It is said that when the student is ready the teacher will appear. Early in my spiritual quest I would meet my second teacher. Sara had been my first – and now on a cold winter’s morn the next teacher would arrive. She arrived in her own way, as spiritual teachers often do – and she shook me out of the complicity of my life – stirred the embers – and brought the blaze to full capacity. My grandmother’s passing, her dreamtime that told her of this passing, and the return of my recalling dreams of Sara paved the way for this teacher to arrive in my waking/dreaming state – and to meld these two states of consciousness.
The second teacher’s name is Niobie and this is how we met. It is the fourth bone I am retrieving as I create this book.
NIOBIE
Little did I know just how drastically my life would change on that cold winter's day in February. Sometimes I wonder now if I had known the changes I would encounter would I have continued my quest. I would like to think that I would.
It was a bitter cold day, and the sky was concealed with dark clouds that held the threat of the predicted snowstorm. The house was silent with all of the family members gone and I had the rare opportunity of spending the entire day with myself.
I cleared the morning dishes and straightened the house, and then gave in to the luxury of curling up by the stove in the family room with a book. The room was chilly and I realized that the fire in the wood-burning stove had gone out. Not being especially adept at fire building I somewhat grudgingly donned a jacket and walked to the woodpile. Returning with a load of wood I stacked it carefully on the hearth, and began the preparation for building a fire.
After several minutes the fire appeared to be ready, and covering myself with an old quilt I curled up on the sofa to read. The room was still quite chilly and I snuggled down into the quilt resting my head on a pillow. Although I had not felt the least bit tired when I sat down, I now found myself feeling drowsy and struggling to keep my eyes open.
"Oh, well," I thought to myself, "there really is no reason why I shouldn't doze for a few minutes. I don't have a pressing schedule, now do I?"
My eyes closed and I immediately drifted off to sleep. I'm not sure how long I slept, but suddenly I was aware that there was someone in the room with me. I sensed this presence, and with a feeling of alarm I opened my eyes and looked around. Turning my head I was startled to see the figure of an old woman bending over the stove, stoking the fire. The fire leaped and crackled as she worked with it, and I became aware that the room was no longer chilly, but cozily warm.
Despite the warmth of the room I felt a chill growing in the pit of my stomach, and I was immediately awake and alert. The house was still silent, and even my son's dog that was asleep next to the sofa, seemed undisturbed by this stranger's presence. "How unusual," I thought. The promised snow was now rapidly falling and the ground outside the windows was already covered with a blanket of white.
The chill in my stomach gave way to a churning confusion; how did this woman get in, who was she, what was she doing here, and why didn't the dog respond or react as he normally would? These questions rolled through my mind in rapid succession. It all seemed so unreal, yet so real. And my greatest astonishment was that I was just lying on the sofa watching this woman tend my fire. "What's going on?" I thought to myself.
The woman, apparently satisfied with the fire, put the poker on the hearth, closed the door to the firebox, and turned toward me. Until that moment I had been unaware of her appearance, but as she faced me my full attention was upon her. She was on old Native American woman. Her hair was streaked with white, and was worn in two long braids that hung over her shoulders. She was dressed in a long simple skirt and an old Pendleton jacket. Her face was lined and finely chiseled. Above her prominent cheek bones and straight nose was her most startling feature, deep set eyes that were like dark mirrors. I realized, with surprise, that her eyes were not brown, as I had expected they would be, but rather a deep dark blue, and in the shadows they seemed almost black.
She gazed straight at me, and then crossed the room and sat in an easy chair opposite the sofa. My amazement must have registered on my face and she smiled, revealing a row of beautiful straight, white teeth.
The dog changed positions in his sleep, but was still completely oblivious to this woman's presence. I shrugged thinking, "I really must be dreaming." And there was a dream like quality to all that was happening - especially in how I was reacting, or not reacting, to this strange woman's presence in my family room. But, yet, there was a reality to this situation, and I found myself feeling confused as to whether this was really taking place.
The old woman broke the silence, and sensing my confusion she said, "Yes, I am quite real. Reality is relative to your perception, nothing more. You perceive me others cannot or will not. So for you I am real, for others I may not be a part of what they call reality."
My confusion must have been quite apparent by now, because she laughed out loud. "It is really not so hard to understand. Dreams are a form of reality; in fact dreams can hold true reality, and perhaps the only dream is our waking lives."
My head was spinning, "Who are you? What are you doing here?” the questions rolled off my tongue.
"So many questions from one who seems to have just found her voice," she laughed aloud again. "I am here because you are a seeker on a vision quest. You have long quested after truth, and that quest has led you to many paths of ancient wisdom. But the path that has always been the closest to you is the Medicine Path. Remember your childhood; recall your fascination and interest in the Native American lifestyle. Remember your pride in your own Native American ancestry, and the legends and lore you learned at your grandmother's and great grandmother's knees."
I was astounded! How did this woman know so much about me? "How. . . how do you know that?" I finally sputtered. "I mean, I don't even know you, but. . . .but you seem to know a lot about me! And you still haven't answered my questions? What exactly are you doing here?" I could feel the anger rising with my confusion.
"I have told you why I am here. You are not listening. You are confusing your realities. You want to perceive me as a part of your waking world because I am too real to be a part of your dream world. You misunderstand your dreams. And because you misunderstand me, you are afraid and demand answers. I will provide answers, but these are truths beyond your physical reality."
"What I have told you of yourself, is that not truth." I nodded and she continued speaking. "I know much of you, because I have always been near you."
"Like a guardian angel or a spiritual guide, or something like that?" I interrupted. She had been correct about my being a seeker of truth, and I was quite familiar with teachings that included spiritual travelers and guides and expanded states of consciousness. In fact I was familiar enough with these teachings to, at some level, accept them as truths.
She nodded. "Yes, something like that. You see, even now, your reality expands, as does your awareness. This is good."
I nodded still struggling to understand all of this. "And," she said, " If you search your memory, going far back, I think you will remember who I am."
The old woman continued, "I am here because you have called me to you."
I started to speak, but she held her hand up to silence me. "You have called me to you with your quest. Look at the book that is lying beside you. Are you not reading about the Native American Medicine Path?"
Again I nodded, completely having forgotten the book. "And only a few days ago did you not express a desire to find a Medicine Woman?"
"Y. . . y. . . yes," I stammered, "but how did you know. . .," my voice trailed off. My interest in the Native American culture in general, and the Medicine Path in particular, had been at a peak for the past few months - ever since a trip to the southwest. I had relentlessly explored stores and shops that offered Native American made goods and artifacts. Slowly and gradually my collection of these things was growing. I had also made the comment regarding a Medicine Woman to a friend only a few days previous.
"It should be obvious by now that I know a great deal about you. I have waited a long time for your interest to return to your heritage. It is not coincidence that my appearance and your interest in the Medicine Path have coincided. I have waited until you were ready to encounter me. When you sent your spirit out on the waves of your thoughts and desires to find a Medicine Woman I knew it was time. I am here as your teacher and guide."
The mid-morning sun broke through the bank of snow clouds that had concealed the sky. The sun now sparkled on the newly fallen snow. It made strange, beautiful patterns as it danced over the blanket of white that covered the ground. The moving patterns mesmerized me and I felt as if I were in a light trance.
I became keenly aware of my surroundings. There was an unreal silence both in the house and outside. It seemed like the snow muffled all sound, and a perfect calm enveloped us. The warmth from the wood burner radiated throughout the room, and I felt secure and content in this warm world of quiet. For a while the only sound that punctuated the silence was the crackle and pop of the logs burning in the stove.
This content feeling began to slowly wear off, and once again the confusion rose in me as my mind struggled to make sense of what was taking place. "This just doesn't make any sense!" I blurted in exasperation with the situation.
The old woman settled into a more comfortable position in her chair before speaking. "For a brief moment you accepted my view of reality and were content. You let go of your rational mind and experienced this moment with your creative or higher self. The reality that I present to you cannot be grasped with the rational mind; it comes from a source beyond rationale and intellect."
The warmth of the fire was causing me to feel sleepy again, and I struggled to stay awake and talk further with this woman. Seeing my struggle to keep my eyes open she said, "Do not fight sleep. In the sleep state we learn much, but it is often difficult for us to bring this knowledge to our waking selves. Today you begin the journey of melding these two states of awareness. But now it is time for you to rest."
I started to protest; wanting to ask many more questions, but she silenced me. As she rose from her chair my head was already finding the pillow on the sofa. She moved silently toward the back patio. I intended to see her out, but I was asleep before she reached the door.
I awoke sometime later with a start. My body felt uncomfortably warm, and I looked around feeling disoriented at finding myself on the sofa in the family room. The room was cozy from the heat of the wood-burning stove, and the morning sun reflecting through the eastern windows was adding to the warmth of the room. I sat up throwing off the quilt that had covered me while I slept.
I looked around trying to gain my bearings. The ground outside the windows was covered with snow that must have fallen while I slept. My head felt fuzzy and I was confused. "How long have I been asleep?" I wondered. Although the clock indicated that it was well before noon, I realized that I had not noticed the time before falling asleep.
As I stood up and began folding the quilt my son's dog stirred from his spot next to the sofa and jumped up wagging his tail. He began jumping around attempting to get my attention, like he always does when someone is near to him. Suddenly, watching the dog, my "dream" experience poured into my waking, and somewhat befuddled, mind.
I sat down trying to recall exactly what had happened. I remembered the old Native American woman being in this room tending the fire. I was surprised that the fire burned so warmly as I seldom could get a good fire going. But the logs in the stove popped and hissed with the heat of the flame.
I also remembered the dog lying quietly by the sofa throughout the entire experience, and never once giving recognition to another person being in the room. I distinctly recalled my surprise at the dog's lack of response to the old woman -especially now since his obvious awareness of my presence.
Suddenly, like a movie being projected onto a screen, the "dream" experience became crystal clear for me, and I recalled in detail the old Native American woman and her words. Standing up, I laid the quilt aside, and walked toward the patio door. My last memory was one of watching her move toward the door to leave. I had intended to see her out, but had fallen into a deep sleep as she left.
"Well," I thought, "if she really was here then there will be tracks in the snow outside of the door." I recalled that the snow was falling during the time we spent together.
I approached the door with some apprehension, on the one hand hoping to find tracks, and on the other afraid that I would find footprints. If the prints were there then my bounds of reality certainly would have to stretch and change.
I stood close to the sliding glass pane, my breath leaving a steamy impression on the cold door. The smooth blanket of snow was broken in a steady line from the door onto the patio by prints. The prints appeared to be those of a large bird, who having hopped a few feet onto the patio had spread its wings and flew into the sky.
I put on my boots and jacket and let myself out the door. My feet crunched in the fresh snow as I carefully avoided stepping on the prints left by the bird. My breath came out in white jets of steam. I walked onto the patio and gazed upwards into a cold winter's sky. The clouds had parted and the sun shown through making me squint. Looking up into the sky I saw a large hawk circling, carried on the current of wind, far above my head.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Third Bone - Sara, My Great Grandmother
Sara My Great Grandmother
My earliest memory of Sara feels like a dream – and when I recalled this memory I, at first, thought I was remembering a dream. In time I came to understand that it was a memory – although since it came from my infant self – the memory is cellular rather than cognitive.
In this first recollection I am lying in a cradle in my family’s living room – Sara is leaning over me – holding my head between her ancient hands – and places her forehead against mine – and in that instant wills into my being all of the memories of the linage of her family.
As a very young child – from my toddler years until I was 6 - Sara was my constant companion – and best friend. My family’s home and Sara’s sat on either side of a gravel driveway. The land our homes sat on had been Sara’s father’s farmland – and my parents had bought a track of this land to build a house on – my first home in this lifetime. Sara’s little house was just north of our property.
I made daily trips to her house – several times a day. My mother recalled that if she lost track of me she would listen to hear the sound of Sara’s front or back screen door slam as I wandered to and through her house.
Sara was a healer – she worked with plants and herbs – and the green growing things of the earth were her teachers and friends. Many people came to her for her “medicine” and her advice. Even the country doctor who served the medical needs of this tiny community sought out her advice and wisdom regarding plants and herbs’ healing properties. She was a strong woman – strong in body – strong in mind – and strong willed. A fixture in the community we lived in – she was highly respected and admired.
As a young child I only saw her as a friend – who entertained me with wonderful stories of her life – and who took me an outings and adventures to collect the herbs and plants she used as her medicine.
An outing to collect plants would go like this. Sara always wore a bib apron with full pockets. She covered her arms and her face when outdoors – trying to keep her naturally dark skin as light as possible (having Native American roots in her time in history was a handicap – and so her lineage was not discussed). When we went “wild crafting”, as she called it, she wore a dress with long sleeves – sturdy shoes and a bonnet that kept the sun from her face. In the pockets of her apron she would place small digging and cutting tools and tobacco for offering. We carried long gunnysacks to collect the plants in – and larger digging implements if deeper digging and cutting were needed. When she found a plant or herb that she wanted she would sit quietly with it – she told me she was asking permission to take a cutting – and if she got that permission she would cut or dig what was needed and then we would leave an offering of tobacco to Mother Earth for her bounty. Sara taught me that there must always be a “give away” for the gifts from Mother Earth – and tobacco or cornmeal were always left.
I remember one morning going with her. Before leaving her house one of her sons – my great uncle – stopped by – and he handed me a shiny new penny. I put the penny in my pocket – fully intending to drop it in my piggy bank at home. After he left Sara and I sat out to wild craft. She found plants she needed – ask and received their permission to take her cuttings – and we began our work. She would dig and cut – and I would put what she cut into the gunnysacks. We had collected quite a bit of the plant she wanted – and she reached into her apron pocket for the tobacco that was always there – but on this day she had not put any into her pockets. She felt around trying to find tobacco or cornmeal – but none was there. She then looked at me – and told me to check my pockets to see if I had anything we could leave. I know she saw my face cloud over as I remembered the shinny penny my great uncle had given me back at the house. I reluctantly stuck my hand into my pocket – grasped the penny – and pulled it out and held my hand out to her. She laughed, “no, child – you offer it to the earth – it’s your offering – and your lesson – we have to give away to receive.” So I offered my penny to the ground where we had dug and cut – laying it on the soft earth – and then picking up a gunnysack to follow Sara back home.
It was her way – and I understood that I had to follow her way, her teachings. She was my first teacher – and her teachings have never left me in this lifetime. She was not an easy teacher – she was demanding – but in her strength there was great warmth and caring – and I as her great-grandchild was recipient of both her demands and her care.
Because her teachings were so deep and so subtle I had to reach adulthood before I could begin to come to terms with the wisdom – and to recall the very first memory of this woman. Had I remembered before this I may have thought myself crazy – it took time, years, and maturity to be able to absorb and then share what she gave to me in the early years of my life.
Sara put down the foundation for what would become my life, and she was my first teacher, and her memory is the first bone collected as I began to assemble the skeleton of my authentic self.
As you reach back into your history and being to uncover the foundation of your original self remember that first teacher – the person who ignited the fire at the core of your being. That person is your first teacher and is the keystone to the completion of the structure of your instinctual being.
One of Sara’s many gifts to me was the lesson “that to receive we must first give”. Life returns to us what we send forth, and so it was with my first teacher, Sara.
Sara realized that in my lifetime the world would reach a crisis of extinction. She saw even back then – late 1940’s and early 1950’s – the traces of pollution and toxic materials. She lived in a tiny village – less than 600 people populated this little community – we had no television then – radios and telephones were in use – but certainly nothing like computers and the Internet. But Sara needed none of this – she watched the land, the animals, and humans, and she saw the signs – saw them long before I took birth in this lifetime.
She saw the great river, the Mississippi; begin to fill with silt from the runoff of the farmer’s fields. She watched while humans began to encroach on the river’s space; draining the flood plains to cultivate, and to graze cattle on. She lived through two great floods in her lifetime – the first years before I was born – the second when I was less than a year old.
She watched the farmers from the “bottom lands” drive their cattle through the streets of her tiny village – also built in the flood plain – to higher ground to save them from the floodwaters. And she watched but refused to be moved out of home, saying “the good Lord put me here, and he will move me if I need to go”. Her village didn’t flood that year, 1947, and she stayed there in her house until her death in 1952. She was not there in 1993 when her town was flooded beneath 25 feet of water. The silting out of the rivers, the taking of floodplain for farmland, the re-channeling, damming and levees of the river, forcing it into an unnatural course – had grown to monstrous proportions – and her predictions came true.
Sara taught all who listened. She asked nothing in return for her gifts – but gave them freely to those who would take them and use them. She told me that although I would be a healer – I would not work with plants and green growing – she did not use the word – but what she was telling me was that my medicine would be energy. And in essence what she believed was that the herbalists (like her) could teach the medical people a great deal – but in the end it would be the energy (she would say “like electricity that runs through the wires) that would transform the world – and that would happen in my lifetime.
And Sara taught me to remember my dreams. She felt that in the dreamtime real wisdom was imparted. She passed away when I was six. For the next six years she visited my dream space – and carried on the teachings that she began in my childhood. She remained my constant dreamtime teacher until I reached adolescence and hormones kicked in. For the next twenty years I lost touch with her teachings but never with her essence and so when she reappeared in my thirties dreamtime we picked up where she had left off.
In my early thirties I attended a seminar at a University. It was a two-week program, and was open to therapists and counselors. It was 1980. I signed up for two classes – one a traditional approach to therapy – the other a class on working with altered states of reality. The second class was taught by an instructor about my age: longhaired and wearing sandals, a hippie that I was very comfortable with. We laid on the floor of a ballroom in the student union of this university – where he led us into states of relaxation and meditation while he began opening us to higher states of awareness. His teachings, these exercises were familiar to me – reminiscent of Sara’s teachings in my childhood – and I was like a moth to the flame – drawn close but realizing that the flame would burn and destroy the image I had of myself. But I stayed and danced closer and closer to this flame.
When the two weeks came to an end I decided I would return home – leaving this new knowledge behind – and pick up with my life as it had been. Little did I realize that the slumbering shaman inside of me had come fully awake – sat up, stretched her limbs, and decided to stand in the middle of my life.
That Thanksgiving we traveled home to visit my parents in my hometown. My grandmother was still alive then and on our arrival she called me into her bedroom. She told me that she had a dream with her mom, my great grandmother, Sara. She said that Sara had visited her in the dream and told her that her work here was about done and she would be coming home soon.
It was usual from my grandmother to report on a dream – or call me aside to talk about it. Later I asked her more about it and she denied having the conversation with me and told me I was mistaken. I let it go and really didn’t think much more about it.
In January my mother called. My grandmother had taken ill and she passed within three days of getting sick. It would be a few more years until I put together her dream of Sara, her telling me of her dream and her death. In June of that year I had taken the seminar on altered states of awareness – and the inner slumbering shaman had been awaken in me. This part of me had been implanted in me in infancy by Sara in the very first memory I have of her. When this happened Sara visited my grandmother’s dreamtime to tell her that her “work was done” – and she would soon be coming home. My grandmother had always looked out for me – in that she kept my parents from too much interference in my life with allotropic medicine and organized religion. She had protected me in a way that allowed me to grow up uninhibited by the interference of these two institutions.
After my grandmother’s passing I began in earnest to seek out my spiritual path. Dreams of Sara reappeared in my dreamtime – and eventually led to my next teacher and a deepening of the lessons that I was to learn.
My earliest memory of Sara feels like a dream – and when I recalled this memory I, at first, thought I was remembering a dream. In time I came to understand that it was a memory – although since it came from my infant self – the memory is cellular rather than cognitive.
In this first recollection I am lying in a cradle in my family’s living room – Sara is leaning over me – holding my head between her ancient hands – and places her forehead against mine – and in that instant wills into my being all of the memories of the linage of her family.
As a very young child – from my toddler years until I was 6 - Sara was my constant companion – and best friend. My family’s home and Sara’s sat on either side of a gravel driveway. The land our homes sat on had been Sara’s father’s farmland – and my parents had bought a track of this land to build a house on – my first home in this lifetime. Sara’s little house was just north of our property.
I made daily trips to her house – several times a day. My mother recalled that if she lost track of me she would listen to hear the sound of Sara’s front or back screen door slam as I wandered to and through her house.
Sara was a healer – she worked with plants and herbs – and the green growing things of the earth were her teachers and friends. Many people came to her for her “medicine” and her advice. Even the country doctor who served the medical needs of this tiny community sought out her advice and wisdom regarding plants and herbs’ healing properties. She was a strong woman – strong in body – strong in mind – and strong willed. A fixture in the community we lived in – she was highly respected and admired.
As a young child I only saw her as a friend – who entertained me with wonderful stories of her life – and who took me an outings and adventures to collect the herbs and plants she used as her medicine.
An outing to collect plants would go like this. Sara always wore a bib apron with full pockets. She covered her arms and her face when outdoors – trying to keep her naturally dark skin as light as possible (having Native American roots in her time in history was a handicap – and so her lineage was not discussed). When we went “wild crafting”, as she called it, she wore a dress with long sleeves – sturdy shoes and a bonnet that kept the sun from her face. In the pockets of her apron she would place small digging and cutting tools and tobacco for offering. We carried long gunnysacks to collect the plants in – and larger digging implements if deeper digging and cutting were needed. When she found a plant or herb that she wanted she would sit quietly with it – she told me she was asking permission to take a cutting – and if she got that permission she would cut or dig what was needed and then we would leave an offering of tobacco to Mother Earth for her bounty. Sara taught me that there must always be a “give away” for the gifts from Mother Earth – and tobacco or cornmeal were always left.
I remember one morning going with her. Before leaving her house one of her sons – my great uncle – stopped by – and he handed me a shiny new penny. I put the penny in my pocket – fully intending to drop it in my piggy bank at home. After he left Sara and I sat out to wild craft. She found plants she needed – ask and received their permission to take her cuttings – and we began our work. She would dig and cut – and I would put what she cut into the gunnysacks. We had collected quite a bit of the plant she wanted – and she reached into her apron pocket for the tobacco that was always there – but on this day she had not put any into her pockets. She felt around trying to find tobacco or cornmeal – but none was there. She then looked at me – and told me to check my pockets to see if I had anything we could leave. I know she saw my face cloud over as I remembered the shinny penny my great uncle had given me back at the house. I reluctantly stuck my hand into my pocket – grasped the penny – and pulled it out and held my hand out to her. She laughed, “no, child – you offer it to the earth – it’s your offering – and your lesson – we have to give away to receive.” So I offered my penny to the ground where we had dug and cut – laying it on the soft earth – and then picking up a gunnysack to follow Sara back home.
It was her way – and I understood that I had to follow her way, her teachings. She was my first teacher – and her teachings have never left me in this lifetime. She was not an easy teacher – she was demanding – but in her strength there was great warmth and caring – and I as her great-grandchild was recipient of both her demands and her care.
Because her teachings were so deep and so subtle I had to reach adulthood before I could begin to come to terms with the wisdom – and to recall the very first memory of this woman. Had I remembered before this I may have thought myself crazy – it took time, years, and maturity to be able to absorb and then share what she gave to me in the early years of my life.
Sara put down the foundation for what would become my life, and she was my first teacher, and her memory is the first bone collected as I began to assemble the skeleton of my authentic self.
As you reach back into your history and being to uncover the foundation of your original self remember that first teacher – the person who ignited the fire at the core of your being. That person is your first teacher and is the keystone to the completion of the structure of your instinctual being.
One of Sara’s many gifts to me was the lesson “that to receive we must first give”. Life returns to us what we send forth, and so it was with my first teacher, Sara.
Sara realized that in my lifetime the world would reach a crisis of extinction. She saw even back then – late 1940’s and early 1950’s – the traces of pollution and toxic materials. She lived in a tiny village – less than 600 people populated this little community – we had no television then – radios and telephones were in use – but certainly nothing like computers and the Internet. But Sara needed none of this – she watched the land, the animals, and humans, and she saw the signs – saw them long before I took birth in this lifetime.
She saw the great river, the Mississippi; begin to fill with silt from the runoff of the farmer’s fields. She watched while humans began to encroach on the river’s space; draining the flood plains to cultivate, and to graze cattle on. She lived through two great floods in her lifetime – the first years before I was born – the second when I was less than a year old.
She watched the farmers from the “bottom lands” drive their cattle through the streets of her tiny village – also built in the flood plain – to higher ground to save them from the floodwaters. And she watched but refused to be moved out of home, saying “the good Lord put me here, and he will move me if I need to go”. Her village didn’t flood that year, 1947, and she stayed there in her house until her death in 1952. She was not there in 1993 when her town was flooded beneath 25 feet of water. The silting out of the rivers, the taking of floodplain for farmland, the re-channeling, damming and levees of the river, forcing it into an unnatural course – had grown to monstrous proportions – and her predictions came true.
Sara taught all who listened. She asked nothing in return for her gifts – but gave them freely to those who would take them and use them. She told me that although I would be a healer – I would not work with plants and green growing – she did not use the word – but what she was telling me was that my medicine would be energy. And in essence what she believed was that the herbalists (like her) could teach the medical people a great deal – but in the end it would be the energy (she would say “like electricity that runs through the wires) that would transform the world – and that would happen in my lifetime.
And Sara taught me to remember my dreams. She felt that in the dreamtime real wisdom was imparted. She passed away when I was six. For the next six years she visited my dream space – and carried on the teachings that she began in my childhood. She remained my constant dreamtime teacher until I reached adolescence and hormones kicked in. For the next twenty years I lost touch with her teachings but never with her essence and so when she reappeared in my thirties dreamtime we picked up where she had left off.
In my early thirties I attended a seminar at a University. It was a two-week program, and was open to therapists and counselors. It was 1980. I signed up for two classes – one a traditional approach to therapy – the other a class on working with altered states of reality. The second class was taught by an instructor about my age: longhaired and wearing sandals, a hippie that I was very comfortable with. We laid on the floor of a ballroom in the student union of this university – where he led us into states of relaxation and meditation while he began opening us to higher states of awareness. His teachings, these exercises were familiar to me – reminiscent of Sara’s teachings in my childhood – and I was like a moth to the flame – drawn close but realizing that the flame would burn and destroy the image I had of myself. But I stayed and danced closer and closer to this flame.
When the two weeks came to an end I decided I would return home – leaving this new knowledge behind – and pick up with my life as it had been. Little did I realize that the slumbering shaman inside of me had come fully awake – sat up, stretched her limbs, and decided to stand in the middle of my life.
That Thanksgiving we traveled home to visit my parents in my hometown. My grandmother was still alive then and on our arrival she called me into her bedroom. She told me that she had a dream with her mom, my great grandmother, Sara. She said that Sara had visited her in the dream and told her that her work here was about done and she would be coming home soon.
It was usual from my grandmother to report on a dream – or call me aside to talk about it. Later I asked her more about it and she denied having the conversation with me and told me I was mistaken. I let it go and really didn’t think much more about it.
In January my mother called. My grandmother had taken ill and she passed within three days of getting sick. It would be a few more years until I put together her dream of Sara, her telling me of her dream and her death. In June of that year I had taken the seminar on altered states of awareness – and the inner slumbering shaman had been awaken in me. This part of me had been implanted in me in infancy by Sara in the very first memory I have of her. When this happened Sara visited my grandmother’s dreamtime to tell her that her “work was done” – and she would soon be coming home. My grandmother had always looked out for me – in that she kept my parents from too much interference in my life with allotropic medicine and organized religion. She had protected me in a way that allowed me to grow up uninhibited by the interference of these two institutions.
After my grandmother’s passing I began in earnest to seek out my spiritual path. Dreams of Sara reappeared in my dreamtime – and eventually led to my next teacher and a deepening of the lessons that I was to learn.
The Second Bone - The Big Dream
The foundation of this book is laid here in this introduction. From the dreamtime came the waking dreamtime and from that came the awareness of the Authentic Self. So few people awaken from their culture slumber to the awareness of the dream. The dreamtime lays the foundation for life – all that is needed to live life is provided through the dreamtime and the waking dreamtime. Our task is to learn how to understand the signs and symbols of the dreaming and waking dream space.
My great grandmother taught me that dreams were important and from her I gained a great respect for the dreamtime and the dreamer of this dreamtime. In adulthood it became sacred space for me, and as a therapist I have worked with countless people to discover, recover, and reclaim the wisdom of their dreamtimes.
My journey of this lifetime is really a dream – in the dreamtime and in the waking time. The dream has opened me to the quest – and has put this bone of awareness in place. I have recalled dreams since childhood, and have actively worked w/ my dreams since my early thirties. This is the foundation onto which each bone is laid. It comes from my:
First Big Dream:
Dreams have always followed me; have been an important part of my life. My great grandmother, Sara, taught me to talk about my dreams, which allowed me to begin to remember my dreams as a young child. Theses dreams where childlike but in thinking back I am sure they were full of wisdom, as are all dreams.
The summer before entering college I began a recurring dream. The dream was that I was in college – at the end of a semester – it was final week – and I had not attend any of the classes that I must now go and take the final exams. In fact I was not sure where the classes were held. This dream followed me through my years at the university and on into my early career. I came to understand that this was my first “stress” dream, and to this day if I have any stress in my life (conscious or unconscious) I will have this dream. My dreams keep me honest with myself.
While still an undergraduate at the university I entered therapy/analysis. When I left the university to begin my professional career I continued with analysis in another city. At this time my work in analysis shifted as I began to delve into my deep unconscious process as a budding therapist in my own right.
It was during this second analysis that my first big dream occurred. This dream became a recurring dream during the early months of this second analysis. In this dream I am standing on the open prairie looking toward a skyline in the distance. The skyline is of a large city with tall buildings. On the prairie next to where I stand is a tall tower-like structure. I explore this structure looking for a way in, but there is no perceivable opening or door. I walk round and round this structure trying to find an entry point.
I took the dream to my analyst in session and we discussed it. He was perplexed by the dream. His training was Freudian and he saw the tower as phallic, but we both felt there was a deeper significance in this dream. He suggested that he would like a consult with a friend who was a Jungian analyst and eventually arranged for me to have a few sessions with his friend. The Jungian analyst immediately saw the significance of this dream. Carl Jung worked with symbolism and universal symbols. He even built a tower on a lake in his homeland of Switzerland. He built the tower at Bollingen next to the upper lake of Zurich. This was his spiritual retreat, and became a place of solitude, meditation, and for entertainment of those close to him. He added three sections to this tower until it became a stone representation of his inner understanding of psyche’s structure – the four structures of his tower representing psychic wholeness. The second story of his tower was added after his wife’s death in 1955, when he was 80. This was a symbol of an extension of consciousness achieved in old age; feeling of being reborn as his own individuation progressed along the path from the ego to the Self, toward death.
As I worked with the Jungian analyst we began to uncover the deep significance of this dream. I was in the very beginnings of my life. I was in the process of forming beliefs that would carry me into my profession and into my existence in my personal life. I stood on the prairie looking toward the skyline of a large city. The tower was next to where I stood. I took refuge from the hustle and bustle of life in the city, not unlike Jung at Bollingen, and my refuge would be this tower, but I lacked the ability at this time in my life to gain admission to this place of refuge.
Both my analyst and the Jungian analyst told me that this dream was important – a life dream – and both encouraged me to always remember this dream. I had been keeping track of my dreams for several years at that time and this dream was a part of my dream journal. I instinctively understood it was important, but at a conscious level I was young and a bit skeptical of their excitement at this dream. So I tucked this dream into my journal and into the back of my conscious mind and continued on with my early adult life.
In time I completed this analysis and moved on with living. I know now that this was my first big dream – and in time it was followed by two more similar dreams with towers.
I was married with children and a budding young therapist who had moved into private practice. In my second year in private practice I had my second tower dream. I was working with a client who challenged me on every level. At this time I was working with a consultant who was very analytical in his approach to therapy, and all client issues led back to me. I began to dream of this client. In the first dream we were in the ocean, he was drowning, I was attempting to save him but he was pulling me under water. In my dream I knew I would “go down” with him if I continued to hold on. Then a voice said, “Surrender, and go with the pull, you can breathe under water.” And so I did, and so I could and I woke from the dream.
I realized that this dream was telling me to delve into the deep unconscious process with this client who was rooted in linear and external thinking. This client fought going into the deep unconscious – symbolized by the struggle in the ocean of my dreamtime. I could not rescue this client. I had to sink with the client and let the client carry me to my own depths because I could now breathe under water.
So we begin the descent. A few months later I had a second dream with this client. We were standing in the conference room of my office. Two of the walls in this room were windows. This client was yelling and flailing his arms at me as I backed away into the corner created by the two walls of windows. As I stood in this corner of my dreamtime office I looked out the window. There was an awning just outside the window. I realized that my only route was to step through the wall of windows onto the awning and so I did. My client watched in wonder as I stepped through the glass wall and stood on the awning above the busy street below. I reached out my hand to this client, inviting him to join me in this new landscape. He hesitantly took my hand and allowed me to pull him through.
Later in consultation I arrived at an understanding of this dream. I was calling this linear, black and white thinking, borderline personality disordered client through the veil that divides conscious self from unconscious self, and inviting him to join me in this new landscape. My dreamtime told me he would come – and it also told me I had moved into a new evolution of self.
A third dream with this client came sometime later. In this dreamtime I am now living and working in a tower. My home is at the top of the tower; my offices a few floors below, and a beautifully appointed elevator takes me from floor to floor. I have now gained access to the tower that in my youth I could only observe and walk around. The top floor of my dreamtime tower affords a beautiful view of the river where I live in waking time, and my office is bathed in soft lighting, colors, and music. It is a cornucopia to the senses. This client is seeing me in this new office and I realize that only certain clients see me here, those clients with whom I am plumbing their inner depths and thus plumbing my own depth, simultaneously.
I interpret this dream as a symbol of my access to “Jung’s tower” of self-awareness. I had entered the fortress of my own psyche structure. The clients who came to the office in this tower were those who had stepped through the veil of illusion; stepping out of linear thought into a circular awareness.
This was my second big dream. The first big dream came in my mid to late twenties; the second came after my fortieth birthday. I recoded this dream, but at the time I did not remember the first dream. I had not moved deeply enough into my psyche’s structure to understand the connection.
At the time of my sixtieth birthday I had my third big dream. My husband had passed away five years earlier. I was on my own, my children were grown and gone, and I was re-weaving the web of my lifetime. This dream came as I was preparing to make a journey – a quest – to chart a new path in my waking time.
In this dream I am in a room that at the top of a building – that really is a tower. I am there with a man about my age – but I do not know him – he is not someone I have met in my waking life at the time. We are together – and I assume we are lovers. We hear sounds coming up the side of this building and go onto the balcony to investigate. Two of my young students are climbing up the side of the building. A young man who is being pushed up the side by a young woman, and I recognize both of these people. When they reach the top they climb over the railing and are startled to find this man and me waiting for them.
The young woman tells me she has brought the young man to me. I ask why? The young man shyly says he has come to retrieve a kiss from me. I am not sure what to do. I am here with the older man/my lover – and this young man has just scaled the side of the tower to receive a kiss. The older man laughs and says, “and you must give him the reward he has so gallantly come to receive – it is his honor and it is your duty.” And so I kiss him. I tell the couple they must now go back the way that they have come – because I understand that in their youth they have not yet earned access to the tower of wisdom.
When I wake and recall this dream I remembered my two previous tower dreams. With a little digging I find both recordings of these dreams, and understand that now my elder self not only has access to the tower – but also resides there with a balance of the feminine and masculine energies that are a part of all of us. It is a dream of integration.
And so my dreams became my most personal of teachers. This book is an outgrowth of many dreamtimes woven into the tapestry of my life. The dreams – both from the dreamtime and from the waking dreamtime are the bones of the structure of this work. They are the underpinnings – the skeleton of my authentic self. We will begin this journey with the telling of my first teacher, Sara, my great grandmother, and then of the legend of La Lobe the Wolf Woman.
So pull your chair up close your hearth – let the fire of your creative self warm you, and as you read the words written of the discovery my authentic self – perhaps it will lead you to your same discovery.
My great grandmother taught me that dreams were important and from her I gained a great respect for the dreamtime and the dreamer of this dreamtime. In adulthood it became sacred space for me, and as a therapist I have worked with countless people to discover, recover, and reclaim the wisdom of their dreamtimes.
My journey of this lifetime is really a dream – in the dreamtime and in the waking time. The dream has opened me to the quest – and has put this bone of awareness in place. I have recalled dreams since childhood, and have actively worked w/ my dreams since my early thirties. This is the foundation onto which each bone is laid. It comes from my:
First Big Dream:
Dreams have always followed me; have been an important part of my life. My great grandmother, Sara, taught me to talk about my dreams, which allowed me to begin to remember my dreams as a young child. Theses dreams where childlike but in thinking back I am sure they were full of wisdom, as are all dreams.
The summer before entering college I began a recurring dream. The dream was that I was in college – at the end of a semester – it was final week – and I had not attend any of the classes that I must now go and take the final exams. In fact I was not sure where the classes were held. This dream followed me through my years at the university and on into my early career. I came to understand that this was my first “stress” dream, and to this day if I have any stress in my life (conscious or unconscious) I will have this dream. My dreams keep me honest with myself.
While still an undergraduate at the university I entered therapy/analysis. When I left the university to begin my professional career I continued with analysis in another city. At this time my work in analysis shifted as I began to delve into my deep unconscious process as a budding therapist in my own right.
It was during this second analysis that my first big dream occurred. This dream became a recurring dream during the early months of this second analysis. In this dream I am standing on the open prairie looking toward a skyline in the distance. The skyline is of a large city with tall buildings. On the prairie next to where I stand is a tall tower-like structure. I explore this structure looking for a way in, but there is no perceivable opening or door. I walk round and round this structure trying to find an entry point.
I took the dream to my analyst in session and we discussed it. He was perplexed by the dream. His training was Freudian and he saw the tower as phallic, but we both felt there was a deeper significance in this dream. He suggested that he would like a consult with a friend who was a Jungian analyst and eventually arranged for me to have a few sessions with his friend. The Jungian analyst immediately saw the significance of this dream. Carl Jung worked with symbolism and universal symbols. He even built a tower on a lake in his homeland of Switzerland. He built the tower at Bollingen next to the upper lake of Zurich. This was his spiritual retreat, and became a place of solitude, meditation, and for entertainment of those close to him. He added three sections to this tower until it became a stone representation of his inner understanding of psyche’s structure – the four structures of his tower representing psychic wholeness. The second story of his tower was added after his wife’s death in 1955, when he was 80. This was a symbol of an extension of consciousness achieved in old age; feeling of being reborn as his own individuation progressed along the path from the ego to the Self, toward death.
As I worked with the Jungian analyst we began to uncover the deep significance of this dream. I was in the very beginnings of my life. I was in the process of forming beliefs that would carry me into my profession and into my existence in my personal life. I stood on the prairie looking toward the skyline of a large city. The tower was next to where I stood. I took refuge from the hustle and bustle of life in the city, not unlike Jung at Bollingen, and my refuge would be this tower, but I lacked the ability at this time in my life to gain admission to this place of refuge.
Both my analyst and the Jungian analyst told me that this dream was important – a life dream – and both encouraged me to always remember this dream. I had been keeping track of my dreams for several years at that time and this dream was a part of my dream journal. I instinctively understood it was important, but at a conscious level I was young and a bit skeptical of their excitement at this dream. So I tucked this dream into my journal and into the back of my conscious mind and continued on with my early adult life.
In time I completed this analysis and moved on with living. I know now that this was my first big dream – and in time it was followed by two more similar dreams with towers.
I was married with children and a budding young therapist who had moved into private practice. In my second year in private practice I had my second tower dream. I was working with a client who challenged me on every level. At this time I was working with a consultant who was very analytical in his approach to therapy, and all client issues led back to me. I began to dream of this client. In the first dream we were in the ocean, he was drowning, I was attempting to save him but he was pulling me under water. In my dream I knew I would “go down” with him if I continued to hold on. Then a voice said, “Surrender, and go with the pull, you can breathe under water.” And so I did, and so I could and I woke from the dream.
I realized that this dream was telling me to delve into the deep unconscious process with this client who was rooted in linear and external thinking. This client fought going into the deep unconscious – symbolized by the struggle in the ocean of my dreamtime. I could not rescue this client. I had to sink with the client and let the client carry me to my own depths because I could now breathe under water.
So we begin the descent. A few months later I had a second dream with this client. We were standing in the conference room of my office. Two of the walls in this room were windows. This client was yelling and flailing his arms at me as I backed away into the corner created by the two walls of windows. As I stood in this corner of my dreamtime office I looked out the window. There was an awning just outside the window. I realized that my only route was to step through the wall of windows onto the awning and so I did. My client watched in wonder as I stepped through the glass wall and stood on the awning above the busy street below. I reached out my hand to this client, inviting him to join me in this new landscape. He hesitantly took my hand and allowed me to pull him through.
Later in consultation I arrived at an understanding of this dream. I was calling this linear, black and white thinking, borderline personality disordered client through the veil that divides conscious self from unconscious self, and inviting him to join me in this new landscape. My dreamtime told me he would come – and it also told me I had moved into a new evolution of self.
A third dream with this client came sometime later. In this dreamtime I am now living and working in a tower. My home is at the top of the tower; my offices a few floors below, and a beautifully appointed elevator takes me from floor to floor. I have now gained access to the tower that in my youth I could only observe and walk around. The top floor of my dreamtime tower affords a beautiful view of the river where I live in waking time, and my office is bathed in soft lighting, colors, and music. It is a cornucopia to the senses. This client is seeing me in this new office and I realize that only certain clients see me here, those clients with whom I am plumbing their inner depths and thus plumbing my own depth, simultaneously.
I interpret this dream as a symbol of my access to “Jung’s tower” of self-awareness. I had entered the fortress of my own psyche structure. The clients who came to the office in this tower were those who had stepped through the veil of illusion; stepping out of linear thought into a circular awareness.
This was my second big dream. The first big dream came in my mid to late twenties; the second came after my fortieth birthday. I recoded this dream, but at the time I did not remember the first dream. I had not moved deeply enough into my psyche’s structure to understand the connection.
At the time of my sixtieth birthday I had my third big dream. My husband had passed away five years earlier. I was on my own, my children were grown and gone, and I was re-weaving the web of my lifetime. This dream came as I was preparing to make a journey – a quest – to chart a new path in my waking time.
In this dream I am in a room that at the top of a building – that really is a tower. I am there with a man about my age – but I do not know him – he is not someone I have met in my waking life at the time. We are together – and I assume we are lovers. We hear sounds coming up the side of this building and go onto the balcony to investigate. Two of my young students are climbing up the side of the building. A young man who is being pushed up the side by a young woman, and I recognize both of these people. When they reach the top they climb over the railing and are startled to find this man and me waiting for them.
The young woman tells me she has brought the young man to me. I ask why? The young man shyly says he has come to retrieve a kiss from me. I am not sure what to do. I am here with the older man/my lover – and this young man has just scaled the side of the tower to receive a kiss. The older man laughs and says, “and you must give him the reward he has so gallantly come to receive – it is his honor and it is your duty.” And so I kiss him. I tell the couple they must now go back the way that they have come – because I understand that in their youth they have not yet earned access to the tower of wisdom.
When I wake and recall this dream I remembered my two previous tower dreams. With a little digging I find both recordings of these dreams, and understand that now my elder self not only has access to the tower – but also resides there with a balance of the feminine and masculine energies that are a part of all of us. It is a dream of integration.
And so my dreams became my most personal of teachers. This book is an outgrowth of many dreamtimes woven into the tapestry of my life. The dreams – both from the dreamtime and from the waking dreamtime are the bones of the structure of this work. They are the underpinnings – the skeleton of my authentic self. We will begin this journey with the telling of my first teacher, Sara, my great grandmother, and then of the legend of La Lobe the Wolf Woman.
So pull your chair up close your hearth – let the fire of your creative self warm you, and as you read the words written of the discovery my authentic self – perhaps it will lead you to your same discovery.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The First Bone - Transformation
The idea for this book came about as I was creating a workshop format - "Writing Down The Bones of The Dreamtime Self." And from the story/legend of La Loba - the Wolf Woman - who collects all manner of things in danger of extinction. She searches through the stream beds, the woods, and valleys - searching for the bones of the wolf. When she has gathered all of these bones she lays them out on the floor of her cave creating the skeleton of the wolf. And when the last bone is laid in place, she sits and she dreams and she thinks of the song she will sing out over this skeleton. And when she knows the song she sings it out over the bones on the floor of her cave next to the fire. And as she sings her voice grows stronger and louder - and rumbles like the earth itself, and in her voice is the sound of the great north wind, and the roar of the ocean, and the clap of thunder, and the streak of lightening. And on and on she sings - and as she does the bones of the wolf begin to flesh out - and take shape and form - and then hair covers the bones - and a tail, strong and shaggy, pops up. And the wolf moves - stretches itself - and standing upright - it sniffs the air - and running out the door of the cave it runs down the stream bed - as a beam of moon light, or perhaps a ray of sunlight hits it in its side - and it becomes a woman or a man running wild and free.
This book is about the transformation of ourselves through the discovery and collecting the bones of our authentic self. Like La Loba we must begin the search for that part of the self that is on the verge of extinction - the authentic self. This book is about my gathering these bones from the archives of my life's writings and bringing them together in a readable form called chapters/bones. The first section is the gathering of the bones. Once the bones were gathered and assembled on the floor of my cave/my computer I began the task of awakening them. I had to recall and remember the song of awakening to sing out over the skeleton gathered and laid out in front of me
The second section is the awakening the bones; the singing of the song that brings them to life through the stories of my dreams and meditations. Stories that metaphorically speak of my coming awake like the wolf on the floor of La Loba's cave. And this skeleton of my authentic self took on life and as it did it awoke and ran free into the landscape of my waking self.
The third sections is the integration of the authentic self into my daily life. This sections is about the learning how to live awake and connected to this being that I have gathered and sung into life. These chapters/bones are written as the book takes shape and form. They are the daily stories of life and of living life from that authenticated place.
La Loba is the archetype of the instinctual self; she lives in the caves, and river valleys, and woods of all of our homelands. She resides at the center of our beings and she whispers to us in our dreamtime; calling us awake in our dreaming space. She is circumscript - always fat, often hairy, and usually avoids most human company. It is said that if you are most fortunate, and perhaps are very tired as you enter your dreamtime, and if you have a tendency toward the wild and unusual in your life; then she might take a liking to you, and if she does she may show you something, something of your soul.
As I gathered, laid out, sang over, and created this book La Loba did take a liking of me. She danced me awake, she fed me the potion of self realization, and she sang her own song in the ears of my dreaming self. I would wake most mornings with the sound of her singing ringing in my heart and this sound let me carry the potion of the self realizaton from my dreamtime into my waking world. And in taking a liking to me she gave me the next bone the rememberance of my first big dreamtime:
This book is about the transformation of ourselves through the discovery and collecting the bones of our authentic self. Like La Loba we must begin the search for that part of the self that is on the verge of extinction - the authentic self. This book is about my gathering these bones from the archives of my life's writings and bringing them together in a readable form called chapters/bones. The first section is the gathering of the bones. Once the bones were gathered and assembled on the floor of my cave/my computer I began the task of awakening them. I had to recall and remember the song of awakening to sing out over the skeleton gathered and laid out in front of me
The second section is the awakening the bones; the singing of the song that brings them to life through the stories of my dreams and meditations. Stories that metaphorically speak of my coming awake like the wolf on the floor of La Loba's cave. And this skeleton of my authentic self took on life and as it did it awoke and ran free into the landscape of my waking self.
The third sections is the integration of the authentic self into my daily life. This sections is about the learning how to live awake and connected to this being that I have gathered and sung into life. These chapters/bones are written as the book takes shape and form. They are the daily stories of life and of living life from that authenticated place.
La Loba is the archetype of the instinctual self; she lives in the caves, and river valleys, and woods of all of our homelands. She resides at the center of our beings and she whispers to us in our dreamtime; calling us awake in our dreaming space. She is circumscript - always fat, often hairy, and usually avoids most human company. It is said that if you are most fortunate, and perhaps are very tired as you enter your dreamtime, and if you have a tendency toward the wild and unusual in your life; then she might take a liking to you, and if she does she may show you something, something of your soul.
As I gathered, laid out, sang over, and created this book La Loba did take a liking of me. She danced me awake, she fed me the potion of self realization, and she sang her own song in the ears of my dreaming self. I would wake most mornings with the sound of her singing ringing in my heart and this sound let me carry the potion of the self realizaton from my dreamtime into my waking world. And in taking a liking to me she gave me the next bone the rememberance of my first big dreamtime:
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