Bloodline Ceremony


I’ve been taken down to the bone. I spent the day with a Lakota Medicine woman who spent hours walking in other realms to rid me of darkness and the karma stored in my family bloodline. Hers is powerful medicine, which has left me open, raw and renewed.

I have always been the one to heal others, while longing to find someone who could do the same for me. Many people claim to have spirit medicine, but few are authentic and free of ego. This gift has been a long time coming. 

Part of me still journeys in that other realm, while the physical side sits in silence in my quiet retreat of a house. Stepping into the world again was especially hard, like having a split-screen open on the computer. Lucky for me, a friend was there to drive me home or I may have ended up in Idaho. 

Loved ones ask about the experience but there are no words. The details and mechanics defy description, because they are sacred and not of this time and place. I can only say that the work went deep and until I integrate I am left feeling like a visitor in my own life, and a little uncomfortable in my skin. 

June has been a month of pulling back. My worldly self is resting and what little writing I do comes in drips instead of the stream I am accustomed to. I welcome the day when words move through me like a river. I see them waiting and hold out my arms, knowing they will land again when the time is right.

Days at the ocean preceded my ceremony. I spent hours outside, slept in the sun, walked barefoot in the sand and was nurtured by the loving presence of a friend. I found bones, the exact size and shape I was seeking, and feathers, lots of feathers. My essence feels more bird than human, so these things comfort me. 

I am always surprised when people choose not to work on themselves, and to live in their fears and patterns of limitation. That is a choice I could never imagine making, because releasing darkness and making room for more light is such an exquisite thing. It is painful, as any birth is painful, but the other side is worth every second, because everything around you reorganizes to create a flow of ease and love that makes life so much more inviting and welcome. Today I sit with my labor pains and raw open feelings, but soon I’ll soar again with even greater freedom than before. I am humbled in gratitude.

Going inside

window-shoppingI live in a cave.

I retreat.

Aloneness is my oxygen.

I can beat myself up about this.

I can look out my window and see hurry, community and gathering.

I am jealous of people who know their roots and their tribe.

The pendulum swings.

I go out and do. I smile, brush up against strangers on the sidewalk. I sit in noisy pubs with my husband and eat bar food.

Sometimes I move into the city and offer myself. Most often I move away.

I have had the same clients for thirty-five years. They know me. I come forward to help them. I disappear and don’t list my phone number.

I can not be in the world as others do.

I envy it. I envy their ability to stay ‘out’ focused day after day, year after year.

But I can not be them. My life is inside, behind a closed door.

The outer world makes me empty. I can walk in it for awhile, but tear and break if I linger.

I arrive at this place again and again, at this pulling and pushing, at this going out and coming in.

I must go in and in and in, alone if I hope to endure.

Age has allowed more grace.

I have gentled the part of me that rails against my needs.

She no longer carries a stick to beat me with. She has surrendered.

Now, she puts on the kettle and whispers, its okay, just do what you need to do.