Voices

Communicating with my shaman is not the same as listening to God. There is a difference between the still small voice and Shaman.

Shaman is a living, flesh and blood man who lives in North America. He is alive and well. He teaches all over the place.

I wanted to be his student but figured I’d have to wait a million years to have the means to travel.

Then, out of the blue I heard him speak. He was in the Quiet World so his voice was inaudible. He said, “Why wait?”

I didn’t believe him right away. I have a lot of the proverbial voices in my head that dowse creative ideas, hopes and dreams as soon as they spark.

“What if you are just a figment of my imagination?” I asked.

“Ha! Imagination is necessary in this kind of work. It’s like the gas in your car. The car takes you places, and that is like the actions you will take from these teachings. But the thing that makes the car go is imagination.

You gotta use your imagination for this; you think I’m gonna do all the work?”

When It Rains

Image result for shaman in the rain

I can’t make it out to the sound garden today. When it rains hard, like it did last night, the ground is too mushy to walk on. There’s not much grass to catch the blessing so the dirt has to hold it all. When there is downpour, sometimes it takes a few days to let it all soak in. It’s a pain in the ass in the mean time—all the mud sloshing, all the mess. Blessings are not always pretty and packaged up like a present so you know it is a gift. Sometimes they are just hard to deal with.

Some blessings hurt, and I don’t like them, but I am learning to accept them and be just as grateful for the hurtful ones because the gifts they bear are truly exquisite. Anyway, accepting them makes the hurt seem like a good thing, like when you exercise and feel your new strength the next day.

I don’t know what pain has to do with time, but Shaman is telling me to think about time them combined.

I found this quote in my Facebook Memory post when I opened my computer.

“Of course a man can go back in time, and forward too if he knows how to travel. He doesn’t need a thing, no suitcase or extra clothes. all he needs is what he knows he doesn’t know.”

I don’t know who said this, but Shaman said it’s only half true.

When we wipe the slate clean by realizing we don’t know a thing, then we have to be willing to accept new understanding when it comes, even if it goes against conventional wisdom.

That is a tricky one.

Most people don’t really believe a person can slip into different realms of being and talk to people or get work done except on the physical plane, but it is not only possible, it is highly effective.

Shaman is teaching me to trust my insight. I like that word, insight. It can mean gaining an inner knowing, but it can also mean looking inward and really seeing something new.

When was the last time you looked inside and saw something entirely new? It is a rush. I like it.

That means, though, that I have to be proven wrong sometimes; I have to unknow something. It also means that I get hurt. My ego takes a blow.

This morning I am glad Shaman was around when I was told that my feet are crumbling because I’m fat.

OUCH!

I had to process that statement to see if it was true or not.

It is not true that my weight had anything to do with getting arthritic bones–that started when I was young and fit. But as the arthritis got worse, my activities changed. One thing after another happened and wham! Suddenly I am very overweight and the bones in my feet are crumbling. Would they still be crumbling if I were thin? Yes. Does my weight make the condition worse.? Yes.

Accepting responsibility for a problem is not the same thing as accepting blame. This is not about blame. Our lives are way too complex to lay blame down, there are too many threads, too many factors that affect a single action to say that one thing alone was the cause of the other thing.

Accepting responsibility is an act of humility that places one in a position of power. It is a way to say, “Here I am. I will do what I can to make this situation better.”

I am in a position of power to work with Shaman to heal my crumbling bones so that I may be of service to the people I am here to serve. I’ll do my best.

Doing one’s best is the topic for another day.

For now, since I have to climb the steps of a small airplane on Thursday and fly to Dallas, doing my best means resting a little more than I did yesterday and trying to get enough ace bandages on to support my feet until the braces are made. It also means working with Reiki.

Shaman shows me what my bones look like through the eyes of the creator, who knit them together in the first place. That is where I will be working today.

This seems appropriate in the bigger picture as well. It is important to start out learning to be a shaman on good standing. I need a good foundation, stable structure. What better metaphor could nature have provided than the bones of my feet?

“Little feet, little feet, where have you been?

little feet, little feet, where are you going?

Little feet, little feet, can you jump and dance?

If you could, would you give me another chance?”

The First Encounter

One
The first time I encounted my shaman was about a week ago. I was out in the sound garden.
The sound garden is a place I have set up out back where I can meditate and just chill with my dog and cat.
I hung a bunch of pipes from a tree so we could have interesting wind chimes. There are dismantled plow parts there too that my uncle brought when he heard I wanted to make music. It’s funny how something as heavy as iron makes such sweet music.

It’s nice out there, although if you were passing by you’d think it was a junk heap or the castle walls of a severely mentally ill person.

Ha! If the truth were known!

I was out there, minding my own business when I heard someone speaking in the Quiet World.
It was my shaman.
He was standing there, in the other realm, asking me, by gesture, if I was ready.
It was broad daylight there and the cicada were singing loudly.
I didn’t even have to think about it. Of course I was ready. I’ve been wanting a teacher since I was 12 years old and I’ve wanted to be a helper for longer than that.
So we just started right in. There was no big hoopla.

The first thing we talked about was the validity of Quiet World. It’s a very real place.
I’ll tell you about I how I see it.

Maybe it’s different for others.

In the Quiet World, one can communicate without actually speaking.

A person can use language, but it is carried by thought, sometimes with gestures.

Hearing is just like it is in this world, the Noisy World. So if I say, “How are you–if I think it, you would hear it in my voice

There are sounds there, birdsong, water running over rocks, the wind in trees. But it is not audible. It is weird how you can hear it without hearing with your ears. It is almost like really elegant math.

The Quiet World is where a lot of people go to pray. And some types of meditation are practiced there, but not all.

When I was 12, I thought I had to take pills to find Quiet World. The world I found was not the real Q.W. and I don’t want to go back.

So that first day he was very gentle; his humor was gentle.

He let me share my concerns about what we were about to do, and he rejoiced in my excitement. He could tell how happy I was. The feeling was like the one you get when you are in a field and you come across those wildflowers that look like little red and black sunflowers. I love those.

I said extra prayers and sang a special, secret song.

My shaman smells like leather and smoke. Leather, smoke and those wildflowers.

He makes me feel like there is no hurry to learn. I know learning is multidimensional. I remember wildflowers on one level and it trips a whole sequence of memories and associations. Learning happens where it needs to, however it needs to in order to be useful.

But not just useful.

Learning is fun, or at least captivating. Even when it is played out in a dramatic way, it’s satisfying as an experience.

These are the things we talked about the first day. It was casual as in laid back and causal in that seeds were planted for who knows what.

My Secret Shaman

I am told that I am supposed to share this experience. I am at the beginning, so you haven’t missed a lot so far.

I guess I’ve always been able to walk between worlds; there is hardly a veil at all.

When I was sick as a little girl, I’d see the “white faces” looking in on me at night from outside my window. I wasn’t scared of them, but it usually meant I was really sick.

Later on, when I was an old woman and had knee surgery, someone gave me a card with a picture of spirit deer and I recognized the faces I had seen as a little girl. They looked a lot like the deer in this painting only there where at lease 40 of them.

Spirit Of The White Deer.  White Deer, Symbol of prophecy, Messenger of change, Telling us to follow our path of growth, With an open heart and pure spirit, And it will lead us in a direction, Beyond our wildest dreams.
Spirit of the White Deer Carol Cranbury

They looked more like people sometimes, but deer people, if that makes sense.

There were other things that happened that were evidence of the different worlds. I don’t know how else to talk about it. It is all the same world, but there are different realities. Some things happen here, in the Noisy world. Some things happen in the Quiet World. Some things in the Spirit World and so on. It is really very beautiful and not at all confusing when you move from one to the next. It is all very natural.

Now let me get back to the shaman.

I have always wanted to make people feel better. I never wanted to go the doctor or nurse route, although I thought about massage therapy as a possible calling. But whatever I chose, I wanted to work in healing arts.

Now, in my grandmother years, I don’t want to mess with anything other than the deep healing that comes from working directly with spirit and energy.

I have started sharing Reiki with people and I love that. But I am drawn to learn more, and not only to learn, but to be.

Old ladies dream about a lot of things, but becoming a shaman was not an ordinary daydream or wish. It was a calling. I could hear voices (not in the auditory manner of hearing) that told me I could be a shaman. Me! Plain old me.

I am too old to go traipsing off into the mountains or jungles in search of a shaman de jour. I figured if God wanted me to do this work, I’d come across someone who could teach me.

It happened.

Now we meet in the Quiet World for a little while in the mornings. Sometimes he pops in on me when I have a question throughout the day.

He is funny and he can sing!

You’ll learn more about him as we go.

I’ll just tell you what we talk about and what happens from now on, OK?

Rocks From Raymond

Raymond is my uncle. He is a rock hound and he spoils me with beautiful gifts of crystals and all sorts of unusual stones.

I am going to try to catalog some of them—I can’t get all of them.

My photos don’t do them justice, but it’s a way to jog our memories and save the times we have together peering through the light that shines through stones.

My sister, Citroen
More stones were waiting for me when I got home from Dallas.
Looks like I need to tuck and tighten the tiny wire that holds the hear. This is mahogany Obsidian and there is an amethyst crystal in the heart. Obsidian is good for redirecting negative energy in a person’s energy field. Produces a calming, grounding effect.