By Maggie Y
Why have I answered this call to quest?
For me, this is a return to a sacred place that has been calling to my heart for many many years. I am letting go of what was, being present to what is, and opening myself to what is holy in my life.
What is my yearning?
I yearn for transformation, vision, wholeness, oneness with Spirit, to feel myself beloved on the earth.
What will be difficult?
Hunger, cold, embracing the darkness, letting go.
What support from the community will be helpful?
Empathy, joy, celebration.
September 3, 2006
I drove to the Black Tail Ranch, where I’m staying at the River Lodge. I got teary driving up the road with memories.
Walking the Land:
I tried to find the place of my first vision quest 13 years ago – walked in the stream through the water and over the rocks. Found a lovely flat stone. Remembered the sound of the water. Walking up from the stream, I saw a deer. It was nearby in the bushes and went running up the hill. I climbed to the top of prayer hill. I wasn’t sure it was it until I reached the top and then I knew for sure. Its flat donut top with a large tree in the center looks down in every direction at the land below. I can see the Aspen forest in the distance. At times everything is still and silent, and then the wind blows strongly making the grass dance. I am struck that everything is dry and dying from the hot summer. When I was here years ago, it must have been June, with everything lush and green. It seems fitting that the land would show the seasons that match the time of my visits in my own life. Lush green fertile land in my 20s. Dry tired grass in my 40s. The top of prayer hill holds a number of prayers – tobacco pouches tied with string and round natural peace prayers made with feathers, yarn and sage. I placed one on the altar, and hung several others from the trees. Cows are grazing across the way. Three horses with riders travel along the trail below. For a time, I sing “Oh God, hear my prayer, oh God, hear my prayer. When I call, answer me. Oh God, hear my prayer, oh God hear my prayer, Come and Listen to me.” Then tears of gladness to be back here. Overflowing, overwhelming emotion. Then silence, wind, crickets, flies. I might like to be right here on my quest.
Down below, I see another deer.
Walking back there are grasshoppers, butterflies, moths, humming birds.
Before dinner I sat outside – a cat on my lap – watching the chickens and peacocks.
September 4, 2006
I woke up to five deer outside my window, grazing and walking in the stream. After breakfast, I sat on a bench reading The Song of the Crow. A different cat napped on my lap – collecting love. Then I napped luxuriously on the lawn, waiting.
Later Susan arrived, as well as more questors, and we set up camp in the meadow. Last night I made a wooden cross or God’s eye out of sticks and beads. Susan had me place it in front of my tent on a mound. I collected large rocks from the stream to build the mound and then placed the sticks with beads and seagull feathers in the rocks. A nest with glass robin’s egg is next to it, waiting to be hatched. New life. Home. Waiting for birth.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the stream next to a tree with long dead knarly roots. I began to weave with the roots, reeds, grass and leaves – creating a nest-like hanging. I’ll attach it to the tent this evening. The water is clear – but ripples flow over the rocks easily -- smooth traveling water. Water bugs float on the water, occasionally hopping. The stones are black, brown, grey, red, white, yellow and blue.
September 5, 2006
Last night we shared our stories and I wept. Today we drummed on the large mother drum and again I wept. I’m back to the stream, running water, deep pools of sadness and grief. I’m surprised how grief is rising up and spilling over earlier than I thought it would. We’re headed later to the caves. This feels significant – what I’m most called to. The heart of the earth, Spirit’s soul, the cave of endings and beginnings. Darkness, stillness, cold. And still the water pours over the rocks. The soul speaks in ripples, tremors, waves, then over the rocks – gushing – part grief and part joy. Praise what comes! Alleluia!
The journey to the heart of the cave is more challenging than I recall. Climbing downward on slippery rocks. Elaine had a great fall at the beginning, reminding us to go slow and carefully. Elaine, Heather and I stayed for about two hours in the cave. Sitting in the darkness and cold near the altar with the skull and engraved rock with a bear on it. Sitting still. Cold grew from my bottom up because I was wet from falling in the stream. At first I just had breath and wasn’t able to sing. Later, I sang “Within the darkest night, you kindle the fire that never dies away” and then later the prayer song. As women we shared the moment, shared stories, feelings, fear. Yet it felt immensely loving to be in that cave – nurturing – embracing – holding us until we emerged. At the mouth of the cave beneath a wooden stairway is a bed of greens – pine and sage – smelling wonderful. This may be the place of my vision quest. There, with a view to the sky, but held within. A burial of sorts. Praise what comes! (Post note – I later learned that this is a bed that the rats had built, filled with rats and a great stench. And yet, I was still drawn to the depths of the cave.)
September 6, 2006
I had a dream last night – I was upstairs when suddenly, Dad came home. I flew to greet him, quickly, desperately, flying down stairs past the rest of my family. I welcomed him home, putting my arms around him. He was with a woman. I don’t recall who. Perhaps Lois or Faith. I awoke and remembered he is dead.
I started the day at sunrise – went to the Hogan by myself and lay my SoulCollage cards on the floor in a large spiral that covered the entire floor. I read the poem “Praise what comes” aloud and then walked the spiral of my soul to the center, slowly, chanting a song that seemed to be another language with many many names for God. I read Morning Prayer in the center.
Later in the day, we built the fire for the sweat. I was Child/the South. I found myself very very scared of the fire. This brought up tears and weeping with memories of being 5 and John’s accident, the way he was burned in the fire and almost died with 3rd degree burns over his entire body. And how I had been scared for him and terrified of him. And how I really didn’t understand what was going on. I told Elaine of this and she told me a story of how her brother died in a fire. Much love to John – he is my brother still living.
Later, found my vision quest site, against a rock outcropping directly above the cave. I will travel between my circle and the cave – spending time in the cave and emerging each day.
At night, the sweat lodge – scary, beautiful, and ecstatic. I was tasked to help Elaine who was sick and full of fear and pain. We called the ancestors – Dad, Grandmother, Grandfather, Uncle Jack, Lois, Faith, Larry, Margie, George and on and on. Then considered our child and name – I was Mystic Woman. Each direction we discovered. I was told I need to make my circle for my quest higher, that I need more of a challenge, that I am prepared, that I will not get sick like my last vision quest. So I will move my circle back and travel a longer path between my circle and the cave. I will go down into the depths of darkness and go upon the mountain. I will pray upon the mountain. I will pray inside the cave. I will pray inside the earth. I will pray inside my heart. I will pray inside the heart. And then I’ll emerge and pray upon the mountain again.
Thursday, September 7, 2006
In the morning we went to the Hogan. We sat in a circle and listened to a song from the movie Ali from when he went back to Africa to see his ancestors. We listened three times. The words – “I will see you tomorrow, maybe. Maybe I will see you tomorrow.” In circle Susan told of a communal dream that Debra had had. She dreamed that none of us were prepared to go except for Kirk. Nevertheless, we were all to go. After the circle, we were all to be invisible to each other, except for Susan. We breathed, and breathed in the circle until I had the sensation that the world was growing – expanding – and a tingling in my nose and sinus area.
We drove out and I was the first to be dropped off. I was dropped on the other side of the mountain from where I had left my things. I was to walk up and over, finding my place along the way, then go to my original spot and move those things to my new space. I climbed up and up until I could see the other side. I found a place in a circle of trees with a 310 degree view below. It took me several trips out to bring in all that I brought today and yesterday, and I left things at spots on the way to come back for. I also walked down to the cairn I left yesterday and moved it towards the cave as Susan instructed me to do. I built it up with large rocks – again placing a large heart rock on top.
Later in the early evening I hiked to the cairn again and left a note: “I am well! My back is sore, so I will rest until morning. Flies and bees are swarming, but I have grown accustomed to the sound. I am Mystic Woman. I AM.” On the way there and back, I sing a song: “Oh na na na na, Christ before me, oh na na na na na, Christ behind me, Oh no na na na na, Christ beneath me, oh na na na na, Christ above me, oh na na na na, Christ beside me, oh na na na na, Christ within me.” This is my song along the path.
Now I am back upon the mountain. Later I sing the cradle song with the knees of my heart bowing for an hour or so.
Friday, September 8, 2006
At dawn I leave another note and receive a note: “The flies do not matter. You can have them walk over your face, but they do not matter. You are here for bigger things. You should make them your friends.” I say Yes! I am barely aware of them. I say that I told them I loved them and then . . . and I said I wanted to go to the cave. I would return when the sun was above the trees. I returned to watch the sunrise over the hill and wait for it to get to the right height. Then I returned to the cairn and received another note: “Master the challenges of the day. The question you did not answer –Do you see the teaching? Are the flies not a metaphor – you flit here and there – look into the ‘fly’ itself – See what she is saying about the one who is mystical woman. How do you rise to that potential? What will lessen your depth is the message of fly – Beware. You may then come to the cave entrance (6:30 clock time). Keep your eyes downcast and do not look at me. I will not look at you. Seal a space around you. Be invisible.”
Later, I converse with the fly:
Who are you fly?
I am the one who flies from place to place to place to place to place, barely pausing. I am busyness. When I stop, I rub my legs together, as if in prayer – but before the prayer is finished, I am off again. Flying here, there and everywhere. I cry as I fly-- a screaming – yet, I barely make a sound. I am quiet. My voice has no power. It is lost in the cry. Annoying. So eventually you do not pay attention. I am seeking something – but I do not find it – I am always searching, searching. I do not ever stop long enough to listen, to complete my prayers. My back is a vibrant metallic blue – armor – shielding me from all else, shielding me from the unknown, from Spirit. I am searching for shit to feed on. I am waiting for your death so that I may feed on your corpse.
What do you have to give me fly?
I give you insight into your own busyness. I remind you that you must pray – not as I do – in fits and starts – but with intention, in stillness, for longer – you must go deeper.
What can you tell me about the one who is Mystical Woman?
She has wings to fly – but do not misuse them. You must use your wings only after deep and meaningful prayer. Otherwise, they will not matter. You will not matter. You will only be like me.
How will I remember?
When you see me, PRAY.
In the late afternoon, I went back to the cave. I saw the sun had farther to travel than I had thought. Perhaps it was 4:00? So I lay down in a position of prostrate prayer for a time until my arms and hands fell asleep. Then I got on my knees with my head to the ground. Then back to lying down. The flies were still with me, this time biting on occasion, and ants.
At 6:30, Susan arrived. I kept my eyes down and remained invisible. I took a flashlight and followed her lighted path. Half way in, Susan left me a note on a rock for me to lay my flashlight down, so I did. We continued down, down, down, deeper than I remembered in silence. As we got to the lowest chamber with the altar, I began to cry – I was crying because I was tired, because I was afraid to be left so deep in the ground, and because I knew this is where I needed to be. In the womb of the earth, the heart of our Mother, in the tomb. Susan showed me the skull and stone with the bear carving. She showed me all the caverns inside. Some that were 30-40 feet overhead. Some with holes to another chamber. Then she left me a note: “Are you okay? I am leaving now with the light. I will be back when night falls. I cannot touch you now, but know that you are surrounded in love.” I sat in a small seat I had brought and stayed. As the light slowly left, I cried. And then I was in total darkness. I prayed “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread. And forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Save us from the time of trial. And deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the Glory forever. . . . The Lord is my Shepherd, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he restoreth my soul. . . .” I continued whispering prayers for a short while, still crying. And then I began to sing:
Oh my dear heart, young Jesu sweet
Prepare a cradle in my Spirit
And I shall rock you to my heart
And never more from thee depart
And I shall praise thee ever more
With songes sweet unto thy Glore
The knees of my heart shall I bow
Shall I bow
And sing that right balulalow,
and sing that right balulalow, balulalow.
I sang it over and over and over and over and over and over again – 50, 60 times – occasionally stopping to weep or to listen to the darkness of the cave. As I sang, I felt more and more comfortable, safe and loved. I told myself aloud the story of Jesus’ death and how they buried him and then after three days and three nights, he rose – the Risen Christ. As I sang of the Jesus in my Spirit’s cradle, rocking, I thought of the child I never had – of wanting to be a Mom – and realized that here in this womb, I was having the experience of being a mother – loving the sweet Jesus in my heart – rocking him. The mother of Christ in my heart and Mother to myself. And at the same time, I was aware of the grown Jesus, dead in the tomb. I was there. I continued to sing on and on. Then suddenly, I was surprised, for the lights within the cave came on – I could see everything clearly – the caverns, the rock, the altar. I continued to sing on and on. And then, voices. Someone was coming. But it wasn’t Susan. Their voices carried as they talked. I continued to sing my prayer song – unceasingly. I decided to continue to sing even if they made it to my chamber. But to be invisible. After a time the voices faded. And then the lights went off and again I was in the darkness. Total and complete darkness. I continued to sing my prayer song. And then I began to get cold, very cold. I was shaking with cold. And still I sang on and on. Until at last I saw a light headed my way. Just a glimmer. I sang my song twice more, then sat in silence and watched the light travel closer, closer. At last, I got up and followed the light out of the cave – climbing higher and higher – in some places with stone just above my head so that I needed to crouch low to get through. I climbed through and out of the womb until I reached the ladder. And then I climbed, slowly, slowly, out into the night sky.
It was lighter, yet still the darkness of night. I waited silently in the darkness absorbing my experience while I could hear Susan leaving me a note. She took awhile, as in the darkness she also was reading my learning from Fly. And then she was gone. She told me to lay back with knees supported. To image bright metallic blue light, not as armor, but as backbone. To have a backbone. To Dare to be who I am. She told me to come back in the morning and check breath.
Then I journeyed slowly, slowly in the darkness, back up the mountain to my sacred circle. Crawling over fallen trees. Winding my way over and up. When I reached my sacred circle, I realized that I had lost my glasses. Perhaps they are still in the cave? What does this mean? What lesson? Something about vision. And so I slept and watched the moon travel across the sky until morning.
Saturday, September 8, 2006
I walked the path back to the cave – slowly – again climbing over fallen trees – a wasteland, almost like a battlefield. I left my note and then journeyed back up the mountain. Today I will rest – for I am tired – and tonight I must not sleep. Back in my circle, I found my glasses. I did not need them for my journey down and back. On that journey, I only needed to see within. This morning the wind Blows! And later I hear another questor’s cry – what did he cry? I do not know. But it was full of hunger, sorrow and pain.
Three days and three nights. A living out of the three sacred days? The Triduum? Thursday night I was yearning for Eucharist. I wished that I had brought it with me – the Body of Christ, the Bread of Life! The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation! Friday night, burial in the cave. And today, Saturday, lying upon the mountain, beneath the cross I made, waiting, waiting, waiting, for new life. Tonight I burn fire – like the Easter vigil. So I will tell the stories of the ancestors and keep vigil. The wind Blows! Blows! Blows! The Breath of God Incarnate.
What time is it? The sun is to the South and travels across the sky, slowly, slowly, slowly. I do not see its downward path, how much further it must travel – and so I am not even certain of noon.
I wish I would be visited tonight – by Elk, or Deer, or Bear or Coyote. I hope, but do not expect. Perhaps it is enough, to be visited by wind. It whispers, dances, rushes, blows – bringing breath and Breath.
I return to the cave, prepared to go inside, but it is not to be. At my cairn, a gift is left for me. A large sheet of watercolor paper and a box with colored pencils, oil crayons and watercolors. I may make one picture in the morning. Now my vigil begins . . .
Saturday evening
Back on the mountain, I began to shake a rattle, praying for moonrise. I shook and shook for what felt like hours. I prayed for peace and for every country I could think to name. Then I prayed for the children of each country, again naming them individually – “the children of Afghanistan”, “the children of Ecuador”, and on and on and on. I prayed for the hungry, the abused, those without water, the imprisoned, the addicted, the mentally ill, and on and on and on. The moon didn’t rise until sometime after I had stopped rattling. I stayed awake through the night mostly lying with knees up, breathing. The wind blew ferociously, causing the trees to sway and shake. Being surrounded by trees and having trekked through the battlefield of fallen trees morning and evening each day, I prayed that the trees would not fall upon me. Later I began to drum, finding that I could beat on a water bottle with a rattle. I drummed and drummed, with the sound echoing across the land, again for what seemed like hours. Shortly after I stopped drumming, I began to sing. First, “Bless my lord, my soul, and bless his holy name, bless the lord my soul, who leads me into life.” And then “Come Holy Spirit” and finally, my cradle song again, this one repeatedly for some time, until finally I was singing it loudly, several times. Then silence. Then I tried to start a small fire of fresh sage in a small circle of the stones I’d brought and within the shell from Lopez Island. But I could not get the matches to light. A blessing I think. I lay back again and watched the moon travel across the sky. Heard coyotes yipping and squirrels and birds. Eventually I saw stars. For a time I thought that it was the cross of stars that had appeared in my first vision quest, but then realized the stars I saw were part of a whole infinity of stars.
Sunday September 9, 2006
As the sun rose, I used the colors Susan had left me to draw vibrant blue rings around my wrists and around my face. And I used black to draw a cross upon my forehead – “remember, you were born from dust, and to dust you will return.” Then I colored a picture representing my quest and its learnings. I used my cloth soulcollage card of the wise woman before the world and surrounded her with bright blue light. Over her forehead I drew the bear in the cave, a heart at its center, with blue spiraling out from the heart to its mouth, and back again. All this surrounded by total blackness, with the blue just barely penetrating the black all around.
I took the picture down to the cairn and then journeyed up the mountain one last time. I lay for a time and then packed up, closing my circle.
I walked down the mountain, again carrying everything. At my cairn, a note – I could enter the cave again alone – just past the first tunnel. So I did. And within that first chamber I sang – “Bless the lord my soul, and bless his holy name. Bless the lord, my soul, who leads me into life.” And then the same, but using “us” with reference to the whole world.
And then I emerged from the cave – to new life.
I had changed on top of the mountain, from all black clothes to vibrant color – an Easter of sorts. Yes, I had changed on top of the mountain.
And so I waited at my cairn to be picked up. At last, Susan arrived at noon, took some pictures, and then took me back to her van. Elaine and Debra were there and gave me big hugs. I ate a bowl of quinoa and dried fruit – delicious! Then we drove back to camp. To rest. To incorporate. To shower. This evening, we make dinner and wait for others to come back from questing. Tonight, to the Hogan again.
At night, everyone has returned (except that Eric has gone home). We listen to music and listen to our stories. We gaze into one another’s eyes. We smile.
September 11, 2006
We clear camp – working hard and fast. Then we go once more to the Hogan. Smiles, tears, last words, music, hugs. We enjoy lunch at the lodge including fresh blackberries. More goodbyes. Then we get into our cars and head back into the world.