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.

Howard, the Sanctuary owner and Huachuma shaman, with his pet money Rufa

While I was there (and Z came with, thank heavens) I really did have a fantastic time. Mom is a saint. She’s just all sweetness and love, innocence and pain. She’s honest about how much it hurts not to have him anymore, but then again, she’s not. What she shares is just a smidgen of what she experiences. I know this. Because it’s the same for me.

When I came home, I caved. Since then, I felt a rise, but today – I fell back in. Leaving her standing in her garage, waving goodbye and trying not to cry – just thinking about it kills me. She’s all alone, but yet, her life is full of people who love her. But it’s not the same. It’s just not the same.

I am crying my eyes out right now, and my brain wants to attach it all to Daddy. But it’s not that simple. Of course I miss him, more than I even understand, but these tears are for mama. I asked the Universe to please give me some of her pain, and now here it is, swirling and trying to devour me whole. I can be enlightened about it from a distance, knowing it’s a gift, and treasure how beautiful it is to love someone so much. But I can’t help but let it drown me, in this moment — it’s almost taking my breath. I feel this seething energy lingering right at the base of my throat, like there are demons just waiting to erupt.

Duty calls us so loudly, every day, to fill in the responsibilities. To do what we’re supposed to. I don’t want these things anymore. I just want to scream and cry. And maybe move to Vegas, to be closer to mom. I am consumed with this idea. All I know is, something must be done. Whether it’s changing the world or just remembering to breathe. I just can’t feel this forever.

The skull of a once glorious shaman - part of the serpent mesa, Huachuma ceremony 1

I am hurting.
A sort of subdued, mysterious ache that shows signs of concrete derivatives, but then dissolves into an intangible ebb.
I’d like to have an outburst. In the old days, I had these … sometimes daily. I would blame things that sounded good (all the many victim stories), but in almost every case, what I fingerpointed was in no way the culprit.
Or rather, who I fingerpointed. Unless the index was nabbing my chest. I know I’m the all mighty creator, when it comes to perspective. And what doesn’t boil down to perspective?

There was a quote on the wall of the hospital where my dad lived for a week and then passed away. I walked through those doors once with him in December, before the Very Bad Turn. He had a test of sorts, and I was in town celebrating Christmas (early), so I joined him for the brief visit.
I saw the quote then and pointed it out to him. He knew how much I loved the writer who first penned the words, and we shared a sappy moment.
The quote says -
“What lies behind and before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

Circumstances do not make the (wo)man.
So I shall not discuss those right now. I just want to know my *heart*.
v

Ack. She’s faithful and righteous and glowing, but I feel insane amounts of tears. Of course, I’m really busy right now (created on purpose, of course), so I choose not to release.
That’s a mistake. I know this. I need to let go soon. Repressed emotions are the stuff that cancer and breakdowns and all kinds of nasty things are made of.
I guess I’ll work harder at those things that lie within. I have a lot to work with. I just need to let go, and then, grab on for dear life.

Thank you Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Some of the magnificent tapestries in the ceremonial maloka, these are the artistic renderings of the icaros, which are the songs the shaman sings in-ceremony

So you know what I’ve been missing?

Shopping.
Yes, how shallow, but fuck it – I love the feeling of rushing through the front door with oodles of bags, brimming with shoes and hats and gifts for my favs. I haven’t had that rush in almost a year. So I’m dead set on becoming rich and famous so I can spoil the beloveds and spread the Good Word. I am salivating over the irony of becoming wealthy after I’ve learned how little it gets me. I love to live in antithesis. Dichotomies taste like bacon ice cream. I’ve had this. It’s damn awesome.

Learning to live – that’s the focus now. It’s not that I forgot, I just haven’t really known how to. In this lifetime, anyway. I trust I have some mad skills from way way back to fall into and rely upon. That’s the definition of digging deep. And that’s why I’m in a body instead of just a mass of vapors – I’m here to uncover the truths, to transform into unconditional love, and to shop like a madwoman. Sweet.

Part of the Serpent Mesa, a Huachuma ceremonial table that Howard build at his Sanctuary in the jungle

Humans are a hybrid, not only of multi-ethnicities, but of other life-forms too. Some of us are Plaedians. Some of us are from other galaxies. But we all chose this planet, right here right now, because, to put it oh-so-eloquently, shit is going down. In a good way. And we all want to be a part of this ascension, this glorious enlightenment.
The Mayan calendar is my new bible, per say. I know very little about it, except I was, in part, responsible for it – but I only know that 2012 is, in fact, a pivotal year. Not because the world is ending, but because it’s just beginning.
We are rising to our final illumination. The next few years are likely to be catastrophic. More natural disasters and wars and wretched violence. More trending toward materialism and a blatant disregard for our spiritual selves. At least in the mainstream.
But those of us that turn away from this remarkable force, we are the Endless. We are inheriting utopia. We are falling into love.

I have no idea how this transformation will look, I only know it to be so. Many are racing out of the disinegrating America, finding solace in the quietude of less bullish worlds. I understand this. I wanted to leave in the worst way when all of these revelations allowed my eyes to see. But now, well, I know this is home, and I trust these omnipotent, benevolent energies. Those of us with the true intentions to serve the world and her inhabitants will be granted the keys to the kingdom, and I’m trusting this is the case no matter where we dwell. I am here because I chose to be so, and I’m in no mood to run away and shift the tides. That was fleeting.

I also know that I walked with Jesus, and these are the truths I am struggling with. I saw this in my visions, and have heard confirmation – in an inarguable sense. Not exactly something I expected, be sure of that.
I met Jesus in that one uber-powerful Ayahuasca ceremony, if you recall.
Right before Daddy died, he awoke one morning and repeated a phrase over and over and over again, according to his nurses.
Jesus loves (my name here.)
When I came in that morning, they cornered me. Are you (my name here)?
I went to Daddy’s side, and he exploded with smiles.
“Jesus knows you, honey.”
“I know, Daddy. We met a few weeks ago. I never had the chance to tell you.”
He accepted this. He told me he was going to die. I accepted this. I told him it was OK – that whatever he chose was love.

Giving your father permission to die as he validates your strangely noble past life memories isn’t something I can easily write about. But it happened. And I must honor the moments. I must make him proud.

Surrounded by mapacho smoke, at the first intention setting as we start to cook the Ayahuasca

I am alive and that’s the focus. I feel electrified and driven, but still walled up inside, guarded by demons in case the phone rings and death answers again. I haven’t yet let myself miss daddy, but I did get lost in the Hollywood Hills this morning and I found him there waiting. I found this hidden staircase, and 200 steps later I loomed on top of a mountain, gazing at the sun kissed mansions and run down apartments. Daddy met me at the top, smiling. He loved jogging and mornings and this seemed right. I waved and kept walking, and a few minutes later. . .I knew I was lost. But I didn’t care. An hour later, I found home. The kind with walls. Yes, there’s my theme.

I never did finish the Huachuma tale, and it leads into the pre-daddy-died moments, so let’s wrap up this Amazon trip. . .one month late, but I’ve had curve balls.

We had just finished with the Bridge of Eternity, and my beloved Huachuma had sucked me through the portal. As the sun set, so did my fears. I climbed back into the boat for the ride back to our retreat, and I talked with the earth. I apologized. I cried with her. I promised that I would be in service to her, from here on out, and not the other way. And I felt a blinding love and gratitude, internal and external and unified within. This was paradise.

Back at the lodge, the mesa awaited us. 20+ candles illuminated the three tables of offerings, but I was headed for my room. Everyone was. Drop off bags, re-group, take a few breaths. Yet as I traipsed past the central mesa, my bag dropped. My jaw followed. I felt magnetized, drawn like moth-flame, and I floated inside the maloka to be by her side. The candlelight added to the reverence. I could feel the harmonious yet conflicting energies, swirling from all sides and sucking in through my pores. I felt unworthy and yet royal. Voices – soft just-above-whispers – talked to me. They told me I was one of them. They told me I had lived many, many lives before. That I was a Mayan. That I connected with the calendar. That I was a Plaedian. That I knew all of the secrets, and could help others feel the same.

I sat down to absorb this. And Howard stepped up to the center once more.

“Those who wish to go a little deeper in, stay with me. Let’s travel.”

He had never offered this before, but a second cup was at my disposal. After two other hungry souls stepped up, I followed.

“I might have known you’d be back.”
He grinned and me and my eyes teared.

“Where else would I be, Howard?”

I took the cup and sucked down the sacred plant, wondering how far this would take me. Maybe I wouldn’t ever come back. That was the dream.

OK, there’s more, but this is a good place to pause. The final Huachuma stage will grace the next entry. For now, I must away.

The roof of the ceremonial maloka, center of the Sanctuary

I saw him in church, a few days after his passing, poking my ribs and flashing his devilish grin. I felt his heartfelt approval as I wrapped my arms around my mom, helping her to stand when the tears came. He is everywhere, with eyes closed. I can’t bring myself to call this tragic.

And yet, I am aching. I haven’t named her yet, meaning that my way is to throw my chin up and march through losses, awaiting the deluge. I have a slow response time. I’m a damn putzy processor, and I know and accept that somewhere in the near future, I will cave. It has to be. But right now, I am forging.

Work beckons and life hollers and I am absolutely starved to answer her. I found more universal secrets through the process of dad’s death, and I will share these soon. . .right now, there’s no time to think, to feel. There’s just a to-do list, and an insatiable urge to live.

I am full of your offerings. I can’t say thank you enough, but yes – thank you. I am breathing because of them.

Dusk falls across the jungle - bye bye sun

What has moved me to my own immortal awakening involves you. The love, the outpouring, the words of support – everything has meant. . .everything. I am so grateful to have so much love.

I can’t say much more lest I awaken the tsunami inside, but thank you. I fly home in a few hours to a new life, sans an earthly father, but full of new hope and benevolent power.

Rufa the wise sweet monkey, a resident of the sanctuary

Daddy almost died on Saturday. A hardcore shutdown involving almost every organ. His liver was bleeding. His kidneys failed. He had an infection in his blood. We got to see him Sunday night, and it felt like a goodbye. The whole family rallied, but we’ve been waiting for the light.
It came, and it’s blinding.
He’s still in ICU, getting better every hour, and we’re full of hope but certainly not ignorant. He died, see – he had a visit to the other side and he’s been sharing a bit in his loopy way. Guys, it’s *so* amazing. It validates everything I’ve learned in the last year – every magical gift. And it looks like he’s going to live long enough to enjoy his new wisdom. This is unspeakably fabulous.

It’s been a wild ride, and without Z – lord, I’m not sure I’d still be sane.

But it’s all more than OK. I am chin-up and fiery.

I’ll be back on a regular basis next week. Love you all madly.