We find ourselves on a Saturday morning. A tempestuous Saturn’s day. A wind seemingly unable to find a rhythm. Shapeless, lightless clouds. I was giving safe harbor to the feeling of un-ease. I had not knowingly allowed or created its entry but somehow had allowed it to drop anchor.
Two weeks prior a different unfolding was taking place, with differing attendants. The little me, feeling neglected decides to come roaring back to life. So a story is created and in that tale I am unlovable and unloved.
The thoughts of being unlovable become the feeling of being unlovable which in turn becomes the reality of being unlovable. Awareness is watching this and seeing the unfolding as the pain body grows so large that it seems I have forgotten who I am. I have forgotten that I am that which spins the planets. I have become identified with this persona of limitation and beliefs. And that is akin to being locked in a cell with a mug of undrinkable water. I asked Great Spirit to remind me who I am and an hour later there was a notice of a Healing ceremony at the Santo Daime gathering in two weeks time. Just on the other side of the mountain.
And as the past always becomes the present. And those two weeks are up and it is time to head off to the ceremony. The weather has unhinged me and leaving involves leaving a household of both ill and slightly wild beings behind. It seemed like an easier option to batten down the hatches and keep the hearth on fire. I told Iona we might not go and she was mortified. This was to be her first ceremony. She would have a tiny dose and then sit and sing with us and when tired would sleep on prepared mattresses amidst the gathering. So she pulls a card and it is the green woman.
So it is decided. One does not have the Green Woman in front of you and decide to not go and meet her in a sacred space. So the shift happens and we find ourselves gathering for the needs of the ceremony and after. Now there is purpose and with that the unease straightens out into joyful anticipation, completely devoid of expectation.
By the time we climb into the ancient old vehicle, the wind has died down and we find ourselves in the midst of the most beautiful day. It also transpires that it was the last journey that my trusted steed led me on. Her heart stopped on the way home. But before then, before we knew her death was imminent we found ourselves, Tao, Iona and myself on the dirt roads, stretching out away from the main roads. Dirt, large black beetles scurrying across the roads - no other traffic. The clouds had thinned out sufficiently to provide a sky movie. A dead owl, two ravens, a blueness of cranes. Vineyards giving way grasslands which in turn surrender to luminous green fields. Putting along through heaven.
Arriving early in the day we choose a tepee and spent a long time swinging. Tao doing the wild, from the top of the tree swings and me on the granny one. Close to the ground and snug. Lying in the long grass, this sacred space. And slowly the tribe starts arriving, fires are lit, chairs set out, altar prepared. There are 22 being present. All with a willingness to recover and to renew. To stand afresh in the world. And each being that my eyes rested upon evoked within me the deepest respect and love. Not in any clichéd way but by the way these attributes can visibly be felt at the heart level.
Being able to read the hymns added a new dimension and Tao suggested that the hymns are the way to the inner spaces. The guides to the depths of one Self. The sacred, hallowed space of the Santo Daime.
The night after the ceremony, Iona and I went through a particularly powerful bonding experience. We left the ceremonial grounds earlier than Pieter and Tao. Flying along the dirt road full of joy and laughter the engine loses power. Again I am on the back roads and again I have not got my phone with me. But it is early on in the day and we entertain ourselves for several hours effortlessly. There is no one else I would rather be stuck with than Iona, The joy of a 10 year old with out any of the usual demands. We have no food and no water. But we don't have so it is not an issue that we even talk about. I am crocheting with the occassional sunlight flashing upon us. Occasionally we get out and throw stones or find treasures or do some stretches.
Pieter and Tao (father and son) who also did the ceremony happened upon a long walk which meant they were several hours behind us. So whilst 3 cars went past on this deserted road, I did not flag them down as I was awaiting Pieter. And then no more cars came past. Not one. By now a slight anxiety arose as to what happened to them. So Iona and I started sending them blessings and surrounding them in light and waited. Next thing it is dark. We are truly alone. A wind has picked up. My precous daughter for the first time in seven hours sobs gently and says she wants to come home. I hold her and stroke her back and sing her lullaby. I reassure her, and we sit surrendered in our stuckness. I tell her that there will be times in life when we need to be brave and that we need to see right now how we are not at any risk right now. Maybe discomfort but not risk. The risk is the stories our minds are telling us. We prepare to bunk down for the night. I am thinking of how the morning I will make my way home to find what had happened to the rest of my family. All I can do is breathe consciously. Breathe in, breathe out. Jupiter breaks through the clouds and in that pulsation of light my heart soars and I feel that moment when faith and trust is restored. My message in the ceremony had been Trust.
Two hours later they come along the road, nearly 10 at night. Despite having gone on a long walk they had had a blow out. By the time they had had the blowout, Iona and I had been sending them love and protection for several hours. Post ceremonial experiencing, with its profound reach. The ongoing deprogramming, undoing, recovering, healing.
This morning, back home, awakening in my tent to find a praying mantis on the outer layers of fabric. Its silhouette a pose of grace as it cleans itself in the prayer position. And upon opening the rain flap, an enormous rain spider carrying her blessings meets me eye to eye, a breath apart.
There is always an unbounded energy following a ceremony. There is always the most profound gratitude for all the blessings. There is always a continuation of the insights. And this always is ever fresh, ever new.
The clock strikes 12. It is the first of May. The autumn sun shines gently upon my face and my feet. The sparrows are feasting on the treasures of the newly moistened earth.
The trees are shedding their garments, the pecans plopping down to the ground.
Guinea pigs eeking, chickens chickening,
And in the midst of this ordinary life is the most potent excitement.
A profound gratitude for being in a body at this moment in time.
Even the most dismal atrocity of the elite is met with a smile.
This is the time of awakening.
From untruth to truth
From asleep to awake
Praises to this most sacred medicine.