My Story

I couldn't be more ready for spring. After two massive snowstorms in one week, I am feeling totally over winter. And after losing two friends in the same week, I am really ready for some joy in my life.

I completely understand on an intellectual level that everything is a creation of my mind - my reality is rooted in my perception. And I also see how my life has become dark as I have experienced a long list of challenges. And I understand that the more I keep that list going, the longer it will grow. Here's how my mind works:

My life changed in October. My beloved kitty died. The heartache was unbearable, and I felt as if I, too, were dying. And when the fog lifted just a little bit, I totalled my car. My chest was injured, and is still causing me some discomfort. And with the need to act quickly to deal with insurance and replacing my car, and with finishing massage school, I didn't have time to deal with the emotional fallout of that accident. Until I finished massage school, that is. At that point, in December, I began to have intense anxiety and panic attacks, and my body went into a powerful, scary expression of that anxiety. In the midst of that, I went to Tennessee to visit my family for a week, and the anxiety split me wide open. I couldn't stop shaking, and felt pain and strange sensations in my whole body. I was terrified, and began 2010 in a process of trying to heal from that. I started having weekly acupuncture, cleaned up my diet quite a bit, and got myself into counseling. And then, Ed died. And then Kenny died. And in the process of all of that, my neighbor started talking about Iran and uranium and the potential for a major disaster involving bombings, and we were stuck in the apocalyptic snows, unable to get out, unable to do anything about any of it...

There is a story that has started in this. I feel myself pulled into it just writing about it here, and have felt pulled into it as I have shared it with people, too. And I see how my list of horrible things just grows the more I choose to keep that list. There is also some angry, aggressive sense of "poor me" and victimhood within it, and I hear it and know it. I am so glad to have cultivated my observer well enough to at least see how I'm caught up in this. But here, standing in the midst of being caught, I also don't see how to break free of it. My head is above water, but I don't know how to push myself out of the water completely...

Moving On

Aaaahhh. The last night in my house as a single inhabitant. Tomorrow Alan moves in, and I begin the journey of living with a roommate. It seems like exactly what needs to be happening in my life right now.

Alan is an ideal roommate, I think. We know each other pretty well, but aren't best friends. Less likely to drive each other crazy, I think. Also, we have been communicating very well as this whole process has come about. I hope that will continue, so that we can both live happily in this small-ish space. Also, best of all, Alan loves Friday kitty like no other. Other than me, of course. Honestly, though, if I were to die, I would want Alan to take Friday - it is a perfect match. And having a scenario where Friday kitty gets even MORE love than he does now is really great!

The poor little guy is probably very confused right now. He spent the evening under my bed as I steam cleaned the carpets. The only thing worse than the noise of a vacuum cleaner is a steam cleaner! And Friday HATES the vacuum. I hate it that he has been hiding like that, but he's surely in the quietest, safest place for him while all that noise is going on. What will he do tomorrow when I steam the carpets in that room, I wonder? For now, he has come out of hiding, and is wandering around the house, rubbing his soft body against the endless stacks of stuff. How's that for making friends with chaos? Oh, my little Buddha cat, teaching me yet another piece of transcendental wisdom. =)

I'm told that tonight there will be a major meteor shower, and I wish I had the stamina to stay up and stare at the sky. But it's getting cold out, and I got up at 6am to go to DC by 9am, and then taught flute lessons, and then spent the whole evening cleaning my carpets. I'm pretty much beat about now. Maybe I will go crawl up on the roof for a little while and commune with the sky and some sacred tobacco.

It hit me tonight as I was sitting on the toilet that I am getting used to living without Familiar kitty in my life. And I spoke those words to him, as if he were with me. I kind of feel his presence there with me in the bathroom where he died sometimes, and it doesn't freak me out as much as it did a few weeks ago. I miss him still, and I feel like my life will never go back to the way it was before. But I am starting to feel that my life is going on in spite of the sorrow. And of course it does, of course it must. Sometimes I think that that is the hardest part...knowing that life does go on in spite of the pain and suffering of loss. It almost feels like it shouldn't - it's not fair to go on living without the ones I love! But I also can acknowledge that thinking like that just brings more suffering. All I can do is breathe into the pain and watch as my own life lives itself beyond that dark shadow that death has cast upon my heart.

Suffering

I'm sitting here in my bed, right next to Friday, who has claimed one flannel-covered pillow for his own. He's purring and not purring, off and on, and looking up toward the ceiling. Something is in the attic, skittering around. Sounds like a squirrel, too big for a mouse. Right around the time that Familiar kitty was passing, I heard squirrels in the attic - or on the roof, not sure which - all the time. I haven't heard any for a few weeks, though, not until the last couple days. Friday looks so puzzled, his eyes following the skittering beyond the ceiling. I wonder how they get in there!

In the midst of the darkest week I've had in a long time, I did manage to get to yoga class...not one, not two, but three. In spite of the anger and frustration and sadness that have been the most prevalent emotions this week, there is some little voice within me that says, "hey, this used to really be good - do it now!" I'm going to trust that, and also have no expectations.

Yesterday, one of my dismal posts on Facebook asked what people thought life was about. One man replied that life is about learning through suffering. His words hit home right away. I seem to recall that his kitty passed the day before Familiar kitty - so he is surely going through some of the same feelings I have. Learning through suffering. I've sure been feeling the suffering part, but I have wondered all day what it is that I'm learning here...or resisting learning...

One thing that I am clearly resisting learning is that fingers are for loving kitties...not typing! Friday has relocated to my right knee, pushing my keyboard off to the left, and keeps insisting his head under my typing fingers, clearly showing me what really matters. Bless this being. Bless him. He is the best teacher I've got right now, that's for sure. He's given me a reprieve for the moment, and has moved on to licking my hand as I write here.

Suffering. Everything and everyone that I love will leave, die, fall apart. That is the very truth of living, and the very truth of suffering. The more I love, the more pain I will feel when the loving is interrupted. So, there's a part of me (and I doubt I'm alone here) that says "fuck it! What's the point anyway?!" Why love if it's going to hurt so much later. But the truth is that I feel things really big, really deeply. And I've done enough intense, deep spiritual work that there's no turning back now. There's no shutting the door to my heart. It just doesn't make sense, it's no longer an option. And in the reality of that, suffering seems to be the only option. And I think the reason I've been feeling so angry this week is that that really sucks! So, the more I open my heart, the more pain I'm going to feel. Great. Check please...

Today as I was driving in the pouring rain in Baltimore - feeling supremely bitter and pissed off - I thought of two things. First, if life is nothing more than waking up, eating, pooping, and sleeping again, with maybe a bit of working for money thrown in, then FUCK IT! I'm not playing anymore. I will lay in bed all day and piss myself and shit my pants and starve first. I know, it sounds ridiculous. But what's behind that madness and anger is outrage - that I demand that life be more than this, that I absolutely insist that my life have meaning. And that's probably a blessing - the energy of anger pushing through the murk of sorrow. Second, the thought came to me that in spite of the devastation of experiencing death steal away the life of my little buddy while he was in my arms, I have not died. And there is part of me that feels guilty for that, that while my little kitty is gone from this world forever I am here, and am supposed to continue living. But besides that guilty part that feels like I shouldn't go on living, that I should lay in my bed and shit my pants until I die too, there is another part that says, "hey, I'm still here..." and wants to LIVE out loud, fully, richly, just like I always have. One voice says, "shit, get over this, you're wasting your own sweet, precious life!" And another says, "this pain is so deep, you will never survive it."

And beyond those voices and those feelings, there is the sunrise and the sunset, and rain and wind and clouds and starlight, and sunshine. And there is a Magnolia tree watching over the decaying body of a being that was once my dear friend. And that dear friend is probably still lingering somewhere nearby, waiting to show me what I'm supposed to learn next from this whole ordeal.

He came to me in my dreams three nights in a row this week. Once, I was in a high school classroom, with other people who I went to high school with - and there he was, trying to squirm out of my arms, trying to get out into the hallway and explore. Another dream, I was obsessing about his losing weight and being super skinny. I can't recall the other one, exactly. But what was so lovely was touching him - the sensation of having his body in contact with me - that has been what I have longed for and missed so desperately. In spite of all the esoteric teachings - and my own experience - that say that the body is only a shell for the Spirit, it is my full experience in this reality that I relate to other beings by touch, by speaking, by sight and sound - through the physical senses. That is so hard to let go of.

So, what am I learning here through this suffering? A question to continue pondering...

No Escape

Today, after a long and powerful acupuncture session, a bright rainbow emerged outside the window. The sky changed from blue and airy to a dark, bruised shade of gray, and there, in the midst of golden afternoon sunlight, this bright rainbow emerged. The light at the end of this dark tunnel for me? God, I sure hope so.

From the way that my acupuncturist, Star, described the treatment, it was basically a long process of clearing out energy, followed by a Chinese medicine version of the Soul Retrieval. I think she called it a "shin disturbance." And I was there for nearly two hours. What a blessing.

This summer in ceremony I found the part of myself that is just waiting for "it" to be "finished." I would find myself sitting in ceremony, which I had willingly and joyfully chosen to participate in, and there I would be, cringing and holding on for dear life, wondering when it would be over, bracing for the worst. And I would work to relax that reaction, calming myself down, reminding myself that there would be incredible wisdom in the process, and trusting that it would not kill me. Indeed, it didn't. And as has been the case so often in ceremony, what I learn within those sweet hours is infinitely important to integrate into the ways that I live in my daily life in the world.

All of this crossed my mind as I was laying there in the treatment room, with needles down my back. If this is ceremony - which ALL of life IS - what is it that I am being asked to learn and know and feel?

I am sitting with this in truth for the first time right now. What is it that this flatness and fear and meaninglessness and powerlessness are trying to teach me?

The first thing that comes to mind is how I am always looking for a way out. An escape. The part of me that believes there's an expiration date on how long suffering should last, or believes that I should be able to just push it aside. And god knows I have lived that way for much of my life! Fear is cowardly, sorrow is weak, and the rest of it is just plain inconvenient. But I know that these are merely harsh thoughts that don't want me to experience life as it is showing up. And the truth is that what is showing up right now is pretty damn persistent. Thank god there is acupuncture and massage and aromatherapy and Friday kitty! These things really do help. But the truth is this - I want out. I want to move on from the pain of heartache, but my nervous system just can't shake it all off so quickly. This sorrow that has come from the loss of a significant life companion will not pass with the sunset. And as long as I resist what is true, it will push back into my life. Can I honestly just show up and feel what I feel, let it exist for as long as it needs to? Today Star said, "what you are feeling is exactly what you need to feel." Wise words, words that I have often spoken to myself. But in the midst of a huge spin, these things seem too scary. And the more I withdraw from them, the more powerless I feel. The more powerless I feel, the more my mind reacts, and the more meaningless my life seems.

There is another part of my mind that has emerged in ceremony, too, that is involved here. The part that is afraid to be trapped on a hamster wheel, and says "oh, god, is this happening again? Will it always be this way?" This is another part that wants to flee, that feels like there is no growth, no change, no possibility. That part keeps wondering, will I always feel like this??? Will my heart always feel heavy, forevermore? And if it does, I just can't stand it!! But the truth is that change is always happening, I am never in the same place twice, and what will I do if it never, ever shifts...

The power comes in my choices. I can choose to accept exactly what I feel in each moment. I can choose to explore that with curiosity, and without labels. I can also choose to stay connected to the love and divinity beyond this momentary experience of discomfort. Instead of sitting around waiting to die, and waiting for everyone and everything around me to die, I can go dance or sing or play or watch the clouds in the sky. The truth is that I am dying in every moment, and so is everyone else! So???

I feel like the secret is in embracing my feeling in my body in every moment while not allowing the mind to dominate with its fears and imaginings for even one moment. Freedom to the body and heart, discipline to the mind...yes.

One Month

Wow, I actually can't believe that I missed writing two days in the last week. Sunday and Tuesday. Sunday, probably because I was involved in the Day of the Dead Brunch, and yesterday...well, not sure why. Perhaps because there's a lot on my mind, and it's sometimes easier to look away. I could feel the tendency wanting to emerge again tonight. The "oh, well, it's so late anyway, you may as well not bother." But here I am anyway. Showing up on the page.

Sweet Friday just made his way to my bed, where I am sitting to write this. He's perched himself on my left knee, and is purring away.

Today marks one month since Familiar kitty passed. It's unbelievable to me, still, though the reality of it is completely clear. What I am in touch with right now, below my own surface, is this darkness. This voice within me that says, "what's the point of anything. We're all just waiting to die." Isn't that a song by Gillian Welch? Well, it is haunting my spirit right now, and in spite of the fact that I am able to function and even experience some level of joy and goodness in my life, this undercurrent has become pervasive.

When the truth of death sits this close, I know that I can't help but come to confront all of my fears, all of my doubts, all of the ways that I make meaning in my life. There is the question in me, "what's the point of life?" And this is a question that I, in one way or another, have been asking for years. While I am deeply committed to living as fully consciously as I can, to facing my demons, and to keeping my heart open in the midst of great suffering, what I feel right now is a flatness, a flatness that has come from something within me not wanting to feel this much pain, trying to protect me. But it is only protecting me from the suffering of loss, not from the fears of the reality of death. I literally feel like just collapsing face down on the floor sometimes when this powerlessness comes over me...I am powerless to do anything in the face of the neverending flow of living and dying. Death is already at hand, and is sucking the juice out of living, too, for me right now.

There is such a pull to want to just get on with things. It comes from within me, and definitely comes from the outside too. Whether it's someone trying to smooth over the pain with some lofty spiritual philosophy, or with some lighthearted banter, no one wants you to feel sad and flat for long. It's a bummer. And I'm definitely going about my life, doing what I do. But what is the point of doing what I do, waking and sleeping, and eating and bathing, and all that other stuff that fills up the days? In spite of the truth that I KNOW there is more to life, that there is a true sweet divine order to the universe, and that I have tasted that sweetness firsthand in profound ways, right now, there is no sweetness. Well, there is this kitty on my knee...

I know all the good answers. Life goes on. I have to choose to make meaning in my life. Love is powerful. Tears are perfect. I've said all this a thousand times, and heard it thousands more. But I am driven by the truth of what I feel within, and what emerges within right now is some shade of gray, lying limply on the floor, wondering what it's all about.

I hear that question emerging over and over in my life right now. What's the point? I've long since given up any ideas that material gain is the point, that success and status and accomplishment are the point of life. And I have often felt that connection, love, community, peace, simplicity, and the like, are the point of life. Love is surely the point of life! But right now I just can't get back to that. These are merely intellectual concepts that don't have any hold in my current experience.

So, for now, I am going about my days, trying to live peacefully and simply. I would love to have my life back. Any day now, universe. Any day.

Surrender

Tonight when I arrived home, I decided to follow the suggestion of a yoga teacher friend of mine, and spend twenty minutes in a supported chest opener pose, and wow! I feel really calm and centered right now. I reclined on the floor, with my back arching over a rolled blanket, and my head fell back onto a pillow, and my arms open at 2/10 o'clock. I brought my feet together, and let my knees fall open, also resting each one on a pillow. There I remained for twenty minutes, listening to this beautiful music, "Devi Prayer" by Craig Pruess and Ananda. My body struggled to really let go, but moments washed over me when I was not merely lying there on the floor, but deliberately surrendering myself to the ground beneath me.

My nervous system slowly began to release, and I could feel the way that my body and mind are still in a state of emergency. While most of this state of being extends from the trauma of being with Familiar kitty as he passed, I believe that it goes beyond that immediate situation. The speed with which we live our lives in this part of the world is its own trauma state, and the anxiety about this, then the next thing...our nervous systems are all spun up into a state of madness. Fear of keeping our lifestyles, fear of making enough money, fear of maintaining our jobs, fear of not being successful, fear of the economy crashing, fear of the swine flu...it just goes on and on. And while most of these things don't come up in my life on a regular basis, I am certainly at the energetic mercy of a culture that I swim within...until I consciously work with that to shift things within myself.

As I reclined on my yoga mat, being held by soft pillows and covered by a warm blanket, I heard my mind grasping, reaching, searching...in essence, protecting me, trying to make sure things are safe. And there is a voice in my head that believes that even here, in my home of nearly eight years, in this sweet neighborhood, and on this quiet night, I might be in some danger. Okay, it is not likely! Another voice in my head knows that and tries to dismiss this one. But there the other one remains, in constant duty as a sentinel. A plane could crash into the house! Or someone could break in! Or a fire! Or or or or or orororororor...on and on and on. And once my rational mind has dismissed all of those possibilities, worse ones arise... Ones that sound insane. Energetic violations and dangers. What if the ghost of Familiar kitty comes to do yoga with me, as he always used to do? Or what if there are other energies there, just waiting for me to relax and surrender, to then feast upon my unguarded being? And then, worst of all...the danger isn't external, it isn't even external energetically...it is my own body! My own body is the threat to my safety! It's not a robber or a ghost that will bring me harm...it is my own cells, my own body will destroy itself! Sigh...I can't live like this.

It's a good thing I already know that I am not my mind. =)

In ceremony a long time ago I became aware that I didn't know how to relax. Gradually, I have been coming into a place inside of myself that can soften into life, whether things are easy or difficult, fast or slow, peaceful or tumultuous. But this loss of my kitty has thrown all of that off. What a gift this is, showing me how I have not yet really mastered this process of relaxing. Heehee. It is a gift, for sure. The truth of groundlessness has been revealed to me in the most undeniable way. I spend time every day in a place of knowing that death is sitting right beside of me. That everything that I create will be destroyed. That everyone and everything that I know and love will die, and life will go on living itself alive. I am powerless to do anything about that. And sitting with that as my companion each day has not been easy...it is a hell of a teacher, that is for sure!

What I am coming to understand is hard to articulate right now. It is connected to the esoteric teachings of so many wise beings. About life and death and spiritual practice. About surrendering everything into the fire of love. About dropping the ego. About...hmm...well, the point behind everything. I can't give it words yet, because I know I am still lost in the fog. But what I can see is that every idea that I ever had about life and death and spirituality were much more intellectual just a few weeks ago. Even Madre Ayahuasca couldn't give me this teaching. I am beginning to understand why they have always said that wisdom comes through life experience. No esoteric teaching, no book, no philosophy could have ever really brought me into facing life and death like this. Not even close.

As I was there on the floor, working to relax and surrender, the thought crossed my mind, why would I be afraid if the ghost of Familiar kitty did come to do yoga with me? Why would I automatically fear any energetic presence that might come into my space? Just like Javier would have guided me to do, I turned the automatic fear response around. I relaxed into the idea of both, accepting their possibilities, but also looking into them directly. Turn around and face the monster that is chasing you...right? As I put my attention upon this, a lightness filled my body, and I felt like I was floating. I let my breathing settle and felt the energy move within me in the most gentle, yet radiant way. The music, totally sublime, carried me through this inner space, drifting in the lightness. And I began to relax.

Two weeks

How long has it been since I sat on this porch to write? Two weeks, I believe. Today marks two weeks since Familiar kitty passed. And even this afternoon, as I returned from DC, I found myself opening the front door with some expectation of a little black kitty meeting me anxiously. And today, being a beautiful warm day, I imagine that he would have met me at the window, actually. He loved to squeeze himself onto the tiny four inch ledge that is available as a perch when the window is open, and he would hear me coming home, and cry out as I walked up the sidewalk to the front door. I also imagined the way that he would lightly rub his body against my legs as I would come in, begging for food, for attention. And so many days, especially the days this year since I returned from Peru, he would meet me eagerly, sitting someplace funny. On the arm of the sofa - the closest point to the front door other than the floor. On the coffee table - he loved the new purple woven tapestry that I brought home from Peru. On the kitchen table, or on the stove, or on the kitchen counters - probably waiting there after scrounging about in the sink for something good. Oh, my little sweet buddy, I miss you so much.

But I am adjusting. I am no longer feeling like my house is empty. It is still and quieter than ever, for sure. But I am letting go. Some things come to mind that are easier now. I don't have to clean up the pee in the shower anymore...Familiar kitty sure did love to pee in there. And all this time I thought Friday was the one peeing on the bathroom rugs...I was wrong. It was Familiar all the time...but he surely didn't want me to catch him. I remember a couple weeks before he got ill, I noticed that the rug behind the sofa was wet with urine, and once again, figured that it was Friday. Then, a few days later, I found Familiar kitty peeing there, and I reprimanded him, wondering what the deal was. Now, I have some sense of it. Something was going wrong in his body, and whatever it was, peeing on the floor was part of it. Oh, it makes me so sad to think that he is gone. From where I sit on my porch, I can see the decorations on his grave, colorful and varied.

Porch sitting without him is strange, too. I have a plate that once held a slice of toast and some broccoli...and there is no kitty to lick it clean. Friday doesn't have any interest at all. Now, he does have some strange interest in eating the dried spearmint leaves that are out here on the porch...that seems odd, but hey, if it makes him happy, spearmint is almost like catnip, right!

Today is really warm, and the sun is bright in the blue cloudless sky. There are tiny insects floating around, flying in patterns that seem utterly random, and the golden light illuminates them, turning the sky into a wonderland of twirling sparkles. The trees in my yard are holding tightly to their leaves, which are just barely turning yellow right now...it is a stunning Fall day. Friday kitty was reluctant to make his way downstairs with me, but once I carried him down, he got the idea: porch sitting time on a sunny afternoon! And now, he is resting in a sunny spot, loving it. Oh, my little Friday love...I don't know what I would do without him right now!

The golden illuminated insects have multiplied, and are even more plentiful than just a moment ago! They are dancing in the air, more random than snow, but light as milkweed blowing in the gentle breeze. A yellow jacket keeps invading my space, trying to enjoy the last bit of apple cider in my glass. Drunk on its sweetness, he keeps swooping a little too close for comfort. There won't be too many more glorious warm days like this before the weather turns cold. I am grateful to have the time today to sit here on the porch and be present. The cones on the Magnolia are reddening more now, such a contrast against her shiny, dark green leaves. Beneath her is the grave of my little Familiar kitty. Sweet tree, watching over the final resting place of my little kitty love.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Dancing my way Whole

I have never been much on dancing. Sure, there have been times here and there when I have felt drawn to get all decked out and head to a club to dance - usually with all my favorite gay guys. These dance nights usually involved alcohol, and were filled with techno music about love and sex and the like. And while I have gone along with those dance nights, they have never felt comfortable to me. I never craved them. There was something raw and animal that was very alive in dancing in those environments, but the undercurrent of sexuality was always somewhat creepy to me. I never wanted to go dancing to check out men, and sure didn't want them checking me out too closely! As a larger woman, dancing has always made me feel like hiding in the corner. I mean, if dancing is part of the whole "meat market" of "hooking up" - as it has felt to me - then of what value am I, a larger woman, in a sea of skinny, "hot" chicks?

Well, I am endlessly grateful that I have been letting go of this kind of thinking over the last few years. Through Kundalini yoga, I began to release my fears about what would happen if someone saw my curves jiggling so much...and it has come in deeper and deeper to my way of life. As I have come to accept and love my body more, I don't feel so much like hiding. And tonight at the Dancing Lodge, that has been transcended more than ever before.

What a brilliant - if not new - possibility: that dancing could be a celebration of life in a much deeper way, of connecting to the Great Spirit that flows livingness through each of us! Tonight I *loved* dancing. Loved it. Completely. Uninhibited. Free.

If I am able to accept myself fully and completely, then I will be able to show up in my life without being afraid of how others will feel about me, how they might judge me, and *everything* is better. And if I am able to allow my body to be free to express itself without any fear of judgement, then I will inhabit every beautiful corner and curve and twist and turn and feeling that comes through this physical form, beautiful as it is.

Dancing solo. Dancing and moving, finding the ways that the body can move when given space for that expression. Patterns emerge, patterns are broken, moving and stillness flow one into the other, sometimes without warning. There is a kind of knowing that is within the body that is deeper than the mind. It is primal, instinctual, intuitive, it is its own rich expression of living. And to explore space - within and around me - was a beautiful adventure. The conscious choice to leave behind fear, to leave behind thinking, to just feel and move. Incredible.

Dancing in partnership. The beauty of being held and received as my body expressed my experience in this day. If my mind had had any opportunity to consider it, the answer would have been "fuck! I don't know how to do that!" And yet, given no opportunity to *not know* meant that the body had the chance to express itself before the mind could enter. What power there is in allowing dance and movement to tell this story. And moving into partnership, into trust with one person, then another, then another - oh, how many ways there are to dance with others in this world! Twirling one after another into the center of trust, letting life carry us forward with no fear, no question, only moving and connecting. I was deeply moved - in fact, I now feel like I know what trust actually means in a much richer way.

Dancing in community. Holding space. Aloneness and togetherness, dancing in rhythm. Oh, the joy of moving together, of savoring each person's sweet jewel of being. And to come together without the story, without history, without names, without reason, only to share in that togetherness. And even being alone is held sweetly within community. There is space there to be alone without being isolated - and that is a true gift. How many ways there are to dance, walk, sing, create, be in this world! To come together to embrace those different ways of showing up in all their beauty - oh, yes, this is the world I want to live in!

Dancing to the Great Spirit. Body as prayer. Motion as prayer. Breathing, sweating as prayer. Surrendering everything as prayer. This is holy, this is sacred, timeless, transcendent. And this is what I have been longing for deep in every cell in my body.

What if we could show up together, bringing all of our presence, and sitting aside the details of our lives, and embrace each other for no other reason than our shared humanness? What if that shared experience burned away the ordinary boundaries that keep us living in such separation? What if I could openly and freely express huge, powerful LOVE to a room full of beings without having any motive other than loving them, and loving myself? This is the world I want to live in.

Tonight I prayed with tobacco, asking that this heavy, tight, sharp heartache would be lifted. I prayed that this time of sorrow wouldn't shut me down further, protecting my heart from more pain from loving and letting go. I prayed that my heart would be stretched ever wider, so that I would be able to love even more, even deeper, so that I would gladly and willingly accept the pain that may come from loving so completely. I prayed that my heart would let go of this protection that has come through my nervous system, trying to keep me able to function in my body, in my world, in a time of such intense sorrow. I prayed that the fear that has been knocking at my door would be washed away in a flood of love and dancing that tonight's sweet Dancing Lodge Ceremony was sure to bring. And I showed up, fully ready to surrender everything to the fire of dancing.

I moved in more ways than I ever have before. I felt the sweet gift of bare feet on the floor, and sweat trickling down my back. I felt the joy of sisterhood, sweaty and swaying in a flow of connection. I felt the power of masculine energy, and the power of feminine energy, and the incredible appreciation we share for each other. I felt rose petals under my feet, dancing the joy of peace, and of living rich and fully alive. I danced the overwhelming sorrow of loss, and the blessing of a love that is so huge that this much pain could be possible. I danced in connection to all that I know, all that I love, all that is true and holy in this world.

And for the first time in almost two weeks, I felt really, really happy.

I prayed once more, after the ceremony had ended. I prayed that when my time to leave this sweet Earth comes, that I may be so completely centered in love and in the ways that I may serve this world through that love, that there is no room left for fear.

Moving Past Fear

Well, it was bound to happen sometime...I missed writing yesterday! I was lying in bed last night, and it hit me that I hadn't written here...and I took a deep breath and let it go. Today is another day, and here I am, showing up on the page again.

Yesterday the fog started to clear, and it has continued to clear throughout today. The fear-based thinking that has been pulling me down, down, down began to lift. But not willingly. It has taken some serious effort on my part, some serious desire to hoist the thick stuckness off of me, and to send it on its way again and again.

I had a conversation with my beloved neighbor Lynn yesterday morning. The night before, I had fallen into a panic-stricken terror while trying to fall asleep. I had seen Alan's light on and knocked on the door, and he kindly sat with me while I wept and shivered and was overcome by the experience. Lynn suggested that *this* wasn't grieving and mourning...that it was something else. Possibly something else that was trying to feed on my grieving and mourning. An attachment that was drawn to the dark, heavy, sorrowful energy I have been emitting. And that attachment energy/presence/being/whatever was triggering me to feeling more alone and afraid and paranoid in order to feed itself. Having had strange experiences with energies like this before, I decided to sit with her idea, and see what happened.

She was absolutely right on.

There was one heavy presence, thick and gooey like a jellyfish, that was draped over my head, making it impossible for me to connect to any feeling or thought of love and power. I knew that I loved things, was passionate about things, but couldn't remember what exactly...I was stuck! I also felt there were two other secondary presences that were benefitting from the brain-sucking of the first one...and using my fear to trigger pain and pressure in my body, making me more afraid and paranoid that something was wrong with me. Seeing this, shining light into the dark places, these "attachments" were caught in the act - busted! And things started to change instantly.

My mantra these last two days has been "get the FUCK OFF of me!" Sometimes it has been necessary to physically pull the energies off my body. Sometimes the intention and words and feeling behind them are enough. But I have found in this a path back to my power. My center. Even if I was suffering from some strange series of afflictions, is *this* the way I want to die? Shriveled in fear and paranoia? Absolutely not! And I have felt things really turn upward today. Little bubbles of something have started appearing in my belly, along with feelings of something like joy in my heart. They are small, and still lost in a sea of sadness and residual body responses to fear and trauma, but they are there. Like seedlings emerging in the spring.

At our last Wisdom Circle, someone asked a question, "what gets you out of bed in the morning?" My answer came quickly, spontaneously. I get out of bed in the morning in the same way that seedlings emerge in the spring, from cold, hard, desolate earth that appears barren. I awake in the morning with the call of the sun, the call of life. And now, in this time of letting go and healing from the death of my sweet little Familiar kitty, the same energy is emerging. The energy of uprising, of life living itself alive over and over and over again.

What has been coming as a gift in this time of sorrow, followed by this time of fear, is the experience of softness. Of feeling laid out onto the ground, sprawling, vulnerable, with no resistance left in me. And beyond the fear and paranoia about my own mortality, beyond my sorrow about the loss of my kitty, there is this other piece of me, raw and honest. In fact, as I sit with it right now, I find that the sorrow and the fear and paranoia are *re-actions* to things that have happened. But this deeper piece is not...this raw, honest part is maybe the simplest, purest voice that I have ever heard come from me. It isn't worried about how I look or sound, how I will be perceived, what anyone else in the world is doing or thinking. It merely shows up, vulnerable and simple, honest for lack of energy to be anything else. And this voice feels so authentic. It almost feels like the other responses are happening in the snowglobe of my life - shaken up completely - but this other voice is the one that emerges after the snow settles down - in the empty space. Mmm. Yes.

A little more than a week before Familiar kitty passed, I had come to discover this new authenticity appearing in my life, and a total shift away from the fears that I had carried so long regarding how I am perceived by others. I am grateful to have taken the time to acknowledge that and to be present with it in my writing. And now, I see how that came at the perfect time. I have been learning to be authentic in a whole new way in this process of grief and panic and letting go. I am in various degrees of falling apart and coming back together every day right now! And there is no part of me that is trying to hide, to push people away, to pretend everything is fine, life as usual. Life is *not* as usual. And I am living authentically, riding that wave as it comes, accepting everything, trying to stay present. One breath at a time. One step at a time. One day at a time.

The Passing of Familiar Kitty

There is a part of me that wants to float again, to push past the deep sorrow that has made its way into my heart, but the sorrow is seeping into my body, into my bones. As it must. Anyone worth loving is worth mourning. And my body is offering itself over to the grief process. I feel heavy and tired, I find myself staring off into space, feeling tingly and strange. I feel fear and panic, as I previously wrote, and somewhere deeper than that is a deep desire to go on living strong and bright. The strong part of me wants to coax me out of mourning, and says, "you should get a little kitten!" But there is another part of me that wants to just sink into this sadness, not push it aside. Also, not dramatize it, or feed it, but to just honor it when it appears.

I have somehow avoided going into the depth of writing about Familiar kitty's death and ceremony. Part of me wants to let it go. But another part of me just can't, and wants to honor his little life with a heartfelt telling of his death. I am going to try.

When I wrote last Wednesday, I wrote only a couple hours before he passed. It was Wednesday morning that it happened, a little after 11am.

I felt that his end was coming near. I was actually stunned that he had not passed in the night. I had trained my ears to listen for his cries, his whines...and throughout the previous night I had gone to him whenever he cried. He had settled in the green bathroom, behind the toilet for the most part, on Tuesday evening. After getting himself there, he had little strength to move again.

I had asked Alan to stay over on Tuesday night, both to care for Friday and to be there in case Familiar had passed during the night. I was afraid of what I would do if I found him dead in the night, and I knew that having support was better. I gave Alan my bed, and I took a mattress on the floor of the meditation room. And all through the night, he cried out, and I went to him. Around sunrise, I started giving him Rescue Remedy, which allowed him to be calmer, and sometimes more than an hour would pass without him crying out. When Alan got up to leave, I got up too, and was so surprised to see his bony body still pulsing with breath.

I knew that all there was left for me to do was be with him. His cries were weaker than ever. His breathing was shallow and soft. His eyes looked dazed and non-responsive. I kept bursting into tears every few minutes, stunned that he was leaving me. I called Lynn, and asked if she could come over...she was on her way to class, and said she would come by later in the morning. I called Ros, and she was able to come over and sit with me for a few minutes. She was the last person other than me to touch his sweet little head, or kiss his soft fur.

I lay on my side, between the toilet and the bathtub, reaching my hand to his little cold paw. I rubbed it and squeezed it constantly. I talked to him softly, telling him how much I loved him, telling him how sorry I was that he was suffering, and that I couldn't believe that this time had come. Now and then, he would cry out with more power, and would try to sit himself up or even stand, but his strength was failing. He would stretch out his legs, reaching and pushing with all the strength he could manage as he cried out. I hope that he wasn't feeling agonizing pain...I felt so helpless, having no idea how to help him. He pushed himself side to side behind the toilet, front legs pushing against the sink, then hind legs pushing against the bathtub. It was heartbreaking to watch.

When his position was more centered around the sink, I moved my body to that side. I lay belly-down on the urine stained bath towels, and took his sweet little head in my hands. When Ros arrived, this is how she found us. She was there to comfort me, and was so kind to both me and my little kitty. She stayed a short time, and then left us together with her prayers and love.

After she left, I talked to my little love. I told him with more authority than I could have consciously managed, "I am ready to let you go." I talked to him about how my emotional reaction must be hard for him, too, because it must seem that I want him to stay. Indeed, I wanted him to stay!! Forever and ever, for the rest of my life, I wanted him to stay! But that was clearly not what was happening, and I wanted to reassure him that when his time came, I didn't want him to hold on to this life and this suffering for me. I sobbed my heart out, and eventually stood to get some water.

Throughout the morning I had only moved away from him a couple times. Each time, his cries would pull me back as quick as I could get there, and this last one was no different. I came right back to him...it almost seemed that whenever I wasn't touching him, he would cry out. His eyes were so wide, as if they were trying to take in the light, even though the room was brightly lit with morning light and the lights on too. I wondered if he had lost his sight, and if touch was the only way he was able to know I was still there. I stayed there, and held him - his paw, his face. I talked to him, I sang to him medicine songs that came to my mind. And I told him that God is so good. I told him that when his guardians, angels, and guides come to take him that he needed to go with him, to let go of this body and this life. Now, looking back on this, I can hardly believe that I was able to be so present and so strong with him - my heart was destroyed, I was beside myself with sorrow, and yet I knew that the only thing for me to do in those moments was to sit that slightly aside to be there for him.

His cries became weaker. He had pushed himself much more toward the sink. I reached over to him, and slid his tiny frame from behind the toilet, and closer to me. I thought that by having my body closer to his, I could offer him more comfort. And what a sweet thing, to feel his body so close to mine at that moment. I continued to hold his head in my hand, and his paw in my other hand. As he cried out again, one of his paws reached out and grazed my face, and then my arm...he had been pushing with his legs as the agony would come, and now he had nothing to push into but me. He eventually began to grip at the towel, too, and I reassured him that I was there, and that it was all going to be okay. I noticed that he had begun to poop, and I reached over and grabbed some tissue to clean that up. He cried out again, and I brought my face close to him, crying harder than ever. Then, his pushing, stretching, reaching paws relaxed.

Something moved through my body, and I pushed myself up onto my forearms, and I looked at his little belly. It was not moving. So many things went through my mind, but I pushed them aside...I knew that the moment had come. A powerful gasp came from him, his little toothy mouth open, tongue reaching out, eyes open wide. His side was still not moving, though I could see his heartbeat just beneath the surface of his skin. One paw reached out in a clawing, clenching motion. I took it in my hand, and I told him that it was okay, to let go...the other paw reached out in a similar way, and I squeezed it too. One more powerful gasp came. I continued to hold on to him, and tell him how much I loved him, and to encourage him to let go, to go with the spirits/guides/angels who had come to help him pass. I could hardly breathe myself...waiting, hoping that maybe this was just a time of shock, that his belly would start to rise and fall again...but it did not. I tried to sing to him, to hold space for his spirit to pass out of the body, but through the song came a river of tears.

I wept more uncontrollably than I have ever wept before. I cried out from the bottom of my heart, the bottom of my soul, I just couldn't believe that he was gone. I stayed with him, too, still holding him, waiting for his heart to slow and stop beating altogether. I heard the front door open, and a "hello sweetie" call out. Lynn had arrived.

She couldn't have had more perfect timing. I cried and cried and cried, and she held my hands and pulled me close. She held space for me to be in that intense grief, and I was so grateful not to be there alone in that moment. She stayed with me for about an hour.

I tried to close his little eyes and mouth, but couldn't really. I kept wanting to go back to his little body, a shell of the kitty that I had loved for thirteen years. I buried my face in the fur of his neck, as I had so many times before, and it still smelled like him. He was still warm, and I cried into his neck until the fur was wet. After some time, Lynn helped me to clear out the bathroom so that I could wrap him up. I decided to wrap his body in a bright orange wrap that I had bought from Amma's shop when I saw her for the first time several years ago. It had little Indian symbols on it, and some Sanskrit blessings too, and I had taken it to Peru to use as an altar cloth before - it felt special and sacred to me, and would be perfect to bury my little kitty love in.

I thought I would be freaked out by moving the body of my little one, cold and stiff, no longer warm and alive. Lynn offered to do it for me, but I knew that I needed to do it myself. We cleared the extra towels, keeping one, and folded the wrap in half on top of it. I reached down and picked up my little kitty, and the river of tears began again. Oh, how badly I had wanted to hold on to my little kitty love as he was dying, and how it seemed to cause him suffering whenever I would pick him up out of necessity. But in that moment, he was no longer suffering. His body was so small, and not so fragile anymore. I held him and squeezed him, and I was so surprised that his fur felt so soft, still. I touched his face, running my fingers over his soft cheekbones, his soft nose, his soft forehead, and his little ears and neck. It was the saddest thing I have ever experienced, this little body that was once so alive. But it was also so healing to hold him, one last time. I held him for a long time. But eventually the time came for me to put him down and wrap him up. I closed the bathroom door after that, and left a bowl of sage burning within.

I need to stop here. I want to share about the beautiful ceremony, too, but that will have to wait. My heart aches anew just writing about this, and I simply can't go into it any further right now.

It will take a long time for me to fully let go of this sweet being that blessed my life for so many years. The sorrow is so deep, but it is flowing, too.

Body and Beyond

It is a cold evening, but I am still keeping my windows open. Fall is blowing in more every day, and tonight I walked in crunchy fallen leaves for the first time this season. Today was filled with goodness. I joined some dear friends at the Maryland Renaissance Festival for a day of merriment and togetherness, and it was probably the best thing I could have done. After so much seriousness, so much sorrow, and so much intensity, it was a blessing to just be in the sunshine, to follow the flow of the day, the flow of conversation. To allow myself to be carried by the experience, without having any goals or particular demands on me. And the sunshine was warm and soothing, a balm on my whole being.

At one point today, Sarah and I were talking about death and the intensity of that. She had overheard others at the festival talking about next year when they would come back. And she offered her own thoughts about impermanence, that people count so much on "next year" or "next time" but the truth is that there are no guarantees. That all we have is right now. This touched deeply into my own feelings and what I have experienced in the last week. Indeed, I have no way of knowing when this body and mind will come to their end.

It is funny...in all the ceremonies I have done, I have faced the limits of body and mind, over and over. And I have been taken into the most incredible space of transcendence - within this space, I have been shown beyond any doubt that I am far, far more than my body and mind. I know that in the depth of me. But there is something in the struggle of eventually relinquishing the physical that really distresses me. In my first Ayahuasca ceremonies, I knew that I would be asked to face things that were really intense and scary and difficult, and I had all the courage in the world to go into that. But there was deep fear about the physical suffering - the purging, the strangeness in my body. And I can see how this is connected to the distress I feel about dying to the body, too. While I know that I am far more than flesh and bones and monkey mind, these are the things that I experience life through. I am a being that experiences livingness through sight, sound, taste, smell, touch, and intuitive perception. I have a body that offers me these sensory perceptions. These things are the way I relate to myself and to others. So much of my life is involved in caring for this body and mind, too. Eating, sleeping, bathing, moving, reading...it goes on and on...

And even as I write here, I have some deep sense of how small these things are in relation to the great big Divineness of the universe. Am I so attached to the little things, such as drinking tea and brushing my teeth, and taking a shower, and cooking, and shaving my legs? The part of me that likes to be deep and philosophical says, "no, of course not..." but the part of me that is more honest says, "yes, actually. This is all we know..." And in some way that is the truth of if. But I have experienced the greater reality! I know that place too! I suppose what I am realizing right now is that these two ways of knowing and living are not integrated yet. Can I hold the transcendent within my body during the mundane activities? And can I bring the truth of my mundane needs into my life within the Divine? This is something worth sitting with, for sure.

One more piece of it is this - for all the years that I have not felt grounded or had much desire to think about my body at all, in this moment I am really feeling what a precious thing life is, body especially. This body is an amazing gift through which I can perceive and experience all the other ways that God has come into livingness upon this Earth. What an incredible gift indeed. And I am feeling a renewed desire to really care for my body in every way that I can. Eating nourishing things, walking, yoga, massage and acupuncture, and whatever else appears to be necessary to give it what it needs.

The mind is such a hungry vulture, though...wanting all the attention, all the care given to it. Feed me knowledge, feed me curiosities, feed me literature and science and history and and and and... On and on it goes, its hunger is insatiable. It bats away the body, saying, "yeah, yeah, later..." This is my experience, for sure. The body is merely a vehicle for the head to get its needs met. And what a lie! Actually, the body has its needs, and the mind has its needs, and the heart has its needs, and the spirit has its needs. And all must be met each day in order to live a life that is fulfilled and whole. I have fed my mind and spirit far more than my body and my heart for most of my life. And now that my heart is getting its due, my body is shyly stepping up and saying, "um, is it possible that I, too, might be cared for?" And the answer is yes, oh yes. Yes, oh yes.

Breathe

I am sitting here at my desk, purring Friday kitty by my side in the green chair. I have just returned from a beautiful evening of community and intimate, meaningful conversation at our monthly Wisdom Circle. There is a pronounced chill in the night air, and what a surprise after yesterday's streak of hot weather!

I am sitting here, breathing in the midst of what wants to become a panic attack. After having acupuncture this afternoon, I was hoping that I would feel more grounded and centered in my body, and to some extent I do. But I also feel anxiety banging at my back door, threatening to come in and immerse me. I called Ali, and she kindly reminded me about focusing on the exhale helps, as well as the beautiful help that my dear beloved friends, plant essences, can offer. I have just used some Geranium and Clary Sage, and am feeling a little calmer.

There is a part of me that has experienced a very raw taste of the true vulnerability of life. I have seen just how fragile life is, and how quickly it can pass. And my own mortality is staring me in the face. I, too, will come to a time when my last breath will leave my body. In this moment, there is a part of me that questions the panic that is looming...as always with a panic attack, there is always the idea of something far worse that could be happening. Sigh. As I talked to Ali, she asked me some pertinent medical questions, and said with compassion and understanding that I am fine, I am young, and I have just been through a tremendous amount of emotional and physical stress. I know that she is right. But there is always that question in the back of my mind that says, "yes, but Familiar kitty's illness crept up when he seemed fine, too..."

I am feeling a little calmer right now as the Geranium and Clary Sage are settling into my body. I have also taken a 5HTP for stress. Now, a good night's sleep with a warm, golden kitty is in order.

Waiting

I am sitting in the bathroom floor on top of a towel, next to my sweet little buddy Familiar kitty. He's pushed the heating pad off for now - which helps to keep him warm, as his body temperature has been falling. He's resting, peaceful, softly purring, and every few minutes, I reach over and touch him gently - rubbing his ears, neck, paws, nose. He is so thin - I hadn't realized that he had become so much thinner in the last week or two, it's sometimes hard to notice those things when you're around someone so often. 6.6 pounds. That's what the vet told me last night, he weighs 6.6 pounds. What a far cry that is from the obese buddy of a few years back, nearly 19 pounds.

My heart is ripped open, and the tears keep welling up, overcoming me. I simply cannot imagine this little one not being in my life. He has been in my life for 13 years now, ever since I got my first apartment when I was 20. This morning, I went out to have some food with my dear beloved neighbors, since I had been too consumed by this whole thing to have any dinner last night. I hated to leave, just in case he passed...but he was looking a bit more sparkly, he had eaten lots of salmon, and was drinking lots of water. And I know that I must continue to take care of myself.

He's just shifted now, as he does quite frequently. He's probably uncomfortable in his body, being so skinny, and at least he's now laying on top of the heating pad. That will be good, he won't feel trapped by it, at least. Now he's moved on to pee on the bedroom carpet, and is trying to get comfortable in the hallway. His cries are so sorrow-inducing. They seem to say, "I don't understand! What is happening?" And I am trying to be there for the little guy, just to comfort him with touch. He is weak, staggers when he walks. But to my great joy and delight, he still came to meet me at the door when I returned home from having brunch...oh, the joy of my little buddy Familiar, meeting me at the door so many times, demanding, "food please, and now!"

The vet didn't even need to do much to know that he was experiencing some liver ailment. It could be liver failure or cancer, or some other thing, and it probably also a hyperthyroid problem too. But she seemed to think it was advanced enough, evidenced by the jaundice in his skin and eyes, that it was only going to be a matter of time. I am still in disbelief that the time is nearing to say goodbye to this little creature who has taught me so much, given me so much...

But it is in a moment like this when the things that truly matter become clear as the blue summer sky. I love this kitty. I couldn't care less that he's peeing on the rug, that can be cleaned. I only want to be here to love him and to fulfill my commitment to him, that I would lovingly care for him for as long as he walked this earth. My heart is breaking...but my own suffering is not so consuming that I am not coming back to this blessed gift of time together. I am so lucky to have whatever time we have right now. I want to keep my heart open in spite of the pain, to love him over and over again, to feel the pain and allow it to stretch my heart even wider.

Blessings and love to you, little Familiar kitty, sweet buddy. I am here for you, I am here.

Gratitude to my Plant Teachers

I can hardly believe how chilly these mornings are becoming! I am sitting here on my porch, wrapped in a blanket as I write. Puffy white clouds are floating by, and there are four graceful birds soaring on the highest wind currents. Turkey vultures. Such wicked, gnarly looking creatures! And yet, as they fly far above, they seem to be one of the few species of birds that are floating for pleasure, riding the waves of the wind without hurry or imminent purpose. Of course, they are scouting for dinner, but with what abandon and ease!

The sun is bolder today, and I am yearning to feel it on my body...not much sun on the porch until mid-afternoon, unfortunately. The pink cones on the Magnolia are looking fuzzy, and turning a duller shade of pinkish-brown...oh, how this evolution thrills me, day after day, to watch the world changing in front of my very eyes! It's so easy to believe that things are the same, day after day...but when major change comes, it feels epic, catastrophic, or completely unheralded. But sitting here on my little spot on the porch, I am grateful to watch the world around me changing every day, little by little.

And as I contemplate the neverending flow of change, I, too, am remembering the space of Mushroom Medicine. It, like the other plant medicines I have worked with, takes me into a space of timelessness. When the intensity of the Mushrooms comes into me, I am tuned into a sound that I call, "the sound of eternity," a symphony of perfectly orchestrated birdsong, rushing water, and wind in the trees. This sound calls to me to leave behind the time-bound world that I inhabit in my normal waking life, and to sink deeply into the space of eternity...a place where change occurs on the microcosmic level, but where the constant is livingness, aliveness that persists beyond any brokenness, decay, or semblance of death. Aliveness that, too, transcends the apparent differences of trees and animals and rocks and earth and being human.

In my last ceremony with this medicine, nearly three months ago, I faced this truth - that Life - God - Universe - is indifferent to my little life and place in the cosmos. And it came to me in a vision that showed me the world as a two-dimensional grid of existence that was NOT beautiful or connected or alive at all. This, followed by an intense encounter with Death, sent me into a time of existential crisis. Everything that I felt connected to became distant. My spiritual path made no sense. I was filled with fear and meaninglessness, and felt lost, completely lost. Now, looking back on that encounter, I am grateful beyond words.

I grew up in the South, in the Bible Belt, in a culture that was infused with fear-based views of God and Jesus, and a lot of unquestioned attachment to the mythology that accompanies that way of life. I never felt comfortable within those circles of religion, but knew no alternative. As soon as I moved away to college -
Baltimore - I met people who held different views on life, on what was holy, on the nature of reality. What a blessing it was! I walked away from the Christianity of my childhood without thinking twice, and was grateful to shed such a limiting view of the world. Leaping forward to the ceremony above, what I have come to understand is that while I walked away from the religion and culture of my childhood, and changed my mind about so many fearful, dogmatic beliefs, those things still existed within my body. My entire way of being for the first 18 years of my life had not only created my mind, but had become part of the very structure of my body, too. And up until this past summer, I had only walked away from beliefs and feelings that didn't fit. I had never gone deeply into the way these old ideas lived on inside of my very cells.

In that Mushroom ceremony, I was shaken and unravelled beyond anything I had previously experienced. I now see that the worldview of my childhood was being shaken and unravelled out of my body. My cosmology was being brought into deep alignment. And all those old beliefs - that God exists outside of me, the nature of life and death, the meaning of prayer, and my connection to the divine - were being vigorously uprooted. What a blessing, but what a difficult process! And now, as I sit here on my porch, I am not unconsciously ruled by those old beliefs that color my experience.

I am endlessly grateful for the powerful plant teachers that have changed my life. I don't think anyone ever suggested that living a deep path of spiritual awakening could be like this! A process of meeting God by truly meeting myself. Of letting go of beliefs instead of adopting new ones. Of embracing my true nature instead of breaking that nature into something more manageable, less sinful, or whatever. Of relaxing into myself, of resisting nothing, of allowing my heart to lead me. Of being who I am, instead of creating a better version of myself. Of abandoning any path of seeking outside of myself, and allowing the revelations to come from within, and trusting that with all of my heart. No, no one ever told me that if I wanted to meet God, that I would find that presence within every cell in my body, and within every living thing upon the Earth. And truly, no one ever told me that knowing these things would bring me more humility and compassion than anything I could imagine those words to mean.

Cycles of living and dying

It's a cool day, really feels a lot like fall right now. The sky has gone from cloudless and blue to a bit overcast, and as the wind blows the trees - and wind chimes on the porch - a few more leaves are falling to the ground. There is a fragrance of surrender in the air, something sweet and soft, and I feel it in my body, too. I think one of the reasons I love the "between" seasons the most is this feeling of constant change in the air. Winter often feels like it will last forever, cold and dark, keeping me inside. Summer also feels timeless, hot days by the river, I wish they would last forever. But Spring and Fall really speak of the fact that *nothing* lasts forever. Flowers erupt from the ground with a force that is awe-inspiring, bringing life and beauty to land that was recently frozen, barren. And Fall bows in graceful surrender, that none of this brightly burning livingness could return unless there was a time of letting go, of dying and returning to the Earth.

Death and dying have been on my mind recently. In the summer, for sure. But really, death and dying have been on my mind since I was nine. That winter, my grandmother passed, and I began to understand for the first time this strange truth that people are born into this life, and that they eventually leave it, too. This summer, death and dying became real to me in entirely new ways.

In this moment, I am remembering my friend Laura, who passed in August. After a particularly long struggle with cancer, she surrendered, and I got the emails from her family in her final few days. When the day came, I was far, far away, in Peru. And I felt such a mix of things. Grateful that she had come to the end of a long time of suffering. Sorrowful to know that she will not walk this Earth again as she was in this incarnation. Also, sad that it had been so long since I last saw her. I still remember it well. The last time I hugged her and told her how much I love her was in February 2008 - at my graduation from Goddard. In my speech, I shared a quote from Joseph Campbell, and she had loved that quote. She had looked stronger, healthier that day.

Earlier in the summer, I had come into my own encounter with death. In my ceremonies, I had occasionally experienced a powerful death encounter. And in my own life, I have had a couple of close brushes with death, too. But one ceremony this summer really brought me to face death in a whole new way. In that particular ceremony, I was facilitating, and I now realize that I should not have been. Regardless, I found myself deep in the woods, deep in the throes of the journey, and then it began to rain. In the midst of a ceremony, there is no sense of the passing of time. What is happening in any one moment feels like eternity - and that is one of the blessings of the medicine, for sure! But the rain that came in this particular journey was very strong - a cloudburst. We were more than 30 minutes by foot from "civilization," down a rather secluded trail by a river. There were only a couple of people who knew where we were, and there was no cell phone signal. The rain was cold, and I began to panic. I was shivering fiercely, and recalled stories of people foolishly going into nature without enough clothing and gear...my shivering intensified, and I feared hypothermia. I panicked, and foolishly decided that we needed to leave the woods. In the most intense part of the ceremony, there we were, walking hand-in-hand through the woods, walking in circles. And the fear rose within me, it threatened to swallow me whole. I knew that my time had come, that death was breathing down my neck, clawing at my throat, pulling me into the ground. I have never felt so clearly that I was going to die. Every rope I reached for - hoping to pull myself to safety - fell to the ground in front of me, frayed and severed...metaphorically speaking. We did eventually make it out of the woods, and I clearly survived the event. But death haunted me for weeks.

In a profound ceremony earlier in the year, I had been asked right-out: are you ready to die? I declared that I absolutely was not! But the way it was shown to me is this - there are two responses to the question, "are you ready to die?" First one, and the one that I clearly faced in the above ceremony, is struggle. Responding in fear, resisting the inevitable. When are we EVER ready to die, really? But when the time comes, the choice isn't really whether to die or not, but how to face death. The other response? Surrender. Not the weak, collapsing, abandoning oneself to death that I had imagined. No, the medicine helped me to redefine surrender - a fully present, wholly conscious process of leaning-in to the thing at hand. Gracefully bowing to death, no resistance. In that particular ceremony, I was shown how to do this. Much harder than it sounds for sure. My ego had often claimed to have no fear of death. But I have learned through experience that the fear is there, and it is very real.

Fall seems like the perfect time to contemplate this kind of thing. Death doesn't always offer a season of preparation, sometimes it comes out of nowhere. But fall is the perfect time to enter into the truth that living and dying are the essence of the cycle of Nature. I am not separate from that cycle, I am intricately woven into it.