One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

In any event, it was quite a week.

Healer and I have a bond so deep and beautiful now, again, I just don’t have words. I never knew I had a trust issue until I learned to trust him completely. Completely. His is the voice of God for me, in every way. He honored me more than anyone ever has on his last day here, and we cried our way through the I Love You Goodbyes. He’s a best friend in the highest sense. And he helped heal yet another layer within me.

My session was gorgeous. Another deep dive into the ways in which I hide from the world. We examined my habit of compartmentalizing the various parts of my life. Shamanism, default world work, past loves, current loves, LA friends, Vegas friends, and most of all, the Guru and my spirituality. I found that down deep, the idea of revealing all of myself was terrifying because I held a belief that no one would love and accept the whole enchilada. Looking across into Healer’s eyes, I knew he did. All of me. Love and acceptance. So I let it flood in and shift the insides, making it ok to just be.
I remembered sometime later where I learned this habit. Daddy only loved the happy girl – he used to tell me that it was the positive me that he adored. When I found the little black rain clouds, I got sent to my room.
That is healing. And I feel a profound internal integration. A merging of all the selves. It’s no coincidence that I was once told I had Multiple Personality Disorder. I suppose that’s true, in whatever sense. But it isn’t anymore. Or at least it won’t be for long.

We also healed a whole lotta trauma. I also used to hold a belief that men were violent, and that this violence would always eventually be unleashed on me. I created such madness. So Healer zeroed in on my power center /chakra and unleashed a massive amount of darkness. He pushed with impressive force as it traveled up to my heart, then on to my throat. That’s where it lodged a bit. I was almost strangled once, and as Healer gripped the darkness and demanded an escape, I had a flashback of sorts. It was a true Near Death moment. All that terror, all that loss of control, it all flooded back. I thought I might blackout, or even die right there. But I coughed and cried and sputtered out the memories, the emotional blockages, and within minutes, I could breathe again. Ever since then, I’ve felt so much lighter. So much more myself. And yet so aware that I didn’t let everything go. I’m pondering why as I write this. More revelations and releases await.

And so does the story of Z and I, and the latest developments. I won’t spill the how’s and why’s just yet, but the romantic union, as it used to stand, has once again been redefined. We are no longer a “couple”, at least in the way labels indicate. We freed ourselves this weekend to have whatever experiences we need, without the pressure the labels of our bond created. I have a lot to say about the emotions around this. But first I must get clear. First I must dive back into the Vegas life, and find the next piece of me. The next layer of truth. All I know is, I love him more today than I did a week ago, so that clearly means something. Label or no.

In the meantime, I am basking in the energies of my healing house. It is magic in those walls. Beings of light flittering around like butterflies. Warmth and comfort like I have never known. I saw miracles last week. In myself and others. This will source me for a long, long time.

More. Soon.

Girl on a Gravestone

I can’t recall if I spelled out the full magical tale of Dad’s death when it all went down, so I’m going to summarize the events once more. It reads like a mythical tale, but I promise every word is true. If Z hadn’t been there to witness it all with me, I might not believe it myself.

The biggest bond I shared with my father invovled our Sunday morning church excursions. When I was tiny, Daddy always went to the big grand Helena Cathedral by himself, as Mom wasn’t into the religion thing back then. Since I owned the “Daddy’s Little Girl” title with a ferocious tenacity, I decided when I was four that it was my job to be his companion. Looking back now, I know that was the greatest gift I could have ever offered him. As the years went on, sometimes those rides to / from church (it took about 40 minutes to get there from our remote mountain home) were full of fights and angry words. Sometimes we fairly much ignored each other. And sometimes we told jokes, stopped for donuts on the way home, and found the most sacred moments of our shared lives. They’re all sacred now to me. Every last memory. Daddy gave me God and Jesus, however distorted the imageries were. He still brought me to this path I’m on now, even if he didn’t really understand my methods.

We went through devastatingly dark times. Months of silence, crazy screaming matches, and horrible, horrible words. We knew how to button push, and we did it frequently. As I got older, this of course subsided, and we fell into a pretty peaceful groove. Daddy became a sweet soul in his older years – such a contrast from the drunken, rageful man he used to be. Thank goodness he lived long enough to find himself. At least we got to end on a good note.

When I discovered my shamanism path, Dad did a remarkable job of trying to understand it – something I didn’t expect. He took to calling the ceremonial state “The Trance”, and supported me in the joy it brought me. But just one week after my return from Peru Trip Two, I got the call we all dread. And I knew it was coming.

The recent trip had had a very profound effect on me. I went very deep into the medicine and her many lessons, and had some intense ceremonies. During my sixth dance with Ayahuasca, the oddest thing occurred – just as the force of her made me question whether or not I was strong enough to shoulder the experience, to actually live to tell the tale, I felt an energetic burst into a light-filled world, and who should be standing there with open arms – but Jesus. Jesus? Yeah, Jesus. This wasn’t a hallucination – he was actually standing there. A half smile playing at his lips. I said to him – “Holy shit, it’s Jesus!” Then I covered my mouth and apologized, saying – “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I totally just swore at you” To which he laughed, which made me laugh, and I stood there in my vision with an incredulous look.

“Why me? Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer, but grabbed my hand and let me feel the crucifixion scar on one of his wrists. Over and over, he rubbed his fingers across the wound, smiling at me with his eyes. Then I asked if I could have a hug, of which he obliged, wrapping around me tightly in the most incredible embrace. I clung to him joyfully, tearfully, and then just as suddenly, he was gone.

The ceremony went on to be my most uplifting, powerful experience to date. And I remember thinking so much of the time – I can’t wait to tell Daddy.

A week later, after the homecoming, Z and I went dancing – out with the usual beloved crew. The music was awesome, inside my favorite venue, and all the Favorite Friends were out in full force. I chose not to alter my consciousness, as I was still integrating Ayahuasca’s lessons, but all the other elements of an incredible evening were there for me to enjoy. Only I didn’t enjoy them. I felt edgy and nervous, panicky and sad. We only lasted a couple of hours before I finally told Z I had to go home. Had to. Something was going down.

I don’t remember what we talked about all night, but it was an ugly emotional throwdown. I was absofuckinglutely miserable, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. Around 7 AM, I just started sobbing. An overwhelming outpour. And Z, out of nowhere, says to me the strangest of words -

“You walked with Jesus. You walked with Jesus.”

I stopped crying for a second and whipped around to face him.

“What? WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?”

I felt angry and so fucking raw. Something huge was happening. Something really huge.

“I don’t know! It’s been going over in my head a million times and I knew I just had to say it.”

This sent me overboard. I felt the agonizing sob rise up in me like a volcanic eruption. And just as I felt her surface, the phone rang. I saw Mom’s name on the caller ID and my heart stopped. Here was my answer.

She, of course, called to tell me Daddy was sick. He had had minor surgery a few days prior, which we all thought had gone very well, but had taken a horrible turn during the night. They didn’t think he would make it, since at one point he did truly die, but he had come back, barely, and I needed to get there immediately. Z and I booked a flight in two hours and the rest of the day became a blur.

When at last we hit the hospital, I raced to Daddy’s side. He held on to just a thread of consciousness, but recognized that I was in the room. That night it was all touch and go again – but he held on tight as he knew the other 4 kids were racing to get there too.

The next morning, in the ICU, we got the good news that he had pulled through and was pretty coherent. I went in to take my turn with him. The nurse we encountered cornered me before we entered, and asked if I was his daughter Tina. I confirmed this, and she told me the most incredible thing – Daddy had been in a trance all morning, for hours on end, saying simply:
Tina knows Jesus. My daughter knows Jesus. How does Tina know Jesus?

I will never forget how I felt when I heard those words. It was as if everything mystical, everything unexplainable that had ever, ever happened to me, that I had maybe only half believed but wanted to trust completely, suddenly became factual. Everything was true. I had never gotten the chance to tell my parents about the vision / experience in Peru concerning Jesus. Not a word. Daddy couldn’t have known, and yet – he did. He knew.

I went into his room quietly, feeling as if I had walked into a vortex. He saw me right away and reached out a swollen, purple hand.

“Hi Daddy,” I squeezed him and dribbled tears on his arm.

“Hi Teen. Did you meet Jesus in The Trance?”

I laughed out loud and cried a little more, nodding and grinning.

“I did Daddy. I totally did.”

It made perfect sense to him. Perfect sense. He was only half in the default world, half in the next world. I knew then he would be leaving for good very soon.

He then told me how he had met Jesus the night before, and how He had sent him back down to finish one last mission. One last repenting gesture. To apologize to my brother for all the abuse.

I raced out to fetch the brother involved, knowing this was about to be the most treasured moment of his life so far. What my father gifted us during those days will never be duplicated. He held on for 7 of them, and we got to bond and tell stories and be real. Heal the hurts from the past, and show our souls, all perfect and luminous. All the many stories we held about why we don’t get along disappeared into the ethers for the duration of that week, and though it ended with my father’s death, it still stands as one of the best weeks of my life.

Daddy asked me, three days before he left us, if it was ok to die. If I thought that would be ok. And when he did, another convergence rose up in me – I suddenly remembered my second Ayahuasca ceremony, a scene in which my father’s spirit came to me, filled with sadness, resistance and pain.

“Daddy,” I said to him, “what on earth is wrong?”

“I’m afraid to die, Teen. I’m so afraid to die. Can you help me?”

I remember the monstrous ache this caused in me, this hopeless rush of sadness, as I had no clue how to help him. No clue at all. But I held him in my vision and promised I would do all I could.

Now here he was, just seven months later, on the verge of letting go, asking me for help.

“Daddy, of course you can go. Of course you can. I’ll take care of Mom, don’t you worry.”

“Your mother doesn’t want me to go. Your brothers don’t want me to go. Your sister doesn’t want me to go.”

“I know Daddy. None of us want to lose you. But this is your life, your calling. You follow your heart.”

He repeated my words back to me.

“Follow my heart. I have to follow my heart.”

Daddy would slip in and out of his own trance for the next three days, repeating those words, from what I’m told, thousands of times. He felt the pull of the family begging him to stay, but I had also given him a life raft in that moment – the permission to do whatever he had to. My gift to him. He gave me life, and in turn, I got to help give him back to God.

And now I sit here, sobbing my eyes out once again. Yes, it’s partly because I miss him. But mostly, it’s because my mind doesn’t know what to do with such beauty. Such perfection. Such magic. My heart feels strong and grateful and connected. I believe my father is right here with me, as much as I believe there are words on this screen. I guess I’m crying for the beauty of it all. For the incredible gift of these moments, these memories – and the ease of which they slip beneath the illusion of the outside world.

Today, I am remembering. I am swimming in my faith that anything is possible. And I am spending the day with my Daddy.

From http://locksparkfarm.wordpress.com/author/wolton/

What is it about this form of surrender that sends so many of us into the dark spaces of resistance? Mine is a complex answer – and a very personal one. Somewhere, some how I taught myself that who I was down deep in my core didn’t equate to anything acceptable. I learned to be who the person across from me wanted to see (or my perception thereof), and therefore avoided vulnerability at all costs. Even to myself.

Yes, myself. Can you look in your heart and truly say you’re vulnerable and real in you conscious space too? If you can, show me the way. I mean, I’m getting there. It starts with integrity. Total admission into all you are, all you think, and most importantly, all you feel. None of that believing your own lies stuff. That feeling part is where I get tripped up. I freaking love the headspace. I love thinking about grand concepts, daydreaming, painting fantastical scenarios in my mind’s eye – all that head stuff. Feeling. . .used to not be my forte. We’re making friends, me and emotions. For awhile there, I wouldn’t acknowledge ANY of them unless I had a physical reaction of sorts. Anything that shows up on the physical has been percolating in the underbelly for eons, so that’s not exactly the kind of stupor I’m looking to exist in.

Now, I ask myself frequently (and have a few special peeps in my life that ask the same) – what are you feeling, girl? And to answer, I have to be vulnerable. I have to admit when it isn’t rainbow-colored. I don’t like being anything but joyful. Not because I’m allergic to messier emotions, but because I have an attachment (correction: my EGO has an attachment) to being that girl – the positive / happy / Susie Mary Sunshine beast.

Why?

That’s how Daddy liked it. My father used to always praise that part of me – the innocent, wide-eyed, the-world-is-a-beautiful-place little girl. He didn’t really want to be around me when I hit any other space. So that’s where, in part, I learned to put on a mask. Showing raw emotions in my household didn’t pay off. My siblings would pounce on any perceived “weakness”, and fights would ensue. Daddy would lament the loss of his “happy girl.”

I just happened to take this trait and run like mad. I suppose it’s a fierce fear of judgment and lack of acceptance that kept me from revealing anything other than my saccharine smile. Not, of course, what anyone else would think – no, it was more about what I thought. I deemed all that stuff unacceptable. Somehow, I was to be above anger and rage and jealousy and hatred and sadness and fear. And since I am not an enlightened master at the highest level, I failed.

How this has showed up in my life is really interesting. I could have won an Oscar a million times over for my various portrayals. I played lots of roles – sex kitten, fat girl, suicidal goth, corporate climber, rave queen, etc. There were many genuine elements in those personas, but through it all, I couldn’t ever call myself real. I’m not sure I can even claim as much now. But at least I’m on the right track.

I have heard from so, so many friends – Why don’t you ever call me when you’re feeling blue? I LOVE being the one my beloveds dial up when the shit hits the fan, but man did I avoid reciprocating the favor. There’s something so primal about being in breakdown before another being. Something so terrifying for me. Again, not because I feared rejection, but because I hated this part of me. Hated it.

I’m working on that ferociously these days. I am doing my best to be love, and laying a lot of stuff way, way out there without an agenda. I’m so thrilled to be uncovering the truest parts of me, and even more relieved that I LOVE them. Even the breakdowns. Even those so-called toxic parts. They rock too. I mean, why not?

The last time I had a potential for a serious downfall – last weekend, actually – I dragged myself in front of a mirror and did a deep dive into my own eyes. What I saw there looked. . .beautiful. Surrendered. Willing to look bad, to let loose, to scream or cry or pound some fists. Whatever was needed. I told her I loved her, even when she didn’t want to receive that love. Odd, I know, but it worked. I felt accepted within myself to be whomever and whatever. I couldn’t think of a single scenario that I couldn’t accept in myself.

Now, the trick is to extend that outward, without losing focus on the inner healing. I absolutely cannot wait to dance again with Ayahuasca, which is coming up in less than 2 months. She, above all else, has helped lift me into this beautiful authentic space, but I’m not naive enough to think I’m through. I’ve also been practicing this with the people in my life. With Z, BVG, various office mates, Best Friend, RyRy, Healer, Guru, Orion – the list is getting longer. I like this. I like this very much. My ego, well, she’s not all that pleased. There’s no lack of protests. Because I’m starting to realize this is going to push me into realms I can’t begin to imagine. I might have to wear a bikini at a beach someday. I might have to stand in front of a crowd and admit the demons. I might have to lose every last one of my masks. Ye God. Makes for good bloggin’ though, so what the heck.
I’ll do it.

“Put on a pair of these rosies
Raise those blinds
A happy mask was never your best disguise”
- Ms. Tori A

From http://www.webdesign.org/img_articles/12462/Exploding-Heart21.jpg

I’m having the kind of day the edges on the point of surreal – experiences so electric, so deep and meaningful, so heart-centered and connected and magical and lovely, I’m more than a little dizzy. This is good stuff.

So this may sound like a small thing, but I bought a new dining table / chairs combo, and it was delivered today. I haven’t had a dining table since I moved to Vegas. It’s been part of my reluctance to become fully immersed in my life here. I used to have famous dinner parties brimming with beautiful peeps, but I’ve deprived myself of being the social fiend that I truly love to be since I’ve moved here. Until recently. This table is a tangible symbol of my now-ness in this city, this space and time, and also my love of bringing people together. I can’t wait for the magic to unfold. Oh, and it’s a really fucking cool table / chairs / bench thingee. Yeah, there’s me being shallow. I like stylish stuff, and this set is smokin’.

But what I’m really all a-buzz about is more about the people that will share that table space with me. Every time I think I’m getting used to this connecting business, someone throws me a curve ball. Or something happens to fall further in.

Best Vegas Girl and I keep getting closer. She’s given me feedback many times that I am not vulnerable with her the way she has honored me, and I’ve been working hard to break down those barriers. It’s paying off in spades. I am over the moon about our chats lately. I’ve been so honest and real with her, and she’s so equally raw and so accepting – omg does it make me giddy.

Then there’s Sage. He got back from THE most wildly amazing, life-changing, divinely cosmic HOLY COW adventure in Australia today, and we just shared stories over Starbucks. I can’t even begin to describe what he’s experienced now with the Guru and the ashram (our spiritual teacher has an ashram there, and is down there now doing a retreat). It’s definitely the kind of stuff that defies explanation, and if I told you, most wouldn’t believe it anyway. I didn’t until I lived some of these moments too. But Sage, he took the baton I passed and ran full speed into the cosmos. He is teaching me so much about surrender and manifestation. I am so proud and awed by him. We had the best talk and these incredible hugs and I could just cry when I think of how precious he is.

I get to see Z and Healer this weekend too, and have a woman’s gathering at the ashram. I only know my Soul Sis and my Aya friend (a woman who will soon be doing Ayahuasca with me, hence the moniker) – the other women are virtual strangers, and that’s about to change. Very, very exciting. Z and I will no doubt have a huge weekend too – so much has been up for us, but we’re very surrendered to sorting our way through and finding the next level of our bond. Aw yeah, this is getting very interesting.

And lastly (but certainly not leastly), there’s Mr. Orion. My fellow seeker, truth slayer, deep thinker, and whoa boy, hardcore email-er. We wrote each other – no exaggeration – eleven page emails today. You know those kind of bonding sessions that are completely without walls, completely without expectations – just respect and safety and truth, coupled with loads of energy bolts? That’s what I have with him. Another kindred, another special someone that has so much to teach me, so much to offer – ah man. I’m so lucky and sourced and buzzy.

Sage also brought me back gifts from The Artiste – another soul-brother of mine that lives in Australia. I have yet to meet him yet, but I love him deeply. He’s a brilliant painter and a beautiful soul. Of course Sage felt him as a brother too – we’re all family, clearly. And Artiste sent back some CDs, paintings, photos, and a gorgeous bracelet for me to enjoy.

I’m spilling over. I’m loving life. I’m feeling more than I have ever felt, and although there’s some really intense firings going down, I know I can handle all this and more. I’m jumping deep, deep into the rabbit hole here, but I trust there’s a safety net. Better yet, I trust that there is no ground. There is no landing, no end to this if I choose to keep on keepin’ on. Which, of course, I do. There’s no stopping now.

From

A couple of weeks ago, a super-dear friend from LA – I’ll just call him the Scribe (he writes BRILLIANT dark scripts, and he’s gonna be famous) – came to visit for one day / night of adventure. We hadn’t seen each other for a good eight months or so, so we started out with lots of hardcore chat / catching up / bonding. Eventually, we hit the strip to have dinner with a co-worker (I’ll call him Jammer – he’s a jam-band addict) and his lovely g-friend. GOOD times. Sake was flowin’, incredible raw fish dishes, a waiter that flirted like crazy with me – REALLY good times.

As the night wore on, Scribe got a message from one of his LA friends who also happened to be in Vegas. She’s the personal assistance to a rather famous porn star, and there was a “private” party going down in a Venetian suite. We got an invite. One of those offers we couldn’t refuse.

The party offered up everything we could have expected: gorgeous, scantily clad women with HUGE breasts (some were even topless – how kind of them to share – seriously, I was grateful), smarmy, odd looking men, fake smiles and fake tans and fake *everything*, plus plenty of libations / substances a-flowin’. Scribe decided a drink was in order, and though I wasn’t drinking, the bartender WAS topless, so I had to join him for a better look. She was clearly hired for her assets, and not her mixology skills – the girl fumbled over making a rum / coke, and we just yammered as she tried to figure out the complicated skill. Both Scribe and I did note that another drink was on the table – one were were told was “for some other girl who’s just wandering around the party.” Let it be known that Scribe and I are still unsure whether he grabbed his drink, or hers. Yes, that’ll be important here in a second.

Next up, we got invited to the “special room.” Can you seriously expect us to turn that down? The “special room” was on the other side of the sauna / walk in shower. It was basically the place folks were smoking. What, I do not know – they said pot, but my nose definitely disagreed. I didn’t have a drag (yes, I was That Sober Girl at this gig – tis my role these days), but Scribe indulged. I started feeling really, really uneasy in this “special room” (trying to talk to these people was starting to scare me), so I suggested to Scribe that we move back to the main room.

Scribe, his friend the PA, and I started having a great chat. She revealed to us some very intense and odd relationships that were brewing in her world, and she clearly just needed a sympathetic ear – of which we had four. Suddenly though, Scribe looked at me and went ghost-white pale. “Water,” he said, and I rushed off to fetch a bottle from the Topless One.

By the time I returned, Scribe was on the floor – conscious, but pretty out of it. He tried to stand up and shake / laugh it off, then he went out COLD – keeled over backwards and sent the party reeling. He was totally gone yet his eyes were wide open – this caused what I can only classify as “porn panic”. The place went mad. I kicked into crisis management mode (thank God my years at Disney allowed me to take a bazillion Red Cross classes, so I actually feel somewhat useful in these situations). Cold towels were fetched, along with sugar water. I checked pulse / breathing — both were very normal. Temperature, too felt fine. He came back briefly and told me he felt no pain – and he kept apologizing. But he fell out again and I just couldn’t figure out what was happening. What on earth caused this? People started accusing me of giving him GHB – grilling me about what the heck we had been doing before this party. Truth is, he had had three drinks. THREE drinks. And believe me, back in the day, Scribe and I were party animals. We downed three drinks per hour. This wasn’t his downfall. No, either that drink he had from Topless One had some sort of special additive, or the special room was doling out something other than some innocent weed.

In any event, amidst the panic – “Oh my god, he’s turning purple! Call the cops – HE’S DYING” – Scribe finally came back. I held his hand and felt the squeezes strengthen, and then he was able to talk again. He felt strong enough to walk within about 15 minutes, so I escorted him down to the cab station, and we started laughing about the ordeal. Lessons learned – no special rooms at porn parties, and keep your eyes on your drink at all times. But wow, WHAT an adventure.

I just found the whole seen achingly sad. These were people so out of touch with their real sexual selves, using sex to mask the *incredible* depths of their sadness. I can’t possibly have judgment for a single person in the room – they’re just trying to push away all that they are avoiding – knowing that it’s a mountain of abuse / programming / stories / etc. It’s heart-breaking, really, and their profession totally ostracizes them from the outside world, as we “moral” peeps are just aghast that people actually make these bad, bad films (though most of us have plenty in our DVD collection). Anyway, it was the perfect place for someone like me to land – a girl coming to grips with her own sexuality, finally being in integrity about what / who I am and what / who I am sexually attracted to, and someone willing to feel whatever I need to on the healing path.

Scribe is fine, and we have one hell of a story. Don’t be surprised if you catch a flick in a couple of years with a similar scene – he’s certainly got an awesome tale to tell. And me, I’m just grateful for the learning experience – that another layer was pulled away, and all that we had to give up was a little dignity and a large dose of panic. I’d call that a very, very good night.

From www.flickr.com/photos/sherrett/2214730263/

Since the dawn of the new year, every day has felt like a vortex. Like I’m falling just a little bit deeper into the Twilight Zone. That’s how the quest to heal has appeared to me these days – my balls-out I Want To Heal At All Costs attitude has thrust me into the hot seat. I am no longer on the fringe of an ashram, I’m fully immersed inside of one. A magnificent mystery school. A place where things I could never, ever give words to happen every single day.

The latest unfolding started with a higher consciousness party (these peeps know how to have a soiree, believe that.) There’s a new pivotal someone in my sphere of influence that must be named now – he shall be dubbed Orion. He’s a consummate hunter of truth and ascension, and he’s single handedly helping to unify the metaphysical community of this scorchingly beautiful valley. In just a couple short weeks, he’s been completely embedded in my heart space, and thanks to the events he helps to organize, my life has been sourced a million times over. I’m meeting empowered, electric individuals with their fingers on various cosmic pulses, and it’s just beyond awesome. So, hat’s off to you Orion – I’m so lucky to know you.

This last Sunday, another active member of the metaphysical crew hosted an enlightenment discussion at his east-side abode. An enlightened being named Jim attended, and I gotta say, it was a trip. It’s irrelevant to relay what was actually said, as the majority of the activity happened way under the surface. Despite my ego’s belief that nothing really transpired except some circle-esque banter and unsatisfactory commentary, something was clearly triggered. The results don’t lie.

Later that evening, I had a conversation with boyfriend Z that pushed me into a seemingly small but no less noticeable emotional state. I watched a groovy DVD (Marie Antionette) and felt a mini-crash coming on. Out of instinct, and slightly against my better judgment, I sent the Guru an email highlighting a couple of things that I felt consumed by – distance from those I love. He responded later the next day, and wow was it a bullet of truth. I got refined in dramatic fashion about my victim consciousness – the most harsh download He’s ever flung my direction. I could have let my ego have her way and retreated into a turtle shell to lick my wounds, but thankfully, the somewhat brutal yet beautifully constructive email made me laugh at first, and ultimately just feel positively loved. It’s so rare to experience such truth, for the sheer benefit of growth – and that’s what Guruji gave to me. In exactly the manner that I would respond to most. Again, I’m floored by how fortunate I am.

Now, it seems I have strep throat, which I also find quite symbolic – my words have been infected, and those that I’ve held back have done the same. I’m learning so, so much about just being honest. No matter what that looks like. That I don’t have to be perfect, that I don’t always have to be on my game or look good. And that if I don’t take chances and rip off the happy dappy bullshit when it just isn’t sincere, I won’t source the kind of feedback I’ve been receiving these past few days. Sure, sometimes I feel like I’m straight out of a Tom Cruise flick – that I might not be able to handle the truth – but how else am I going to snap out of this life-long infantile programming? It is exactly how it needs to be. I’ll just keep feasting on humble pie. I mean, who doesn’t like a good pie every now and again?

From jeff.gaia.com/blog/2006/5

A few months back, I had a devastating ordeal regarding my most treasured Ayahuasca shaman – he left / was relieved from his post in Peru. Where he is now, I do not know – somewhere in the jungle, no doubt continuing his beautiful service. But as he is not virtually connected, and we don’t even speak the same language, I had to release the attachment I have to him in the physical, and instead let him continue to work with me in the energy realms. Something I know he does already, but it hurt so much to have to, in a sense, say goodbye.

After I let myself heal from that letting-go, I came to realize that it was time to find a US-based shaman. I have only worked with my crew in Peru – which has been glorious, and I will certainly continue my trips south. But at the same time, I’m ready for more. I can’t afford to go as often as my heart is calling me to, and the last two trips I’ve inked have fallen through (again, only because my voice has said so – and if Ayahuasca has taught me anything, it’s to trust that voice no matter what.) So, after the aforementioned curve ball, I wrote in my little to-do list “Find US-based shaman.” I had no idea how or where, but he/she was out there.

About 3 weeks later, I got an email, followed by a phone call, from an amazing, ethereal friend I originally met during my second trip to the Amazon. I’ll call him Enigma. He is one. He’s barely – just barely – human. A raw foodist, oozing a powerful yet insanely gentle aura – he’s just a gorgeous being. Anyway, he told me he had been working with a US-based shaman a lot recently, and during these ceremonies, I had come to him seeking the same experience. He knew unequivocally that I was destined to work with this shaman too. He gave me the shaman’s info, and I have since done my due diligence. As it turns out, Enigma couldn’t be more right – my path is unfolding before me.

I’ve connected with this glorious man, and I’m awed and humbled that I should be so lucky to join him in ceremony one day very soon. We’re working out the logistics. But it will happen, and likely, repeatedly, as I’m looking for someone in this country that I can work with regularly, should my voice continue to tell me to do so. Ayahuasca, of course, would never stand in my way of being closer to her, so she delivered me this gift. God, I’m just so happy, so sourced, so incredibly grateful to know more of this depth, and ascension. And I’ll likely get to share it with several other people I love with all of my being – people I’ve been in ceremony with before, and others that have yet to know this journey, but have felt the calling too.

And so it goes that I’m not sure if I’ll make it to Peru this year yet, but that won’t stop me from continuing my work. With Ayahuasca, the Guru, and anything else the universe has in store. Yeah, I am one lucky cat.

From : www.itsf.org/brochure/solarsail.html

Z and many of the other ashram members had taken part in a multi-day vision quest with the Guru – and as it turns out, many magical moments unfolded. Z talked for over an hour on the phone with me, revealing these absolutely astonishing occurrences, as I raced through the airport and rode home with Mom. Normally, I delight in hearing about the divine goings-on in my second home, but something horrendous was happening to my pain body as Z spoke of the miracles. I felt fierce anger, a huge sense of betrayal – wondering why I had been on a frivolous trip to a haunted locale when I should have been sharing in these heart-openings. I was feeling shutdown, abandoned, neglected and filling up with self-hatred, while my boyfriend got closer to the source.

Maybe he would expand beyond me. I could feel that happening. I could feel that I deserved that. I was a coward, after all – someone who accepted the Guru + ashram, but didn’t actually live there. Can’t be too close to the fire. I’m still willful enough to have it my way. . .at a distance.

But in those moments, I didn’t want the goddamn distance. I wanted closeness, love, acceptance. . .all things I wasn’t feeling from my family. Save Mom, but in so many ways, she barely knows me. That’s my fault, of course, but it still stung in those moments. Enough to send me reeling down to the bottom.

I stayed there for two days, despite pep talks from loved ones. Z and the Healer especially, but I fairly much just stayed in bed with Boo and Yogi and sulked. Cried hysterically. Wondered why I hated myself so much.

I had a commitment to fulfill though – I had promised to be at the ashram for New Year’s Eve. Despite my deep depression, despite a high fever and a general feeling of throwing in the towel, I got on the plane that afternoon. Z had promised to be waiting with open arms, and the image drew me in. Getting a long hug / kiss. Seeing my soul-family. Spending time in the home of the Guru, hearing about the new year, getting sourced again. That felt. . .exactly like what I needed.

By the time the plane landed, however, I had totally hit rock bottom. The man next to me was seething with negative energy, and I let that affect me too. I let it all in. To compound it all, my attachment did not transpire – Z was late, and when he did finally arrive, he didn’t even get out of the car to greet me. Not really a bad infraction on a normal day, but it broke my heart. I needed those arms. Instead of admitting all of this, of looking into his eyes and telling him how much I hurt, and what I needed, I just decided to shut him out. Totally and completely.

The conversation did not go well, obviously. There really wasn’t much of one. Things were said that triggered my pain all the more, and I finally snapped. I told him I wanted to go back to the airport and just go home. And it was true. My flight reflex had kicked in – I had to get out of Dodge. Z, of course, wasn’t having it. I’m not sure he knew how serious I was then, but I decided to keep that secret when I realized how much he would resist.

When we went back to his place, and nothing improved. I saw Healer, and although he tried to soothe me, I wouldn’t let anything land. Not Z’s love / touch. Not the wisdom and support of my friends. I didn’t give a damn My mind had told me I was too toxic, I didn’t deserve to “be in the presence of kings”, and so I planned my escape. I called a cab, changed my flight, and ran home.

It was an effort, hell yes. Planes were delayed and overbooked. Everyone wanted to get to Vegas to celebrate the holiday. I just wanted to go home and cry.

Which I did, eventually. I knew I had left behind Z, Healer, Sage and Sis – plus all the others that would have helped me through the darkness. But I wanted to suffer alone, to wallow, to punish myself. Something I really, really hope I never do again. It represented my fear. My refusal to be vulnerable and authentic. The belief I still carry that I’m not worthy.

I was in bed when the clock struck midnight. Right where I felt I deserved to be.

Later, I found out the Guru has named our year the Year of Acceleration. How fitting, then, that I spent the beginning of mine busting through my self-loathing, purging a mountain of pain and resistance. I got through it quickly – that’s the good news. Just a few days later, I pulled myself out of the negativities, thanks to the wisdom and love of Z. And today – today I’m on top of the world. Absolutely amazing things are transpiring. More shamanic adventures are on the horizon. More beautiful people have revealed themselves to me here in Vegas. It feels like a great momentum is in the air, a great time to heal and be healed.

I’m just glad to be out of the self-imposed nightmarish funk. As Best Friend would say – breakdown, breakthrough.

“I cry out to God seeking only his decision
Gabriel stands and confirms
I’ve created my own prison”
- Creed

Down in a Hole, from www.myspace.com/rippedcloth

I still have so much to say about the healings I received last month, but I’ll get there in due time. It’s pretty crazy to unearth tangible, integral parts of your identity that have been repressed your entire life – makes me wonder what else is lurking inside of me. Other pieces that I just haven’t been introduced to yet. I doubt any will be as big as the recent uncoverings, but then again, I never saw any of this coming. How could I? They don’t call it repression because it’s in any way obvious.

Back to the hole. It started in New Orleans. Mom and I went there to spend Christmas, in an effort to create a different tradition since Daddy has died. It’s no fun opening presents without him there, carrying around the bag of trash for bows, boxes, and paper, peering down at me while I ripped open each treat, saying things like “What’dyaget, Teen?” and making me feel like a princess. With that gone, new adventures were needed. Mom just wanted to go somewhere – anywhere – so I chose Nawlins. She had never been there – this was my third visit. I love the place. It’s enchanting. It’s vibrant, alive, unique, and distracting. All things we desperately needed.

The stay was lovely. Truly. The Arts District hotel had a gorgeous vibe, very quiet but just a stone’s throw from the action of the French Quarter. We toured the various neighborhoods, visited haunted sites, saw the cemeteries, ate like royalty, went to jazz brunches and gospel lunches, and bonded. But I made a major snafu. I neglected to do any of my invocations and protections – things I do religiously at home, now that I am so damn susceptible to any / all energies – but for some reason I felt it wasn’t necessary. I was on vacation, right? But man, that city is crawling with the undead, with all kinds of dark entities – things that like to hitch-hike and suck out a little light. I exposed myself, knowingly. I think in part I did it on purpose. It’s been awhile since I’ve punished myself. Apparently I missed the process.

The only thing “bad” about the trip centered around the emotions I started feeling about my family. I have four siblings, and I don’t talk to any of them. We’re not enemies, really, we just don’t have any common ground. They all have relationships – their children hang out, they spend vacations together – but I’m not included. That’s OK, most of the time. They share religion and politics and world views. I’m the eccentric shaman. I’m the one who “does drugs to talk to God.” Who has chosen to live alone and not have a family, and who’s affiliated with an ashram and a guru. So, you know, it’s hard to feel connected.

And yet, I do. I love them so incredibly much. They all called Mom at different times during the trip, and while they each knew I sat right beside her for all of the conversations, not one wanted to say a a word to me. And if I’m being honest, the feeling was mutual. But it still fucking hurts. That I should have a beautiful big sister, and yet not share a thing about myself with her. That I should have a brother I once thought was my soulmate, but since my father’s death we can barely share an email together. It’s just the way it goes right now, and I’m not sure it’ll ever change.

This, and many more unforeseen emotional embers, sent me into a spiral on the way home. Then came a phone call to my boyfriend in the ashram, and the house of cards wouldn’t just tumble, it would totally disintegrate.

To be continued. . .

“Down in a hole and I don’t know if I can be saved
See my heart I decorate it like a grave
You don’t understand who they
Thought I was supposed to be
Look at me now a man
Who wont let himself be”
- Alice in Chains

Image From mhmoodswing.blogspot.com

Last night, in the midst of my stoic silence in honor of the Guru’s birthday, in an effort to connect with my friend-family as they celebrate, I lay in the bathtub and had a cleansing epiphany. I’m not meant to go to Peru next month.

I write the words and yeah, they sting so badly I’m sitting here in a flood of tears. I thought so strongly that it was time to go back and have a Journey, to partake in five more Huachuma ceremonies and step through more unknown portals, to know more of myself, the spirit world, and the symphony of secrets. It’s true, I’ve been hesitant lately, but I figured that was because the trip is so costly and funds are so low. But I would find a way. I always find a way. And I did. Tomorrow’s payday would cover the cost. I scraped it out, I dug my way through – only to find that no, this is not what the universe has in store. That’s what my heart is telling me, and I can’t ignore her. I can’t, or I’ll create a nightmarish trip. Something I really don’t need to go through. There’s another blessing that I must claim.

I accept. I really, really do. Despite the ways in which I have woven my identity inside the shamanic rituals, I also know that I am not just a shaman during the days I am drinking the plants. Every day now, it seems something of the other side calls to me, something transpires to ignite the other-wordly nature. My favorite moments to be sure. But I am craving more of those experiences, more chances to dive deep and listen to the plants’ wisdom. I trust that they will come. And soon. I trust that this sacrifice will open the doors to even greater blessings. Yet that doesn’t stop the depression wave from knocking me flat.

The what goes up scenario is true for me these last twenty-four. Understandable. I had a huge skyrocket-to-the-top weekend, my biggest yet, so of course the dust must settle. The house felt so empty and alone last night, the energies having been cleaned out by Felix the housekeeper earlier that day. I wish he’d left a thread or two so I could do more than remember. So fast, so fast can we dive from heart to head. Since that’s true, I will do all I can to slip back out of this head-space. This is not where I want to be.

I must write the shaman and tell him – I’m sorry. So devastatingly sorry. I won’t be there I can’t be there I so badly want to be there.

I can’t say I understand this. I can’t say there’s not resistance. I’m confused and sad and angry. I’d like to curl up in bed and cry for a while, gazing out the window at the surreal snowfall. Scream my protests, process the wave of darkness, and patter back out into the waiting life. Not so lucky. The default world is calling, and it isn’t leading me to Peru.