In late July, I found myself arriving late at night onto "The Big Island" of Hawaii. I planned to go on this trip, but had left the details to my husband. We made a trade. I scheduled the logistics of our earlier trip in the summer to southern Colorado with our horse and he booked our flights to Kauai and The Big Island. It was great to finally let go and be along for the ride. I was pretty exhausted and immensely happy for the plush lodging and full-on spread of food our friend had arranged. Admittedly, I was confused and a bit worn out by the enthusiasm of our friend as he pulled out a bag full of freshly picked plumeria flowers, a "lea needle" and thread. He was excited to show us how to make our own leas. I held my eyes open through the demonstration then allowed myself to be towed along out to his car.
Where in the world could we be going at 12:30pm at night with three leas in hand? It was cold outside and that cozy bed sounded so nice. Our friend was bubbling with excitement and rightfully so, I had no idea what was in store.
In 5 minutes I was there, standing on the edge of a gigantic volcanic crater. The moonlight lit the entire crater and nearly blotted out all stars. Out before us rose and traveled out to sea an enormous plume of smoke, the breath of lava. At the mouth of the crater the smoke glowed bright red reflecting the lake of molten earth below. Molten earth. I had no idea I was going to see the Goddess Pele creating new land. I hadn't even realized what this meant before this moment. At this moment, I remembered having this desire all my life. The fulfillment of this desire ran fresh through my veins. I was stunned by the experience and felt intense gratitude as our friend sang a chant to Pele and directed us to cast our leas as our gift.
This is what it looks like to travel, to live, without agenda. I wonder if this is what it's like for Pele to create new land, to all of a sudden find that she has stepped foot into an experience that fulfills a deep yearning. What if every experience of our lives could be this spontaneous and this preordained? I encourage you to consider releasing the agenda and showing up on new ground. I surely wasn't disappointed.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
To Suppress or Express?
As some of you know, I have been steeped in homeopathy lately. My dear friend Susan Nemcek of Willow Farm Healing Arts is mentoring me in the art. I'm treating a couple of horses homeopathically. The good news is that this week they developed hoof abscesses. This follows Herring's Law in homeopathy that says a cure is forthcoming when the disease moves down and out of the body and into the Earth. Besides my work with them, the horses are also treated by an allopathic veterinarian. I am a huge proponent of veterinary advice and would always steer folks that direction. The vet put the horses on antibiotics. Being a novice in treatment of hoof abscesses I'm glad that the vet saw a clear course of action and that the horses are receiving relief.
As a student of homeopathy my reaction is more reserved. This prescription drove my treatment to a screaming halt. Antibiotics suppress and homeopathic remedies express. Susan warned me that we cannot ask the body to do both at the same time and that I would have to wait to continue treatment once the course of antibiotics was complete.
So, while I'm waiting for the course of treatment to finish, I'm considering this metaphor in my life. In the past couple of weeks I have had some major buttons pushed in big ways by close friends. My initial reaction has been anger then rage. There is quite a bit of crossover in these relationships so I cannot express how I feel without jeopardizing other relationships. I've weighed my options, chosen to suppress my anger, and worked on finding center during the process.
The path to spiritual enlightenment is typically pitched as one of true expression in the world. This dogma is so much so that I've realized how much guilt comes along with choosing not to express. The more days that pass without expressing the more I realize how entrenched I am in this belief system. If expression is enlightenment, then suppression must be denial. In many circles, denial is the root of all things ugly in the world. What, then, is the ugly in me?
Mercury retrograde, which we have been in lately, is commonly viewed as a time to delve into our own darkness and face our demons. This time around, I have been given the opportunity to examine my belief system surrounding my own darkness. Rather than wrestle with my own shadow I've been invited to rest in under the shade tree and accept that the sun still shines. This, it turns out, is much harder than I thought... (continued in "The Art of Being Angry")
As a student of homeopathy my reaction is more reserved. This prescription drove my treatment to a screaming halt. Antibiotics suppress and homeopathic remedies express. Susan warned me that we cannot ask the body to do both at the same time and that I would have to wait to continue treatment once the course of antibiotics was complete.
So, while I'm waiting for the course of treatment to finish, I'm considering this metaphor in my life. In the past couple of weeks I have had some major buttons pushed in big ways by close friends. My initial reaction has been anger then rage. There is quite a bit of crossover in these relationships so I cannot express how I feel without jeopardizing other relationships. I've weighed my options, chosen to suppress my anger, and worked on finding center during the process.
The path to spiritual enlightenment is typically pitched as one of true expression in the world. This dogma is so much so that I've realized how much guilt comes along with choosing not to express. The more days that pass without expressing the more I realize how entrenched I am in this belief system. If expression is enlightenment, then suppression must be denial. In many circles, denial is the root of all things ugly in the world. What, then, is the ugly in me?
Mercury retrograde, which we have been in lately, is commonly viewed as a time to delve into our own darkness and face our demons. This time around, I have been given the opportunity to examine my belief system surrounding my own darkness. Rather than wrestle with my own shadow I've been invited to rest in under the shade tree and accept that the sun still shines. This, it turns out, is much harder than I thought... (continued in "The Art of Being Angry")
The Art of Being Angry
We as a culture despise anger. We put anger in a very tight box. Clearly war and murder are unhealthy ways to express anger, but typically outward rage is only condoned when a logical case of righteous defense is made. When is emotion logical? When boundaries are crossed we give ourselves permission to act out of rage, but how far across others boundaries can we act without committing the same crime?
In sitting under the shade tree of anger we begin to ask interesting questions. When we do not allow ourselves immediate action and take a time out, we start to doubt. Am I suppressing who I am, who I have a right to be in the world? Will this suppression cause disease? Have I lost my way on the path to enlightenment? How can I feel shame for the beautiful self that is me?
This is the key, the beautiful self that is me. Anger is an emotion. Emotion is part of our human experience, our human experience that is beautiful, that is love. This is why the shade tree is such a curious metaphor. The tree has the power within it to fuel a raging fire, but only when we set a match to it. On a warm, summer day we love the coolness cast by the branches. The tree comforts and soothes us. Imagine that this could be the action of anger allowed. Imagine that when truly accepted for the unpolarized experience that it is, anger could be soothing.
I propose that it is not anger itself that causes so much discomfort, but the actions from it or the guilt from lack of action out of it. All in all, the disease comes when we see the anger as something ugly and cruel. We turn against our own nature by casting light where there should be shadow. By taking our turn under the shade tree we are allowed the time to look upon the lit world around us.
Anger serves the lovely purpose of casting us outside our experience for a time. We become so entrenched in its grasp that we are pulled outside of our daily lives. This allows us the chance to breathe, rest and look out at all the spectacular creation we've manifest in the world. So rather than fight it or fight out of it, let us drink in the cool, fresh air of the lesson that is anger.
In sitting under the shade tree of anger we begin to ask interesting questions. When we do not allow ourselves immediate action and take a time out, we start to doubt. Am I suppressing who I am, who I have a right to be in the world? Will this suppression cause disease? Have I lost my way on the path to enlightenment? How can I feel shame for the beautiful self that is me?
This is the key, the beautiful self that is me. Anger is an emotion. Emotion is part of our human experience, our human experience that is beautiful, that is love. This is why the shade tree is such a curious metaphor. The tree has the power within it to fuel a raging fire, but only when we set a match to it. On a warm, summer day we love the coolness cast by the branches. The tree comforts and soothes us. Imagine that this could be the action of anger allowed. Imagine that when truly accepted for the unpolarized experience that it is, anger could be soothing.
I propose that it is not anger itself that causes so much discomfort, but the actions from it or the guilt from lack of action out of it. All in all, the disease comes when we see the anger as something ugly and cruel. We turn against our own nature by casting light where there should be shadow. By taking our turn under the shade tree we are allowed the time to look upon the lit world around us.
Anger serves the lovely purpose of casting us outside our experience for a time. We become so entrenched in its grasp that we are pulled outside of our daily lives. This allows us the chance to breathe, rest and look out at all the spectacular creation we've manifest in the world. So rather than fight it or fight out of it, let us drink in the cool, fresh air of the lesson that is anger.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Lost Wilderness of Being
There's a lot moving these days and the opportunity to shed projections and identities is abundant. The chance to move out of judgment and into our truth comes with what can be considered a high price tag. Just when we think we've let go of every pre-conception and belief that was important to us, the guard at the gate of our happiness ups the toll. In my own quest for joy and peace I came across the following stream of consciousness that has offered me comfort and contemplation:
Even though I did not know where I was going I still feel I have lost my way. I have lost my certainty of being me. There was no one to tell me I was long forgotten lost... forgot and lost the railway... imagination lays the tracks... tracks go one way. Steer the imagination and you are hopelessly lost.
Lost hope, lost will, lost self. In this state even the will of union seems too rigid. For in the end it's a concept along the tracks that lead one-way to nowhere. In releasing to the process the process becomes no more. First the process becomes God, then compartmentalized, then loved, then lost... lost and forgotten.
The age old adage of "why?" Well then, "why bother?" To be free of the shackles, shake loose of the locks. But, this is not a revolution of expression. The cage door is opened, the bars are extinguished, but the bird remains. "Why?" This is not living out of hope or hopelessness. It's just living in the lost wilderness of being.
Even though I did not know where I was going I still feel I have lost my way. I have lost my certainty of being me. There was no one to tell me I was long forgotten lost... forgot and lost the railway... imagination lays the tracks... tracks go one way. Steer the imagination and you are hopelessly lost.
Lost hope, lost will, lost self. In this state even the will of union seems too rigid. For in the end it's a concept along the tracks that lead one-way to nowhere. In releasing to the process the process becomes no more. First the process becomes God, then compartmentalized, then loved, then lost... lost and forgotten.
The age old adage of "why?" Well then, "why bother?" To be free of the shackles, shake loose of the locks. But, this is not a revolution of expression. The cage door is opened, the bars are extinguished, but the bird remains. "Why?" This is not living out of hope or hopelessness. It's just living in the lost wilderness of being.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Do They Speak English?
Being in the world of animal welfare as a shamanic practitioner I commonly get asked the question, "Can you talk to the horse and help him understand?"
From a shamanic point of view, the animals do not speak our language. Historically, it was the job of the shaman to learn how to speak the language of the land, the animals, the elements, and the ancestors. The shaman communed with these spirits and surrendered to their cosmic view, so she could work with them on behalf of her tribe. She learned how to communicate in metaphor and story, empathy and wonder.
Many superstitions did and still do surround the telling of the shamanic experience because shaman understood that in the telling the power may be lost. Some cultures forbid the unveiling of one's power animal while others believe that sharing the name of one's spirit guide can cause illness. Shaman often would act out their journeys for the whole tribe but refuse to narrate the same to anyone. The shaman was both leader and hermit. This traditional way of being must have weighed heavily on the healer, but carries some important lessons.
The spirit world is not polarized. There is no right or wrong, up or down, inside or out. It is all one. In contrast, our language is inherently polarized. Think of how many times a day you use the word "good". When I embark on a shamanic journey I am entering into a rich, multi-layered experience that is felt and loved. I put the experience into words as a way to remember so that I can revisit the learning over and over again for deeper levels of understanding. I do this knowing that even my own words read to myself change the experience. I am taking pure white light and shining it through a faceted crystal so that I may follow the rays of color back through the crystal and into the light.
Now, consider this process in relation to another living, breathing autonomous being. When I journey to them or for them I am in the spirit world. This allows me to empathize their experience with more clarity, but I am still a human connected in part to my experience of being human. Now if I take what I experience as them during the journey and translate it into human language I am twice removed from the actual form. I am twice removed from the truth that is that being's experience. And the being is twice removed from me.
From this standpoint, all that is being had is a hopelessly garbled conversation. Like a foreigner trying to order dinner I will first try to select a dish I think I would like from a menu I can't read. Then, with much difficulty, gesturing and mispronunciation I will ask the waiter to confirm that I have made a good choice. Not satisfied with his answer I will order it anyway. He has the chef make what he makes everyday and what arrives on my plate is no where near what I would have guessed.
From a shamanic point of view, the animals do not speak our language. Historically, it was the job of the shaman to learn how to speak the language of the land, the animals, the elements, and the ancestors. The shaman communed with these spirits and surrendered to their cosmic view, so she could work with them on behalf of her tribe. She learned how to communicate in metaphor and story, empathy and wonder.
Many superstitions did and still do surround the telling of the shamanic experience because shaman understood that in the telling the power may be lost. Some cultures forbid the unveiling of one's power animal while others believe that sharing the name of one's spirit guide can cause illness. Shaman often would act out their journeys for the whole tribe but refuse to narrate the same to anyone. The shaman was both leader and hermit. This traditional way of being must have weighed heavily on the healer, but carries some important lessons.
The spirit world is not polarized. There is no right or wrong, up or down, inside or out. It is all one. In contrast, our language is inherently polarized. Think of how many times a day you use the word "good". When I embark on a shamanic journey I am entering into a rich, multi-layered experience that is felt and loved. I put the experience into words as a way to remember so that I can revisit the learning over and over again for deeper levels of understanding. I do this knowing that even my own words read to myself change the experience. I am taking pure white light and shining it through a faceted crystal so that I may follow the rays of color back through the crystal and into the light.
Now, consider this process in relation to another living, breathing autonomous being. When I journey to them or for them I am in the spirit world. This allows me to empathize their experience with more clarity, but I am still a human connected in part to my experience of being human. Now if I take what I experience as them during the journey and translate it into human language I am twice removed from the actual form. I am twice removed from the truth that is that being's experience. And the being is twice removed from me.
From this standpoint, all that is being had is a hopelessly garbled conversation. Like a foreigner trying to order dinner I will first try to select a dish I think I would like from a menu I can't read. Then, with much difficulty, gesturing and mispronunciation I will ask the waiter to confirm that I have made a good choice. Not satisfied with his answer I will order it anyway. He has the chef make what he makes everyday and what arrives on my plate is no where near what I would have guessed.
The Healing That's Offered
The piece on "Do They Speak English?" leaves the reader with a new question: "If the shaman cannot help a horse understand what can they do?"
Domestic animals live in a world full of human agenda. Before the time of domestication, animals operated solely on their own will. Now we force them into trailers and kennels. We demand they be quiet when asked. We expect them to give solace and comfort to our tired souls. In all of this work, all of this submission, they can become weary and ill.
By nature, the shamanic practitioner works from a place of no personal agenda. To conduct healing, the shaman must surrender to and direct the spirits in equal parts. It's in the surrender that agenda must be shed. The direction given is not respected unless the agenda is released. Agenda is polarized and the spirit world is not. Mother Nature is not malicious or kind in her power. Her power just is. The spirits work in the same way.
There are many paths to healing. Each has it's own merit, but in shamanic work the path is tailored to the patient's truth. In this way, the animal is allowed the opportunity to regain their sense of self which is a healing on its own. The animal is treated as an autonomous being valued for who they are outside of their relationship with humans. The healing is offered to them to do with as they please. This may be the first time in their entire lives that they realize the opportunity to manifest their desires. Do they want to stay and support their human? Would they rather languish in disease? Will they stay disconnected? Are they up to the task before them?
Self realization is a powerful healing, but disperses in the first wind of the civilized world without some shoring up. This is where the next piece of the work comes into play. The shaman brings forth energy that until this point has been unavailable to the patient. Since domestic animals have so little control over their physical environment, pieces of their essence are easily lost. Their personal power is forfeited. The brilliant light of their will grows dim. The shaman seeks out this essence and brings it back into the sphere of the patient's conscious control. In this work, the desires of the animal may shift to reflect who they truly are at the core of their being.
There are as many benefits of shamanic healing for animals as stars in the sky, and what I've laid out here is the groundwork. I encourage you to explore the field further. This is our opportunity to offer back the unconditional love our furry friends are so courageously infamous for.
Domestic animals live in a world full of human agenda. Before the time of domestication, animals operated solely on their own will. Now we force them into trailers and kennels. We demand they be quiet when asked. We expect them to give solace and comfort to our tired souls. In all of this work, all of this submission, they can become weary and ill.
By nature, the shamanic practitioner works from a place of no personal agenda. To conduct healing, the shaman must surrender to and direct the spirits in equal parts. It's in the surrender that agenda must be shed. The direction given is not respected unless the agenda is released. Agenda is polarized and the spirit world is not. Mother Nature is not malicious or kind in her power. Her power just is. The spirits work in the same way.
There are many paths to healing. Each has it's own merit, but in shamanic work the path is tailored to the patient's truth. In this way, the animal is allowed the opportunity to regain their sense of self which is a healing on its own. The animal is treated as an autonomous being valued for who they are outside of their relationship with humans. The healing is offered to them to do with as they please. This may be the first time in their entire lives that they realize the opportunity to manifest their desires. Do they want to stay and support their human? Would they rather languish in disease? Will they stay disconnected? Are they up to the task before them?
Self realization is a powerful healing, but disperses in the first wind of the civilized world without some shoring up. This is where the next piece of the work comes into play. The shaman brings forth energy that until this point has been unavailable to the patient. Since domestic animals have so little control over their physical environment, pieces of their essence are easily lost. Their personal power is forfeited. The brilliant light of their will grows dim. The shaman seeks out this essence and brings it back into the sphere of the patient's conscious control. In this work, the desires of the animal may shift to reflect who they truly are at the core of their being.
There are as many benefits of shamanic healing for animals as stars in the sky, and what I've laid out here is the groundwork. I encourage you to explore the field further. This is our opportunity to offer back the unconditional love our furry friends are so courageously infamous for.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Questions "On Leadership"
1. What roles do my animal and myself play in our relationship together?
2. How have these roles shifted over time?
3. What role(s) would I like to work towards in my relationship with my animal?
4. How might our relationship change if I shifted into those roles?
5. How can I honor who my animal is in their life apart from our relationship?
2. How have these roles shifted over time?
3. What role(s) would I like to work towards in my relationship with my animal?
4. How might our relationship change if I shifted into those roles?
5. How can I honor who my animal is in their life apart from our relationship?
Friday, January 15, 2010
On Leadership
I find it an interesting synchronicity that at this time in my life I find my perspective of leadership turned on its head. In the over 2 years I've known my mustang mare she has been the lead mare of her shifting herd of 15-18 mares. She has shouldered the role so gracefully that life in the pasture has been ordered but playfully choatic, friendly with a sound level of ownership. She rarely, if ever, exerts her power over the others and has been willing to let many a discretion slide. My mare is not a micro-manager or one to delegate tasks, she lets each horse fall into their natural role in the herd, and shares her time with each regardless of rank. She has continually demonstrated that leadership is not about brute force, shear power, or outright enchantment, all of which she has in excess, but about sound quiet confidence.
Now, in the last few months I've watched another, smaller but quicker, mustang throw the herd into a jumble and bully my mare out of her position. I've realized how desperately I've clung to Cherokee's identity as a leader, and I've had to go through my own path of transformation to reframe our relationship.
Relationships are tricky, especially those we have with our animals. So frequently I see that an animal's illness, spiritual, emotional, mental or physical, is strongly tied to the human's circumstances. We regularly project our own stuff onto our furry friends. We commonly ask them to excuse our faults. We pursue a mirror of our strengths. This is the natural order of things. To be in relationship is to connect and share our energy, love, and life.
The problem arises when the bond we share becomes static. This stunts the growth and transformation that is primary to every living being's path. When this happens with the humans in our lives we begin to either voice or hear a good deal of grumbling which, when not heeded, turns to outright defiance and the severing of ties. Our furry companions cannot explain to us what the problem is with language, so we start to see other symptoms. Misbehavior and noncompliance are the first signs. Physical illness or violence are the last stage.
In the case of my mare and myself, I saw immediately that the shift in her role and my strong reaction to it required a big adjustment. I could have chosen to wallow in pity and spend my hours wishing for her to regain face. Instead, I saw an opportunity. Here was my chance to direct all her freed time and energy into our work together. Since she didn't have a herd to watch over all day, I could provide Cherokee with more play sessions to ponder and I could visit at odd times. The weather this winter has been awefully cold, but I bundled up and went out. She met me in the middle by adjusting to the strange environment of the indoor arena. We've had some absolutely outstanding days together and now more than ever we look forward to making contact in a new way.
Many times I've pursued a position of leadership in my herd of two, but never would I have wanted Cherokee to have to give up her own. I still don't know for certain that she had to relinquish her role in her herd to accept me as her leader, but something tells me that the opportunity arose for her and she took it. Maybe she's thinking the same of me?
Now, in the last few months I've watched another, smaller but quicker, mustang throw the herd into a jumble and bully my mare out of her position. I've realized how desperately I've clung to Cherokee's identity as a leader, and I've had to go through my own path of transformation to reframe our relationship.
Relationships are tricky, especially those we have with our animals. So frequently I see that an animal's illness, spiritual, emotional, mental or physical, is strongly tied to the human's circumstances. We regularly project our own stuff onto our furry friends. We commonly ask them to excuse our faults. We pursue a mirror of our strengths. This is the natural order of things. To be in relationship is to connect and share our energy, love, and life.
The problem arises when the bond we share becomes static. This stunts the growth and transformation that is primary to every living being's path. When this happens with the humans in our lives we begin to either voice or hear a good deal of grumbling which, when not heeded, turns to outright defiance and the severing of ties. Our furry companions cannot explain to us what the problem is with language, so we start to see other symptoms. Misbehavior and noncompliance are the first signs. Physical illness or violence are the last stage.
In the case of my mare and myself, I saw immediately that the shift in her role and my strong reaction to it required a big adjustment. I could have chosen to wallow in pity and spend my hours wishing for her to regain face. Instead, I saw an opportunity. Here was my chance to direct all her freed time and energy into our work together. Since she didn't have a herd to watch over all day, I could provide Cherokee with more play sessions to ponder and I could visit at odd times. The weather this winter has been awefully cold, but I bundled up and went out. She met me in the middle by adjusting to the strange environment of the indoor arena. We've had some absolutely outstanding days together and now more than ever we look forward to making contact in a new way.
Many times I've pursued a position of leadership in my herd of two, but never would I have wanted Cherokee to have to give up her own. I still don't know for certain that she had to relinquish her role in her herd to accept me as her leader, but something tells me that the opportunity arose for her and she took it. Maybe she's thinking the same of me?
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