Doing Fair-ly Well

A couple weekends ago was an incredible joy ride! On Friday I had an appointment at Stargazers, a local metaphysical store, to do a sample Medicine Card reading for the store owner to see about doing readings there on a regular basis. I have been feeling a great tug to begin shifting more and more into work that is a better expression of myself, that is fulfilling, and is what I feel called to do. This seemed like a step in that direction. The oddest thing about it was that I wasn't nervous. Just the night before I had told my counselor that I was strangely confident and knew I would get in. It wasn't arrogance, just something I 'knew'.




So I got there and hung out at the store, which is never a chore, and waited for the owner to get back from lunch. She arrived and, instead of shyly hanging back, barely visible, and anxiously trying to calm myself down, I headed straight for the front of the store.




We retired to her office and I did my reading -- actually two of them. Apparently I did well because, when I was done she looked at me and said "We're having a Psychic Fair this weekend. Are you interested?" "Yes!" And just like that I was in the line up for Saturday's fair. I was flying high the rest of the day and, fortunately ended up at a friend's house near by, and was able to expend some of that energy playing with her two young nieces. Though not related, I think I achieved, again, Favorite Uncle status.





The next day I was up early, out the door, and up to Bellevue. I excitedly laid out my unicorn tapestry as a table covering, and sat down to await what might happen. Realistically I wasn't expecting much. I had done a couple psychic fairs at another metaphysical store in Renton and never did more than a couple of readings. Plus the regular readers, who already have a clientele and following, were here so I thought I could well be the one in the corner that no one went to because they didn't know me. Wow, was I wrong!





Over the course of the day I did ten readings! I won't go into specifics on money, but it averaged out to almost $10 more an hour than I make at my day job. And during every reading, I watched as each person connected with what I was saying, two of them moved to tears. I had never experienced anything like this before! I was getting paid for simply being present, picking up on and speaking what was intuitively coming to me from the cards, and it was obviously affecting and helping those who were listening. What better win-win situation could you ask for? One of the highlights was giving a reading to one of the people that actually works at the store. When I was done she just looked at me and said, "That was a fantastic reading." When I went up front to leave, I was told that they had gotten a lot of really positive feedback about me. I've found myself saying this over and over this past year, but here again it was empowering and humbling at the same time.


I was beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel, and it started to dawn on me that I could actually do this for a living. I began feeling what it's like to love your work, and to see the benefits from that. Then the woman reading tarot next to me started talking about her past and really validated those feelings in me. She had been working in corporate America when, as a result of 911 hit, she lost her job. She had been reading tarot for about 30 years and so turned to that as a living and has been successfully doing so ever since. It is possible!!


On sort of a side note, I recently had a tarot reading from a dear friend of mine who has been sort of a mentor to me for almost 20 years, and, to one of my questions being about my path and shamanism, she answered that this is what I was born to do. By the end of that day at Stargazers, it was not just a mental surety, but it had become experiental as well.


I was still flying the rest of the weekend and wondering what was next. I was still wondering when I went to the Ostara ritual of the coven of my above mentioned friend and mentor. The ritual was fantastic, as it always is, and then afterwards I found out I would be doing readings at the annual Gaia's Temple Psychic Fair in April. I was just grinning from ear to ear, and my inner puppy was wagging his tail. That answers that!


FYI: Gaia's Temple Psychic Fair
April 24th 10am-3pm
Sunset Hill Community Center
3003 NW 66th Street
Seattle

http://www.gaiastemple.org/

Bubba and the Holy Snail

ello. It seemed the right season for this, so I thought I would share the following epic hamster poem I wrote years ago. As part of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronisms -- a medieval recreation group) I am Lovell of Schadwode, and live in the shire of Wyewood (South King County, WA), which is part of the kingdom of An Tir (WA, OR, and parts of Canada). Bubba is a bat-winged hamster who is the mascot and champion of Wyewood, and as a bard, I took it upon myself to chronicle his adventures. The following is probably my personal favorite.

Enjoy!

Bubba and the Holy Snail
by Lovell of Schadwode (that's me!)





The day was bright as Bubba flew,
No cares upon his mind.
His only thought was adventure-
Whatever he may find.






His eyes were sharp, his ears were perked,
And all his senses keen
As there above he scanned the Earth
And all the lands so green.






The sound of battle filled is ears,
A smile crossed his face.
He turned as from his tiny lungs
A hamster war-cry raced.






Gleefully he headed toward
The sound of sword and blade,
Then paused in flight to wonder at
The skirmish he surveyed.






The scene that he beheld was weird,
Even by Wyewood terms,
As a small clan of crows clashed with
A mighty band of worms.






A single roar from Bubba scattered
Crows like they were flies.
Those that looked were horror-struck
By Bubba's flaming eyes.






And when the glade was clear of birds
The hamster turned again
Upon those strangely garbed worms
Of unknown origin.






Over mail of chain each wore
A tabard, white and gold
Emblazoned upon which was a
Red spiral, bright and bold.






The leader worm began to speak
And then Bubba could tell
That these weren't normal worms at all
But snails without a shell.






In a sluggish voice the snail said,
"Thank you for your aid!
My noble sir would you consider
Joining our crusade?"






"Humble snails are we, dear sir,
Who've left our shells behind,
For in this vow of poverty
More treasure shall we find!"






"You see, the human's Lord hung high,
His blood caught by a grail.
A single drop splashed out and landed
On a passing snail."






"The heavens parted, angles sang,
Then came the hand of God
Descending from a cloud to bless
This lowly gastropod!"






"He traveled far and wide, this snail,
To teach the ways of love,
Ascending one fine morning into
Heaven up above."






"Nothing did he leave us here
Except his shell divine.
And that was stolen by a crow -
A heathen! For its shine!"






"So now you know what guides our quest
And leads us down these trails --
We seek the Relic of the One:
The Holy Snail of Snails!"






Beneath the hamster's smiling lips
There rose a purring sound.
He had sought adventure.
Now adventure he had found!






Joining forces, off they went.
Their progress was not slow,
With Bubba flying overhead -
Crusaders down below.






It wasn't long when Bubba saw
A strange, unearthly gleam
Reflecting from the bottom of
A bubbling woodland stream.






So there he rallied all the troops
And told them what he'd seen,
Then said that he'd investigate
To find what it might mean.






With that he dove into the brook
And headed for the light,
Just like a great and fuzzy bird
In his aquatic flight.






Once the bottom he had reached
His face lit with a grin
For there before him lay a shell
A-glowing from within.






At once he knew that this must be
The relic that he sought,
Where ancient beak of crow had dropped
And woodland stream had brought.






And so cautiously he reached out
And took the shell in paw,
Then turned to swim back up again
But balked at what he saw!






Overhead on shore some crows
Attacked the knighted snails!
Bubba's blood boiled in his veins!
He clenched his tiny nails.






The hamster in a might rush
Erupted from the stream!
Again the crows were scattered by
The sound of Bubba's scream!






But one crow, braver than the rest -
Or maybe more insane -
Saw what the hamster held in hand:
A bauble he must gain!






He spun around mid-flight and snatched
The magic, glowing shell.
Since Bubba loosened not his grip
He picked him up as well!






Into the sky, the pair, they flew -
A furry, feathered mass.
And thus through many moments did
This nasty brawling pass.






Neither one relinquished hold
Upon that precious shell,
'Til suddenly it heated up,
They dropped it and it fell!






The snails below watched in dismay
Afraid it would be smashed.
But then the sound of thunder boomed!
A bolt of lightening flashed!






The shell's decent abruptly ceased,
Then from its lucent curve
Emerged the head and antennae
Of Him whom all snails serve.






The crow remembered it could fly
And sped away post-haste.
The snails lay prostrate on the ground.
Bubba remained in place.






Love divine did glimmer in
That snail's antennaed eyes.
Then in a soft, angelic voice
He bid them all, "Arise!"






"Rewards are great for those whose faith
Does lead them long and well,
Thus for your trust your descendants
Will never need a shell."






"Now know ye well that I abide
In every one of you!
To help all to remember this
I'll tell you what I'll do!






"Upon you and your children
A fine blessing I bestow:
The silver essence of my shell
Shall follow where you go!"






"So when you see this sign you know
The answer to your prayer -
You needn't search for me at all
For I'm, already there!"






He beamed a final smile at
The hamster and the snails
Then with a wink he vanished
As he bid them 'happy trails'.






That day they build a chapel there
And put their swords away.
Their people spread across An Tir
And live here to this day.






And still if followed far enough
A slug's long silver trail
Will lead you to that secret place:
The Chapel of the Snail!






As for Bubba, he returned
Back to the Wyewood sky
Prepared to answer once again
A new adventure's cry.

Con-Fess-ions of a Boone Companion

Me as a boy with the ever present coon skin cap

and fringed jacket. I still have a buckskin jacket.

I'm not sure it has actually quite hit me yet. Fess Parker passed the other day and I'm a bit numb, but the full force, which I have no doubt is lurking inside me, of this event will most likely descend on me all at once.



Why would the death of this one man so affect me? The more I think of it, this one man was perhaps the biggest influence on me as a role model, bar none. My earliest heroes, before I discovered Tarzan and Robin Hood, were Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett. As the above picture demonstrates, I was not shy about dressing the part as a kid -- We were on a trip through Kentucky on one of my birthdays, on the way to Boonesborough, and I was more embarrassed that my mom brought my presents into Kentucky Fried Chicken than I was to wear my coon skin cap there! I realize now that I may claim the two woodsmen as my heroes, but what I really mean is Fess Parker, who played both of them in movies and TV, was my hero.



My ideas on who Boone and Crockett were, are definitely colored by Fess' portrayal, and it was actually his gentle-yet-fierce, good hearted, kindness to strangers, twinkle-in-the-eye, optimistic, confident, talk-first-fight-only-if-you-have-to, fun lovin', adventurous, honorable mannerisms that fed my childhood notions of what it meant to be a man, and even now that I have reached manhood, I still feel those undercurrents flowing through my personal mythology and setting the bar for who I am and who I want to be. His are the standards I still strive to live up to. In a way he is who I want to be when I grow up.



So, yes. With him leaving such a deep-seated finger print on my soul, I know I will grieve. Thank you Fess. I really am who I am because of you.



...and I just got over Charles Schulz' death too...

My coonskin cap placed prominently on my home altar to honor Fess Parker's passing

Be-leaf in Magick

Above is a photo of a small, ordinary, unassuming oak leaf. Nothing to write home about, right? I guess that depends. To anyone else, probably. To me? In my eyes this tiny specimen of forest debris is, perhaps, one of the greatest gifts I have received. Ever. Is that weird? Let me explain...


This little miracle arrived in the mail the other day, courtesy of my sister who lives in England. She sent me some other things too, kind of a belated Christmas gift, all very cool and much appreciated. Each new little thing I uncovered was a new level of excitement, but not until this little leaf slipped from between a couple of pieces of note paper did my exhilaration peak. Holy crap!! An actual, organic piece of Sherwood Forest!!!



Many of my friends are well aware of my fascination with this famous greenwoode, and one of its myriad denizens in particular. There are even rumors of past life ties to a certain merry band. Rumors which, once heard, do not seem to surprise anyone who knows me.



One way or another, whether historical or lore, this mythos touches me on a deeper level than any other I know. It seems to exist at my core, my very essence, and is way beyond the ability of words to describe it. And here I hold a tiny part of that, all of that -- the entire forest held in a single decaying leaf, the entire legend resting in my hand.



Oh lads! 'Tis magick indeed!

Fear of Fliaring

So there is this shaman class coming up that I had wanted to take. In fact it is THE shaman class you need to take in order to take any of the other classes offered by the Foundation For Shamanic Studies, the organization begun by Michael Harner -- The man most responsible for bringing shamanism to the west and creating what has come to be known as Core Shamanism -- The basic forms of shamanic practice common to most, if not all, shamanic cultures beneath the various religious and cultural trappings, which is what makes it accessible to anyone regardless of belief system.


I was originally excited when I discovered this class was going to be taking place in Seattle and I assumed I would be taking it. However, as it got closer, and my bank account dipped a bit low, I realized I wouldn't be able to go. I was disappointed on one hand, but okay with it on another. From somewhere came the conviction that if I were meant to take the class, if it were in my best interest and on my path, I would be led to the means to do so. Otherwise I trusted that, for whatever reason, my future did not require that class, at least at this time or with this particular teacher.


So having resolved myself to not taking it, I went to my monthly shaman circle. My teacher is the one who organizes and coordinates this class, getting it set up for the visiting instructor, and as everyone was packing up and getting ready to go after circle, out of the blue she asked if I were going to take it so that I'd be able to take their other classes. I replied that I had intended to, but I just didn't have the money right now. She then told me that, if I were to put fliars up in the various coffee shops and stuff around Seattle that she could give me a big price cut. "Okay!" I thought. "Maybe I am suppose to take the class!" So I accepted this very gracious offer.


Now, we had made a similar agreement earlier when I first began taking classes with her, only to have me back out because, like one friend told me, "You just don't seem like the 'fliaring' kind of person." I don't know Seattle that well, since I actually live a bit South of there, and had a really hard time wrapping my mind around putting up fliars in places I had no idea existed, or where. It was a bit overwhelming.


This time, however, perhaps partially because of my earlier 'failure', I was determined to make it work. I went to the local library and printed out a bunch of the fliars and was ready to figure this thing out, walking up and down the streets if I had to in order to find places to distribute them. I never got that far.


The Friday night before I planned to head out I checked my bank account. I had $100 to my name. Ru-roh. How did that happen? I woke up the next morning almost in tears, not knowing what to do while the stack of fliars sat quietly on my table awaiting my decision. I floundered back and forth about it until somewhere around noon when finally I decided to go for it. I can spare some money for gas and could just be extra careful with the rest of it until payday the following Thursday.



With renewed determination I headed out toward my goal, stopping first at an ATM to withdraw gas money... Ru-roh. I now had only $58.58 in my account. By the time I was done driving to Seattle, blindly driving up and down looking for places to fliar, then driving home again, I would easily spend $20. One third of my balance.


Crap! There was no way I could justify spending that money now! I drove across the street to the library, intending to get online there and figure different options. Before I got out of the car a friend called. Called me back actually. I had called her, as well as a couple other friends, earlier that morning in order to just talk to someone, but none of them were available then. So, miraculously here she was exactly when I needed her.



She had just gone on her lunch break from a shaman class she was taking, and was in great spirits and a perfect place to help me put my stuff in perspective. By the end of our brief conversation, while she walked her dog in stead of eating lunch before dashing back to class, she helped me admit that I wasn't disappointed about the possibility of missing the class, or about the prospect of losing the chance to cover Seattle in fliars. The only reason I could pin point that I felt bad was that I had promised something that I wasn't going to be able to follow through on. That I was letting someone down -- and it wasn't the first time I had done so with this particular person. In other words I did not feel a tug of the heart strings propelling me forward toward the class or in fliaring to get to the class. Ah!



So as my friend returned to class and I hung up with this new realization in my mind, in that very instant -- seriously!! -- the rain that had been falling since early morning just ceased. The sun came out. The birds began to sing. I'm not making this up!! I had to smile to myself, "Okay guys! I get it!"


I went into the library, got on the computer, and sent my teacher an email, telling her the whole story, what I had decided and why, and ended by saying I hoped she knew how much I respect her.



I headed back out to my car when a second friend returned my call. I explained things to her and, because we were suppose to go to Gaia's Temple and a special brunch the next morning together, asked if it would be alright if she drove so I could conserve money. Without really even thinking about it, she came back with offering to loan me $100 until I get paid. Wow! One of my latest lessons is to learn to allow others to help me, so I humbly and graciously accepted. That definitely eased my tension a bit, and we continued to talk for a half hour.



After I got off the phone and had gone back into the library, a third friend, my best friend and sister, texted me. Earlier at the ATM, the figure 58.58 caught my attention, and I'd texted her because she has a Doreen Virtue book that includes the significance of various numbers you may happen to see as you go about your day, hidden messages from the angels. Her text said:

5s and 8s -This number sequence signifies that you are in the 11th hour, right before the change. Do not fear it, as you will be supported and loved throughout this change, which is now imminent.


...how perfect is that for where I am?!



She started texting more, asking how I was and everything, than finally decided just to call. Because I had helped her with rent a few times, she felt she owed me money (which I insisted I didn't expect back. I don't give anything that I'm not ready to let go of.) and she and her house mate decided that was an appropriate time to pay some back. "And," she pointed out, "This way it is your money and you don't have to pay anyone back for it."



"Do you have food?" she asked. I mumbled something. "Okay, you're coming to dinner here tonight -- and every night this coming week." I was standing in the lobby of the library, tears starting to roll down my cheeks. "Thanks for making me cry in the library!" "You're welcome! See you in a little while." I love my friends!!



As I left the library it occurred to me that it wasn't until I decided not to do the fliaring that not one, but two money offers appeared, one on top of the other. I realized that, had I been suppose to fliar, then the money would have been there before I headed up to Seattle.



Later I checked in with my guides to see what they had to say, and they pretty much unanimously agreed -- "You were thinking with your head again. Not your heart!" From the beginning I had assumed I needed to do certain things, had figured out logically what the puzzle pieces were that I needed to piece together in order to get to where I was going. I had to take this class to get to another class, etc. Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't work that way. The mind is the servant of the heart, not the other way around. I told my teacher that in the future I would check in with my heart before agreeing to things, making sure there was a feeling of being drawn toward something (What Joseph Campbell calls "Following your bliss"), and I pledged to myself to begin, as much as I can, to live from my heart.



My teacher was very understanding and kind about it all, and about taking the class she told me, "The class would probably not be a massive portal for you - you have taken this stuff already. You have a soul retrieval coming up and that is most important. It is good that you trust your guides."



I am so fortunate to be surrounded by the people who are in my life!

Pff!-ection

The other night I was watching an episode of Farscape, and this mad-scientist-alien-dude was stealing DNA from other creatures in a quest for perfection. At some point the whole thing just struck me as so completely implausible. No, not the strange alien races, technologies, or environments. Perfection.

I suddenly could not conceive of the idea as anything but pointless and illusory. Pointless because perfection, if it were possible, would be death. There would be no room for change or growth. It would be its own demise because there would be no where to go after that pinnacle. An evolutionary dead end. Like a lot of careers that if taken to their ideal conclusion would put themselves out of a job.

Illusory because it does not, can not, exist. It is a linear concept, and the world, the Universe, is not linear. Everything exists in circles and spirals. "Space is curved!" There are no peaks or pinnacles on a circle. Life is a game of rock-paper-scissors -- there is no one or no thing that is greater than another, that doesn't have a balancing element.

It is a closed system. Everything is one. There is no such thing as "perfect". It is just a concept and a judgement but does not exist outside the mind. Pff!

Incidentally, I looked up rock-paper-scissors on line, and there was a diagram of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock (from Big Bang Theory). What struck me as interesting was that, not only was it circular, but it has a pentacle in the middle. :) How perfect is that?

A Tail of Two Kitties

The other day at work one of my co-workers was having an interesting conversation with a customer. The customer had at one point lent her horse to a family for a 4-H project and they just never returned it. Later when she tried to go back to retrieve it, they refused, seeing as their vet had told them that they had been paying to feed it for long enough that the horse was now legally theirs. I thought to myself, "That can't be right!" and I started getting a bit miffed on her behalf. But as she left I got hit by another emotion - guilt. "Crap! I thought I'd already resolved that!"

When my ex-wife and I were together we had gotten our first cat. Her name is Emmie -- well, HRH Emmie, although she does answer to "Princess" or "Your Highness". When I originally left my marriage I allowed my ex to keep Emmie, which was difficult in itself because she was my little girl too, but I figured I didn't know yet where I was going to end up so Emmie would be better off where she was. Plus she would be a comfort to my ex, partially because it was another soul to keep her company and partially because it was her late father who had given us the money to get Emmie in the first place. It saddened me, but I knew it was for the best, and me and my ex were still on pretty good terms so I did occasionally get to see my green-eyed girl.

So life moved on, as it is wont to do, and I got my own place. In a series of odd events, I soon filled my home with a feline soul of my own. Mr Timmons had been a stray who regularly wandered through the backyard of my then girlfriend. One night I get a call from her saying she had gotten the kitty, who was increasingly and alarmingly thinner and thinner, into a carrier and wondered if I would take him. Ready or not, and I had my doubts, I had a new boarder. We took him to the vet the next day, jaundiced yellow eyes and all, and were told if we had waited one more day he probably wouldn't have made it. Phew! Still gives me the willies to think about that.

So I had a little brash rogue of a kitty running around my place. As he explored my apartment he would occasionally stand up on his hind feet, very meerkat like, and thus I dubbed him "Timmons" after Timmon of the Lion King. "Oh no," my girlfriend insisted, "That's not enough! He is Mr Timmons!" It was only later that I realized Timmons was the name of the wagon driver in Dances With Wolves who drove Kevin Costner's character out to his post. Incidentally there is also a character in a Shakespeare play with the name Timmons -- King Lear I think.

Anyway, he and I stuck together beyond that girlfriend, and were getting quite comfortable in our bachelor pad, when something happened to change our destinies forever. My ex-wife became a groupie. She was originally suppose to be gone for a month when she asked if I would take Emmie in for a while, then she would come back and claim her again after that time. I helped her pack up her apartment, put it all in storage, and took Emmie back to my place.

The month my ex was suppose to be gone slipped by and turned into months, as people just kept giving her tickets and fare to get to the next concert. She followed the band all the way across the country, literally from coast to coast, until she ended up in New York City. I, and every one I tell about that, marvel at and admire her for that. How many people would love to have the courage to live day to day, no responsibilities, and follow their favorite band across the country? It's the stuff books and movies are made of -- and being the talented writer she is I expect her book about the experience to hit the shelves any day.

After the excitement of the road, and with no money left, she ended up going to her parents' house in Kentucky, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was no longer on the road. She has been there ever since. That was two years ago.

During that time she would email me occasionally for Emmie updates and talk about how she missed her and couldn't wait to get her back again. I usually avoided answering those things directly, not to be mean or anything, but because I wasn't convinced it would happen. And before I would give my princess up, for her own best interest, my ex would have to have stabilized, found a steady income and a solid place to live. None of which has happened yet, atleast as far as I know.

Still, knowing how my ex felt about Em, not to mention knowing how I felt about her, I was really torn, not wanting to add one more item to my ex's already swelling list of recent losses -- marriage, Dad, Grandma. What kind of woke me up, though, was a couple of Animal Communication classes I took from the same teacher, but about a year apart. I told the same story as above, saying I didn't know what to do, and at the second class my teacher called me on it. "You told that same story a year ago. Why are you telling the same story?" She went on to talk about how animals pick up on, and are very influenced, by our thoughts and emotions, and when we do as I was doing we effectively hold them in place and don't allow them to resolve their issues. Ah! The lights went on.

At that point I started telling Emmie she was home now, and that she was safe (other than from Mr Timmons' surprise attacks). For a year I'd been telling both cats that Emmie was just a guest, but once I started treating her as a resident rather than a transient, her whole demeanor changed. She became more affectionate -- not that she was stand-offish before -- but I think she felt she could relax more and become her old cuddly self. Mr Timmons still wants to know when he's getting his place back to himself!

I was still wrestling a bit with the situation, wondering if I should just come out and tell my ex or what. A number of months ago the Universe gave me my opportunity and, though it was difficult, I recognized the opening and took it. My Ex emailed again for an update. Same stuff about missing her and not being able to wait til they were reunited, etc, as well as how bad she felt because she felt like she had abandoned Emmie. I wrote back:

Emmie's doing good! Don't worry about abandoning her. Things have worked out the way they have, and there's no point in feeling bad about the past. She is doing well and doesn't hold it against you. But I also think it's probably time for you to let her go. After so much time here where she's happy, I don't see the point or the advantage, especially from her point of view, to be up and moved into a completely new place, in a totally different environment. I'm trying to say this as compassionately as I can, but for her sake she needs to stay here.

Even as I re-read that I get little pangs, but maybe it's time for me to let go too. Rather than doing the co-dependent thing and feeling bad because of how my ex feels, or feeling guilt for doing what I did (which does niether of us any good), I need to recognize it not as guilt but as compassion. I know how it feels, and can only imagine what she thinks of me now (I never heard back from her after that) having stolen her baby, but I do realize, as tough as the decision was, it was the correct one. And, coming full circle, Emmie's situation is totally different than in the horse incident above, although I'm glad it happened because it allowed me to sit down to tea with, and calm a couple more demons of mine.

Live and Let Die

One of my favorite movie quotes is from the movie Evan Almighty. In one scene Morgan Freeman (playing God -- I just love the casting!) is talking to Evan's wife and tells her, "When you pray to God for courage, he doesn't give you courage. He gives you the opportunity to be courageous."




The past week has been particularly interesting, as well as rough. I won't go into all the details, at least until some things have come to fruition, but my life is again at a cross roads. You would think, following a shamanic path, that I would be use to shamanic deaths by now. I heard someone say that being a shaman means facing one death after another. I've lost count of how many times I've experienced it, especially in the past 10 months since my Vision Quest.





Just to clarify, Shamanic Death is not physical death. As far as I know, I'm in great, healthy physical shape. The death I am talking about is a deep transformation -- a death of the old self, old perspectives, and old ways of thinking and doing things.



I've been trying to figure out why it has to be death and not rebirth, but as I near the edge of this present experience I realize it is because Death has to precede Rebirth. I am on this side of it. I don't know what the other side looks like yet. There is a deep grieving process as I prepare to possibly lose everything, because nothing will be the same once I cross that line. Definitely Death. But you can not have one with out the other -- two sides of the same coin. Even according to hard science energy can not be destroyed, only transformed. My present self's ceiling is my future self's floor. I have to pass through one to get to the other. The portal to Rebirth is Death.



This happens all the time, unnoticed on a smaller scale, but the one I am approaching feels HUGE. It is scary and exhilarating at the same time. And what does this have to do with my original quote above? As scary and off balanced as I may presently feel, as haunted by doubts and personal demons as I may presently be, I have to own the fact that I asked for this. I set the intention to manifest as my true authentic self, a self I have not yet experienced on a permanent basis -- a Rebirth of self. In order to get to that point, everything that is inauthentic, in the way, or not serving that vision has to fall away -- a Death. I have asked for a self that is more loving and compassionate -- I am getting the opportunity to be more loving and compassionate. I have asked to be more confident and centered -- I am getting the opportunity to be so.



Reminds me of another quote I heard somewhere -- Something about how most people pray to God when their cages are being rattled not realizing God is the one doing the rattling.



In order to get to the True Self I am, and that I want to express, I have to let go of the illusions of who I think I am, and who I think the world thinks I am. I have to surrender to the truth of my being, because, to use another quote, this time from the Course In Miracles, "Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists." The Real me, the part of me beyond time and space, can not be touched or threatened. Anything more than that is superfluous, and any tie I have to it as my identity is an illusion.



So what might my life look like when I have gone through this process. Probably very much the same, on the outside at least, as it does now. Maybe nothing on the surface will change. It is the deeper transformation that counts, and the detachment from appearances, whether they change or not, that matters -- That makes all the difference in the world. One more quote for the road -- "Before enlightenment chop wood carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood carry water."

The Adventure of Adventure

I am finding myself in a familiar spot -- in between. There are a lot of things in flux in my life right now, and I'm feeling rather suspended in that place where the old things are still clinging, and the new things haven't yet manifested. It is uncomfortable, and it brings up a number of personal demons for me, in the guise of self-doubts, fears. It's easy to start dwelling on the negative "what ifs" instead of the positive ones. "What if all these things I believe are just a bunch of hooey?" "What if I'm not good enough to create my best life?" Etc.

But what if all these things I believe are true? What if I am good enough to deserve my best life possible? What if Elvis really is still alive? ...ok. Forget the last one... There is a definite air of the unknown in the... um... air. I can interpret it as fear, or I can take it as excitement -- or both actually because doesn't excitement come from experiencing new things? Of rising above what you thought was possible? Overcoming doubts and expanding your limits?

It truly is an adventure. I have this belief that if a story doesn't have a happy ending, you ended it too soon. And so I've been teaching myself to take one step back from my life and look at it as a story unfolding in front of me. Of course I'm the hero of this particular string of tales, but the hero always triumphs, right? And so the questions become things like "Wow! How is he gonna get out of this one?" or "Oooo! Is he gonna get to kiss the girl?" It sets up a sense of anticipation and excitement. It makes me feel like I am beyond the particular story/drama -- 'in the world but not of it'. That the outcome while be a happy ending, that the hero (me) will triumph, is certain, it's just a matter of what happens in the meantime to get to that point.

Maybe that's why in visualization and manifesting, i.e. The Secret, you are told to put yourself in the end result and not worry about the 'hows'. That's where the excitement and fun come in. "I have no idea how I'm gonna get to that point (whatever it is - love, money, health) but I can't wait to find out!" That's where miracles enter in, and the miracles I have seen in my life have been amazing! And despite that, I seem to still come up with new and creative ways to doubt miracles... interesting...

Anyway, a few years ago when I was going through one of the toughest points in my life, following a possible nervous breakdown, where I was feeling smothered by darkness and hopelessness, one of those I found myself praying to for help was my childhood hero Davy Crockett. I figured as a boy I was taught to pray to the saints, as well as to my dead relatives, for help, and though Davy was technically niether of these, in a way he was both. And my prayers to Saint Davy were pretty basic -- "Please help me see this as an adventure!"

And so those prayers continue: