It’s an odd feeling after the steady rush of activity that was these last several months.  I move a little slower these days.  My mind drifts a bit more.  And long hot baths have become an almost nightly occurrence. It’s good to relax and take the time to clean up my own spiritual back yard; to nourish myself on what took root in the spring.

The work I have been doing revolves around the house.  No major projects, much to my wife’s chagrin, but we started on the garage this morning, and the “Honey-do” list is dwindling, albeit slowly.

My spiritual practice also seems to be deepening.   While my journeys are less frequent, they are more impactful.  Grandfather Bear is asleep, after all, and it wouldn’t do to awaken him for frivolous reasons.

I’ve also recently completed my healing regalia. Or rather, I should say, Grandfather completed the regalia through my hands.  It’s been an interesting two and a half year process, and much wisdom has come about through working with my “bear skin”.

What started as a dialog between myself and a tutelary spirit has finally established itself in the physical world – and that is indeed the essence of what this path is all about.  We act as a bridge, a wire if you will, plugged into the Spirit world and the Physical.  The energy of the Creator flows through us and manifests here for the greatest good of all.

As I’ve heard so many times around the arbor and the lodge, “All we need to do is show up, and the work somehow gets done.” And there’s never any shortage of work, or energy to accomplish it.  “Ask Spirit for energy, and you’ll receive it,” our Dance Chief Kristen often tells us.  And so it comes – as much as needed – and enters the world that my people may live. . .

Photograph by Angel Gisondi

“So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see”

“If I should Fall Behind”

-Bruce Springsteen

“Sacred relationships…are a bitch,” he said; the laughing one – a child of Coyote.  This was accompanied by a mischievous grin, a twinkling eye, and an offer of advice if my wife of less than two months and I should ever hit a rough patch.

We’d gathered together in the small but welcoming one-room building for a potluck after a sweat at a lodge appropriately named “Open Heart”. It was a particularly strenuous lodge, and everyone was tired, hungry, and grateful for the brevity of the blessing and the generosity of the menu – there is, after all, no food like sweat lodge food.

As the meal and the afternoon wore on, a cake was brought in celebrating not only one of our group’s being awarded Teacher of the Year, but the joining of Marie and me as well.

The outpouring of affection has really been something to observe.  So many have wished us well, hugged us nearly to the point of breaking, and shown their love with cards, gifts and other gestures.

On one level, the joy expressed is that of a community coming together in love.  But on another, there’s something that just feels right when the Masculine and Feminine impulses come together.

I’m not talking about sexual preferences here.

I’m talking about something much more deeply-rooted than that.

We incorporated the sacred pipe into our ceremony.  We stood together on the Medicine Wheel, she carrying the bowl, and I the stem.  Grandfather Eddie accepted these symbols from us – symbols of the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine – and joined them together that the prayers of all might be carried to the Great Spirit on Eagle’s wings, wrapped in sacred smoke.

And so Earth and Sky came together.

At the very center of instances such as these, there’s a balance that resonates almost beyond words – an essence of pure Creativity that neither pulls nor pushes.  It simply exists, and for the good of all that is, that is enough. . .

the lantern walks around
the walls of this house have tongues
even this bowl has its own true home
the hides asleep in their bags
were up talking all night
antlers on the graves
rise and circle the mounds
while the dead themselves get up
and go visit the living ones.”

“Things a Shaman sees”
-David Cloutier

The system is failing, folks.  The bipartisan “Super Committee has failed to offer a solution for the staggering $1.2 trillion debt that we’ve  piled onto the backs of our children’s children.  Markets crumble, houses are foreclosed, unemployment is on the rise – yet a cabal of powerful men in grey suits serves up nothing but flippant sound bites in hopes of shifting the blame and covering their collective asses – and the slavering maw of the military industrial complex gorges itself on an ever-increasing smorgasbord of natural resources culled from the very populace it’s sworn to protect.

Yes, the system is failing…

And so it must, if we’re ever going to survive.

Our society has lost its way.  Or rather, like a team of horses fitted with blinders, the general populace finds itself goaded into a narrow alley way by the relentless prodding of fear and greed, charging headlong towards the cold harsh reality of a brick wall, seemingly without the ability or desire to turn itself around.

And yet, the prodding continues.  The twin drums of jingoism and consumerism set the pace for a dead-end ride that can only end one way.

The homunculus of our consumer based society, fueled by testosterone, rapacious corporatism, and blatant Empire building has gorged itself on the lifeblood of Pachamama and her children, and finding itself ensnared in the trap of rapidly dwindling resources, now turns its rabid fangs upon itself.

I’ll leave the speculation as to the exact steps that brought us here to the social scientists, economists and philosophers.  What’s clear, however, is that our society at large has cast aside its connection to the Divine Feminine. We have torn down the Earth Mother and put up the Whore of Babylon in her place.

Which brings me to the symbol that accompanies this post. What appears to be a three-pronged pitchfork is actually a letter from the younger futhark or Scandinavian runes.  The name of the rune is “Yr”, and I’ll relate its relevance to the contents of this already lengthy post after a bit of necessary background.

This past Sunday afternoon, I had the great privilege of being summoned to a council of spirit Elders during a shamanic journey.  We sat beneath a moonless sky spangled with millions of stars, the meager firelight illuminating an occasional buckskinned knee and wrinkled cheek.

A pipe was lit and made its way around the close-knit circle.  As I readied myself to receive the chanupa, a pair of bony hands reached across the fire, grabbed my collar, and yanked me towards a stern and furrowed face hovering in the darkness above the flames.  I recognized the face as that of an elder I’ve visited several times in recent months.

“ You will be the spiritual keeper of this land,” he snapped.  “You’re an Elder now, so act like it.”

Without waiting for a reaction, he shoved me back into place. The tension was broken almost immediately when a roar of laughter erupted among the Elders.  Relieved, and somewhat dumbfounded, I raised the pipe to pray, and passed it to the Grandfather seated next to me.

It was then I noticed for the first time that our circle was comprised entirely of men.  “Where are the women?” I asked the now smiling medicine man who’d rebuked me.  His gaze shifted over his right shoulder, and I became aware that we were surrounded by a circle of women just beyond the reaches of the firelight.

“The women support us,” he said.  “They operate from the shadows to protect us and give us strength.”

With that, he touched a stick to the fire and both circles vanished, leaving me staring at pit of smoldering ashes, the runic symbol in molten silver at its center. This is not the first time I’ve been shown a rune, but my unfamiliarity with the language required some research before I could make sense of its meaning.  While the explanations from several websites vary only slightly, this from Articlesbase.com seems to capture the essence:

“On this physical plane of reality we live under the Law of Duality. Man-woman; hot-cold; dry-wet; gravitation-levitation; etc, etc. These seemingly opposite forces dissol(v)e when they meet in the center…

Rune #16 YR.(I)ts primary runic function is to balance the male-female energies. The main rune-meaning for YR is mystical union.

Within all of us is the desire for union with ourselves. Men desire the union with women, who are their spiritual counterpart. Women desire the union with men who are their physical counterpart. We all spend a great deal of time and energy searching our counterparts on the physical plane…

Other meanings for Rune YR: Rune of Mystical Union; Rune of Perfection; Rune of Night and Moon; Rune of Process Bringing Radical Change; Rune of Overturning of Affairs.”

By their actions the Elders had spoken clearly. The time has come for a radical shift in the way we conduct ourselves on this planet. Clearely our species will never survive unless we as individuals learn to balance our Masculine and Feminine impulses. . .

“Season Cycle”
-XTC

This morning’s walk across the campus is marked by fading roses and fresh new faces; trees alive with blazing oranges, dusky reds and burnished golds; the shameless yellow of Gingko leaves amid the muted greens of Pine and Holly.

The transient nature of physical life has revealed itself in some very profound ways this year. It speaks through broken relationships and marriages undertaken, through illnesses diagnosed and overcome.  On my desk, a picture of two young girls now in their early twenties sits opposite a photograph of my own Mother, gone these last three years.

And I am also aware that everything is as it should be.

There’s no need for clinging here.  Instead I feel the peace of letting go.  Always one to paddle against the current, I’ve decided to turn and let it carry me forward.  Or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that I’ve finally decided to simply dive in and swim.

The western part of my life has brought me this: the ability to participate in the ebb and flow of life, and simultaneously to stand on the shore and observe it.

Occasionally there is conflict between the two, but at least for now, as trees divest themselves of dying leaves, and a soft November fog brushes the cheeks of co-eds dashing between grey stone buildings, it seems as though a balance has been struck. . .

-Buffalo Springfield

I was talking last night with a brother of mine I discovered along the way about the fact that lately I’ve been feeling completely exhausted.  The strange thing is, I’m also aware of having a lot more energy.  “That’s a great observation,” he said.  “You’re congested.  You’ve got to find a way to release some of that energy – to let it flow through you.  It’s why so many healers are often sick.”

The spiritual path is one that often leads to places of apparent opposition.  Even now, I find myself motivated to write, yet I’m aware of having nothing specific to say.

What’s interesting is that this also reflects something else we spoke about last night.   Corey is a Pranic healer, and for the last few months has been trying to establish his practice.  Recently, however, he turned his attention simply to showing up and being of service.  He told me how his life had suddenly changed.  He’s been drumming regularly at Kirtans, has been promoted out of the blue at his day job, and is remodeling his home for the purpose of renting it out.  “I don’t know when it’s going to happen,” he said, “but I know I’m going to move, and I know I’m going to be renting this place out.”

We talked at great length about how although the number of people we’ve been working with seems to be dwindling; the work itself is becoming more intense. I mentioned the drastic changes I’d observed in the last few patients I’d worked with, and how physically and spiritually grueling their sessions had been. “We’re moving on,” he observed.  “We’re vibrating at a much higher level.  The number of people who are ready to work at that level is small, but those who do receive greater benefits from it.”

I was dumbfounded by the clarity of this statement.

For months now I’ve been aware of an increasing level of energy within myself.  At the same time, I have also been aware of a complete lack of direction for this energy.  “Maybe it’s an incubation period,” Corey observed.  “Maybe this is your time to lay low and work on yourself.”

If we are in fact the physical gateway through which the Creator’s divine energy manifests itself into this world, then last night’s conversation came from a much higher source than the heart and mind of a respected friend and brother – and these words are simply ripples of that energy. Where they will flow, what they will influence, perhaps even Great Spirit can’t say for sure.  But as Corey so astutely observed during our conversation last night, “You have no way of knowing the impact your presence has on the people around you. . .” 

-Traditional

Yesterday, my fiancée Marie and I had the privilege of attending an early morning sweat lodge on Grandfather Eddie’s property in Maryland.  The sweat was held in honor of a young man who camped there the night before, and will be leaving this morning on a cross-country hike to “listen to people and learn from them”.

As Eddie splashed a dipper of water over the cherry-red stones, it quickly became apparent that the young man’s journey wasn’t the only one being honored.  Prayers were likewise offered for the initial steps Marie and I will be taking in marriage this coming Saturday in the Medicine Wheel a few feet from the lodge.

Grandfather’s lodges are an ant hive of activity with drumming, story-telling, and wisdom galore.  Everyone pitches in with preparations, and I was asked to fetch the water from the outside faucet.  When the buckets were filled, I headed back to the lodge, noticing how blue the sky was, and the wisps of cloud, peacefully drifting across it.

The ground was slick and muddy in spots due to recent rainfall.  As I neared the lodge (still focused on the clouds), I felt Coyote’s paw in the form of a freshly cut tree root reach out and snag the tip of my right foot.  I lost my balance, dropped the buckets, and landed on my hands and knees in the grass and mud.  I knelt there laughing, the last of the water seeping from the buckets, and pooling on the soft, wet ground in front of me.

When I got to my feet, I noticed that my pants were soaking wet and covered with clumps of dirt.  I went to the house, refilled the buckets, and returned to the sweat lodge by another route, chuckling all the while at Coyote’s mischief.

As is always the case with the mongrel trickster, this “accident” came with a very powerful lesson.  During the last few weeks, I’ve been at a spiritual crossroads.  Aspects of the physical world have been slipping away.  This withdrawal, coupled with an apparent lack of direction has left me feeling somewhat as though I’ve been working without a net.

Coyote, however, had other insights to share.  “You must touch the Earth,” his antics told me, “so that your prayers may flow out and nourish it. The dirt on your hands and knees is there to remind you that although you may be Spirit, you were given a physical body through which to experience this world. You must touch the physical world, so that your love may freely flow and bring it life.  And remember this: there is always more water.”

It is impossible for us to know when the next lesson will come, or what form it will take when it arrives.  As Carlos Castaneda tells us, “(a)ll of us, whether or not we are warriors, have a cubic centimeter of chance that pops out in front of our eyes from time to time. The difference between an average man and a warrior is that the warrior is aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert, deliberately waiting, so that when his cubic centimeter pops out he has the necessary speed, the prowess, to pick it up.”

I am honored that Grandfather Coyote took this opportunity to thrust that cubic centimeter in front of me; and I am grateful to Spirit that it did not go unnoticed. . .

“Windmills of Your Mind”
-Alan & Marilyn Bergman

While reading a blog I subscribe to this morning, I was motivated to post an observation of my own. At 9:04am – Coordinated Universal Time (UTC) on Friday, September 23, 2011, the Autumnal Equinox will occur. On the Medicine Wheel, autumn stands in the direction of the West. It is the place of the setting sun, of the adult stage of our lives, of physical healing, and of work. This year, as we enter the domain of Mother Bear, I find these descriptions especially fitting when applied to my own life.

As I write this, my wedding date is only a month away. Tomorrow, we’re going for the licenses and meeting with Grandfather Eddie, the Elder who’ll perform the ceremony in the Medicine Wheel on his property. Married life, and its necessary responsibilities, is just around the corner.

At work, I’ve recently moved from my old office (a loud, energetic and vibrant place, filled with the Coyote energies of the South) to a colder, quieter, and more work-intensive cubicle. Here, the pace is slower – the environment, almost introverted.

And just yesterday, I placed the grandfathers in our back yard in preparation for our own Medicine Wheel, which we hope will become a place of healing and energetic center for our spiritual community. In a few short weeks, we’ll gather together to share a feast and activate the Wheel. Grandfather Eddie will bless our gathering with a sacred pipe ceremony. We’ll join hands and offer our prayers to the Creator, each of us taking his or her place upon the Wheel.

It is a time of changes. Old habits, places and friends not visited for several years fall away like dying leaves, while newer ones draw ever closer, bringing with them their own energetic requirements and additional responsibilities.

The winds of this season shake the branches of our lives. They teach us to let go of the past in order that new and greener life might unfold. . .

Eagle woman.
Wise woman.
Woman who spits.
Woman who pisses.
Woman who gives milk no longer.
Human woman.
Immortal woman.
Woman with God in her pocket.

Our mothers taught us how to love;
our fathers, how to fear;
and so we walk between the two,
translating each for each.

The Heart is a drum,
and life, the song
hammered upon its skin.

Here we dance.
Here we die
and rise to possibility. . .

-Al Wilson

I recently had my eyes opened to just how diluted the shamanic path has become – or rather, perhaps I should say, how lax those who claim to walk it can sometimes be.  At a circle this weekend, one of the attendees brought an implement with her which she held while journeying.  Although I did feel some emanations of power coming from it, this is not an uncommon occurrence, and so I said nothing about it – a mistake, and display of carelessness on my part, as will later be seen.

During our final journey, the item, in spirit form, flew at me from across the room and nearly imbedded itself in my chest.  An ally of mine intercepted the attack, threw the spirit form back into the item and sealed it there.  I continued my dialog with an Elder who proceeded to examine me and remove all traces of the item.  After the circle, I received additional healing through a partner of mine I’ve performed ceremonies with countless times over the last few years.

I pulled the woman aside who brought the item in and related to her exactly what had happened.  She explained that she had received no formal training in the use of the implement (a phurba, or Tibetan tent peg, which is used in Tibetan shamanism to anchor sacred space, heal, or in her words, kill demons).  She went on to tell me that she was meeting with a shaman who lived across country who would teach her how to use it, but that it would take some time.

By her own admittance, she did not know how to handle or store the item, nor did she know who made it, or where it originally came from.  She purchased it because she was attracted to it, and thought she might be able to use it to heal herself and others.  I discussed with her the nature of power items, and explained to her that everything is alive, and quite often has its own intent.  I addressed the fact that had I not been protected, I might, and quite probably would, have left this world.  I also explained that it might have attacked someone else in the room, and that they might not have been so lucky. As a final warning, I told her that there are people out there who would just as easily have hurled it back at her, and that she might have learned a powerful lesson in a very difficult way. After promising that she would not bring it out in public again until she learned how to properly work with it, she was on the phone with her teacher.

Then yesterday, I received an e-mail from a student of mine who was offering to teach people to journey and encounter their animal guides and teacher spirits…in 25 minutes.  I immediately called her and asked her about this.  She asked if that wasn’t enough time.  I was taken aback by this, especially since we’d worked together one-on-one for over a year and a half.  During that time, we’d worked extensively with Power Animals and Spirit Guides.

After speaking with her again at great length about the shamanic view of the world, the possible dangers of journeying for the inexperienced, and the nature of a bond between practitioner and Power Animal, she decided to go with a simple guided meditation instead.  She later e-mailed me and thanked me for my intervention and stressed her desire to “do it right”.

We who walk this path are driven by our hearts.  But we must also pay attention to the voice of reason.  We must never place others at risk simply because we are eager to see them healed.  In our service, we are nothing more than a bridge between the Spirit and the Physical.  We “do” nothing except open ourselves to the creator and allow his work to manifest through us.  If we are careless, or motivated by by ego in this, in our eagerness to serve, we can place the very ones we would help in harm’s way. . .

-Leonard Cohen

The weather is brutal in the arbor this year; a hundred and two and high humidity.  The Dance Chief tells us that heat brings Ancient wisdom.   My breath blows gently through the whistle.  Gentleness is the lesson this time – the gentleness of Mother Bear cradling me like a cub; bearing her breast and nursing me for the journey.

A torrent of disconnected thoughts rushes through my head.  I open up to it; let it flow through the whistle.  It mingles with the breath of God, and suddenly, there is silence.  In that soft, whispery space, a solitary voice is heard.  “God doesn’t live to create,” it says, “God creates to live.  And you are simply an instrument of that.  Everything you create gives life to God.”

The Elders gather now at the edge of the circle; Grandmothers and Grandfathers who’ve crossed with noble faces and humble hearts into the upper world.  They stand in a circle of shadows behind each of us, chanting, clapping, spurring us on in our work.  A pair of slender hands brushes sage smoke on the path before me; behind me, another does the same.  I walk in beauty, to and from the center, where Great Spirit pours his healing light into the tree and out through all of us simply that the people might live.

And I am lifted.

As ego crumbles, and the cries of the people gather in intensity, my eyes are wet with gratitude.  I am carried from the tree to the edge of the arbor and back, a leaf in Grandfather’s breath.  It is a steady flow of energy, rippling through me and out across creation, exhaling with each new birth, inhaling whenever another crosses over.

My own breathing labors now.  In the unwavering sunlight I crawl to the center, spit on my hand and touch the tree one final time.  A song rises through dry lips.  I am of Spirit.  It is so…