring. As we headed back, a logging truck trundled up the road toward the ruined ground. I glowered at the driver. The top of the truck pushed and snapped back some tree branches. This made the Black Stallion, who had followed us along the fence at some distance, shy, spin around and gallop mightily in the other direction -- his tail fanned out like a flag behind him -- Arabian style.
The conflicting emotions of my experience had reached a limit. I felt dull and sad as we went back home. I entertained the hope that maybe the farm people owned the woods and were planning to expand their horse land -- that could be something good to come out of the destruction, but not sustainable.
Dark storm clouds were heading our way, but I didn't hurry. The whole scene could use a cleansing, I thought. Getting to the creek again, I allowed the dogs to revel in the water -- Oliver, our perky brindle always lays down in water when he's hot, while Charlie stands there, too worried about his footing to really relax.
We proceeded back up the hill, Charlie lead the way with enthusiasm -- he's always been a great trail guide, which was why having to shove him along was such a change. As we neared the top of our wooded hill, heavy rain began to fall. I was glad of it. By the time we returned home, it was almost dark. The front of my shirt was soaked and my hair looked like hell. I toweled off the dogs, gave them treats, then took a hot shower and had dinner -- with wine.
I still don't know how to react to what's happening, aside from monitoring it. The thought that it's still going on makes my heart sink. I'm going to do something Shamanic -- perhaps a special fire, perhaps opening a Huaca (an energetic vortex which brings things back into balance), perhaps something about mourning; new beginnings; forgiveness. We'll see. Right now, I depend on my trusty i-pod to play music over the destruction and I pray it will end.

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Return to the Jungle and Ayahuasca, Part 2

A Return to the Jungle and Doctor Ayahuasca, Part 1

Welcoming Shakti

Swimming With My Otter

The Grief Journey, Part 4

A Grief Journey, Part 3

A Grief Journey, Part 2

A Grief Journey, Part 1

In the Face of Destruction, Part 2

What to Do in the Face of Destruction

Author: Allegra

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