In the quiet moments when I am with my own company I am still flooded with journeys. The feel of the air here at the Ashram takes me back to last year when I was in Borneo. I enjoy the sensation of everything sticking to me here and I find myself walking through the Rain Forest again. The life wrapped itself around me and I felt a lush dampness from my mother. Her whole body aches and moves with the pain inflicted upon her but I found those places where she breathed as if her body was being massaged, soothed. Always though I feel her heart grieving. Leeches.. they come to mind when I retrace my steps beside the waters of the Rain forest. I asked Tunkasila once about them, wondering why they had been created, silly I know but I have questions about many things that could be considered so. The best answer came not from God but from a particularly connected woman (maybe not exact word for word)..
" Why be afraid of these leeches when we live in a world full of them?"
...yes the world is full of parasites and leeches, some hide behind smiles, generous offerings and spiritual adornments. Some don't hide at all and in all truth the ways of man have led societies to devour upon each other and Unci Maka our Mother. So yes, why fear the leeches of the Rain Forest? I received my own personal blessing from one and to be honest I was grateful for the experience, another connection made
We arrived at the Ashram, a commune embracing a Temple.. it is cradled in the majesty of mountains which all hold the softness of a woman's form and the lush jungle. A beautiful place which I was soon to be greeted by in the way of being held to the bed and a thick sleep poured over me. I could not resist and nor did I want to as heavy eyes closed to the welcome of Dreamtime. I am not someone who dreams every night, well certainly not in a way that is remembered.. ha now I was going to be held in stories with my soul's eyes wide open and my psyche played with. She toyed with me, Devi (Day-v), Goddess. I am new to this land, this place of worship to Lalita, her of beauty, the full moon. Kali being the new moon, dark. I slept heavy for most of the afternoon with dreams of shapeshifting into wolves and running for the shear pleasure upon our Mother, it was twilight and magical. At night I again was laid down and sleep once more was poured over my body.. at some point I awoke to the extreme sensation of burning.. a fire? a asked myself.. the building is ablaze? No.. I felt once more and now knew it to be from within, I was burning and not with fever but a life, energy that was so intense. I did not panic, nor did I question but instead lay in the flow and was at peace with everything. I know who I am and I walk the Red Road but also am a child of MotherEarth and as with us all we walk a path with Tunkasila, God.. there are many names as there are for Unci Maka, MotherEarth. I enjoy walking with her and meeting her many children, we share stories, wisdom and life... I am not afraid to sit with others, nor learn and pray with others... I carry the Canupa within and the scars without.
I am in a place where each moment is weaved into the next,every thread one of saturated color, power, sensation and emotion... nothing is left untouched. There was an idea behind this Blog but now it is alive and asking me to follow it's desire.. I follow and I also lead. I am sitting in a hotel so that I can write this, AC, clean people and professional service.. it holds nothing to the raw streets and I remember this morning before the sun had risen. We stepped out of the apartment we had been staying at and were greeted by smiles and chatter as chai was poured into tiny plastic cups. One of the men was drunk and the others waved him away as if embarressed but he would return, harmless and happy to be in our company, a mutal feeling. A fire burned in the dumpster, dogs growled at a man passing by and life was filled with morning rituals of sweeping, doorway sitting and the haze of half awake eyes. I have photo's and will post them here but my mac ran out of juice... sigh. There are no lulls here, no moments left blank or forgotten but all are speaking in tongues.. some are whispered, others wept, some in the smile of life and then those that reach from the rubble of a home that once was.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Offering in Death
( A dream when 7 years old)
It was the strangest thing being able to look down at myself from somewhere above yet I was living from myself below at the same time. Strange yes but I was getting used to it as it seemed to happen to me a lot.
I could see my body laid out, serene and wrapped in the softest leather, tied in the manner of ceremony. Each gesture had intention and prayer in the “dressing” of my body.
I became a little scared because I considered myself alive yet definitely “prepared” for something.
I was laid out upon a rack of poles and lifted up on the shoulders of people who were carrying me.
It was hard to know if it was dawn or dusk, the light was both subdued and alive with the language of morning sun or the parting radiance of sunset, a twilight of Creation.
People lined the path, their faces were of the earth, their hair was long and it was hugging the robes that shrouded them. Children stood with elders, men and women were as one. Colors of the flowers, stone and life adorned the leather with designs that told stories and moved between the Spirit world and this one. Feathers flickered and twisted with the wishes of each calling wind. Tied with love and honor in the hair of many.
Elders held staffs of purpose and wisdom , Grandmas held memories that would lead you to the beginning of the people and such love that pain could only melt in their presence.
The path was not so much a well worn passage but a flow of formation that took your senses to a waiting place. There I could see , from above , a frame of poles waiting patiently much like a scaffold.
Prayer flags of color were tied to each pole that were bundles that hung heavy, not of cloth but well tanned leather. Earthy stains gave the color to them and even though heavy they appeared to wave and ripple as a breeze brushed passed them.
So there I lay with my hair long and free from restraints , whispers caught the contours of my face and hung to the leather about me.
I heard the falling tears and felt the prayers gentle and strong.
A single voice carried the songs of ceremony and journey. Beautiful and true , laced with the tears and cracked by the emotion echoing a love so deep from where the words were born. Traveling upward to the wind surrounding, settling upon the currents flow pleading to be carried to the hearts of many and the welcoming of Creation.
As I watched from some place above in the sky I could see the level area where the scaffold waited. I was raised up and the rack on which I lay was rested on it. As I settled into the suspension of stillness the wails and shrills of the women pierced the air and shock the hearts to their very core. The emotions poured fourth , swooping and soaring until they scattered to the four directions.
I had accepted this place but it was just at that moment I awoke , dripping with sweat and more than a little scared. I remember turning over in my bed and reassuring myself that I was awake and in a place that I had almost forgotten.. my bedroom in a house of modern day. I was seven when this dream was experienced.
As bodies sleep there is always conversation, Souls talk to souls, Dreams talk within, Prayers are spoken without words passing from lips, Bodies move, Touch, While sleeping beside. I am awake while sleeping, Sleepwalking upon an Ancient earth, For my Love does not sleep.
I have been reminded of something my father told me "wherever you are it is still with our Mother,the earth." So many emotions are swirling within me and I find myself in a quiet moment offering tobacco in prayer. This is a journey that my body has followed,carried by my soul. Nothing is forced, it is a flow and I surrender to it. Maybe all the lessons will not be understood until I am once more sitting in Ceremony with the heated rocks and songs of Inipi but I do know that this is not a detour but a deeper part of the mystery that is life. The Oyate are never far from me and I can see everyone's faces in the darkness of quiet, a robe that covers me with the same comfort as the Star Quilt when upon the hill. I am not going to be lost in the past or future but remain in the moment.. in the hands of our mother.
Dawn's prayer.... When we go up onto the hill and sit with Unci Maka (GrandmotherEarth) and Tunkasila (Grandfather) it is always the coldest as the mystery of night has given way to the beauty of dawn... it always makes my body very aware, alert to the Prayer of a new day... wopila.
I have found myself in many different and interesting places. At this very moment I am in India. A rich contrast of everything alive, raw and determined like grass pushing through the suffocating skin of concrete. The very first experience was the warm air of early morning filled with the conversation of many voices to the music of traffic. Not the sounds of western traffic but the melody of horns,whining motorcycles and whistles. This is a blood stream and all you can do is slip in and trust it's flow.... that's when it becomes an adventure. I was drawn to a painting I did 4 years ago of Kali (an unaware interpretation not for the purists). I had painted a Lakota warrior first but one night I walked up to it and completely covered him,his image just a memory now. It was brave and without thought, just surrendering to the desire within from a source unknown to me. I say brave because I had remained in the lakota conversation from my soul to canvas and now I felt as if breaking from tradition... it was liberating and left me open for questioning by others.. now I find that the path of kali is one of liberation but I have been left feeling a novice now that I am in the land of her devotion. I learned at that moment of painting her that I could venture as far as my soul yearned without leaving my path of Lakota Ceremony. Such journeys bring a richness and better understanding toward life and all the other children who share in the love from our mother, the Earth. So I begin these written footsteps with the most present and will continue forward but the threads I weave shall also be older ones,and maybe ones yet found but that to me is life. I often find moments from the past keeping pace with the moment I am in and each future one... how many breaths are of air already breathed by another or to be the life giver,prayer,tear of a heart yet born?
