Month: February 2019

Sacred Responsibility – Day 108

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Don Sebastian blessing my mesa and me in February of 2012

Sacred Responsibility                       

I’ve cut my writing time short this evening. Indeed, I’m lucky I looked up from my books and notes and laptop to check the clock because I’d become so totally immersed in my work that I’d lost all track of time. The catalyst for my intensity was the need to fulfill my sense of sacred responsibility.

I’ll be speaking to a university class tomorrow about Andean shamanism, and more specifically, the Q’ero tradition, which is the lineage into which I’ve been initiated.

In spite of the fact that I’ve been engaging in and living (to the best of my abilities) the teachings, rituals, and ceremonies of this lineage for 15 years, I nevertheless feel like a neophyte. I never know enough for my own comfort to consider myself a worthy messenger of this tradition.

It’s probably connected to some weird thing I have in my own head about teaching – such as one must not only be an expert on the subject but also impeccable in your execution of what you know.

Hmm. Just writing that belief out (which is akin to saying it out loud) gives me pause.

A Pretty High Bar

Nevertheless, it is my curse. Oh wait – what do I say about being cognizant of our use of words? It is my blessing. Ha ha. OK. That’s over the top. It is my challenge. Yes, that works.

Ever since I was asked to speak, I’ve been alternately pondering and fretting over what I would say. My inclination is to go for the intellectual approach. You know, outline various aspects of Andean cosmology. Get into the facts. Sound like an anthropologist.

Be detached and clinical.

So I pull out all my books and I pore over the notes I took in a myriad of courses and trainings and sitting with paqos (what shamans are called in Peru). And I get myself all caught up in conveying everything I’ve been taught just so. The reason I get so caught up is because of how much I care. Acting as an ambassador of any tradition is a sacred responsibility. But I honestly feel that the responsibility is even greater when I am speaking about a tradition that I was not born into, but rather, welcomed into.

Be Real

My response to inundating myself in all of my notes and rereading passages from books is two fold:

First, I become anxious and overwhelmed with getting everything just right.

But secondly – and perhaps most importantly, I remember the lush deliciousness of this path. Yes, I realize there are many things I’ve forgotten – or at least aspects I don’t consciously think about in my day-to-day life. Immersing myself in what I’ve been taught makes me yearn to absorb it even more.

And the ultimate realization is that I must simply show up and be real.

The Q’ero in particular are astonishingly generous in sharing their teachings. And that is probably the single best aspect of this lineage that I can share: their generosity of spirit. Their astonishingly open and generous hearts.

And so, while I will be armed with lots of intellectually oriented facts tomorrow, my perspective will be embodying what I’ve been shown by the Q’ero themselves: generously sharing what I have personally experienced walking the path of heart that is the Andean Way. That’s my sacred responsibility.

(T-1003)

Special Event Announcement – Day 107

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Special Event Announcement                                  

As March roars toward us at lightning speed, I’m excited to announce a special event that’s coming in May.

The long weekend of May 16th– 19th, 2019, I will be co-presenting a truly unique retreat with my colleague and friend, Wendy Warner, M.D., in the Appalachians of western North Carolina. The program is geared specifically toward physicians and other healthcare practitioners who might be curious about bringing shamanic work into their practice.

Some Background on Wendy Warner, MD

Wendy is a board certified ObGyn who spent 14 years in a conventional practice and eventually started investigating integrative holistic medicine as a means of being more effective in her work.  She learned botanical medicine and energy work initially, as those things spoke to her. Eventually, she began teaching for the American Board of Integrative Holistic Medicine (the original certifying body in Integrative Medicine); she also served as President of the Board.  Since then, she has also become faculty for the Institute for Functional Medicine.

In 2004, Wendy left her conventional practice and opened her current office, Medicine in Balance. There she practices integrative functional medicine, with a strong emphasis on botanicals and energy medicine. She shares space with a number of other providers so that our patients will have access to a panoply of therapies. These range from acupuncture, osteopathic manipulation and shin tai, to Rubenfeld synergy and  – you guessed it – shamanic healing.

Upon opening her practice, Wendy loved how much more effective integrative holistic medicine is for chronic illness.  And yet, there were (and are) those patients who are tough. The ones where you fix one issue and, months later, something else pops up.  You fix that and yet another issue arises.  We’ve jokingly referred to this as the “whack a mole” syndrome. She was frustrated.

A Doctor, A Lawyer, and a Shaman Meet in a Bar…

Although Wendy and I have known each other since 2001, we initially met in the context of her service as a board member of our local Planned Parenthood and mine as that organization’s Director of Development.

Sensing a kindred spirit, I confided in Wendy that I was engaging in an in-depth study of shamanic healing techniques, she encouraged me to contact her when I was ready to offer my services to the community. (To be honest, I laughed when she suggested this to me. In 2004, I couldn’t imagine I would be providing shamanic work to complete strangers in connection to a medical practice!)

Well – let that be a lesson!

Never Say Never

Our collaboration on behalf of her patients began in 2008, and overall, the results have been exciting, gratifying, and remarkable. Wendy recognizes that, sometimes, the best solution to a patient’s issues is attending to imbalances manifesting in their energy fields and the depths from which those imbalances are sourced. That’s where my work comes in. Together, we have witnessed some truly amazing and remarkable shifts in patients’ healing journeys.

There are precious few, if any, medical practices in our country that offer the depth and breadth of care and attention to patients’ needs as provided by Medicine in Balance. I am beyond grateful for the opportunity that Wendy and her vision and open-minded approach to healing has provided me to be of service to our community.

Medicine in Balance – One of a Kind

It is precisely because Medicine in Balance is so unique that Wendy and I are offering this retreat. We are excited to share our experiences in bringing the most ancient of healing modalities to a modern, 21stcentury medical practice.

I’ve posted the details of this retreat on the Events page of my website. I would love it if you would consider sharing this blog post, or if you see it on FB, sharing it there – and tagging your friends or family members who are in the healing professions. Of course, if you are a physician or other healing professional – join us!

If you think you know any doctors or medical practitioners (and think outside the box here, too: dentists would also benefit enormously) who might be interested in exploring this work, please feel free to contact me for flyers or brochures. FYI, I make that comment about dentists because I actually have worked on people who were presenting with mouth and teeth issues that were baffling both physicians and dentists…and met with success in getting to the ‘root’ of their issues.

Finally, the setting will be exquisite: the private retreat center known as Amadell, which is located in the great Appalachian mountains of western North Carolina. One thing I know for sure: we’ll nurture the physicians’ souls that weekend, and that has to be a good thing for everyone.

(T-1004)

Double Take – Day 106

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Double Take                          

Is anyone else doing a double take when confronted with the fact that February ends this week?

I realize that February is our shortest month. But still.

It’s irritating when I write a check (yes, I know; a reliable indicator that I am, in fact, approaching dinosaur status) or write the date at the head of a journal entry and find that I have to make an elaborate attempt to change my script from ‘J’ to ‘F.’ It never ends well aesthetically. No matter how hard I try, it’s tough to make an ‘F’ that extends below the line and has a loop look normal.

Yeah, wow. I’m relegated to writing about inanities. How time is flying. How cold it is out. I’m trying to think of stuff to write about and my mind keeps swirling back to the headlines.

Good Goddess, I want to scream.

Sometimes Things Need to Be Called Out

There’s a part of me that’s freaking out over what we may witness this week in national and world affairs. I actually felt a vacuous pit in my stomach when I heard tonight who else is going to be in Vietnam at the same time as our president.

I try not to write about controversial topics. But it’s tough sometimes when I realize just how rapidly we are barreling toward some really awful outcomes if we don’t stand up and demand accountability.

I don’t understand how anyone paying attention at all can think that we are not in the midst of extraordinarily dangerous times. Times that could seriously compromise not only our future but also the literal sustainability of our planet.

And I guess, working in close contact with nature and the spirit world, I’m almost of two minds in this regard: I care about the nature spirits, I feel a profound sense of responsibility to care for our environment, to keep it clean, to preserve what we have as much as possible, and to seek new, sustainable resources to meet our needs.

On the other hand, deep down, I know Mother Earth will come out of this just fine. It’s humanity – and probably a vast and substantial number of species of plants, animals, and insects – that won’t.

It seems to me that we have become complacent. We live in a bubble that at once has us living with disaster movies and exceedingly realistic opportunities to have drastic scenarios played out for us in raw color and exquisite detail. Yet at the same time, because we are in this bubble, it is horrifyingly obvious that very few think the threats are real.

We CAN Believe Our Eyes – We’re Fools If We Don’t

It’s as if we’re all so used to watching movies and having things turn out ok in the end that we’re staring slack-jawed at our televisions or laptops or phones, thinking, “This can’t actually be happening. It’s too much like an obvious, poorly directed, made-for-tv movie. No one would be so brazen. No one would hide such obvious insidious intentions in plain view like this. No one would blatantly and repeatedly tell lies over and over and over again – faced with video and audio directly refuting those lies – and be permitted by us to get away with it.

I honestly believe we have been conditioned to pooh-pooh the reality that is unfolding right before our very eyes. And I’m tired of being told that what I see playing out in glaring, obvious detail right in front of my eyes is my imagination.

Our society is becoming zombie-like.

Refuse to Be the Frog

We need to stop telling each other and ourselves that we’re imagining things.

I believe we can drastically change the course of our future – for the better. I am optimistic about the ingenuity and creative genius of the human spirit. But in order to truly tap into those truths and create a reality where we don’t destroy ourselves, each other, and the very world we live in, we must, must, must open our eyes.

See what’s really going on. Stop thinking, “This can’t be happening.” Stop thinking, “Is the water getting hot in here, or am I over-reacting?”

We need to stop bullshitting ourselves and each other. It’s happening. We are ceding control of our future to people who are playing us for fools because they rely on our ‘practicality’ and our ‘level-headedness’ and our refusal to see what we don’t want to see.

I hope I don’t regret saying all of this tomorrow. But I am tired of feeling like my voice needs to stay silent.

We can change this. But we must be real about what we SEE.

(T-1005)

A Treat – Day 105

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Snow Geese – Photo by L. Weikel

A Treat                       

Karl and I ran out to the library today.

As we drove, we both commented on how weird the sky was. No clouds were visible, yet there was an overcast hovering. It almost felt as though a blanket was smothering the light.

Without any discernible cause, the whole tone of light shifted several times over the course of an hour or so from a pale yellow cast over everything to a blue-gray hue. These shifts occurred all at once, suddenly, almost as if some Being were applying a filter to the lens through which we were being viewed. Neither filter fostered comfortable feelings, I can tell you that.

We’d contemplated making a couple other stops while we were out. But as we drove toward home, we both broke our otherwise silent musings, suggesting to each other that we didn’t really need what we’d thought we’d stop for anyway…let’s just get home.

Perhaps it was the impending cold front barreling toward us. Maybe we sensed the approaching change in air pressure or the high winds they’re warning may topple trees or snap limbs.

As we headed east, toward the Tohickon Creek, I spotted a lone Canadian goose hanging out at the edge of a fallow field on my left. Just as I started to comment on the ‘lost goose,’ adrift from its flock, the next field came into view.

It was filled with white birds. Good sized ones, too. Not as big as swans. Not as big, even, as the bereft looking Canadian goose we’d just passed. But bigger than ducks.

“Look over here,” I said to Karl, slowing down so we could get a good look. “They don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Luckily for us, no cars came up behind us, as I’d slowed to a stop. Karl reached over to put my four-ways on, since I was busy putting my window down, trying to get a good look at them.

“I think they’re snow geese,” I whispered. “I think I read they were spotted near the canal maybe a week or so ago, but I never thought we’d see them. I assumed they were just passing through!”

“You think they’re snow geese?” Karl asked. “Aren’t they kind of small?”

Just as he said that, I don’t know if the wind shifted or if they got a sense of us, but many of them started honking at each other. “Sure sound like geese,” Karl laughed.

They were obviously feeding in the field, perhaps taking a much needed rest from a recent leg of their migratory journey. I squinted to get a better look at them. They weren’t entirely white, I noticed. They had a small patch of black feathers, barely visible, at their rumps. And occasionally, one of them would stretch its head and neck skyward, looking literally like a goose-necked gourd, then flap its wings in a sort of attention-getting dance. That flightless but fervent flapping revealed a hidden layer of black feathers at the outer third of its wings.

I was excited. I whipped out my iPhone and took a few photos. I also videoed them, capturing their honking and even snagged a couple of them doing their flapping dance. The moment was surreal, particularly with the odd cast to the sky.

“It’s taking all my restraint not to yell at them or toot my horn,” I admitted a little sheepishly. “I feel like a little kid, wanting to see them all take off at once.”

Karl chuckled.

“But I won’t,” I was quick to add. “I wouldn’t mind though if they decided to fly away on their own!” I laughed. “I need to check my bird app to see if they’re snow geese. I bet that’s what they are.”

So we drove down the road about half a mile and pulled into the gravel parking lot that faces the Tohickon. I whipped my phone back out of my pocket and opened my Peterson Field Guides “Birds of North America” app, searching for ‘snow goose.’ Sure enough! Apparently they ‘winter’ from our area southward, just along the coast.

I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never seen a flock of snow geese before.

What a treat! It made my day, and I thought I’d share it with you.

(T-1006)

Drawing a Blank – Day 104

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Creations by Lois Gallagher at Redpandot.com – Photo by L. Weikel

Drawing a Blank*                

Like my I Got Nothin’ post, I’m drawing a blank. I’m starting this post with a blank mind. I would’ve said a blank page, and in fact I did say that originally, but deleted it because once I wrote that sentence it was no longer true.

That’s kind of fun to ponder, though. When I wrote that first sentence, or at least when I thought I should express how utterly devoid of ideas I was to write about, it was true. The slate was blank, the page was bare.

But by the very act of declaring that truth, its existence was negated.

I’m sure there’s a word or phrase that describes this philosophical condition. And I’m equally sure I don’t know it. Although if you hum a few bars… No seriously – if you tell me what it is, I’m sure I’ll recognize it (and feel like a dumbass for not being able to think of it right now).

Sparking the Need to Pack My Bags

Well, that’s all fine well and good, but it doesn’t change the fact that, in spite of the fact that my page no longer being blank, I’m still finding myself having nothing particularly interesting to share with you.

And the truth of this makes it even more painfully obvious to me that it is time for me to pack my bags; take a trip somewhere. Blow the proverbial dust off. Hit the road.

Quite honestly, I feel it is almost a responsibility I have to you, my readers, my compatriots on this 1111 Devotion journey, to go forth and muster up some adventures.

And while this, too, is true, unlike my statement at the top of the page, it only becomes truer and more urgent the more I write and think about it.

Adventures in Bali/Artistry in Brooklyn

This yearning to travel, which hits me hard every seven years or so (sometimes more frequently), is probably being tweaked by reading the adventures of my niece, Lois, in Bali, as she chronicles them in her blog on redpandot, her website devoted to her artistry with earth and kiln.

Indeed, her pottery is exquisite and I highly recommend you take a look at what she has to offer. You will find amazing pieces that beg to be displayed as art, even though they are designed to be used as housewares. Lois also creates an array of one-of-a-kind, distinctly unique rattles, which many of my clients and students have purchased to use in their own shamanic journeying.

As I mentioned above, though, as I write this, Lois is in Bali, where she is merging and melding her communion with the spirits of that place with the opportunity to work ‘hands on’ with the clay unique to the land of those spirits. All of which makes my own heart yearn for some more direct experiences of other cultures, particularly shamanic ones.

I hear Spirit calling my name…

* As this post ended up taking a turn toward Lois’s work, it makes me smile to consider this allusion to the act of ‘drawing a blank’ rune. I’ve been bugging her for quite a while to create a set of runes for me. For you. For all of us.

 (T-1007)   Rattles by Lois Gallagher – redpandot.com

Taking a Breather – Day 103

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Taking a Breather                 

You’ll be glad to know I’m offering you a reprieve from another installment of The Harrowing Tales of Lisa’s Possessions. (There’s actually a joke in there, but I’m going to leave it be.)

It’s Friday (or probably Saturday by the time you’re reading this), and we all need to take a breather. It feels like it’s been a week of extremes, and I’m tuckered out.

We had a snow and ice storm in our area on Wednesday, as you know. Yesterday, however, we enjoyed a balmy turn that took the temperature outside up to nearly 60 degrees. It was a long, sweet swig of spring, and it left me thirsty for more.

Taking a walk yesterday was a simple delight in another way, too. I let go, for a time, my worries over my car, my printers, and even my espresso machine, which also, yesterday (I could not make this up), decided to start spraying water all over the counter instead of yielding me the nectar I so earnestly craved. To be honest? I almost screamed when it had the audacity to do it again this morning.

Surrender and Promise

But my walk yesterday! The difference between Wednesday and Thursday was dramatic. While Wednesday was wild and wintery and called us all to cocoon, on Thursday, everything seemed to sparkle. I found myself smiling and feeling content and peaceful – with maybe even a hint of promise. I could almost sense the seeds deep in the earth germinating, sending tentacles of exploration up toward the surface to see just when it would be warm enough to sprout.

I took a photo of a small tributary that runs down the hill from where I was walking past High Rocks State Park. This tiny little stream, only active after significant rain or snowfall, flows over rocks and around the roots of trees to make its way into the Tohickon Creek. Its beauty stopped me in my tracks.

I’m flowing through our challenges, too. And trying to maintain a sense of humor throughout. Because you know what? It’s all just stuff.

Stuff and expectations. Learning to surrender both can be astonishingly liberating.

(T-1008)

Good Grief! – Day 102

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Good Grief!               

Things are getting a little intense. To be accurate, they’ve been getting more and more intense for weeks, but good grief!

Just to recap, I’ve been having issues with Good Girl, my wonderful Prius with whom I do not want to part. A lot of my resistance has to do with my slightly competitive nature. Not that I’m competing with anyone outside of myself. Rather, I’m motivated to see just how many miles I can get out of her.

Karl and I pride ourselves on taking good care of our vehicles. We’ve managed to get hundreds of thousands of miles out of every car we’ve owned. Except for that company car he had early on in our marriage…not sure how many times (if any) we got the oil changed in that puppy. And it ended up “throwing a rod,” which turned out to be worse than throwing a fit.

That was a lesson we took to heart. Ever since then, we’ve been religious (there’s an ironic term coming from me, eh?) about changing the oil in our cars and keeping them otherwise well-maintained. And it’s paid off handsomely.

Good Girl

This one, though…Good Girl. She’s gone the farthest of all of our vehicles, and I want to stretch her record out as long as possible.

That said, she’s sort of been falling apart and behaving somewhat haphazardly. Mirroring in some ways, at least you could argue, my own frustrations of late.

Others might scoff at how I entertain the possibility that experiences with my automobile could somehow be indicative of a message applicable to me and my life. But that’s how I roll. I do my best to pay attention to what goes on around me. Notice the details. Remain open to possibilities. And listen to the messages.

So when I let you guys in on my ‘ripping the ass off’ my car the other day (“ripping her a new one?” Karl suggested), I realized as I was writing about it that I was using a specific word to describe what had happened that was consistent with another event that had occurred only a week earlier.

Even the Loaner Failed to Escape Unscathed

The evening before my two day CLE seminar in Philadelphia, I ran out to the grocery store for some frozen spinach. I parked the car my mechanic had generously allowed me to use while he and his men tried to figure out what was wrong with Good Girl. I went to hop out – and the lever that opens the car door on the inside snapped off in my fingers. I just sat there for a moment, stunned. I stared at the hunk of baby poop brown plastic in my hand. Good grief, I thought. I cannot believe this. I’ve succeeded in breaking the loaner car.

Not thinking clearly, I crawled over to the passenger’s side to exit the vehicle. Snagged my spinach. Returned home.

I’d texted Karl in the store and he greeted me in the driveway, helpfully suggesting that I could roll down the window, reach out, and open the door that way. Yep, better than crawling across the console.

What’s the Message, Kenneth?*

I didn’t write about that situation in a post – even though I did get the metaphor of snapping, and it did feel significant – because I found other, debatably more interesting, things to write about.

But as I wrote about all  the plastic and all the metal connections snapping on the back end of my Prius the other day, I have to admit, I was not feeling all that cavalier about the potential message I was receiving. I have been under a lot of stress for a fairly extended period of time. So has Karl. Was I somehow unconsciously transferring pent up frustrations, anxieties, or other energies into the objects around me causing them to snap? Were they warning me that I’d better pay attention? Perhaps be extra careful with myself, my health, my attitude?

Yikes.

So I laughingly shared the story with you, but didn’t delve too deeply into the possible implications other than to breezily remark about the potential metaphoric application to my life.

Et Tu, Printers?

Cue another weird experience I’ve been having with our printers. We have two, one of which is a great but ancient color laser printer from my law practice days, an undeniable workhorse, and the other a more recent vintage black and white laser printer/copier/scanner. Earlier this week, Monday I believe, the black and white simply stopped working for me. No error messages come up. It appears to accept the print command. Yet  nothing comes out of the machine. It works fine for Karl and his laptop. It even prints from his stupid phone.

Fine, I thought. I’m not going to get bent out of shape over this. It’s just another odd glitch. I’ll use the color laser printer. So I did. It’s been fine.

Karl needed to print some stuff out in color for a presentation. He got most of it to print, but a couple times the paper got jammed. Not a problem. This morning, he was printing out one last thing before leaving. It jammed again. I corrected the problem and thought it had all cleared. I closed the machine and it started whirring, as it normally does when it needs to bring itself back up to speed.

It continued whirring. And whirring. And freaking whirring. I was standing there, getting really annoyed as I waited to see if it was going to spit out any additional pages for Karl, because what was with the freaking whirring?

Suddenly, it stopped. Its lights were blinking. I walked over, irritated, and looked at the message on the printer. Believe me, I felt a chill. I think I need to pay some serious attention.

Good Grief!

(T-1009)  *A reference to a bizarre incident involving Dan Rather that only those of us of a certain age will get.

Cocoon Day – Day 101

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“Sheila’s ‘Saucy Cocoon’ Look” – Photo by L. Weikel

A Day to Cocoon                   

Oooh, today’s post ‘count’ seems like it should be an auspicious. Day 101 with 1010 days left to my 1111 Devotion…  Actually, it turned out to be a cocoon day.

From casual observation, it seemed like everybody else was feeling it too. The weather forecast once again was calling for it to get pretty slippery and slide-y out there. But I sensed a more generalized willingness to embrace the forecast. For instance, our school district canceled school for both students and the administration right out of the gate. That doesn’t happen often.

An Unexpected Wave of Closures

Then I received a notice that our bank was going to close at 1:00. The bookstore would also be closed. Even Owowcow decided not to open!

Inasmuch as I had no intention of driving anywhere (I’m not even sure Good Girl will start; there is that to consider), I could only applaud the wisdom of those closings – and marvel that they were taking place at all.

It seems to me that I’ve grown up in and lived in a society that values money over all. Capitalism rules. Working ‘hard’ is The American Way. And that can-do spirit always seemed to translate into stores staying open through thick and thin, from morning ‘til night, in abysmal weather or the most exquisite days of summer. It has resulted in people driving on roads that would be better left to be plowed when the snow stopped – and getting hurt, or worse, as a result.

So I was surprised. And as a person who works with people on all sorts of issues and feelings and conditions, it made me especially happy that people were choosing to stay home and cocoon. Because I feel that is precisely what all of us need, want, and actually require in order to get through the coming days.

Grabbing the Unexpected Opportunity for a Cocoon Day

I hope that, if you were anywhere in the vicinity of this snowstorm (with a coating of ice on top tonight, apparently), you took this unexpected day home from work to cocoon. To make something warm to eat, maybe drink some hot chocolate or a hot toddy (which are pretty yummy) and allow yourself to get lost in chapter upon chapter of a book you’ve been yearning to immerse yourself in. Perhaps take a walk, or try your hand at picking a card and noticing how it might apply to your life.

I know I wrote about this in my Snow Day post. But I can’t emphasize enough how insane our relentless focus on working is; on putting in the hours; on sacrificing ourselves, and often our marriages and family life, “for work.” It wreaks havoc on our bodies, our minds, and our emotions. But most importantly – and tragically – it wreaks havoc on our souls.

Which brings me to the magic about a day like today. It’s different than a weekend. Weekends tend to be as dramatically over-booked in our hectic lives as our weekdays – if not more so. It’s obviously better than a sick day, too (assuming, of course, we felt great today).

Cocooning Couture

Pictured above is Sheila, our 15 ½ year old Boston Terrier. She cocoons on a regular basis, and is a wonderful teacher of the artistry inherent in “cocooning correctly.”

Indeed, the photo above is her “Saucy Cocoon” look. Shortly after it was taken, we threw her coat on and practically had to drag her outside for our walk, heartless beasts that we are.

It was hilarious to watch her literally drag her feet. She did not want to take a walk late this afternoon. She kept trying to herd me into going back. (Which, by the way, is an amusing thing to witness: a Boston Terrier trying to act like a herd dog.)

She kept thinking we were going to change our minds and go back home. Cocoon. (I kept hearing her trying to mind-meld me. COCOON. MOMMY, COCOON.)

It Starts With Us – and It Takes Practice

Nevertheless, we persisted (to co-opt a phrase). We walked all the way around our usual route, past High Rocks, enjoying the muffled quiet (and dramatically reduced car traffic) that accompanies a snowfall. And in spite of the ice patches, crunchy snow, and the piles of slush she needed to navigate, she was clearly happy we’d insisted she join us. Her gate was spry and jaunty by the time we got home. (She gave up the mind-melding and efforts to turn us around after about a quarter of a mile into our walk.) Spartacus, of course, was all dog the whole way – simply delighted we were all together; happy to be alive and part of the family.

I’d like to think our society as a whole is starting to embrace the wisdom afforded by taking the occasional cocoon day. But even if it isn’t, we need to remember: it starts with us.

Hopefully, we’ll get at least one more day this winter to take a page from Sheila’s book, Cocooning Correctly. Will you sport the Saucy Cocoon look as well as she does? She makes it look easy, but I assure you: it takes practice!

(T-1010)

Crikey!  – Day 100

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Crikey! 

Bet you guys are thinking I started this post out with that very English expletive because I hit the triple digits. Amiright?

And you would be forgiven in thinking thus, since I am pretty chuffed (that’s my Irish talking) to realize I’ve actually reached the 100 mark.

But alas, my Crikey! derives from the circumstances depicted in my photo, above.

That, my friends, is Good Girl. She of the 306,500+ mileage fame, who has been flirting with the RT of D. (Indeed, while relentlessly hammering me with the ‘check engine’ light, loud screechy beep and Red Triangle of Death on the day I’d written that post, she’d recently taken pity on me. I thought maybe she was calming down or perhaps just choosing to be gentle with me as long as I didn’t turn on the heat.)

An Oh-So-Short-Lived Reprieve

Let me set the scene: I stopped to pick up a 40 lb. bag of sunflower seeds for my very spoiled birds. We’re running low, and with the forecast calling for snow and ice again tomorrow, I wanted to make sure I have enough to fill all of our feeders. So I stopped at my local Agway store and the strapping young man who waited on me volunteered to haul the bag out to the car for me.

I say ‘haul it out’ for me, but let’s face it: if I had carried it out to the car, it would have been an act of hauling. For him, it was a toss. A nonchalant sling over his shoulder, as if it were a sack of feathers as opposed to food for the feathered. In fact, as I held the door for him I teased, “Oh sure. Look at you. Being all he-man for the little old lady. Showing off your brawn.”

We laughed.

I stepped up to the back of my car and went to pinch the handle that opens the trunk of my Prius and “Crrraaaaaacckkk!” I was suddenly holding in my hand the entire back assembly of my car. I’d literally just ripped the ass off my car.

The young Agway man stepped back, a look of astonishment on his face. (Did I also detect a hint of fear cross his brow like a passing storm cloud?) “Umm, well…” he stuttered as I struggled mightily – mightily! – to curb the expletives that were begging to be released from my mouth like hounds chasing a rabbit. “I think you have me beat.”

Oh. My. Freaking…

There I was, holding this big chunk of my car in my hand, with nowhere to place it because it was essentially dangling by a sole clump of electrical wires. It was like a piece of broken pottery; I could see where each of the myriad points of attachment had simply sheared off.

I tried putting it back on, fitting it together like the pieces of a puzzle. While it did all technically fit together, it didn’t look stable. And when I sort of leaned against it and tried to open the hatch? Nope. Wasn’t happening. Yes, I could fit it back together. But it didn’t matter – every single piece of plastic and metal that comprised that back assembly had snapped.

He placed the sack of seeds across my back seat, marveling that he’d never seen anything like that before. We decided that duct tape was in order.

So there you have it. I discovered as I drove away that the back door isn’t sure whether its closed or ajar, so it blinks the ‘door ajar’ light and the inner dome light flickers on and off as I drive off into the sunset.

I turned my dome light off so the battery doesn’t drain over night. I can no longer lock my car, because the system screeches, telling me one of the doors is ajar.

My car is giving me a message, and I think it’s a lot bigger message than just “You need a new car.”

And don’t you know it? DOLPHIN, telling me to BREATHE, was my ‘underneath’ card today. Again.

P.S. – My mesa asked to stay out again tonight to bask. Or cool her heels. Chill the hell out? I don’t know. Take a look at the weird photo I took last night after opening Sacred Space and placing her in the moonlight:

(T-1011)

Full Moon Bath – Day Ninety Nine

Posted on by Lisa Weikel Leave a comment
Some mesas keeping warm by a fire – Photo: L.Weikel

Full Moon Bath                

Nope. Not for me. It’s frigid outside. (And contrary to what a certain someone might have you believe, I’m not  a Fridgit.)

I’m sitting here in my living room, a fire making it so toasty and cozy that it’s hard to keep my eyes open. Because the sole thermostat for our entire home is in this room, the rest of the house takes on a noticeable chill when we have a fire going in the winter months. But it makes for great sleeping.

As I sit here on the couch, I can see the brilliance of the imperceptibly not-quite-full moon shining in the front window of the dining room/library. Without being able to see the moon itself from the angle where I’m sitting, I can nevertheless see her glow bouncing off the limbs of the trees in the neighbors’ front yard across the street.

It’s the glow that’s calling to me.

Or perhaps not.

Call of the Khuyas

I thought it was the glow calling to me, but I actually think it is my khuyas. Khuyas (pronounced koo-yahs) are stones contained in my mesa, my sacred bundle. Khuyas are the integral cast of characters in my mesa who work with people to effect healing, in whatever form they may require.

I would say khuyas start out as simple stones or crystals, just regular Joe Schmoes who’ve been hanging around in and on the earth for millennia. But I don’t feel that’s true. Sure, perhaps some of the stones or crystals that end up in mesas are newbies, meaning this is their first gig as a team member in a healing mesa. But I truly believe most of these beings maneuvered their way into being discovered by, or coming into the hands of, a person who is called to learn these ancient ways because it is their service.

These stones know what they’re doing. They carry knowledge and experience accumulated over millennia; vast stores of hidden knowledge and wisdom. And they are remarkably powerful.

Regardless of whether they have been carried in mesas of generations of healers or this is their first assignment working with the human realm, these stones have a unique and treasured relationship with their people. (And by ‘their people,’ I mean those who bundle them in sacred cloth and work with them on behalf of their own healing and, in some cases, the healing of others).

From as early in my life as I can remember, I’ve delighted in noticing and picking up stones that have caught my attention. (Same with feathers and other treasures I’ve discovered in nature.) But stones! I think I have stones from every place I’ve ever visited. (And believe me – when I was backpacking around Europe as an 18 year old, this meant I had to exercise immense discernment – and restraint.)

Who Initiates Whom?

But none of those or any other stones I collected over the years could technically be called a khuya. Not until it worked with me on a soul level, one-on-one, and developed a personal relationship with me. Indeed, when I was first building my mesa, the initial set of stones I worked with ended up being initiated into the Q’ero tradition I was learning before I was. The Q’ero elders and those who had been working with and had received rites of initiation from them made a point of initiating the stones– making them khuyas – before even considering initiating me.

But as I have done this work through the years, I have wondered: Did it take an initiation by a human to shift a stone or crystal to the status of a khuya? Or do they know Who They Are and, as I mentioned earlier, present themselves to (or allow themselves to be discovered by) a person when that person is on the path to be initiated by them?

I’m perhaps heading off into the weeds a little here; possibly contemplating the origin of my sacred allies in ways that might not interest a lot of people. I can tell you, embracing the consciousness of my khuyas has brought me immense joy, which I guess is why I love just chatting with you about this stuff.

And all of this originated with my observation of the moon’s glow as I started to write this post.

Yearning for a Full Moon Bath

That’s because, as cold as it is outside (and I can hear the wind causing the chimes on my porch to clatter and clang in more of a cacophony than usual), I hear my khuyas calling me. They’re asking to be set out in the moonlight tonight. They’re nearly giddy with the thought of being exposed to the brace of freezing temperatures and the kiss of a stiff breeze, perhaps even some snow flurries. Most of all, though, they’re yearning to bask in the light of Mama Killa, Grandmother Moon, and be cleansed and revivified in the process.

Yikes. Now that I’m tuned in, I can hear them bitching at me a little bit. They’ve been doing some amazingly powerful work for quite a while and I’ve not been as devoted (there’s a word!) to them as they would like. I’ve neglected them by not allowing them the cleansing serenity of a Full Moon Bath in far too long. And yes, this is true, even if I have cooed over them, kumayed them with florida water, and expressed my gratitude every time I’ve opened my mesa.

So I am off to open Sacred Space, unfold my mesa, and set her out in the glow of tonight’s full moon. May my khuyas dance and be joyful!

(T-1013)