Last Sunday, a gorgeous burst of light named Wayne Steinart seemingly left the world.  I know this gem back from my early days as a Producer at Disney Online.  He ended up marrying another co-worker, one of my favorite mega-hot  5’10″ blondes, Miss P.  They were the kind of couple I wanted to be in at the time – effortless, mind-blowingly well-matched, and crazy in love.  Right about the time I settled into my marriage to that very dream guy, she loses hers.  It’s been heart-wrenching.  But I’ve used it as a chance to go deeper into what it really means.

What does it mean to die?  I had oodles of time to ponder such things as I zipped off to LA in a puddle jumper plane, connecting through Palm Springs (the only way I could get there on short notice during the holidaze.)  It led me back to that core question – what are *we*, anyway?  Separate, identity filled beings, or big cosmic jokes?  Both, apparently – but one is closer to the Truth.

As I sailed through skiffs of effervescent clouds, looking down on their shadows as they waltzed across mountain tops, I marveled at how real at all seemed.  At how real *I* seemed. And yet when I try to pin down that concept – that obligatory “I” – there is nothing there but a sense, a wish, a wannabe.  When I go into this essence I label as mine, it’s evident “I” don’t own it at all – it’s just the apparent perspective, this first person view.  What’s more real is that oneness.  There is nothing about “my” identity that is any different from anyone else – just an identification with a handful of specific traits.  Yet I can be any / all of the roles that I see playing out before me – it’s just impossible (so it seems) to play them all at once.  And so there’s a choice – whether it’s mine or Divinity’s, I don’t know – to be a certain aspect of the All, in every moment.  But that seems that the big haha-I-got-you is this — the notion of “me” is just an aspect of the All.  I felt the undeniable reality that I am Divinity – every last cell of it.  Everything is possible.  It’s just that I can only see one tiny sliver of What Is.

So as I found myself missing Wayne, aching for his widow, and wishing peace for all of us who don’t really understand this crazy life-game, there also played across my lips a gigantic smile.  Something really magical is always, always at play – when I fall into it, the gray matter is blown to bits with the love divinity has for me.  It IS me.  Many of us play this wild game of self-destruction and apparent self-loathing – yet, it seems, we are really, really on to something — this is the very crux of awakening, it it is allowed.  There is no “me” to hate / destroy.  That’s only an idea.  As I flew to be with my old work family, I kept thinking, “We came from somewhere, perhaps that’s where we return.”  But it feels now as if I was missing something – we are were we have always been.  There is no coming and going – no life and death.  Just the perception of.  Trying on different masks.  Wearing different parts of our whole.  What else could oneness do but pretend to be separate?  It feels like the only way to realize that there is oneness after all.

And so I thanked Wayne, sincerely, for being a piece of the oneness to help me fall further into the truth.  The visitation, therefore, felt wonderful – even in its massive sadness and injustice.  Those can fit into the idea of oneness – because if all is Divine, EVERYthing fits.  There’s nothing to do or undo – just authenticity, however that feels in every moment.  It was extraordinary hugging all those beautiful souls and thinking – “I love you.  Me.  Us.  I love.”

And yes, it seems to be true that beings come and go, but those in the current view, I see clearly that those are only aspects our ourselves that keep popping up and disappearing.  Think about it – the All would have a lot of facets, a lot of roles to play.  Infinite possibilities.  That makes for a chaotic play, you know?  And we, as the apparent separate consciousnesses that fall in love with the idea of ourselves, and those around us – man, we fall to pieces when favorite parts come and go.  But lest we think we are crying for those that have apparently “passed-on.”  We are crying for the idea of ourselves, desperately missing those to whom we have attached.  And, of course, the fear of that great mortal unkown – because we can’t know, until we’re there – and then we’re lucky if “we” are still conscious enough to take it all in.

I sit here now and fully own these beautiful concepts.  I don’t feel like Kitty.  I feel like the eyes/ears/nose/mouth/touch of consciousness, playing out the very specific actions and emotions that it wants to place in the world.  Makes it clear why authenticity is so tethered to the Divine, no matter what it looks like – this is what “it” wants to be.  God, the universe, divinity – whatever you want to call it.  It’s moving through each of us, as apparent separate beings, with a bold and boisterous acorn of intention.  When that’s repressed, in my experience, it feels like poo.  When it’s released, it feels like. . .aw wow, just fucking perfect.  It’s so much better to be authentically sad than inauthentically happy.  And so even though there’s some awareness of this magical drama that’s unfolding, this wannabe “I” willing goes into the grief of loss.  It’s impossible to know if and when I’ll ever see the uniqueness that was Wayne again.  And that hurts, because he just rocked.  So that is true, but so is the illusion of it all.

What a freaking beautiful paradox.  Let’s all love this perfect mystery, and every facet of it – ie everyone in it.

“Is your place in heaven / worth giving up these kisses?” – Tori Amos

Sometimes so much happens, so quickly – light speed, it seems – that I’m constantly writing blogs in my mind, and they never reach the inter-ethers.  So goes the last five weeks.  And while a billion and one things have transpired, blossomed, and grabbed me by the thyroid, none will surpass the memorability of watching a man get shot to death.

The build-up began the week prior.  I had a monumental weekend with the apprenticeship – three days in the wilderness.  Days that seemed innocent and educational, rich with genuine awakenings, connectivity with plants and people – a really worthwhile venture.  I learned an endless amount about plant communication and medicinal benefits, and even got to begin making medicine in the field with my teacher and fellow apprentice-friends.  Nothing Earth-shattering, so it seemed – just new expansions and immeasurably valuable insights.

Then, I came home, and pretty much came unglued.

As is always the case, I can tell how much integrity I’m currently granting myself by the level of harmony I have with Orion.  Literally from word Go, upon my arrival home, we started having massive flare-ups.  Fights-a-plenty that left me feeling *TORE UP* inside.  Maddening.  I started accessing the inside spaces, trying to unravel the how’s and why’s.  And there she was, the scared little girl demanding safety and comfort.  The one who wants promises and guarantees and a right to feel and throw fits and the whole nine yards, and be accepted by her partner too.  Here’s the rub with that – Orion will grant me all the space I need to feel up a storm, but only if I’m being honest about what is on the surface.  This is what I’ve asked for, of course.  As someone who literally lives in shadow work – the unraveling of the subconscious – I wouldn’t have it any other way.  But when the subconscious is tricking the waking mind – when I’m in the state of wanting / needing something that *feels* legitimate, but is actually just a mind-trick trying to regain control of things – I can really lose my shit.  And I did so for the first week of July, almost daily.

I went deep, deep into the perceived fear that wracked my conscious mind, and found the part that was afraid of the world.  Afraid of the loss of control – and the very real awareness that there is NO control, ever.  There never was.  I was tricked for a long while, and while the gig is up, it takes a bit for my entire being to accept the Truth.  She was trying during those days, but every time I went out into the world, I wanted safety.  I wanted peace.  And when I was with Orion, shit, I wanted EVERYTHING from him – promises he won’t ever make (and would piss me off anyway, because I only trust in the present moment, and would know any “I will always love you” declaration was just a meager way to appease me anyway), the right to be all kinds of neurotic, and basically to have it all go MY way.  He reacted in kind, and left me stranded in my laughable state of attempted-control.

In the midst of all this, I had 2 dental surgeries (which I had been avoiding for YEARS, literally) and my soul-cat Mr. Boo also went under the knife.  I poured on the anxieties, not completely realizing I was doing my best on the highest level to get me to admit THERE IS NO CONTROL – and that life sucks when you hand it a script and demand that it be followed.  On the flipside, it’s actually a complete and total nirvana if you just love what is.

Then, that following Saturday, I trekked off to Costco for our monthly shopping spree.  As I stood in line with a cart absolutely spilling over with goodies, employees whisked my direction, quietly requesting that all patrons leave the store immediately.  Some mysterious store emergency.

We left in an organized fashion.  Some went straight to their cars, but I plopped down on a nearby bench, right next to the front door, and started texting Orion this message – “I’m in a weird situation.”  Then, all hell broke loose.

I heard the sound of a very loud male voice say “Drop the gun.”  Then he yelled it.  ”DROP THE GUN!”  My head whipped up to see a red-headed, well built thirty-something guy facing what I know now was a trio of cops, guns drawn.  He looked stunned and dazed, and while I didn’t see a weapon in his hand, I did see him slowly make a motion that appeared he was reaching for a gun on his right hip.  He didn’t get to complete the gesture – one of cops fired the first round, and several more shots exploded into his torso.  He died a few minutes later.  By then, I was already in my car, calling Orion, fleeing the terror of the scene.

It took me a full day to put together what I had seen.  Much more to process what I had wanted to see.  I learned how useless eye witnesses are, as what I *thought* in those first few moments had played out in front of me was no where near the truth.  I didn’t know that cops had pulled the trigger – I didn’t see them behind the pillars.  And I recognize now that I wanted the man who had died to be a thug, a terrible person – someone who deserved what happened, so I could make sense of it, tuck it away, and move on.

The deceased was a West Point grad, a pillar of our community – a really, really good guy.  Shopping at Costco with his girlfriend.  A normal Saturday.  But he had chosen to arm himself with not one, but two concealed weapons that day – legally, mind you, as he carried a permit.  A Costco employee spotted one of those, shared some sort of dialogue with him, and was driven to call the police.  Cops arrive in an effort to create peace and protect.  One of them yells at a man without a gun in his hand, but on his hip to “Drop the gun”.  Another fires when he sees this guy reach for the gun.

It’s a big mess, no matter how you slice it – all kinds of gray.  Poor commands, a hugely excessive use of force, but a drama full of human mistakes that I simply cannot judge.  I may have done exactly the same on all fronts.  But the one thing I don’t do – carry a weapon.  Thank goodness such acts aren’t illegal, because I sure as hell don’t advocate more instructions on what we can and cannot do, but hear this – if you put a gun on your person today, do not be surprised if you are driven to use it, or if one is used against you.  The masses still (understandably) get insanely spooked when spying a concealed weapon on anyone, and shit like this goes down.  Is it insanely tragic and all kinds of heartbreaking?  Yes.  Yet there’s a very real energy sent out by someone who’s carrying a gun – a paranoid dialogue with the world that says “I need to protect myself”.  Be careful what you wish for.

Now, taking this to a higher level, outside of the relative, it makes absolute perfect sense why I needed to witness this scene.  Here I was, battling internally with the concept of safety, and allowing myself to accept there was no such thing.  And wham bam, I get the most tangible reminder imaginable – just short of being the one who was shot.  I was awestruck by the unfolding – the perfect timing.  I let it rattle the holy shit out of me, feeling every nook and cranny of the fear and injustice and pain of it all.  And then I thanked the universe and myself profusely for allowing me to fast track this unlearning.

A few weeks later, on an airplane ride back from the latest apprenticeship weekend, it all came together in a blissful connection.  I connected with the awareness behind the “me” perspective inside, and watched as my eyes went back and forth between the “No smoking” and “Seat belts” signs.  It *seemed* as if that was my control.  Like I would think about moving my eyes, and my eyes would move.  Yet somewhere in there, I connected with the *awareness* that was moving my eyes, letting me perceive it was coming from “me”.  I started feeling this cosmic joke on the deepest level, and it made me absolutely giddy.  Orion was with me, and we dove into the meaning – the complete and total awareness that we have no control – NONE – over any event, any movement, anything.  We need to *believe* that we do for us to unravel the truth, as without the contrast, it cannot be illuminated.  This revelation is still processing inside, but it’s a magical one indeed. Nowadays, I’m playing the role my instincts ask me to, but with the wide-eyed wonder of a kid watching a really awesome TV show.  And while I still have all the human emotions, and surrender into them willingly too, I have an even stronger connection to awareness, acting as the observer, watching every aspect of the drama with detachment, love, acceptance and surrender.

So I watched someone die.  Apparently.  I also watched the drama unfold the way those souls wanted / needed it to – mine included.  I also connected to the universal oneness, the shared consciousness, and the lie that death represents.  Most of this does not make sense to my feeble mind, but the insides are buzzing.  They are aware that the only thing that dies is this concept of self.  Even the body lives on, in a different form (merging with the Earth’s soil, ashes into the atmosphere, etc. – it’s still life.  It’s all life.)  In the midst of any chaos lies a core of total Truth.  I found it in the sound of shots fired.  Which means it really is Everywhere.

Last week, I shared a little story about Sandra Ingerman, our bizarre 2-degrees-away connection, and the resulting openings I’ve had using her Shamanic Meditations CDs.  This week, I have another treat to share that is gifted to us from Ms. Ingerman – an extraordinarily special book that somehow articulates why it is shamanism means to much to me, and bazillions of others.

Awakening to the Spirit World is a sizable text co-authored by Sandra Ingerman and Hank Wesselman (author of another one of my favorites, Medicinemaker).  The words within unfold so many layers of wisdom and intrigue, it’s hard to condense it down, but I’ll gather a few favorites and perhaps entice you to read more.  Firstly, Awakening reminds us why it is shamanism is so precious to so many, and sheds light on how what is literally the oldest spiritual practice known to humankind still not only exists, but is once again flourishing.  Speaking for myself, it is in part this long, illustrious and trusted history that at first anchored me into a shamanic awareness.  When you gift yourself the opportunity to take part in rituals that are almost as old as the human race, there’s a primal awakening the spirit takes on – a deep-rooted awareness of a timeless connection to both humanness and spirituality.  Ingerman and Wesselman ignite this mystique, this glorious intoxication, and then dive into some of the various rituals.  They invite us to create such ceremonies in our every day lives, utilizing our instincts as a guide that say how and when and where.  The invitation to take the ancient into the present has a timeless appeal – merging old and new in one fell swoop, reminding us of the construct that time is, and taking us back into the essence of who we really are.

Nature is also exposed with love and integrity in Awakening, as the authors do a magnificent job of describing the Mother’s role in our spiritual journey.  With words that are both mystifying and tangible, the connection of human to nature to spirit world is artfully defined.  Nature is displayed as a mirror for our paths – a direct reflection of our states of being.  We begin to learn how even the most mundane, stagnant items hold divination to those who know what to look for.  And we’re also shown how to use the elements to receive advice and guidance in our lives.

Ingerman and Wesselman seem to leave no stone uncovered as they discuss the myriad benefits a conscious shamanistic path can offer.  The connection between our creative selves is also unraveled, and how this relates to our spiritual ascension, and once again connects us to the Earth.  The immense significance of dreams is also demystified, with special attention shown to the visions gifted from the subconscious realms.  My favorite part of the book, however, are the chapters on death and dying.  Shamanism uses the duality of our primary reality to help us transcend beyond what is seen, and in no way is that more magically apparent then in the cycle of birth and death.  Awakening offers a shamanic perspective on what death really is, and of course, is not.  They discuss the ancient art of psychopomp – or a shaman’s ability to communicate with the dead, in order to bring back messages to the living.  And the chapter “Experiential Work with Death and Dying” is exactly what it sounds like – a chance to *experience* a bit more of the death process, and start *feeling* the opportunity it holds for us to awaken to what is, rather than believe what our fears are desperately trying to communicate.

I loved Awakening to the Spirit World for its practical, logical *and* mystical teachings.  Our world is crawling with self-help proclamations – every week, there’s a another new age way to wake up and live better.  Yet there’s something so deliciously real about taking on a spiritual practice that is almost as old as people are.  Something that outlasts religion, and stays true to the core of spirituality.  Shamanism offers a foundation for ascension, with rituals and ceremonies that help one feel connected to the whole, and yet it also absolutely insists on finding one’s own path.  Any shaman will tell you – there is no “one” way to awaken.  There is only *your* way. Awakening to the Spirit World gifts the reader with a chance to more clearly define their own path into the great unknown.  The ancient wisdom within is shared not so that you may take Sandra Ingerman and Hank Wesselman’s word, but so you can apply it to your unique path, and actually experience the profound magic of a shamanic awakening.  I highly recommend taking this written word journey, and seeing how it transforms you too.

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.

Looks like there will be no funeral attendance, but a massive gathering of my deceased friend’s old LA people are assembling in his honor next weekend. Yes, I originally viewed this as a gigantic positive – down deep, I still do. But when I saw the massive list of possible attendees, and the location of the service, it just felt like too much to take in.

I was at Disney Online for 8 years. This is where I met Mystic (how I shall name my lost one.) He was my first true friend there – someone I started spending scads of time with on the outside. Anyway, one says this about every office, but for Disney, this couldn’t be more true – these people were my family. This is how I am, afterall – family is less family than friends. I was so raw and lost back then, so freaking impressionable, that the impact each one made on me is indelible.
Good things yes? Of course.
Then the demons came.
So many demons.

It seems there’s a whole lotta emotion, a whole lotta unresolved issues, that i carry deep inside. I really didn’t know until I imagined myself at the gathering. It will take place at the home of a man who has been taking care of my old dog Pele for a decade. There’s the first demon. Pele was an angel Shepard that I rescued. She had burnt ears and would whimper and cringe every time you raised a hand to pet her. She had been horribly abused, and I wanted to save her. To show her that people can be love, not just violent.
I failed. Big time. Pele lived with my ex rocker-boy boyfriend – we had a terribly violent union. Pele got caught in the middle once when she devoured a $1k + rare Tori Amos CD cover – chewing this to pieces was the way she expressed her anxiety. It was covered with my scent, see. When I found out, I lost it – I screamed and wailed, and rocker-boy freaked out and attacked me. Pele cried in the corner and I ran to the bathroom with the usual I Want To Die thoughts.
A few days later, we gave Pele to a coworker. She’s still alive, he tells me. Running daily with her best friend Mushroom. She got a golden ticket, and I still feel like shit for not being the human she needed me to be. That turned out to be a trend.

The list goes on. All the issues losing Mystic has triggered in me. Because, see, say what you will, but I could have – SHOULD have – been a better friend to him. There were many times I would get an SOS text message or phone message, and be blase about answering it. I was afraid of how much he loved me – I didn’t know how to receive love. Still don’t. And his was so genuine and pure, without expectation of anything in return. Yes, I responded. Yes, I loved him madly. But he didn’t know how much. I promise you that. I didn’t take the time to show him. Words are fucking cheap. I may have said all the right things at one time or another, but I was only half-in with my intentions because I was fucking scared. Of feeling. Of allowing myself to be loved without conditions by a truer than true friend. I carried the idea that I didn’t deserve his love. Right now, despite the voice that knows better, it feels like I couldn’t have been more right.

My two main rocks, Pisces and RyRy, can’t make the gathering. I had hoped to lean on them – even hide behind them. I don’t want to talk about myself. I don’t want to talk about Mystic. Maybe I’ll change my mind in a week, but all I feel right now is panic and remorse. Of course I know Mystic doesn’t, and didn’t, carry any of these feelings towards me. I just have them for myself, and I need to do whatever I need to do to just let it go.

I’m am so, so sorry. . .for so many things.

He died on Thursday night. My beautiful, vulnerable, always heart-centered angel-friend. We had an eleven year run, harking all the way back to the earliest of Disney days, sitting front row together at a Tori Amos show, dancing till dawn, shopping in Beverly Hills, and telling our deepest, darkest secrets.

His heart stopped. Likely because he did a lot, a lot of drugs in his horrifically short life.
And it was me, some seven years ago, that gave him his first tab of E. We went to Insomnia and I brought him in to the dance crew family – under the influence, he only became more of himself. So fragile, so genuine, so full of love and cautious fear.

I can’t help but see blood on my hands. Specs and smears, however unintentional, but undeniable. It’s true he would have found his path regardless, but I showed him the door.

When you lose someone so suddenly, the What If’s fly by like dandelion threads. All those times I didn’t say what I wanted to, didn’t treat him as well as he deserved, couldn’t be there like he needed.

But he joined me in my dreams last night, and I got to hug him and apologize. There was no forgiveness to give, he said – just love. So that’s what I’ll feel the most this mo(u)rning. As I reach out to all his old friends and give them the heartbreaking news, I’ll do my best to know his death is beautiful. To hear its lessons. And ohmygod, to remember that smile, that velvety voice, until I leave the world as well.

In my own sacred circle, the same cycle is illuminated. Someone I can say I have loved more recklessly than any other is apparently in that state – and he’s destructive enough to do the deed. The kind that will either end things in a dramatic, self-induced blaze, or will snap like a dried-out twig and ascend back up to absolute greatness. He’s been there before, but under false pretenses.
Then there’s another soul, a Shaman friend, who has sent not-so-cryptic messages hell bent on giving up.

As if we need more proof that even our mere thoughts are cataclysmic to the whole grand scheme. We are so foolish to think that we live in these invisible silos, convinced that it’s perfectly fine to destroy ourselves, because no one else (or very few, anyway) will ever be harmed.

As one of these destructive beauties used to say to me all the time – get your head out of your ass. It’s all completely contagious – darkness, light, and everything in between. The moment you take on your own self-healing, it ignites the fever for countless others. And the moment you decide, fuck it, I’m ready to passively (or not so passively) end my selfish misery, the domino effect hits, full tilt.

There are. No. Walls.

I say all this with with complete love and empathy for those contemplating the ultimate exit. I have been seven minutes away from such efforts – so said the ambulance driver. Someday I’ll be able to put into words what it felt like to lay on a stretcher inside a speeding, screaming little truck, four faces looming above me, shoving down tubes into every conceivable body part, making jokes about their wives and telling me how close I came to success. Or failure. However you slice it.

I didn’t know then that I was spreading my disease. I gotta believe most of us don’t. It just makes survival all the more pivotal. We’re not doing this just for our immediate circle – it really is universal. It really is the only way to say I Love – to take care of yourself. To take on the task of intensely painful, mind-numbingly difficult healing.

I am in the thick of it. I am trying to reject the purest love I’ve ever known, outside of the Divine, because of my insistence on projecting my fears, while keeping up the arduous task of punishing myself for unknown atrocities.
But the mere fact that I am aware of these efforts – it’s a miracle. And it, too, is contagious.
I know that I’ll emerge, that proverbial Phoenix, and take thousands of others with me. I know that I am ascending, even in the wake of this new wave of mad destruction, because others are doing the same. I don’t have words for how grateful that makes me feel.
If enough of us say – I am Love. I choose to Heal.
Than those who refuse to make the choice will soon have no choice. There’s no where to go but up.

Separation doesn’t exist – it never has. In the old days, this would have been a profoundly horrific realiziation – I couldn’t bare the cosmic pressure, so the Universe kept the truth from me. I found out in a shamanic circle, purging layer upon layer of self-hatred, and discovering my light – and thusly, my power. I have no more or less than anyone else, but the fact that I Know now – it shoulders an immense responsibility.

Yes, I concede that I am in darkness this eve. The kind with sparkly stars (I swear I can see Orion looming just above my crown).
I will find a way out because I have no other choice. There will be no tragic three for me – it’s the only thing my spiritual self asked that I give up. I can admit that tonight I miss Her – the chance to indulge in self-destruction (an idealized task I loved so fiercely, I named her Consumption). I would love to once agian pretend that I can abuse myself at will, and no one will know, or be affected. But tomorrow, when the sun blasts into my heart again, I will be joyful for a chance to keep healing – myself, and everyone else. No more delusion.
Who knows, maybe we can make a new cliche.

The adorable decor of our hotel room in Tucume, at the base of Fire Mountain

To assist, I plopped down in the lotus position right at the end of the mountain’s trail. I asked the universe to make me a beacon, and to start guiding the pilgrims to me. It was selfish, I knew it at the time – I missed my other companions. I wanted Z back. I worried.

The Voice came back once again.

- Trust their processes as you have trusted yours.

- Can I still be a beacon?

I could almost feel the Universe smile.

- Of course. That’s your job.

Within a few seconds, I saw V’s blue windbreaker making her way towards me, and I was elated. So was she. She ran to me and we embraced.

- I saw you in a cloud, Kitty. I saw you flying. You were so soft and beautiful. Do you know how beautiful you are?

I cried and clung to her.

- Oh, stop – it doesn’t matter. We are only mirrors.

She looked at me with complete incredulousness.

- I guess I see others beauty, but never my own?

I nodded and buried myself in her eyes.

More of our friends started meandering down – one by one. I greeted them – sometimes with words, sometimes with embraces, and sometimes silently. But oh my God, I was so happy. I kept thanking the Moon; she told me we were good partners. You need only ask for the elements to help, and they’re there. Just ask. I felt utterly awestruck.

Z was one of the last to meander down, and my heart leapt at the sight of him. I knew he was the group’s guardian, making sure the back of the pack was always accounted for. And me, I was the trailblazer, wanting to be a beacon. I found such poetry in our union.

We walked back to our homestead in reverence, every step digging our lessons in deeper. I pondered the things I learned about myself. I had such drive, such willingness to do what I had to. But there was still ego in the efforts, and that’s what I had to shed. The ego was the one that was fearful. She’s still finding her way down.

Back at our humble abode, we all b-lined for the Mesa. The jaguar skull was moving, its teeth-gritting as it broke into wider and wider smiles. The other objects danced for us, and we felt sucked into this infinite vortex with every breath.

There wasn’t a lot of words, only awe. B, one of the males of the crew, fell to the ground in homage, rubbing his hands deep into the soil. Others of us just stared, seeing different tapestries; hearing different truths.

There were hundreds of mosquitos – massive suckers that suddenly jolted me back to this realm. I excused myself and trekked back to my room, getting warmer clothes and stopping at the bano. I saw myself in the mirror, and I paused to take a moment.

- Your flaws are your beauty.

I said this to myself, as if it weren’t myself. And the real magic here – I believed it.

As I returned to the group outside, we all began to assemble at a nearby fire pit. Our attendant had started a magnificent bonfire, and we huddled around for a variety of reasons – warmth, to escape the mosquitos, and to soak in this magnificent energy. It felt like the mountain had – seething, powerful, and loaded with infinite possibilities. We burned Palo Santo, a cleansing incense, and started to come back into ourselves. We took turn tending the fire, as if our roles had previously been outlined, and I felt the unity of our bonds ignited with our mutual individualities. Unity, and singularity. In perfect harmony.

At last, as the night dwindled, we wandered to the charming dining area and readied ourselves for a bookend – a huge, steaming bowl of the yummiest soup we’d ever tasted. Our darling waitress rushed out to give us the food, and we fumbled over chairs and words, laughing and finding our consciousness once more. The soup flew down my belly and created more fire, more gratitude.

Conversations sparked. DR talked about the holy grail – finding one’s heart. Howard talked about our future Mesas, and the cosmic importance of our work. But I sat silent, soaking it all in, sometimes hearing but always listening. My body felt foreign but comforting, and I fixated on my hands periodically, thanking them for their knowledge and creativity. I thanked my legs for carrying me through this and every day. I thank the Universe for this incredible experience.

As my brain started to fire in a more familiar way, it was finally time to go back to the room. Z and I shuffled back, grinning and shaking our heads – unsure of how to speak of this. I felt a bit of panic as I considered how I would write about my journey, but that voice kicked in again, just as I prepared for my pre-sleep shower.

- Trust the process, dear. Don’t forget — you’re a beacon. You’ll not only find a way, you are the way.

We slept like children, and awoke as warriors.

The Shaman’s Market in Chiclayo, Peru

The experience administered in the jungle is called The Serpent Mesa, because the spirit of the rainforest is embodied in a serpent. It represents the underworld; the place where everything begins. A perfect location to start your ascension.

My experience was magical – I mean, unbelievably so. I had dabbled in other mind-altering substances before, but nothing can hold a candle to Huachuma. He’s a medicine, not a drug. I know understand this difference. His power, benevolence, and spiritual connectedness is unmatched. It’s a slow come-on, unlike Ayahuasca, and the trip up is just as electrifying and awe-inspiring as the trip down. I loved my Amazon Huachuma introduction, and yet, I had just begun to know the power of this brew.

Eleven of us boarded a flight from Lima to Chiclayo at the beginning of the Journey, right on the heels of the latest jungle excursion. We hopped a charted bus ride in Chiclayo to a place called Tucume; it’s a somewhat isolated, rundown, and completely beautiful Peruvian town. There’s a haven there called Los Hortones that feels like it’s the center of the world – our little hotel home for the next three days. It sits in the shadow of Fire Mountain, one of Peru’s sacred Huaca sites. You can feel the energy seething down the mountain without even casting her a glance.

Z and I found our room to be oh-so-Spanish charming. We settled in, had a deep and beautiful conversation, then got some sleep … in preparation.

I thought I knew what to expect, yet, I might as well have been a Huachuma virgin.

We assembled beneath a large tree on our little haven’s yard, and Howard put together the mesa. He placed all the sacred objects on the trio of blankets, telling us what kind of power each one carried. Chairs are situated around the mesa in a semi-circle; men on the right side (the life-taking force) and women on the left (the life-giving force.) This work is all about duality, and the convergence of energies. We all have masculine and feminine forces swimming inside, but the external gender simply represents our face to the world. This structure provides the perfect balance for the beginning of our ritual, and helps hold the symbolism throughout.

Since I knew the drill, I grabbed the first seat on the left. I wanted to be first. I wanted my cup, and I hoped it would be full. I had been waiting for this moment for … well, at least a year. Maybe a few lifetimes.

When it’s your turn to approach the mesa and take your drink, Howard makes a hardcore eyelock with you, says something amazing and profound, and pours your cup of medicine; whatever he feels you need. When he hit my gaze first I felt my body shudder. My mind through out a protest -

- What ARE you doing?
To which my heart calmly answered
- Hush up now, you’re not in charge anymore.

Howard stared me down and smiled, saying simply – “Oh yeah, you’re ready.”

I sat before the mesa, balanced on my knees, and noticed that Fire Mountain was our backdrop. We were headed there, I knew as much, but I felt fear about death and my own physical abilities starting to well up. To quiet the shaking, I closed my eyes and sucked in a few deep breaths. Howard shook his tiny rattles behind me, puffing sacred tobacco around my head. I scooped up the brimming cup, and finally drank the brew.

And so it began.

Once everyone followed suit, we went back to our rooms, gathered our day packs, and started trekking to our mountain. As we approached the base, the medicine was drawing me in. I knew in an instant this would be the most intense experience of my life so far.

At the base, a small and modest museum awaited. We looked at the tiny exhibits, dwelling longest at a recreation of the Mesa work. I looked at the small, off-scale Huachumero, administering the medicine to his sick companions. I saw myself in those stone figures. I had come here for healing. My eyes welled up and I wandered outside, anxious to start our climb.

We all meandered to the base of the mountain, and settled in for some deep meditation. By now, the Huachuma was hitting full throttle. I stopped noticing my shaking, my hot/cold/hot temperature shifts, and the voices in my head. Instead, I found a crevice in the center a large rock formation, and I asked for a hug.

I fell into the rocky walls and experienced my first time travel. I saw myself sitting on this very spot, hundreds of years ago, eating shellfish and dancing around a campfire. As I opened my eyes, I spotted a tiny clam shell at my feet. I smiled, wondering where it could have come from – we were miles from the shore.

The rocks felt soft and comforting. We took in the slowly setting sun, the incredibly gorgeous surroundings, and that bloody mountain; all fiery, rigid, and electric.

Finally, we all came to and moved on; slowly, in little pockets, but with a fierce determination.

I kept bolting ahead, and getting off the path. My voice kept telling me I didn’t need anyone to show me the way; I could find it myself, instinctually. I got lost twice in the beginning. So I clearly needed more work.

Z found me once, calling that I had gone the wrong way.

- I’m following the signs to purgatory.

There were actual signs. I think.

- Well, you’re going the wrong way, he told me.

- That’s a judgment. It’s just your perspective.

But I sheepishly followed suit and bolted back ahead when I got the chance.

We found the pre-made path up the mountain and started up. I walked alone, passing a few other climbers, on their way down. I had already been crying, without really understanding the reason, so I tried to keep my face a bit hidden. There were dozens of stairs, and my legs started to shake.

Gotta keep going, I thought. I have a mountain to climb.
It was like a microcosm for me – representative of the mountains I have to climb in the other world, helping to bring back the consciousness of the masses. Helping them to remember to protect this earth with their lives.
I was willing to give mine in order to hear Fire Mountain’s lessons. I knew she’d give it back.

After a spell, I reached a lookout point. It was situated about halfway up the mountain, and it had a grand view of the lush, beautiful valley. But there was way more mountain to climb. I couldn’t stop yet, and it wasn’t getting any smaller. I turned my head to gauge a path and saw radiant N, another of our crew, bolting up the rocks. Well then, that’s my way.

It was a bit treachorous, and my mind had a field day.
- You’re going to have to climb down this at some point.
I ignored her.
- You’ve lost your crowd. You’re in trouble.
Nope, don’t care – still climbing.
- You’re not strong enough to do this.
Poppycock. I’m doing it.
- There are vultures above. That’s a bad sign.
I looked up to confirm. But they looked beautiful to me – all kinds of majesty.

A few steps from the top, I found my perch. I had come across another Journeyer, my beloved L, and we had encouraged each other these last steps, forging ahead when the other lagged and sharing our energies. She pushed on a bit farther, but I was suddenly unbelievably struck by the sun. Oh my god, she just exploded with light and love. I surveyed the amazing view and just … felt.

Z came along eventually and we shared an awesome moment together. We took pictures of each other and sat in harmonious silence.

Then I heard the wind shift. From way down below, a whisper echoed to me -
- It’s time, girl. Blaze a trail down this mountain. Be the feline you know you are.

I told Z I had to go, and started my way down. It was so freaking hard compared to the push upwards. I fell a few times on steep rock inclines, and suddenly, I found myself completely lost. I kept looking at the possible paths, and they would occasionally look small, large, far, near – all kinds of shifts. The sun was disappearing too, but thank goodness for the near-full moon; I would still be up there if it weren’t for her love. I forgot which direction I was supposed to be traveling. I couldn’t see or hear any of my crew

I was fucking lost on Fire Mountain.

But I remember another woman’s tale of this place, in a blog here on MySpace. She had gotten lost and asked for help. Maybe I had that power too.

My heart absolutely seethed, and the next few steps I took sent me into hysterics. No one was helping. I found a little cave, and decided to ask for another rock hug, and maybe a few directions. That’s when The Voice kicked in.

- Think about this. Think about who you are in your heart. You don’t need anyone else to tell you where to go, love. You know. Just follow your instincts and go.

I closed my eyes, turned in a circle, and stopped when I Knew. Then I started heading in that direction, no longer panicked that I couldn’t see much. The rocks weren’t getting smaller, but I had to keep going. I had to trust this.

I kept walking for sometime, and felt another surge of anxiety. I stopped beneath a large rock hanging to regroup once again; to find my faith. As I fought back the fearful internal protests, I looked up to see Howard. He wasn’t facing me; he was watching for my other companions to find their way down. But he was validation.

- Oh my God, I thought. I did it. The rocks are leading the way.

From there, I turned into a mountain lion and flew down the mountain. I barely remember the rest of the descent; I only know it was effortless. When I hit the bottom, I felt Brand New. I looked up to find myself still sitting at the top, a distant shadow. I knew I had left the doubtful parts of me on that mountain – the girl who wanted to stay safe and live in fear. She died. She isn’t in here any more.

I spotted DR, one of my favorites and a repeat visitor here, and he dove in for a big hug.

- That felt so good, I told him through dirty tears.
- You’re changed forever, girl, he said to me.

Well then, mission accomplished.

There’s more to this story, but I’ll share part 2 in the next release …

That’s Rufa - the only monkey who has my heart AND my apple

Where Ayahuasca is internal, feminine, healing, somewhat fragile and based in the jungle (the lower world), Huachuma is external, profoundly powerful, wisdom-filled, masculine and based in the middle world (it grows in higher elevations in the Andes). With Ayahuasca, you sit in a room in intense meditation, guided by the songs and energies of the Shaman. The experience lasts about 6 hours, and there’s no interaction with the outside world. Strike that – no *tangible* interaction. As you’ve read, there’s a whole wide world of experiences.

Huachuma, on the other hand, IS the outside world – but a part of it you haven’t been in for a very long time. Huachuma awakes us to the spiritual portal, and it works in tandem with something called the Mesa. Mesa means table in Spanish, but with this work, it references the table of energetic, powerful objects that provide that portal into the other side. All ceremonies with Huachuma start and end at the mesa. We ritualistically take the medicine at our makeshift table (see my profile pictures for an example) – it consists of things like a jaguar skull, powerful crystals, candles, shells, condor feathers, Peruvian antiquities, and other objects that come from the places we visit, and thereby carry their infinite energies.
The mesa is like a magnet when you’re deep in Huachuma – it teaches you that everything – EVERYthing – is alive. You can see the movement of these objects and hear their lessons. It’s absolutely magical.

Howard, our leader and Huachumero (Huachuma Shaman) takes his journeyers to 4 sacred sites in Peru to administer these experiences. Wherever we are, we set up the Mesa in the early day, take the medicine, then walk around and experience the sacred energies of our location. The places he has found – or rather, found him – are almost indescribable. I promise to do my best, but just know – you really need to go there. Howard has gained intimate access to ancient pyramids and sacred sites not normally accessible to tourists – that’s because we’re not tourists, we’re Journeyers. There’s a massive difference. We got to go places most humans will never set foot in, but more mind-blowing, we got to experience history and evolution instead of just reading about it. Imagine going to the Parthenon in Athens in an altered state that allowed you to be an ancient Greek, to know what it felt like to be there, and to understand all kinds of elemental secrets – that’s what this process does. The places we visit are Huachas – spots where the raw elemental energies (fire, wind, water, earth) all meet in an unspeakably powerful convergence. Standing in these specific spaces is like recharging your soul. Think of a vortex like Sodona here in the states – so amazing and powerful, but diluted by tourism and negative energies. In Peru, these sites are almost untouched – sometimes dormant for hundreds of years.

This trip was a homecoming for me, the adventure of a lifetime, and the key to understanding who we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going. You know, the small stuff.

For all four of our expeditions, there is a set “theme”, and this becomes very apparent once we dive in and begin the path. I’ll give you an overview of what’s to come, and then start posting, day by day, my four experiences.

1) The Death Mesa
When we asked Howard what this would be like, he just said simply “You’re going to die. Enjoy it.”
This takes place at a sacred place called Fire Mountain, so Fire was our main element. And what a way to begin, let me tell ya.

2) The Power Mesa
Who doesn’t need to make peace with power? This one takes place at El Brujo (which translates as The Shaman), an ancient site with 2 Moche pyramids. I’ll talk more about the Moche and what these pyramids were for, but this is where it all *really* changed for me. Wind and Water were our focused elements, as the place is located on a desolate strip of coast in Northern Peru.

3) The Transformation Mesa
This one takes place at the most amazing little city in the world – a valley, 10,000 feet about sea level, nestled in the Andes named after the people that once lived here – the Chavin. The Chavin were the first Andean civilization, and they reigned in *complete peace* for 1,000 years. They are the grandfathers of Shamanism, the greatest Shaman who ever lived, and this mesa transpires at a place called the Temple of the Jaguar. Right there, I think you know this one meant the world to me.

4) The Creation Mesa
For this one, we travelled 14,000 feet to the top of the word at a place called Heaven’s Gate. It was formed by a 9.0 earthquake, and as the most beatufiul place on the planet sprung to live, 70,000 people died in a landslide. This one represented the constant flow of life taking and life giving energies in the world, and it allowed us all to tap into the most benevolent, empowering sense of creative power; to, quite literally, change the world.

Good stuff indeed.

So, I know I recently relayed a mini-death on Ayahuasca, but my friends, I was just getting started.

Thanks for joining me on this leg of the Journey. More soon.