With no new shaman ceremonies to relay (next scheduled session is in October), it’s time to outline the implications of trandscendent deep dives. Not all the outcomes feel favorable to the still-attached self. But on closer inspection, it’s abundantly clear there is no such thing as an outcome that isn’t a blessing when looked upon by the observer POV.
This warrants a personal tale, involving family relations. Or the lack thereof.
I have three brothers and a sister. All half siblings, as we have one of those Brady Bunch type units. I’m the youngest by a mile – which equals roughly 6 years away from the closest hermano, and about 14 from the oldest. Not an infinitesimal gap. Yet that didn’t matter much in the early years. I loved those crazy cats. Some were easier to bond with, others easier to fight with – but regardless, we held tight to the blood-adage, and at least I could truly classify them as family. By the old definition, anyway.
Fast forward through the shamanism years, and I can’t deny a massive disconnect. I’ve done my best to pretend this didn’t matter much, but honestly, I had been failing miserably for years now.
Let’s get real here. I went to the Amazon, had a freaking earth-shattering awakening, and came back a genuine being. The problem was, I hadn’t been anything close to genuine for eons, and the people that knew me the least were those wacky blood relatives (save perhaps mom, but she’s not in the conflict mix, so we’ll leave her out.) So here I came, the new-old-real-yay me, spouting off my truths and bona fide obsession with those yummy sacred plants.
Family was not pleased. They have stringent ethics that don’t involve altered states. I get that. I naively thought that, hey, we can agree to disagree – they don’t have to love the process, but surely they love me and all will be skippy-fine and we’ll just be great friends. Tra-la-la. Tra-la-wrong-answer.
So not only did I up and become a freaky plant-girl, I also had the gall to blog about it all. Sibling eyeballs made their way to these public spaces, and it turns out my insides were downright ugly to them. Ugh. That hurt an unexpected amount. I didn’t anticipate rejection from those I loved when I was finally fessing up. And when those accusations landed, I wasn’t yet in the space to receive them as anything but attacks. Once again, I chose the victim route – this would be my beautiful lesson.
Then Daddy died. Damn him. That stirred up the official meltdown, because it really outed me and my non-acceptable views. I’ve written extensively here about the process of watching my father die in the course of 7 days, and what a blessed event it was, so more details aren’t necessary. But ever since then, I’ve been an only child. I don’t mean that in any boo-hooey sense, it’s just be a silent-filled sibling world. Admittedly, I indulged in that way too much – the egoic view of being wronged by those mean big brothers and sister. That is what I’m here to release. I am here to say thank you and just walk away.
Last week, Orion, Hijo and I did something I had long since thrown on my “I will never do this list” (yes, I know, I should have known it was therefore inevitable) — we took a *vacation* to see my childhood home. I grew up in the mountains of Montana. In 16 years, I’ve been back twice — for funerals. I vowed never to go back on any other terms – that place was as dead to me as my bond with my siblings. But in a fateful twist, it turns out Orion’s stepdad lives only 10 miles away from the house I grew up in – so it seemed poetic. Destined. And dare I say, FUN.
We did have a blast. My sunburn is still peeling, my ass is still holding the remnants of a horseback and ATV romp, and my memory bank is loaded with nostalgic moments and delicious adventures. I adored meeting more of Orion’s family, and having our first vacation as a unit – Orion, myself, and 11-year old Hijo. We could have gone anywhere and I would have been blissful. Instead, we went back in time.
The only sibling that will still speak to me is Newt (his moniker in here – short for Neutral, his chosen stance on everything). He’s closest in age to me, and we lived together for most of my childhood – I suppose you could say we know each other best because of maximum time spent together. As such, Orion, Hijo and I trekked out to visit him during one of our vacation days, and all and all, it was lovely. Innocent convo over grilled pork ribs and corn on the cob. Breathtaking views of the Rockies. Small talk that parlayed into. . .zingers. Revelations.
It was the blogs that did me in. And of course, I must blog about that. Newt says the family read my account of Daddy’s death, and they disagree with what I recall. I can easily fathom I misquoted some things. It was a stressful time, and I don’t claim to have a photographic memory. But I challenged Newt by saying – look, you’re not mad at me for misquoting our dying dad. You’re mad because we don’t agree.
In a nutshell, I was labeled blasphemous, and as I sat there and listened to all the many ways the family sees me, I realized many things.
1) I have no way to defend myself. Because there’s nothing to defend. My ego wanted to cry and scream and protest something fierce, but I found it easy to hold back – Newt thinks Ayahuasca and Huachuma must be drugs, therefore I am a hypocrite AND a druggie AND a liar, so they want nothing to do with me. I can’t change what they do not know. And honestly, I can see why they would feel the way they do. It’s really not unreasonable with what little they have to go on.
2) On an egoic level, this is absofuckinglutely devastating. I sourced a completely vicious pain in my shoulder / neck that night that Orion tried his best to massage away – but it kept me up and alert and emotional all night. Symbolic of the sadness my emotional self was feeling – this necessary breaking away. I must admit, I had such childish visions for so many years of having uber-close connections to my astranged familia. I wanted to be a part of their precious little club. But to do that, realized in those moments I had to go back to being the fake, mask-wearing phony I was before the wake-up call. That is just not an option.
3) I connected with the meaning of family, in the blood-sense. They aren’t there to always have your back and to love you unconditionally. We lie to ourselves when we say such things. They’re there to be our mirrors and teachers. And in this case, I am learning through separation. There is no peace to be had here if I keep trying to force a bond — I’ll just keep stepping on grenades. So in this sense, they have taught me to love myself more than anyone else ever could. I know this isn’t a rejection of who I am, but of their distorted images and the pieces of themselves they have yet to learn to love.
And so it goes – I am letting go. I can say I’m about 93% there. It is perfectly ok if we never speak again. It is perfectly ok if they live the rest of their lives viewing me as a villain — a misguided, unethical deviant. Nothing I have ever done has made me more of myself than this quest to detach from my ego. I guess it stands to reason that those people who still identify with theirs would see me as a danger. Yes, I’ve felt more than a few stabs of remorse that my attachment to a happy little bonded family must go the way of a toilet flush. Yet how fitting that this revelation should come on my first jaunt with the *real* family – my two beautiful boys. The ones who know me best, because it’s not my ego they’ve attached to – it’s the authentic beaming light-filled self I am at my highest moments.
Sure, there may be a few more tears to shed, but I am surrendered. I love those four no less, but I have nothing to prove. And so the silence – I welcome her. For the first time, that sentiment is finally real.
