Sunday, October 30, 2005
Thursday, September 8, 2005
Let me tell you about my latest wildlife encounter. Since I’ve moved to Snyder I’ve encountered antelope, jack rabbits, deer, and hawks, but this latest encounter was maybe the best one in my life. There is a state wildlife area near Snyder just on the other side of the river and last Tuesday I finally got around to stopping there and taking a walk down to the river. I had to walk back through the tall grass maybe a quarter of a mile to the river. I came out on the riverbank, which stands maybe ten or fifteen feet above the water, and looked out across the water. When I turned my head to look down the river there, sitting on a log no more than thirty feet away from me, was a beautiful great horned owl. It was huge and was looking at me with its great round yellow eyes. To watch it blink was indescribable.There was such an impression of consciousness, of meeting up with a great old soul.
We shared the space for several minutes, both of us totally relaxed and accepting of one another’s presence. The owl would turn his head away from me for awhile to scan the waters, and I would turn away to take in the scenery. I loved the nonchalant way he would turn his head away from me, slowly closing his eyes as he did, in the same aloof way a cat might. After a few minutes, and a final look at me, he shifted his body to face the river, lifting and repositioning his incredible huge talons. And then he took off over the river, silently and gracefully flapping his enormous wings. I watched him disappear into the woods on the other side, then briefly caught a magical glimpse of him flying parallel to the river back in amongst the trees.
My words will probably not do justice to the awesomeness of the experience. Part of what made it so amazing was the way I instantly felt accepted, as if the owl recognized I belonged there just as much as he did--the way we stood side by side, albeit thirty feet apart, like we were equals. I almost might say it felt a little like we recognized each other, like maybe we’ve met some time before. I did what I always do when I have a meaningful encounter with another being—I sent it the silent message “Remember who you are, remember your true identity.” (Although part of me feels he could already be fully enlightened or at least very, very close to it.) What a powerful old soul was he (or she)! I feel very blessed and lucky to have met up with this owl. It felt like it was meant to happen. I don’t know exactly what the odds are of meeting up with one of these nocturnal creatures at 1:00 in the afternoon but I’d bet it’s fairly rare (although I was probably interrupting his nap).
Later I looked up on the Internet what the owl is supposed to symbolically represent. In some traditions, particularly in the Apache tradition, the owl represents death, and seeing one is to be feared because it portends the death of someone you know. Most other traditions, including most other Native American ones, had more positive interpretations and they tended to be similar. Owls represent clairvoyance and clairaudience and the ability to see people clearly through all of their facades, to see them as they truly are. Owls can also represent new beginnings. On one website it listed what they called birth totems, kind of similar to your sun sign in astrology. It turns out that my birth totem is the owl. How interesting than I am at times clairvoyant and clairaudient and that, for the past few years at least, I've been aware that I read people energetically with great accuracy. Even if my encounter has no symbolic meaning whatsoever I will treasure my memory of it forever.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Well this is such an intense period in my life. Strange things are happening internally--it feels like someone decided to totally rearrange the furniture inside of me. Things that have gone stale and lifeless are being turned on end, the rugs are being shaken out, the windows unboarded. It feels magnificent! I feel like this new life here is going to allow whole new aspects of my being to manifest. This is truly one of those rare opportunities to recreate myself.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
I’m still overwhelmed at this transition I’m making. It’s been such a profound experience. I think some very deep place inside of me must have believed this kind of life had been lost forever because, and I haven’t been able to find the language to frame this very well yet, but it feels utterly miraculous. It feels like I’ve been picked up and set back down somewhere in the past—like I get to hit a rewind button and go back to the best part and start over from there. I wish I could find better words or metaphors to describe this. It’s on the level of having a loved one come back from the grave—an unbelievable, blissful miracle. It kind of feels like I’ve gotten to jump back into a past life. In a way, I kind of have. I think the old soul inside of me that has lived countless lives has been deeply grieving these past eight years, as our millions of years of history and connection with the land was seemingly lost and destroyed. And there’s truth to that--it is being largely lost. Stuck in suburbia for those eight years it seemed wholly true--my soul registered it as Truth--and grieved terribly because of it. It’s only a partial truth though, and maybe it’s destined to be our future, who knows, but thankfully it’s not the whole truth yet. What powerful grief though! My soul believing this timeless way of life was gone forever--and can you begin to get a sense of my elation at having been given back this most precious thing I thought I had lost? It’s one of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had, though words still fail me. I’m filled with unbelievable gratitude.
The past few months have been quite a journey. Look what I have manifested! It continues to amaze me how we can get exactly what we want when we ask for it and our intentions are clear. In my search for a house I was looking at classified ads from all over--up in the mountains, north of Fort Collins, even into southern Wyoming--but for some reason I felt pulled out here. It’s that little tug in my chest that I recognize as guidance--and I’ve learned to listen! I don’t know why this is where I meant to be but I know without a doubt it is where meant to be. Who knows what lies in store for me here?
Even this little house is such a blessing. It reminds me of all of the cabins and cottages we vacationed in when I was a kid, and those are awesome associations to have. Those vacations when I was growing up are some of my most blissful memories, out of a childhood that was truly enormously filled with bliss. So living here, just being in this space, I feel nurtured and held like I was as a child. It kind of feels like I’ve come home.
I was just leafing through a book I have called The New Natural House Book. There was a section called “The Spiritual House” and the first paragraph struck a chord with me. It said:
“Apart from the obvious need to live in homes that are healthy for the body, there is the much older and deeper desire to dwell it in a place that is healthy for the mind and spirit. The spiritual aspects are the most important for indigenous peoples. There are many accounts of how they fall ill or even die if forced to leave their ancestral homes. The modern breakup of the community and its dispersal into disconnected ‘domestic islands’ and anonymous housing produces similar alienation, stress, family breakdown, and illness and again can even be fatal. Our links with the earth, the spiritual community, and natural places are being lost and forgotten throughout the world today. In the increasingly rootless Western society, these links must be recreated if we are to be truly well.”
In the past months I’ve said numerous times, when talking about my need to get out of suburbia, that it feels like it is literally killing me. As I’ve said that I know it must sound absurd--how could it literally kill me? But it feels that powerful. I completely understand what indigenous people mean when they talk about being one with the land. It’s not a metaphor. It gets back to what I’ve learned about energy since moving to Colorado. The land vibrates energetically and we vibrate energetically. I believe that my birthplace, the place where I spent the first seventeen and a half years of my life, resonates or vibrates at the same frequency that I do. Or actually, it should be the other way around. My energy field attuned to the energy of the land and met its vibration and therefore I feel happiest and best when I’m in similar vibrational fields.
As I’ve said before, I think there are multiple layers of energy on this planet. The land emanates deeply and powerfully, the energy of indigenous people who lived here before us is held and still emanates, the plants and trees emanate energy, as do the animals and the masses of humanity emanate energy and imprint upon the environment.
When there’s been massive development and the land, plants, animals, and indigenous people have been disrespected, the vibration of the place is lowered or subdued or harder to discern and resonate with. Also, population density muddles things too, since you’re dealing with thousands or millions of unenlightened souls mucking along in vibrationally low energy states. It’s hard to penetrate that layer of muck. No wonder suburbia feels so awful.
Anyway, I’m getting off the subject. What I wanted to say is that the saying “to be one with the land” has a very deep meaning. Where do I start and where do I leave off? The exterior walls of my body, my skin, that’s not all of me. I extend out and vibrationally and energetically am, truly, one with the land. We’re not separate, at least not when our vibrations match, as they did for my first seventeen and a half years. No wonder I feel like suburbia could literally kill me—I’ve been cut off from part of myself that’s out there in Soap Hollow. That part of me was as good as dead in the suburbs. I can only be most fully who I’m meant to be in this lifetime when I’m in touch with the same vibrational frequency that I was immersed in as a child. Now I probably can’t recreate that exactly as long as I’m in Colorado, but I can tell already that the vibration here in Snyder, Colorado is a lot closer to what I felt as a child than anything I’ve experienced in a long, long time. I feel certain life will be easier here for me because vibrationally I’m being supported and I’m able to be more fully who I meant to be. Good things are going to happen here.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
The overwhelming process of moving and getting settled in continues. The house I’ve rented is tiny, really just a small cottage, so I’ve had to do some incredible downsizing. I’m still in the process of sifting through all of my stuff and trying to decide what to do with it all. Some of it is in storage in Fort Morgan, some of it is crammed into the tiny storm cellar under the house, some will be donated, recycled or sold. It’s amazing how much stuff I’ve accumulated over the years—shocking, really. How much stuff does anyone really need?
Living in this house will be a really good thing for me. I love simplicity—now I’ll really have to practice simplicity. I’ll pare things down to the bare essentials, only keeping what’s most necessary or what gives me the greatest pleasure. Plus, I’ll spend less money because before I make any purchases I’ll have to ask, “Do I really need this?”, and “Where will I put it?” That should weed out a lot of unnecessary spending.
How do I rid myself of the notion that money corrupts. How do I give myself permission to have things? What does money symbolize for me? I guess not having any is another way I box myself in and limit possibilities. Is the world really that scary when you have total freedom? How many boxes can a girl create? Why do I want so many boundaries around myself?
Not having any money seems maybe to be a childish way of not accepting full responsibility for my life. It’s a way I don’t fully accept this life I was given to live. I can’t reach my full potential boxed in like this. I need elbow room.
The thing is (I always seem to get back to this when I really look at who I really am, truly) is that if I were to break out of this box I would be a damn powerful being. I know what incredible power lurks inside me--and I mean incredible power. Unleash that on the world and look out!
Why am I so afraid of my own power? Why do I fight so hard to control and contain it? Is it that I would be noticed, and if so, why don’t I want to be noticed? Why am I here on earth if not to show up and be seen? Good grief, how did I get from finances to the being-seen issue? Alright, I need to be seen. I can’t hide from life.
Where does this habit of hiding originate from? What could possibly be the danger of showing up? If I look at all the little remnants of past life memories I can dredge up it seems I spent many very solitary lives, and in the few where I did show up I was punished for it. So maybe I haven’t really had much practice. I’ve been an introvert for too many lifetimes and haven’t developed the extraverted side of myself. Maybe this is the lifetime where that needs to happen. There’s no more work to do in developing introspectively. That part of me is whole and healthy and has reached its full potential. Until I focus on developing extraversion I will remain stuck and stagnant. It feels really hard because it is. This is an aspect of myself that is way underdeveloped. It’s going to require a lot of hard work and persistence. There’s an incredible inertia built up over many lifetimes that has to be overcome. I got comfortable just doing what I was good at over and over and never tried to stretch my wings.
OK practically speaking, what can I do? I need to be on the phone every day talking to people. I need to cultivate new friendships and do it in an active way--not wait for people to show up. I need to pursue every business contact I have.
Alright, I’m feeling bogged down and stressed already. That last one--pursue every business contact--got me. It feels too broad, like I’ll end up wasting too much energy going in too many directions instead of the few that might actually get me somewhere. This is where I always get stuck. I run around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying all sorts of things to generate business even if they don’t really resonate with me and feel right. I need to figure out what resonates and pursue only those leads. Like Lynn Grabhorn says, I have to be able to get my energy up and feel the goodness of these possibilities or all my actions will be empty and fruitless.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Life looks different already—dramatically different. I found a place an hour and a half east of Longmont and I’m mostly moved, but still have a little more to bring out here before I’m truly settled in. I’m in a little town, although it barely qualifies. The streets are unpaved, the houses old and ramshackle. There are horses and geese and tons of stray cats in the middle of town. The population is somewhere in the 400s and I think that includes some surrounding farms. It’s such a small town I feel Collin can have the run of the place and I’ll have no need to worry. In Longmont I’d only ever let him go down to the stop sign at the corner of our block. It feels so good to be able to give this to Collin—kids are meant to be able to ramble and wander aimlessly. This seems to be the perfect place for that.
Every commute I’ve made so far, back and forth from here to Longmont, has had me choked with emotion. I’m overwhelmed with how beautiful the land is. It feels like I’m only beginning to get a taste for the true nature of this state. For eight years I lived in suburbia—it could have been anywhere, in any state, a truly generic experience. Now I can finally experience what Colorado’s really about. I’m surprised how the landscape is triggering a flood of memories and emotion from my earliest childhood. I remember how on those weekend trips to Prince Gallitzen State Park I would stare out the car window and deeply soak in the land, the farms, the old red barns with the Marlboro ads on their roofs, the old silos falling in, the cows,…. Even by late childhood that landscape was dying—so many farms sold off, the barns collapsed, new homes put in, but rural Colorado here and now so deeply reminds me of the land in my earliest, dearest memories. How my heart aches! How deep is that longing in my chest—and yet, here it is again. How healing this could be for me. This is exactly what I most need. It feels so good.