As I come upon the one year anniversary of my time in Anza Borrego, my thoughts have been on the Vision Quest. As we hiked out of our base camp on one of the last days, our beloved guides invited us to ask ourselves or another these questions: What happened? Who went out (on the Vision Quest)? Who came back? A friend and I were marveling last night at how we were still asking ourselves these same questions. We laughed, "What the hell did happen?" Both agreeing that the Vision Quest was the best time in our lives, for me, the most profoundly beautiful, sacred and mysterious experiences I've ever had.
There are so many stories for me around this experience, before and after, and I'm sure yet to come. It is interesting to look back at this time, during the actual Vision Quest and notice what stands out for me. As I've mentioned previously, this was a very personal and sacred experience for me. There are parts of this experience that I have shared with very few people,if anyone at all, and I will not share those most sacred experiences here, but I do feel inclined to share more.
The Humans
A big part of this quest, for all of us in different ways, was our experience with each other (the other questers and guides). There were fifteen of us total, twelve questers, two guides and one apprentice who acted both as a participant and as a guide in training. I knew the group work leading up to the solo would be an important part of this journey but I am still amazed at the profound ways this proved to be true. I was surprised at how I was able to immediately open up to these strangers, when it is sometimes difficult for me to be authentic with people who have been in my life for years. Of course it was intimidating that first night as we gathered for dinner, but as I walked up to the 'dining area' one of the questors approached me saying my name and giving me a huge hug. Although we had only met hours ago, I had the sensation of connecting with an old friend.
We sat in 'council' everyday. I love this concept. Essentially, we all sat in a circle and shared as we received the talking staff. The only rules were to speak spontaneously and from the heart, and also to listen from the heart. We shared our fears, dreams we had during the quest, or anything that was present for us. In this, each one of us experienced what the Other was sharing. I was struck by the fact that we were all such mirrors for each other. Others would share dreams that affected me in a profound way, or even the collective. The energy in those circles was so powerful, it's difficult to find the words for it.
I don't think I've ever felt so held by a group of people and I realized how much I'd been longing for community. One of the first nights we were invited to share our life story with a partner that was randomly selected for us. We were to tell our stories in the third person, with few interruptions for an hour an a half or so. The apprentice and I shared a wildlife encounter with Owl, one of my consistent spirit guides. We weren't afraid of touch. Hugs, hand holding, kissing. Those boundaries we've set in this society regarding touch did not exist. Not in an inappropriate way at all, but going back to being held, emotionally and physically.
The group aspect was not all happy and lovey though. Working through such intense emotional shifts, there was bound to be some projecting going on. Seeing in others what you either long for or despise in your Self is never easy. There was one lucky quester that, whether he knew it or not, got to play the role of all the romantic interests in my life, poor guy. Of course the situation of wanting someone I couldn't be with for logistical reasons came up, why would it not? I knew I was projecting because my feelings for this person were completely irrational, from entirely in love to so disgusted, I couldn't even look at him. There were others who had a really hard time feeling a part of the group or had problems with a particular person because of their own 'stuff'.
The most meaningful part of the group aspect for me, was simply being witnessed and witnessing others. Witnessed as I worked through what came up, as I danced, as I laughed, cried, sang, screamed and as I said 'yes' to this incredible journey. After we returned from our solos, we were invited to share our experience in ten minutes (impossible!) as our guides introduced us, in a random order. I was so blessed to be present as each person shared "what happened" for them during their time alone in the dessert. I was the last to share. It was after dark and it had been a long day. As I spoke into the darkness, although they were tired, I felt each person listening intently as I shared what was in my heart, and knew, I was forever changed.
I started to call the next section of this blog, 'the work' but as I began to type it seemed to do my time in the desert an injustice, make it smaller. For now, I'm going to leave it at this. I'm revisiting the Vision Quest in my heart, I may revisit it here down the line. Watch for more to come.
For more information regarding Animas Valley Institute, who I chose to do my quest with, visit www.animas.org.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Re-member a Child
I had a really nice dinner with some friends tonight, all parents. We got to talking about how to raise children and the things children do when they are teenagers, how they learn to show up in this world. I have not yet had the privilege of being a mama, although I believe I will, someday soon. Even still, I feel I had something to offer the conversation, if only from my own experiences as a child, as an adolescent, and now, as an adult. It's amazing that I survived my teenage years, that any of us do really. Yes, I had sex when I was young, had my 'moments' with alcohol, tried marijuana, and in my later teenage years (sixteen and seventeen), meth. How did I get there? I came from a good family, although I was confused about the things that I'd done and knew my family saw them as bad things. It's not that I hung out with bad kids, I was actually a bit of loner, as I am still today. And then, as I do now, I longed for a sense of community. I did not find that in my church. In fact, quite the opposite. The kids that I did get into trouble with were and are now, as far as I know, beautiful, strong beings, as confused as I was.
I have so much love for my parents, more than they could possibly know. We did absolutely not have an open relationship. I will not delve into this too much, out of respect, but I hardly new what my period was, let alone the affect drugs would have on me or what it meant to give myself to a man. We didn't really talk about much, and still our relationship is strained. I learned from a young age what men wanted from me, long before I was strong enough to stand up for myself as a female. I also had a sadness that hung over me from a very young age that I had no idea what to do with, or how to even ask for help with.
Others who have heard my story ask, "How did you come out of it?" As you now, meth is a pretty hardcore addiction and in my eyes, I was lucky to go through it when I was young, as I had very few interactions with drugs as an adult. Honestly, I don't know how I survived it. Came out of it. I'm sure I had some help, maybe even from my older self. In preparing for the vision quest, they asked us to bring something we could throw into the fire during ceremony. I went through some of my old notebooks and came upon the following that I had written one of the last times I got high as a teenager, I was seventeen at the time.
Even then I cried out, knowing that there was something more inside of me.
Your kids are going to make mistakes. They're going to love and hurt and cry and might really screw up. But they're more resilient than you might think. We survived, so will they. Talk to your children, I told my friends tonight. Love them no matter what and be there for them. I know that someday, as a mother, I will heed the same advice.
I have so much love for my parents, more than they could possibly know. We did absolutely not have an open relationship. I will not delve into this too much, out of respect, but I hardly new what my period was, let alone the affect drugs would have on me or what it meant to give myself to a man. We didn't really talk about much, and still our relationship is strained. I learned from a young age what men wanted from me, long before I was strong enough to stand up for myself as a female. I also had a sadness that hung over me from a very young age that I had no idea what to do with, or how to even ask for help with.
Others who have heard my story ask, "How did you come out of it?" As you now, meth is a pretty hardcore addiction and in my eyes, I was lucky to go through it when I was young, as I had very few interactions with drugs as an adult. Honestly, I don't know how I survived it. Came out of it. I'm sure I had some help, maybe even from my older self. In preparing for the vision quest, they asked us to bring something we could throw into the fire during ceremony. I went through some of my old notebooks and came upon the following that I had written one of the last times I got high as a teenager, I was seventeen at the time.
There is the smallest voice inside my head that tells me it's okay, that life has not broken me yet. Another part of me, part of my soul, wants so badly to shine. A piece of my heart wants to shed a thousand tears. A piece of my mind wants to not think about it anymore.
Even then I cried out, knowing that there was something more inside of me.
Your kids are going to make mistakes. They're going to love and hurt and cry and might really screw up. But they're more resilient than you might think. We survived, so will they. Talk to your children, I told my friends tonight. Love them no matter what and be there for them. I know that someday, as a mother, I will heed the same advice.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Redefining Home
I spent a few hours tonight cleaning the house I'm living in for the winter. Afterwards I went for a short walk and was filled with the image of the apartment I moved out of in the fall of 2010. I took the image further and imagined laying on my bed, the feel of my comforter that took months to pick out underneath me. I imagined C cooking in the kitchen, friends coming and going or, more often than not, myself sitting alone in the living room, the old hardwood floors not much different than where I live now,in my favorite chair with a book or a journal. Of course my dog Sage was with me then. She used to put her paws up on the window sill, which was the perfect height for her. She must have been pissed when my bike took residence under that window. That was the first place I made my own, when you walked in, you knew me a little better. My Mother and I even painted the walls. The color of my bedroom was Naughty Neutral, a purple/gray color. It proved to be quite fitting :)
I spent several months without a home this past year. I rarely slept in my car but I essentially lived out of it. I learned a lot about myself, staying at a different place every three to four nights. I slept in a child's bunk bed, an amazing house in the mountains feeding the birds and walking among the Aspen, I even slept in a horse trailer. In a way it was adventurous. "I don't know how you do it" others would say to me. I'm not sure either. There were days when I was in an incredible amount of pain and not knowing where I would sleep that night, hauling a bag around while my body was screaming at me. Those times were the hardest but there is a unique way of connecting with someone when they invite you into their home, into their everyday life.
I remember being in Peru when my friends were about to leave and I was a little freaked out because I didn't know where I was going to stay that night. "Wait a minute," I said, "this is no different than when I'm in Utah." With that thought, I realized there was no reason to worry and I 'moved into' a hostel later that day.
I'm so blessed to have a place to stay right now where I am comfortable and have just the right amount of support. In April I'll turn my basement room in for a tent, and the five diamond hotel I currently work at for a farm. A year ago as I was getting ready for my Vision Quest, the idea of camping for twelve days was a little daunting. Now I'll be camping for six months, no doubt gaining an even greater understanding of the word home.
I spent several months without a home this past year. I rarely slept in my car but I essentially lived out of it. I learned a lot about myself, staying at a different place every three to four nights. I slept in a child's bunk bed, an amazing house in the mountains feeding the birds and walking among the Aspen, I even slept in a horse trailer. In a way it was adventurous. "I don't know how you do it" others would say to me. I'm not sure either. There were days when I was in an incredible amount of pain and not knowing where I would sleep that night, hauling a bag around while my body was screaming at me. Those times were the hardest but there is a unique way of connecting with someone when they invite you into their home, into their everyday life.
I remember being in Peru when my friends were about to leave and I was a little freaked out because I didn't know where I was going to stay that night. "Wait a minute," I said, "this is no different than when I'm in Utah." With that thought, I realized there was no reason to worry and I 'moved into' a hostel later that day.
I'm so blessed to have a place to stay right now where I am comfortable and have just the right amount of support. In April I'll turn my basement room in for a tent, and the five diamond hotel I currently work at for a farm. A year ago as I was getting ready for my Vision Quest, the idea of camping for twelve days was a little daunting. Now I'll be camping for six months, no doubt gaining an even greater understanding of the word home.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Forgotten Stories
I don't talk in the blog much these days of the hard times. Believe me, they are there. I've been touched by a deep sadness tonight. It penetrates through my being and left me feeling disillusioned and alone. I know a part of it is the moon and I expect to bleed in a day or two. "What am I doing here?" I ask myself. I spent years finding my place in this crazy world and I had found it too. A large circle of friends, a good job, a home, a beautiful body and a regular exercise routine, a good therapist. Why couldn't have that been enough for me? I didn't love myself enough then. Why would I possibly believe that I was worth more? I wasn't even worth what was already mine. Why is the every day, the typical, not enough for me?
I receive answers when I cry out, but they are sporadic and I can't keep up.
It's times like these I long for simple things, my bed and someone to lay with in it. A friend to talk to who would understand without words. I find myself hiding in my hands. Is this what despair looks like?
I wrote this about a week ago. Since then I've had my first Biophoton Therapy treatment that essentially makes the chaotic light emitting from your cells, well, not chaotic. I have hopes that this machine will help me, but I'm also helping on the research side of it, and that includes getting to know the treatment process. My naturopath warned me that there could be a detox period, one which for whatever reason I assumed would be physical. I did have a headache the days proceeding my treatment, but the majority of my "detox" was emotional. I had a lot of sadness come up, and even some anger. It helped to know that this was part of the process and things were definitely shifting. I was able to be in that place of grief and anger without attaching any stories to my feelings, and nurturing myself along the way.
I worry that my brain is unable to produce Seratonin on it's own since I was on anti depressants for so long. I get scared when the word depression comes to mind and I remember that for years I believed something was "wrong" with me. Those thoughts have a tendancy to creep back up when I get sad. Naively, there have been times when I've done some really great work or undergone a significant shift, I'll think, "That was it, that was the thing that was holding me back." Of course there's always more. I read this morning something to the effect of "There's no epidoral for spiritual birthing."A teacher of mine has asked me several times if I was in some kind of an accident when I was a child. I've been asked this before. I don't remember having an accident. I remember crying out for help and no one would listen. What could I possibly need help with? I was only a child.
It sounds trite to say, but in the middle of all of this I experience moments of love, peace and dare I say ecstasy. I am working on my ability to bring these feeling up in my Self, without the assistance of others. I've done some much work, at times it feels like I've not come very far at all.
I receive answers when I cry out, but they are sporadic and I can't keep up.
It's times like these I long for simple things, my bed and someone to lay with in it. A friend to talk to who would understand without words. I find myself hiding in my hands. Is this what despair looks like?
I wrote this about a week ago. Since then I've had my first Biophoton Therapy treatment that essentially makes the chaotic light emitting from your cells, well, not chaotic. I have hopes that this machine will help me, but I'm also helping on the research side of it, and that includes getting to know the treatment process. My naturopath warned me that there could be a detox period, one which for whatever reason I assumed would be physical. I did have a headache the days proceeding my treatment, but the majority of my "detox" was emotional. I had a lot of sadness come up, and even some anger. It helped to know that this was part of the process and things were definitely shifting. I was able to be in that place of grief and anger without attaching any stories to my feelings, and nurturing myself along the way.
I worry that my brain is unable to produce Seratonin on it's own since I was on anti depressants for so long. I get scared when the word depression comes to mind and I remember that for years I believed something was "wrong" with me. Those thoughts have a tendancy to creep back up when I get sad. Naively, there have been times when I've done some really great work or undergone a significant shift, I'll think, "That was it, that was the thing that was holding me back." Of course there's always more. I read this morning something to the effect of "There's no epidoral for spiritual birthing."A teacher of mine has asked me several times if I was in some kind of an accident when I was a child. I've been asked this before. I don't remember having an accident. I remember crying out for help and no one would listen. What could I possibly need help with? I was only a child.
It sounds trite to say, but in the middle of all of this I experience moments of love, peace and dare I say ecstasy. I am working on my ability to bring these feeling up in my Self, without the assistance of others. I've done some much work, at times it feels like I've not come very far at all.
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