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        Living full Out - Awakening 
           Healing the spirit within

April 28th, 2016

4/28/2016

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Laguna Eco Lodge gazes out across a 1000 foot deep calderas into a portal created between mist covered Volcanoes. Planning my Guatemalan sojourn several months in advance of my travels to the land, I was reminded, as I searched through a myriad of internet photos, of another gateway I had travelled through years earlier. Kata Juta. This Central Australian mountain range had boasted a gateway which, at the time had epitomized for me on all levels of body, mind and spirit, a transitioning, a birthing into a new life. I recall before collapsing into a field of purple flowers at the base of these ranges how much that passage had reminded me of a birth canal. As I lay there catching my breath, watching a white eagle soar and circle, blessing us with its creativity, focus and vision, I felt both the exhaustion of a labor and delivery process and the exhilaration of the accomplishment. It had been a difficult climb of pushing through rocky cliffs and swatting away sticky flies. Not unlike my life leading up to my trip to the Outback.
 
Interestingly enough, as I lay in that Color Purple reflecting on the metaphor and symbology of Mother Nature, I noticed a young woman, clearly immersed in her own sacred time, meandering through the avenue of cliffs and birds in the opposite direction to the course I had chosen. As I dialogued with this 30 something woman I discovered that she witnessed her self journey, not from a birth canal but into the nurturing bosom of a Great Mother. She saw breasts. For her, Kata Juta was a return to the breast grounded in stone and the nurturance of earth. I remember smiling. Two different perspectives and yet both transforming on a life's journey.  Nature is like that. It takes us as we are and asks us to embrace the sign and the message locked within.
So with a time before sacred Earth image percolating in my heart and mind, I speculated on that which I might find in the belly of a volcanic Atitlan temperament. Would I see breasts to nurture me, a canal to pass through or a belly to create from? Would I be as altered as I was when I walked Kata Juta and stood on the most ancient forms of energy, the stone people? Would I sense the sacrifice it would take to embrace yet again another wave of living and learning in an about to be life altered red road? Would I act upon the energy and knowledge I received, if I was indeed blessed with such an encounter, or would I suffocate the enlightenment in past sorrow, lost opportunities or what if's and if only's? These and many more questions I pondered as I flipped through the photos on the Internet of an eco resort named Laguna lodge.
 
The only thing I knew for certain as I left my home in the darkness of pre dawn light was that I was ready for adventure. I was ready for Mystery. I was ready for LIGHT. When the United airline took off from RDU at 6:00 AM and rosy fingered dawn was slowly creeping over the horizon, the stress, sorrow and fatigue that had lodged its way into my gut and my mind's eye, was at that moment beginning to seep away from me. I had no preconceived notions of what my Destination Transformation adventure might entail but I was fairly certain that it would not take my entrails with it, which is sometimes what one can feel as a hospice nurse.
 
After a near delay in Houston from 2 foot flooding the evening before that had shut the city down and the airport full of leftovers, we landed in Guatemala city! I had chatted up a flight attendant as I boarded the plane asking him if they served champagne on the flight. "Yes," he replied cheerfully, " but only in first class." Bummer! Methinks!  So while I consider myself first class material I might not to be considered thus by the attendants, sitting as I was so close to the toilets! However, FATE intervened! The attendant must have noticed my downcast and disappointed gaze for he immediately reassured me that he would bring me some of the bubbly elixir from the front once we air lifted. Sure enough he arrived at my seat about 30,000 feet above sea level and had the desired fruit of the vine in a plastic glass!
 
Good thing he managed this feat when he did because shortly thereafter the weather took a page or should I say line, out of the movie, All About Eve: "Look out you're in for a bumpy ride!" Turned out "bumpy ride" became the motif for the rest of the  flight and no liquor or beverages anywhere on the plane were served for we dipped and dived, twisted and turned. The "unexpected" champagne it seemed to me as I look back now set the tone for the rest of my story!!
 
 At the Guatemalan airport we wound our way past foreign tongues and strange signs pointing to an exit and the airport pickup zone. We spotted our driver, Pedro almost immediately and a van marked, "Tourismo" bound for Laguna Lodge. Once aboard, we chugged our way through traffic reminiscent of Tokyo or Toronto gridlocks. Smothered with Beijing type smog choking our lungs we finally arrived at the Dock of the Bay and crisp clean air and dark blue Atitlan lake water! As the hotel boat pulled into our pick up port, the sky darkened and we were more than a little sprinkled with fresh and stinging rain. Thunder roared and lightening hit the shore line. In fact one could even say, "It was a dark and stormy night...."
 
We climbed onto the boat followed by our luggage slung over by boatswains. The water spray, fresh and sharp against my skin, my glasses covered in wet dots and my hair bedraggled I felt invigorated! I hung over the side of the boat so I could be dowsed in the watery spirits from the lake mist and Sky Father!
 
Our Mayan guide later informed us that according to Mayan tradition and sacred thought the winds and water come every evening to wash away and cleanse the people of the burdens of their day and that every evening this Natural Gift came to purify. It was working! I was feeling purified of difficult patient overloads and long stress filled hours in a 'not soon enough' dying system that sucks the life out of its workers. (Ummm, I wonder how I really felt!)
 
All of us welcomed the supporting arms of our resort staff who stood on the dock to lift us onto its timbers. "Shiver me timbers". I now know where that expression came from!
 
As we were shown our rooms, and the 5 course all organic, non-GMO, vegan menu for the evening, we somehow all knew that we had come home. The resort was ultimately a fortress for our spirits, holy ground for weary feet and clean food for our bodies. Sighs snuck out from our lips un-coaxed and peace surrounded our physical and energetic forms. Like Sam in The Return of the Ring we knew we were with the faeries and were safe. The dinner was beyond expectation and the hot tub soothing and exhilarating. I only managed to break one candle holder during the entire experience of floating in steamy water watching muscle by muscle un-wind and relax.  
 
Falling into the 1000 thread count cotton sheets that first night and pulling the yummy comforter over me I felt sandwiched in a cloud of fluffy white. Plans of the next day ringing in my ears I drifted into ever- ever land to dream of an all inclusive breakfast with juice made from oranges picked the day before, of mangoes and bananas, of hummingbirds humming and vultures doing what they do best. I dreamt of hiking and swimming and holistic massages with nary a chemical on site!
 
Wednesday: Nature Reserve, Pool and Bookings
When I awakened early the following morning, I awoke to mist hovering over Lake Atitlan, the pink sun attempting to peak through the volcanic edges of a mystical land and colorfully dressed fisherman rowing to their place of employment, namely the lake. I stretched my way off the mattress and was thankful for the Great Mystery that had brought us to this land. Dressing quickly so we could get to our included breakfast, my roomie and I walked over stone paths and along a corridor into a dining room where the windows were open to the day just as our hearts were.  
 
Breakfast boasted fresh local fruit, Omelet's or French toast, yogurt, freshly baked whole wheat toast, real butter, French pressed Guatemalan coffee and service with a smile. The perfect way to begin a noble adventure before us. So, filled with locally grown eggs and foods, we set out to climb the Nature Reserve. To say the least, it was an up hill battle! Beautiful and spectacular, while good words in themselves, do little to describe the vista's of harbors and distant villages, of the 3 volcanoes, and a calm lake, of the colors -soft blues and vibrant greens and browns, of the sounds of the winged ones, vultures championing their young and squawking their protests. Butterflies flitting. There was a hum in the air! It might have been our hearts singing!
 
The walk took around 2 1/2 hours and ended with an adventure of another sort. Two of my friends falling into the arms of Guatemalan rescuers! But that is their story! The discomfort of sore limbs lubricated by margarita's and a swim in the pool was soon forgotten and the thought of another 5 course meal permeated those energetic bodies and healed those muscles and bruised thighs. We booked the next day to travel to Santiago and the Lord Maximon.
 
San Juan- Maximon-Truck ride: Thursday
 
We began our Thursday with our guide, Humberto. As he led us through the streets of Santiago and taught us local history and Guatemalan ways I was glad that we had hired him. He was so knowledgeable and spirited. The vegetable and fruit markets were for me a highlight of this day. Well actually everything was a highlight! Women gathered at the market place within a cacophony of noisy exchanges to sell their garden produce or lake catch. Shrimps, Tilapia, peppers, cocoa, coffee, oranges and bananas! Bleached meat hanging in butcher shop windows was perhaps a little less appetizing. The association of marketers was a place lively with children, mothers and tourists all laughing and talking simultaneously. It could appear to be pandemonium but somehow the clamor was like a rock concert. Vibrant paintings hung in stalls outside the market environ and everywhere teemed with color and sound!
We visited the oldest church in the town and heard about the Guatemalan military revolution and the killing of a local hero, the village priest Father Stanley in 1981. Leaving the churchyard and the church we were swarmed by local sales people with wares that now hang on my curtains in the kitchen. What kitchen can NOT be decorated with glowing red and blue glass hummingbirds! Rhetorical! No need to answer.
We, in time and after time and before time, finished our walk about the town and were ready to meet the famous reprobate Lord Maximon. To fully appreciate the uniqueness of this deity, here is a succinct report from the internet:
Depending on who you ask, Maximón is Satan, a Catholic saint, or a relic of the pre-colonial Mayan religion. Everyone can agree on what he looks like, at least: He’s a dapper, mustachioed gentleman in a black suit and sombrero. You'll never mistake him because he's always smoking a cigarette or large cigar, and his houses of worship are filled with burning candles, bottles of rum or Quetzalteca grain alcohol, and other offerings from his supplicants.... The deity’s statue is looked after by a group of men who take turns housing it; every year a different private house is converted into a sanctuary for Maximón.
Since Maximón is both a remnant of an old faith and a figure venerated by many Catholics, his altars are crowded with all kinds of conflicting imagery—icons of the Virgin Mary, but also taxidermied animals hanging from the low ceiling. The priests who speak to him in the Tz'utujil Maya dialect remain constantly drunk off of Quetzalteca (a necessary part of the process), and the air is choked with cigar and cigarette smoke.
To get to the home of Maximon we needed to travel in the open back of a truck. The ride was exhilarating. The wind spirits blew through our hair and the dust of Mother Earth filled our nostrils.  We were shaken out of our druthers and thrown into the extraordinary in the ordinary. What fun. Lodged in the back streets and a courtyard, the reformed debaucherous Maximon was surrounded by flashing lights and a crypt where lay a rendition of Jesus the Christ; bottles of liquor, and ties around the neck of Maximon left by pilgrims before us adorned the altar of this lord. Chickens roamed the courtyard and children ran up and down the lane narrowly escaping the red roosters scurrying in front of the sacred monument. Yearly a family selects someone to care for the spirit of Maximon, a prayerful overseer if you will who holds the spirit of the community in his prayers. Daily he is joined by other family members who guard and protect that which needs to be guarded and protected. Maximon travels around the community, not found in one particular location. To describe him as an enigma is to not put too fine a point on his character.
Compare Maximon to the martyred local Catholic priest, and one is left pondering the exquisite mystery and dichotomy of tradition, folklore, religion, and spirituality.
After our walk through the village, observing the local culture, pulsating interchanges, and visiting the local Lord, we ate at a restaurant that was safe and had good beer. Belly full and hearts exhausted, we took the boat back from Santiago to our home.
 
The only way to get anywhere on Lake Atitlan is by boat. There are paths but no roads. Every evening then the waters become choppy and bless folks with the washing away of burdens. Thunder claps intermittently and the gods of the mountains speak bringing with thunder's loud cries the prospects of fertility and energy, of change and the possibility of rain. The skies turn 50 shades of grey and the water darkens. It is like being in a black and white photo. Light hurled off the waves and glanced off the metal on our boat. Totally magnetic and mesmerizing.
 
Even though we were headed back to the lodge, my day was far from complete. I had booked a massage appointment for the late PM. Booked of course before our regularly scheduled margarita! I was not disappointed in either the massage or the margarita. The massage room itself was set in stone. The floors and the walls exuded old energy from the mountains and the ancestors. With the sounds of Thor (I do not know the Mayan name for Thunder) in the distance and the rain pummeling the tin roof the lucky recipient lying on the massage table, namely "moi," felt anointed by the hands of sacred and natural energy, blessed by the gods so to speak. The therapist herself presented her body as a vehicle for healing energy and pulsed in a rhythmic manner my muscles and nerves to the point of relaxation and love. Along with the natural scents and energies of local and essential oils applied to your body by an expert, you understood your self to have been touched by the medicine of the ALL THAT IS . I shuffled to my room weak with joy and cellular excitement. It was all I could do to get to the hotel bar to join my comrades for the nightly imbibing of local 'spiritual' elixirs . But some things one must push through!
 
Dinner that night was a delight -Mediterranean salad and key lime pie -as we sat at our table surrounded by neighbors from foreign lands and neighboring states- and basked in the cool evening breezes caressing our bodies. I loved that dining area. Open windows that let in rather than keep out nature.
 
 It is interesting to note that many lodge guests haled from Guatemala itself. If the locals come here I mused it must be a good place to relax and lay down past concerns and challenges in order to live in moments of sensual pleasures.
 
We went to bed that night after an evening full moon ritual on our deck designed to prepare our inner spaces for the pending sacred ceremony the next morning. We had booked a fire ceremony with a local Mayan Shaman in San Juan but first wanted to honor and show respect for the Keeper of our Creator's Dreams, namely Grandmother Moon . We slept in the mystery of just being open to blessings, healings and whatever might show up for us at the ceremony.
 
The boat with our boatswain arrived at 9 AM Friday AM and off we went to explore and experience this sacred ceremony. What was delicious to discover before the boat even left the dock however was that our group of 4 had all the elemental spirits represented within it - air, water, earth and fire.
 
As we stood on the dock and prepared to leap onto the rocking boat our guide, Humberto, to whom we had given our birthdates the night prior, read to us from the Mayan calendar, the positive qualities of each of our signs. To make a long story bearable, as my friend Kate would say, he concluded his universal personality expose with the negative qualities that occasionally might run amuck within us. It turns out we all had basically similar characteristics in the negative realm; hovering over us was either anger, resentfulness, long memory or vengefulness. It would appear that we were indeed lucky to be together on this trip. All bitches! What a relief! As Lisa stated, " You'd better watch your back around this crowd!" We all laughed and appreciated that we were now a perfect community!
 
The water was calm as we boated away from the dock. It was a 30 minute ride with the sun on our backs and the water on our lenses. As we approached San Juan there to my right was a blue heron in one of the denuded lake trees. Shades of the winged ones! There was a family member of my totem bird, the Sandhill crane. The boat man got us in as close as he could so we could photograph this magnificent creature. The winged critter showed his best profile and then his expansive wings. I felt anointed by this appearance and wondered about it showing up before we climbed the hill for a mountain top experience. So why a heron? And why now?
 
This bird, at home in the elements of water, air and earth, could just be giving me some finely tuned instructions on life I considered. I do indeed have one foot on the land and one in the water. I understand the heron to mean I can be in more than one space at a time. I think that it was also teaching me to live in the present and to embrace patience.
The heron is a solitary creature and solitude can be healthy but when it is time to build a home for this long necked bird the work is performed as teamwork. What does this tell me: that while I may be fiercely independent some areas of life do require a partnership, a community. Life is all about balance.
 
Later in the morning as we prepared to walk up the mountain for the sacred ceremony the lesson of teamwork, the lesson from heron would exert its teaching energy calling us to remember that sometimes we do "need a little help from our friends."
 
The elder member of our tribe was attempting a difficult stretch of the rocky path when she missed a step. She considered it impossible to get to the ceremonial space, way too difficult. With the assistance of her stick, our guide Humberto and the shaman however she was prayed her way to the top. She pushed through -albeit slowly - to participate in the ancient Mayan fire ceremony. While there are times of safety and times to turn back, this was not to be one of them. She succeeded in her quest to be present to ceremony. She pushed through. There is a lesson in this for all of us and for me it was mostly about trust.
 
The fire ceremony became a mountain top experience for me. It was like going to the opera and not knowing the words but still getting the message of the drama. What is it Eliot once said. You can have the experience but miss the meaning. Not so in this instance. I had both! The experience and the meaning! Now I might have needed some interpretation to understand what the shaman was saying but none the less one could sense the presence of spirit in the winds, in the words that took flight from the shaman's lips and more importantly in the power of the fire itself.  
 
The ceremonial ground was laid with flowers and the air was alive with ancestral life. Vultures swooped nearby helping to cleanse us and remind us that death was being eaten away from us. Butterflies fluttered and darted around the circle of participants implying that in death there is life. There is metamorphosis.
 
As we gathered and were introduced to the shaman, he instructed us from our birth dates about some of our traits both the positive and the negative. Listening to him describe our negative qualities it was confirmed by a religious authority this time, we were the 'B' word!  What comfort! We chortled with laughter and appreciation of his intuition into our characters and careers.
 
There were rituals to follow and we were guided every step of the way. Different colored candles for each of us were to be placed here or there on the fire. Cornmeal and cocoa were offered to fire and the spirits. The shaman blessed us individually with water and spirits and prayed over us. I even heard him say to Umberto as he blessed me, "This one like the strength of cedar." Of course that needed to be interpreted for me. A friend of mine suggests that I might need to make a T shirt with this inscription!
 
The ceremonial fire was VERY hot! No hotter than it has been with the fire at Blackfoot sweat lodges, but the ground was burning my feet. Even my phone read, " You can no longer use this phone /camera until it cools down," and I was a good 15 feet away from the fire's core.
 
The walk down the mountain on Tijax, the time of knowledge on the last day of the traditional Mayan Calendar and the day I was named after, granted us the time to assimilate the blessings obtained. I may need more time to soak up the meanings and joy of the ceremony but it was indeed either breasts or a birth canal. May be both! We came back to the hotel with the wind and the rain at our beckon and hummingbirds darting from flower to flower.
 
Hummingbirds awaken the medicine of the plant they zero in on. In conjunction with the woodpecker that kept me awake one night methinks I am making the right choices to do more teaching and awakening, both for myself and for others.
 
Hummingbirds also make me consider how I am expending my energy. Am I expending it on pointless endeavors like too much system, business style hospice nursing at this time of my life? It may be time to conserve energy- so if this is the case reducing my days per week to 2 instead of 3 is a blessed choice for now. Hummingbirds also remind us to love ourselves enough to go for the very best nectar life offers. For the Aztecs the hummingbird is revered as a
sacred solar creature. Yikes, so much to contemplate! And all this at the time of a full moon.
 
Saturday: A Walk , a Bloody Mary and a Mayan Ruin
 
We began our day with a walk to a nearby village, past houses situated on the sides of mountains, wild flowers along the path and gnarled rooted trees nestled above the Lake Atitlan waters. The day broke once again without rain. Every evening around the dinner table we would glance at the weather forecast for the next day and it always said, "100% rain." While we were indeed anointed with rain in the late afternoons we were able to enjoy our excursions without the natural blessings that may have slightly interfered with our explorations or dampened our spirits.
 
There is a peace that passes all understanding and for me I certainly found it on this land. The Mayan Ruin side trip was filled with ancestral energies as well and the gift of a black feather. Black. The color of mystery and going deep. Of eating death. Not like in Harry Potter with the death-eaters but of being on a battlefield and of "peeling off the flesh of fallen warriors without expiring yourself. Crows or black birds are friends with death. It is time for me to befriend death as well and let go of that which no longer serves me.
 
So was this a birth or a breast experience. It was both. I feel nourishment from the breast of Mother Earth and the blessings of Father Sky, Grandmother Moon and Grandfather Stone. I feel an appetite satisfied in the clarity of the star people and lessons of the winged ones, of the anointing of plants and the transparencies of daylight and night light. After the hard labor of self discovery, I have emerged into a new life and now sit in the mystery of what that yet means more fully for me. There is so much more to unfold. So I am grateful!

 
                                                

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Perfectly Happy!

8/5/2015

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In the 1980's I was living in Canada and a friend invited me to go skiing in Alberta. While there I could also attend the wedding of one of her cousins. The wedding was unique to say the least. The bridal gown and the bride set the priest to palpations and contemplation of his priestly vows. I exaggerate not!

 At this wedding I met Aunt Daisy who sat at our table. Eventually we got to talking about my friend's brother in Nova Scotia. The conversation twisted and turned until finally Aunt Daisy claimed that this young lad was not perfectly happy.  I asked her what she meant by this and her reply each time was, "You know. Not perfectly happy!" I replied that I did not know that state of being perfectly happy!

 It has taken decades of living but now I can truly say to aunt Daisy -wherever she may be- that I understand now what it means to be perfectly happy. This time in Australia has been a time of joy and happiness and on a scale of 1-10, I am a 100!

 I remember in Tasmania receiving an impression that my time in the outback would be a time of the energy of the rainbow serpent, Lyra. It was! I even met her yesterday at the cemetery I travelled to. I wanted to say thank you to my mentor, Mr Stewart who passed away over 2 years ago and there was a sign in the cemetery to beware of snakes. Australia is known for its snakes and although I am appreciative of their medicine I am pleased that I only met the Rock Wallaby Strangler in spirit form.

 The medicine of this created creature holds for me the power of transformation and letting go. During my 2 months here I could feel moment to moment a serpentine cultivation and growth surging through my cells leaving behind seeds of new understanding and love. In the anangu language the word for beautiful is "Wiru." That is what this pilgrimage has been, "wiru." There is another Anangu word, "Palya," which means "it is good, or thank you." That is all I can say to our Creator and to my friends here and in NC, 'Palya."

 In 3 hours I head to the airport and plans have been laid for my return here. Of course that could have been the champagne talking! Many have asked me what the highlight of my trip has been. I have met new friends and re-established connections with long time friends. I have hiked around Uluru, climbed Kata Juta, walked rain forests, stood at the foot of 40,000 year old rock paintings and felt the spark of Creator in 30,000 year old rock rain medicine carvings. I have been to lectures, vineyards, historic towns, and galleries. I have lead a house cleansing ritual and 2 pipe ceremonies. I have met a stranger who lived in the same Austrian town as my mother, a stranger who kissed me in QLD and an artist that I met online through a class while I was in NC. I have been blessed with emu, kangaroo ( I even have some kangaroo medicine to take home with me) and wedge tailed eagles. I have enjoyed Devonshire teas and thai food. I have pubbed at Egyptian lounges, and eaten meat pies at a milk bar. I have partaken of Vanilla slices and pavlova.

 If I must sum up my experience here however, I would say that the highlight has been the light. I have photos that I can not explain. It is like I can see the ancestral spirits of this land and for some reason they even appear in my photos. At every turning I have felt what the aborigines would call 'story.' I could see a tree and see it for what it is. I could look at a rock and see its eternal significance.

 When I return to my memories of events and times in this land down under my breath is still taken away by the "Wiru." As I reflect on time spent with friends I am humbled by their generosity and inspired by their kindness. To visit my dear friend Mrs Stewart has been a blessing. I have been welcomed by the land and toasted by 2 leggeds! I have had a life altering, greening and awakening. Sigh! When there are no more words or they are an injustice then all one can do is SIGH!

 Thank you for this time, this meaning, this life! I am "PERFECTLY HAPPY!"

 

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Lorna of the Dunes March 2015

8/5/2015

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Day 3 of ourTasmanian walkabout, we hiked the Freycinet Trail to Wineglass Bay Look out. The day began with an early morning rain so initially we confined our walk to the town ofSwansea but when the sun peaked out from behind the dark clouds, we decided to risk driving to the National Park. Glad we did! The climb may not have been as difficult as the Appalachian Trail but we were huffing and puffing. As we finally crested the lookout to place our tired butts on a rock, kookaburras struck up a Greek chorus commenting on the occasion and the day! We sat upon our wayside rock and munched our way through cheese and salami, breathing in deeply the scent of wet leafed tea tree bushes and oily white gums. With an occasional wallaby wallying by I certainly knew I was not in North Carolina. We completed our afternoon walk with a Devonshire Tea at the Freycinet Lodge and the goal of finding sand dunes on our way back to our seaside cabin. It struck me as I sipped my English Breakfast tea and ate my jam and cream smothered, fluffy scones that this was no ordinary day and that somehow my life was about to be transformed with a visit to some dunes.

 
From the outset of our vacation my friend Angie had declared her intention to show me theTasmanian sand dunes that she had first visited over 30 years ago. Although we had journeyed the day before to the site of the publically listed sand dunes and hoped that they would be the ones that had provided so long ago a dramatic vista, what we discovered was not the long remembered landscape. Instead of rippling white sands what we found where dunes overgrown with vegetation. So on day 3with our return to Swansea from Freycinet, we turned off the main highway to try once again to find the mysterious and elusive white dunes. They were however,  as once remembered, nowhere to be found.

 
It appeared after our second attempt to go back in time that no matter how hard we searched, how long we drove or how many new roads we took, we would not find a desert. The desert had transfigured itself over the years and moved away from its beautiful and full emptiness into sands capable of sustaining growth and habitation for unique lifeforms, including its self.  In that moment I too understood that my desert had grown up.

 
I beg Kay Jamison, author, professor of psychiatry and victim to bipolar disorder, this paraphrasing of her words from ‘nothing was the same.’

In the wake of my first love lost I assumed less more. and doubted more. I kept my mind on a short lead and my heart yet closer in...after I think and to negotiate the world, and as the world measures things, I did well enough. Then I came back to Australia which upended my cautious stance toward life....here lived the woman I must have been before I bowed to fear. Here grace prodded my resistance and undermined my wariness with laughter. ...far from finding the intensity of my nature disturbing I discovered I could gravitate toward it...

So at the sand dunes, now dressed in semi -arid clothing and infused with spirit, I heard the metal doors swing open from the chambers of an imprisoned heart, my heart, creaking , rusty and weak but unsealing nonetheless. I clamoured down to the beach in front of the dunes and understood that this was to be the location of my surrender to life. I removed from my medicine bag the white feather that I had acquired on the walk of a 1000 steps in my first few days in this land down under. I thanked it for blessing me and I released it back to Source, carrying with it that which would no longer serve me.

I shall not forget that moment of watching Creator’s feather float away into the sea. I became not Lorna Doone but Lorna of the Dunes.

As I traversed back over the white soft sandy beach to find my friend who had started ahead of me to locate the car park, my eye caught sight of a deeply purple mother of pearl seashell. It was broken but striking in vibrant color and energy for all its brokenness. This gift I picked up from the sand and placed in my medicine bag for it is medicine I am now more equipped to carry.

A sense of peace has followed me since the heart wrenching surrender on the beach and it clings to my skin. It feels warm and cozy, this second skin. I shall lubricate it with dreams, gratitude, perspective and integrity. 

To complete our dune adventure, however we needed to get back to our vehicle.  We really had not made note of our exit spot from the forest onto the dunes and as we wandered over and through the sand and turf, every place looked like the spot before it. I took a deep breath and then I saw a butterfly. I asked it to lead my friend and I home or at least to the car. Guided by Madama Butterfly, we found what we sought. She blessed us like the angel in Dante’s Purgatory who brushed its wings on the forehead of the pilgrims as they moved on to their next levels of reformation.

A purple seashell in my pouch, a feather let go of, a growing dune, what more could be in store for me? So much more! But that is for another day’s episode.   I am so grateful to my friend for taking me to Tasmania.

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Hair Today Dune Tomorrow

8/5/2015

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On our 5 day excursion to Tasmania, Angie and I hiked ranges, scoured towns for history and pies, drank at established vineyards, and talked to locals. Our first place to stop was always the information center. We chatted to guides and history buffs, learning interesting local and colourful features of the area. WE met up with an Anglican priest in Swansea for instance who gave us detailed stories on the selling of church land if it has a cemetery attached to it. Apparently in Australia there is a time limit on grave sites. After 50 years it is considered to be used up and so the plot can be reused. So much for the Grateful Dead! No one really digs up the sites but still the law is on the books.

In Ross, a delightful historical town rather like Williamsburg but less developed, we decided we had to check out the Ross Female Factory. Honest to Creator that is what it was called! It was a convict camp for women who had committed such crimes as theft, talking crudely, or in the case of Mary Ann Elliott, who was arrested 21 times for various and sundry felonies, taking indecent liberties with other female prisoners. In Campbell Town, there are plagues along the sidewalk with the names of criminals and what misdemeanours they were charged with. I checked but there were no reprobates listed with the surname, Madill. Rather disappointing to not have at least one Tasmanian devil in the family tree.

 

Before I left the USA I was given a present of some sandalwood essential oil with a note describing its inherent healing traits. One of its many health benefits is its, often though not highly acknowledged, use as an aphrodisiac. I have been careful to wear it well and have been well pleased with the results. So far I have been blessed with 3 propositions. One was in Ross where I was posing for a photo around a lamp post. As I posed for my photo op, some local bloke yells out to Angie: “Hey I know her. She’s on that Telly show, The Bold and the Beautiful!” My girlfriend yells out, “Yup that’s the one. So watch out. You do not want to mess with her.” After a brief exchange I decided that perhaps I should use my sandalwood more circumspectly. So of course I was wearing it to the IGA that pm. A total stranger came up and as they say here in Australia, ‘chatted me up.’ The sign that read, “Pick me I’m single” on the banana aisle and the sandalwood appear to be a perfect combination for attracting attention. Feeling somewhat now on a lucky streak I proceeded to the car and headed to the mountains to hike the Freycinet Wineglass Outlook trail. Sometimes synchronicity is just too hard to miss. As I turned on the radio so we could listen into the Australian version of NPR, the radio dial read : ‘Dear Future Husband’. You cannot make this stuff up but in case this is too unbelievable I have attached a photograph! I think my best catch of the day was however, the wooden statue outside the bakery. I guess one is never too old to flirt and frolic!

When I travel I make it a policy to always remember my girl guide pledge," be prepared." In light of the fact that I was travelling in the autumn to Australia I packed up my hair piece for any inclement weather I might be forced to endure. In the midst of our Tasmanian trip I needed this apparel as it began to rain at 5 AM one Wednesday. I only made one mistake with this accoutrement! I left it in the bathroom overnight and scared the hell out of my travel partner. She thought it was road kill!

 
I am reminded of one of the funniest stories about hair pieces that I personally am aware of. It was New Year's Eve in the late 60's and my parents were out partying with their friends. They had a table assigned to them at the back of the party room. In the middle of an evening of frolicking, several members of the party wandered out to the hallway including my mother. My father who had remained behind soon decided to join his mates. He stood up and backed against the wall to squeeze past the couple sitting at the next table. It was tight manoeuvring but my father managed to get out to the hallway. Suddenly everyone was laughing hysterically. My father unawares of being the object of this laughter eventually looked down. 

So bearing this story in mind I decided to wear my hair piece securely on my head Wednesday evening when we dined at the local pub. I pinned it in place by a hair pin. I ventured into that evening without fear of someone hooking up with my hairpiece instead of me!


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In The Ivy League

8/5/2015

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The Ivy League by Sandhill Crane

I do not remember the first time I contracted poison ivy but I do remember my mother telling that I was extremely allergic to it. The second time I received the blessings of this plant medicine I do recall, quite vividly, the event. I lied! Yes, you heard me correctly. In my third year nursing, in the days or in this case, the nights, when we worked 10-8 hour shifts in a row I was determined to fly out to Saskatchewan, home of the famous and delicious Saskatoon berry.

So why did I just not complete my 10 nights and then fly out? I was surprising my parents who had left earlier in the week to drive to my mother's youthful home on the prairie. I wanted to get there ahead of Bruce and Erma and be able to jump out from behind a couch and yell, "Surprise." Then spend time with the relatives or as they say in Australia, the Relies. The fateful evening before my departure on Air Canada L1011, myself and the beau of the moment along with 2 friends decided to go to High Park. We frolicked as only 20 year olds can and rolled down the steep hills and along the grass, running through the bushes to see who could get to the lake first. It was a wonderful evening. Next day I flew out and managed, as I had planned, to surprise my parents. The excuse I used to call in sick and get the time off was, "I have poison ivy." OH as I know now NEVER EVER fool with Mother Nature.

The week was uneventful but filled with a lot of family picnics and marked with the overdue visiting of acquaintances. I returned to Toronto and called up the Man of the Moment. (In the day before cell phones I had not been able to talk to him for a WHOLE WEEK!) My Italian boyfriend begins the conversation with, "I have poison Ivy." I laugh thinking he is teasing me.

SIGH my foolishness was not able to hear the angst in his voice but only to snicker at the reversal of the order of things. I mean it was my excuse and he got it. Some minutes pass and I begin to itch. Now I am convinced that I am having sympathy pains for this beau. In a couple of hours, however, I reported to sick bay and was able to convince everyone that I indeed had had poison ivy and had not lied to sneak off time from work. I have not lied since or at least told one using poison ivy as the excuse!

Two weeks ago I encountered this plant for the third time and became, not covered with it, but dotted with some blisters and the sense of burning alive from the inside out. Talk about flames of irritation as someone once described poison ivy. Anyone who has ever met up with this medicine understands the sensitivity and cringes in fear of 3 leafed plants! Interestingly enough, not everyone gets Poison Ivy. Now why is that?

I was at first not sure where to begin this quest for an answer but I knew that if I was ever to appreciate the medicine of this plant then I needed to talk to her. To get inside her and hear what she had to say about this re-appearance within and along my red road.

I have over the years worked enough with my elder to know that Mother Earth is a teacher. So what's the lesson and why now at this juncture along my path?

In the past when confronted with the side effects of a clash with the ivy, I would have merely exclaimed, " I walked into some poison ivy and didn't see it was there." Adequate answer but I knew that I needed to come at this from an entirely new angle. I wanted a new perspective on the appearance of this plant and the timing.

The Right Question:

Along any heroic journey it is only when the right question is finally asked does the heroine/hero return home. So are these the right questions?

Have I done something rash? Are there irritating aspects of my life that I need to address that the poison ivy is a precursor to? What is inflaming in my life? What is erupting and causing havoc and making me scratch the surface to go deeper to the source of the irritation. Can the spirit of poison ivy have a deeper more positive significance for my journey, given the pain and the disability? Is this a wake up call? Have I missed earlier clues along the path that I have refused to see or hear? Is this a reminder of something greater than my self, of a connection that I am missing?

So I became still and posited the notion in both my mind, and emotions that YES there was a more in depth approach to this lesson from the Mother and its timing of showing up in my life now. But, how does one begin the revelatory, life altering process of interacting with the powerful medicine of poison ivy?

To begin my walk or is it my meditation with this plant, I created a sacred container of silence, respect, and humility within which I could listen deeply. I created space to be open to the answers this plant could offer me on my quest for resolutions. My mind churned over a myriad of possibilities.

The spirit of poison ivy.

The essence of poison ivy burns up through the earth or as one person described it ,"like lava in a mountain." The fire that erupts in each of the vesicles begs to be put out and yet it sticks around for a considerable time, irritating and demanding that I pay attention to its pesterings. So what is happening in my life that this poison ivy is a mirror for? What is the precipitating factor for this intervention from Mother Earth and this particular plant medicine? Anger? Injustice? Trauma? Hurt? Betrayal? Denial? Fear?

Through all these musings and feelings I came to realize that the one common denominator was fear, followed a close second by anger. They have erupted onto the surface of my psyche in the same way vesicles have erupted onto my outer skin. My pain is inflamed and it can not be ignored if I want to heal.

As I communicated with the spirit of poison ivy I began to remember the plant's purpose. It is to protect the woods. I also read somewhere that as human beings encroach on the edge of forests, or the banks of streams, dwelling places for poison ivy, the more virulent and vigilant the poison ivy becomes. Bearing this in mind then poison ivy is a strong protector, a warrior, a plant with firm boundaries. Carl Jung describes a "shadow archteype," in his numerous writings so what about a shadow archetype in my life appearing as poison ivy. Has it shown up in my life to represent something that I fear or am uneasy with? Now I think I may be getting closer to the answer for this flushing out of things that need to come to the surface of my awareness. Is this plant asking me to examine my own self limiting belief's and boundaries? Poison Ivy is not a cuddly plant but she

does set her boundaries firmly to protect what she has been created to protect. She does not go out of her way to openly attack or create drama but she will defend her territory. Have my boundaries been set too low? Have I said yes to things that do not protect me? Do I need to learn the meaning of NO! However, as one heeds the negative side effects of brushing against her, perhaps one must also consider setting up borders that are too firm. Are my boundaries too tight? I can see that I have some work to do here? There are more questions yet then there are answers.

Teachings from a plant

I found an excerpt from someone's reflection on the nature of poison oak and it applies here for my edification of the 'created creation,' poison ivy.'

".....I saw a good deal of myself in Poison Oak, and vice versa. While I’m sure I’ll be unhappy the next time I end up with an itchy red rash from brushing up against her progeny’s leaves, I won’t blame them at all. Urushiol is only the protection that Poison Oak has developed over time, and it’s really rather effective. If I can’t touch or pick poison oak like I can clover or dandelions, it doesn’t mean the itchy plant is a bad one. It just means I need to respect that plant’s boundaries as much as my own.

These peregrinations of thoughts and queries have a lot to reveal for the way I brush up against 'irritating people or situations' in my life. If, as I truly believe, I am connected to the All That Is, to the entire Creation, to the Mother, then I need to re-examine my relationships, not just to this gift of plant medicine but to my relationships in total: the 2 Leggeds, the 4 Leggeds, the winged ones, the slitheries, water, fire, air and earth. WOW I

have my work cut out for me! I am a Steward of my self, others, our earth, the elements, the Sky, the stars, the moon, the sun and my present trajectory needs a realignment, a course correction.

So while I have much work to do to return home from the gift of Poison Ivy, I can truthfully say, THANKYOU (Capitlized out of respect for this gift and its message) for showing up in the season of Fire and the time of Hunter.

In the meantime, bearing the facts in mind that I have unearthed from these meanderings, I WILL begin to speak to poison ivy and hear myself claim: "I will be steward and protector of not just a particular piece of land but all lands. I will work with you and allow you to be what you were and are destined to be." I may not cuddle you or walk where I know you are but I will love you- even from a distance- for doing your work well! And taking this a step further I will now exclaim, " I appreciate the irritations from those in my environment who set me to scratching. They are sent as a gift to open, respect and love and a lesson to unfold."

I take in this new moment a small step to examine my past and present life along the red road. I know that I will have plenty of help from Mother Nature to ground my journey. If this is personal growth than I am itching to start the process and to stop scratching the surface of my life to get to its core. I guess when I say to someone now, "what's your poison?" it may have a whole new significance.

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    Author

    Lorna or Sandhill Crane is an author,practitioner for the spiritual arts and spiritual direction. Her traditional medicine work has her grounded in the Blackfoot Medicine Ways. 
    Donna writes: "You are "an extremely intelligent, creative, intuitive healer who brings excellence in a number of fields together. This gives you the ability to choose from a number of languages, according to the person’s path to rediscovering their own wholeness."

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