My Vision Quest Story
In 2006 my daughter was hospitalized in the psychiatric unit for 6 weeks, my father died, my mother had a mini stroke and I asked my son to leave home because he would not give up using marijuana. I died this year as well. I am grateful for all that has happened.
By April, the family dramas had left me exhausted and empty. My life was reduced to a mere existence. I felt constricted by the smallness that my life had become and my heart had withered into a gnarled knot. The arrival of spring failed to ignite my enthusiasm for being in my garden. Nothing was a labour of love, everything became an obligation and an onerous burden.
In May, I began to feel the call to go on a vision quest. I knew that it had to be a vision quest rather than a meditation retreat, a week at a spa, or religious retreat. I also knew that I had to go to South Dakota or Montana to do the quest. This tender, fragile knowledge could not bear the scrutiny of questions or be justified by an explanation, and so I said very little to friends about my desire. When I did mention this longing to a few people, their responses felt like a cold wind that could extinguish a tiny flame. I found it best to hold my silence on this yearning.
Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I “googled” the words “vision quest & Montana” and came across the web site Integritus by Dr. Susan Rangitsch. After having contacted Susan by e-mail and speaking to her, I committed myself to undertaking a vision quest under her guidance. Susan’s compassion, empathy and support convinced me that I was on the right path.
In preparation for the quest, Susan asked that I undertake a Death Lodge meditation 3-4 times a week, 2-3 weeks before the quest. This mediation required that I imagined I was an old woman of an ancient nation, feeble of body, weary of soul, ready to leave this world behind. As my death approaches, I was to withdraw myself from the ordinary life of the village and go to the Death Lodge. By so doing, I would signify to all that my time to die had arrived. My relatives and friends were to come to visit me in the Lodge to say farewell. In the mediation I was to remember the events, persons, teachers, symbols, myths, loves, inspirations, defeats, crises and triumphs of my days. I was to make my final peace with the past.
When I first started the mediation my immense fatigue came into my conscious awareness, and I felt relieved to be in a Death Lodge where I could let go and rest. The weariness in my bones and my heart could finally be acknowledged. Sadness and grief came with this meditation – grief for my father, my mother and my children. At times, sadness washed over me like waves pounding a beach, and tears streamed down my face. My inadequacy to make things better for all the people I hold dear resounded through me.
As I came to the mediation time and time again, I encountered resistance – I wanted to live and celebrate life, but I could not find the joy to do so. And then peace came with the mediation, and a warm light surrounded me. It didn’t matter if anyone came to say goodbye to me in the Death Lodge if I lived my life with integrity, love and compassion. I no longer felt that I had to hang on so tightly – I could let others care for me. At some point, I remember sweeping out dust bunnies in the mediation. I was reclaiming forgotten spaces – not knowing what those spaces were.
I had the sense of being in a cocoon undergoing a transformation. Something was expanding within me. The ancestors had joined me in the Death Lodge. I needed to be open and accepting of the mysterious.
In addition to the Death Lodge Mediation, Susan suggested that I do a Day Walk in the country. The Day Walk is undertaken as a journey upon the face of the earth in which certain signs and symbols of my inward journey may be revealed to me. It was to begin at sunrise, and no food was to be taken until after sunset. Grumbling about the need to start so early and feeling imposed upon, I resentfully set off for White Butte.
The stillness of the morning and crispness of the late summer air quickly quashed my petty complaints and instilled a sense of wonder in me. This was no longer an obligation; rather I had started a pilgrimage. I set aside my uncertainties and invited myself to be open to the experience. A half hour passed as I wandered the trail, with my only encounter being a squirrel. I hadn’t a squirrel in mind as a sign of my quest. Then I heard the screech of a hawk overhead and found a hawk feather on my path. This must be a sign – I picked up the feather as symbol of my journey. As I walked I closed my eyes and felt that I was in a vortex – being pulled away from everything around me. Trekking on the path, moving at my own speed and pace, free of all obligations to be done by a certain time or arrive at a certain destination – contentment filled my being. I reclaimed a sense of strength in my body. I focused on completing the trail at my speed and not letting the pain in my ankle and knee deter me. Once again hawks came into my awareness as I watched a pair soaring overhead – catching the airstreams and gliding across the sky. I extended my arms to approximate the joy of soaring. I wanted to soar – I wanted to move through my life with grace and freedom.
Near the end of the trail I came across a weathered picnic table where I sat to journal about the questions Susan posed. “Do I want to mark a severance? Do I want to mark a threshold? Do I want to mark an incorporation? I wrote that I am marking an ending, an ending of the trails – no that should be trials of the winter – Nicaila’s psychotic breakdown, Dad’s death, Mom’s frailness, and feeling like I can influence Stephen’s life. I am marking the ending of being in disguise in terms of who I am and what I am. I am marking a threshold – leaving behind the sense of being solely responsible for nurturing and caring for my family. I am marking a transition of being freer with myself and others, and being more generous in spirit and compassion. The morning of the day walk was a good day to die – joy filled my heart as I listened to the wind in the trees, felt the cool air against my skin and the sun warming the day. Peace washed over me.
The next day, as I watered my plants in my backyard, a hawk perched on the fence. I got the message that Hawk very much had a presence in this quest.
Just before I left for Montana, Susan e-mailed all the questers asking that we write an e-mail to the group with our response to the questions: Why have you answered this call to quest? What is your yearning? What will be difficult? What support from the community would be valuable to you? I felt pressured to respond in a thoughtful way speaking from the heart but was reticent of sounding like a cliché. Peter sends out his e-mail first, setting a standard in terms of openness and literary expression. I decide best to get my answers out ASAP so that I need not worry about how my answers will “measure up” with the other questers. Can I rid myself of this anxiety of being good enough? In my e-mail I said I answered this call to quest because the very core of my belling called to go on a quest. Now is the time to let go, and awaken to the possibilities. The land calls to me. My yearning is to claim all that I am, be connected with the earth, and have clarity on what is my purpose. Being with myself for the quest will be difficult. Setting aside my desire to analyze things as a way of disengaging will be a challenge. Physical challenges in the fast might be hard. I’m not sure. Knowing that I am part of a community and we are brought together because of our desire to journey deeper will be supportive. Open hearts and a willingness to share in laughter and tears.”
I arrived at Blacktail Ranch in Montana on Monday, September 4th. Lacking a passport or birth certificate I had some difficulty crossing the border. Part of me resisted going on the quest – why would I leave home without my passport or birth certificate? When asked if I would leave anything in Montana by the US customs officer, I opted for the safe answer of no, rather than trying to explain that I hoped to leave behind my old self.
Blacktail Ranch is an 8,000 acre ranch on the eastern continental divide in the mountains. Sacred caves have been found on the ranch, caves that bear the markings of being used for visioning, and an underground cave where sacred artifacts dating back 13,000 years have been found. Mysterious forces were at work in drawing me to this place.
Upon arrival at the ranch, I received directions to the meadow where our base camp would be set up. Susan met me and helped me carry my gear to the camp site. Susan’s physical presence with her muscle toned body and bronzed skin did not fit my mental image of the soft spoken gentle person with whom I had been in contact. Where is that willowy, whispy person of my imagination who spoke barely above a whisper?
In crossing a small stream, Susan warned me that the wooden bridge which laid across the stream like an abandoned boardwalk was rotten and unstable. Following Susan’s lead I waded into the stream half fearful that I would slip on the rocks yet wanted to appear like a seasoned outdoors person. My suitcase on wheels probably dispelled any notion that I am a seasoned outdoors person. I managed to set up my tent and met my fellow questers – Maggie, Heather, and Kirk. Robert arrived late Monday night, and Debra and Peter joined us on Wednesday.
On Tuesday, Heather, Maggie and I went to the sacred cave with Susan. In an earlier conversation with Susan about the cave, I indicated that I would be willing to stay in the cave for an hour at most. The cave is accessed by a steep narrow staircase that runs 12 – 15 foot into the ground. Susan and Heather went first. I took two – three steps down and then saw the small opening to the cave. Panic flashed through me at the thought of having to crawl through such a small space. My knee gave out and I catapulted down the stairs bowling over Susan and Heather. As I lay at the bottom of the stairs bruised and shaken I whimpered in pain. What was broken? How would I ever get out? Amazingly nothing was broken, and I wanted to continue on. Traversing 300 feet we had to crawl through narrow openings, wind our way around bounders as we descended to the sacred cavern. I found sliding down on my bottom to be the easiest and safest approach. On entering the cavern I stumbled to a spot I could sit hoping to regain my balance. When Susan said she would leave us in the cave – I anxiously asked her, how would I get out? Her assurance that Heather would lead me out left me feeling vulnerable.
Although we had a flashlight, we chose to stay in darkness in the cave. The silence and blackness enveloped us. Initially I needed to keep my eyes closed to avoid being suffocated by the blackness. In time I became comfortable with the blackness and I could open my eyes. I longed to hear voices, but felt it would be disrespectful to engage in chatter. And so I chanted my meditation mantra: “Om moni padme hum”. While chanting I felt a sense of connection with the ancient ones who had worshipped in this space and a sense of peace. The air warmed. After about an hour, I stopped chanting. Heather started seeing a light. Maggie said she wanted to sing – I suggested we could sing “row, row your boat” if no other songs came to her. Fortunately, Maggie has a bigger song repetoire than I do, and sang a song of prayer and a hymn. The beauty of her voice filled the cavern.
Amazingly two hours had passed, it was time to leave the cavern. My body ached, my legs were weak and I could not trust my feet to maintain a grip on the trail back. Heather guided me out, telling me where the footholds were, where to place my feet and pulling me up the inclines that my feet refused to grip. Relief swept through me as I ascended the stairs and put my feet on the grass again.
Later that day I told Susan, I must have been in an altered state of consciousness when I agreed to go into the cave after my fall. I felt traumatized by the experience and had a physical aversion to the very idea of going into the cave. I needed to do something to rid myself of the trauma of the fall and sense of helplessness.
On Wednesday we prepared the fire for the sweat lodge scheduled for that evening, then went into the mountains to select the sites for our quest. Heather and Robert wanted sites high on the cliffs, Maggie wanted to be close to the cave, Debra wanted to be up on the ridge, Kirk and I ended up by a small stream. Kirk was higher up on the ridge, and my site was up from the stream.
Upon selecting my site, I started to clear it of the dried up cow pies. As I tossed the old cow pies out of my site the symbolism of it struck me. “Tossing out old shit.” Furthermore, when I overturned the old cow patties, I found new growth. Another insight – when you get rid of the old shit, you will find new life.
I hauled my 4 gallons of water, foam mattress, and backpack to the site. Covering the supplies with a tarp I hoped all would be there on my return Thursday. In creating the quest circle, I hung tobacco pouches in each of the four directions, wishing I had given more thought to what I would ask of each direction. Why wasn’t I better prepared? What would be the consequences of not getting this right?
As the day progressed I became nauseous and developed a head ache. I felt that someone had driven a stake through my right eye and was pounding it through the back of my skull. At supper Heather alerted Susan to my head ache and nausea thinking Susan would let me leave the sweat lodge earlier. Susan said she would be ready for me. Apprehension flashed through me.
Prior to going into the sweat lodge, I asked Susan what I should do if I had to throw up. Her directions that I throw up into the rock pit heightened my qualms about the sweat. She directed me to select two people to support me if I needed to throw up – I chose Maggie and Robert, entrusting these two strangers not to let me fall onto the red hot rocks. With the choosing of Maggie and Robert I wondered if this an imposition upon them that I had no right to make.
The events of the sweat are a blur in my mind. As the sweat started, Susan asked us to call in the spirits of the departed we wanted in the lodge with us. I called for Dale, George, Dad, Stephanie, Uncle Steve, Aunty Mary, Aunty Helen and my grandmothers and grandfathers. That small part of my mind that could hold a thought wondered what Dale would be saying about the whole experience. Would he be snickering about a bunch of middle class white folks playing Indians?
I had to struggle with my cynicism so that I could participate in the experience. My headache and mounting nausea consumed me. Some spirit was pounding my head with a battering ram. I held my head with my eyes closed and hoped I would survive the sweat.
Susan started asking me if I needed to go back to the cave. Susan dismissed my muted “no” and repeated the question over and over, like a warped record. I kept thinking to myself, “what is it about “no” that this stupid bitch doesn’t understand.” At one point I considered saying yes, just to get her to shut up but realized I did not want to betray myself in that way. And then a “NO” erupted from the core of my being which reverberated through the sweat lodge. Susan finally stopped asking me the question. Never before have I spoken with such resolute.
At some point, Susan directed her energies to ridding me of an unwelcome presence, saying that that presence should leave me. She described me as a kind and generous woman who should not be burdened with such a presence. I remember hearing her demanding that this presence be gone, and thinking my head would explode from the head ache. The sweat streaming off my body and the pain in my head consumed my conscious awareness. Later I learned that I muttered and mumbled swearing at Susan as she worked to exorcise this darkness. Although my stomach churned, I could only emit dry heaves. Then Susan started a song about a river. She asked me to sing my song – and the words came out of me without thought. “River of light wash over me. River of life carry me home. River of compassion wash over me. River of love wash over me. River of life bring me to the source, river of light, wash over me. Wash away my grief and sadness. River of life bring me home.” Susan asked the others to join me in my song but to follow my lead. Later I wondered why no one else had to sing their song, why did only I have to sing a song.
At some point Susan asked who was in the sweat lodge with her. Debra and Maggie called out their names, and then my turn came. The headache consumed my being, I simply opened my mouth and the words Fire Eater came out without thought or intent.
When Robert identified himself as Star Gazer, Susan vehemently refuted that name, and told him he needed to get his head out of the clouds and get his feet on the ground. Susan then told Robert that he needed to dig his grave and sleep in that grave while on his quest. I feared what I would be required to do in my quest.
During the sweat Susan told us to go to the stream and wade in to our knees. Maggy supported me – the challenge of walking over the rocks in bare feet and my weakened condition made this 20 foot walk seemingly impossible. While in the stream I moved rocks so I could find a place to plant my feet. I got no further than my ankles and Maggie splashed water on my legs. Leaning on Maggy and Debra I made my way back into the sweat lodge. I felt helpless and weak – not an easy state for me to accept.
In the sweat Susan said I needed to leave my bitterness behind. In my mind I questioned the validity of this assessment. I didn’t see myself as a being bitter. Yes there are moments when I am resentful but I hadn’t thought of that as bitterness. I resented Susan for calling me a bitter hag, and started to distrust this experience.
When Susan asked if we had enough of the sweat lodge, the men said no. Without ceremony Susan said, “Fine, you guys continue, I’m done and we women are out of here.” The cool night air felt wonderful. I got into the truck to ride back to base camp, then got out and vomited. This brought relief.
As we went through the directions in the sweat, Susan told Maggie, Debra and Robert that they would have to move their quest sites. I feared that she would direct me to move my site to the cave. I lay awake in my tent that night preparing my refusal to move my site to the cave. If need be, I would pack up and go home. I would not endanger myself by going to the cave again. I found myself angry, and resolved that I would leave if Susan insisted I needed to go back to the cave. Who was Susan to tell me that I was a resentful person? What did she really know about me? I began to think this was all a big mistake.
Thursday morning arrived with me still harbouring a shadow of a headache. Susan told me that I needed to take my air mattress and a camp chair to my quest site emphasizing that I must be rest and be comfortable. I had mixed feelings about that –I appreciated the prospect of having more comfort, yet I wondered why I was being treated like a “candy ass.” None the less, one does not argue with Susan.
After breakfast, we assembled at the Hogan. While in the circle, Susan started provoking Robert demanding that he identify himself. Her aggressiveness took me aback. Only when Robert prostrated himself on the floor and identified himself as Digger did Susan stop. Witnessing this I didn’t know what to think. What school of therapy did this come from? What had I gotten into, and with whom?
Situated on a small ridge, my vision quest site overlooked a small stream and a logging road. An old burn area lay on the other side of the road. Upon being dropped off at the road to access my site, Susan asked me to build a cairn by the road which would be used to leave messages in the mornings and evenings advising Susan of my well being. Susan walked to the burn area and selected a chunk of burnt wood. Uneasy with Susan rubbing the soot from the burnt wood on my face and hands, I immediately thought – I really don’t like to get my face dirty. Then something shifted for me. I crossed over to another way of being. Susan instructed me to keep the soot on my face as part of being Fire Eater, and to put the burnt wood on my altar in my quest circle. Susan then told me I would have a question for her tomorrow. She also directed me to rest. Once again, I wondered why I was getting the “old lady” treatment.
I decided to build my cairn from the charred wood in the burn area. The shape and texture of the burnt logs intrigued me. The scaly texture reminded me of snake and reptile skins. I wandered through the burn area to purposely select those pieces of charred logs that spoke to me. I felt like an artist assembling a sculpture. In a way the soot on my face freed me to get my hands dirty to truly create a cairn as an expression of myself rather than solely as a “mail box.” The next morning Susan tied a red strip of cloth around one of the charred poles in my cairn. This ribbon of color against the blacken wood gave a festive feel to the cairn.
Having completed the cairn, I took my stuff across the stream, and up to my site. I immediately started nesting – getting the air mattress pumped up, spreading out my sleeping bag, and blankets, and setting up my chair. The tree stump in my circle served as my altar – holding my hawk feather, the crystal Susan had given me, and charred wood.
The sun invited me to take my clothes off and I did so. I discovered that I could hear the wind approach before I felt it. I wanted the day to last forever, I savored being completely free. I didn’t have to be responsible for anything or anyone. I didn’t care what I looked like or the fact that my body has bulges. I rejoiced in being a woman. What luxury! I reveled in the warmth of the sun and gentle breeze. My sensual self reawakened. I even came to appreciate the flies. The flies confirmed the acuteness of my senses, and I imagined they were working to exfoliate my skin. They also made me realize that in that moment I was at the opposite end of the food chain. Sexual and creative energies surged through me.
I wandered down to the stream and found the babbling waters soothing. I felt moved to sing my River song again. Peace settled over me.
I bedded down Thursday night with some apprehensions. What would I do if a bear wandered in my circle? Never mind a bear, what about a skunk? Telling myself that the spirits would protect me, I wrapped myself in my blanket, and climbed into my sleeping bag. Why didn’t anyone tell me to bring a toque? I now know why cowboys wear their hats even when they sleep. You need to keep your head covered to keep your feet warm, never mind the rest of your body. The stillness of the night filled the air. The full moon’s journey across the sky had a cold beauty. Without warmth and brightness the night passed slowly.
Feeling that I hadn’t slept a wink that night, I awoke early morning. One of my learnings from the night included not going to bed with your burrs on – literally and figuratively. As I wandered my quest area, I puzzled over the question I needed to pose to Susan. Feeling somewhat anxious – could I come up with the right question, I thought about being a Fire Eater. What did that mean? Is being a Fire Eater symbolic of eating other people’s anger, or swallowing my own anger? Did being a Fire Eater make me someone who consumed others, in terms of their hopes and dreams? I was not comfortable with the idea of being a Fire Eater. And so my question for Susan was: “What is the fire I have eaten and why?”
As I walked to the cairn to leave my note for Susan, I came across a caterpillar slowly climbing up the ridge. I saw this small creature moving through the landscape as a kindred being. As the caterpillar would soon cocoon and metamorphose to a butterfly, I hoped through this quest I would metamorphose to a more vibrant life.
Susan wrote back, directing me to light my candle today and gaze into the flame. In so doing, this small fire would enable me to handle what comes up. That night, I would build a small safe fire and breathe into that fire to see what was revealed. As for my question, Susan wrote, that I was thinking about Fire Eater incorrectly. “A woman who takes in the fire opens to her passions. Her deep love for life. What’s next and for the next many years, you need to be fueled by passion and love. You are to continue smearing the coals on your body and gaze into the flame opposite you. You would see the road needed to travel this day. The washing away of –There are easier ways to ask for support than a near disaster or physical limitations. It would be ok for you to be held. It would be ok to let down, let go – breakdown, be vulnerable. You are not strong, not invincible, face it. This is more real than your stoicism. The flame is small today – a flame within. A glimmer that sheds light on what you always dreamed of doing. And now you can???”
Susan’s words both jarred and invigorated me. I resisted the insinuation that I orchestrated a disaster or developed a physical limitation as a call for support. I acknowledged that I work at being stoic and am not comfortable with my own neediness. Seeing the Fire Eater as a woman who takes in her passions expanded my sense of being. It kindled my buried desires to live my life with joy and passion.
Using 8 matches to light the candle, I laughed at myself. Here I was – a self proclaimed Fire Eater who needed 8 matches to light a candle. Keeping the small fragile flame burning in the gentle breeze required care and attention. I sheltered the candle to ensure it wouldn’t blow out, and with present mindfulness ensured I did not burn myself with the hot wax. I saw the symbolism of this, that one needed to be persistent in igniting a passion, and deliberate in keeping it going. The flame danced with abandon and grace in all directions. I wanted to move through my life with a sense of grace and abandon.
Struggling with my skeptical self who would readily preclude me from staying in the spirit of the quest, I prayed: “Oh great spirit, let me experience and participate in this quest as fully as possible.” I rubbed more soot on my hands and face as an invitation to my pagan self.
Meditating on the sound of the tingshas (Tibetan bells) brought me to the moment. To ring the tingshas I needed to concentrate ensuring that the strike of the disks was true, and followed the ripples of the chime. In so doing, I prayed for the healing of the earth and all that is on the earth. I prayed for the healing of the sick, wounded and suffering. I hoped my prayers would reverberate through space following the path of the chimes. The sun arched through the sky as I sent out my prayers in this meditation.
I only needed 2 matches to light my night fire. Tending the fire, I took care not to smother out the flames by adding too much wood, yet adding enough wood to keep the fire burning. Another metaphor for bringing passion into my life – I need to ensure I don’t smother my passion by overwhelming it, yet must feed my passion so that it can continue to burn. I breathed in the fire – welcoming the spirit of fire into my being.
The warmth of the fire eased the passing of the night, yet it came at a cost. I lost the acuity of my night vision as I gazed into the fire – my circle of vision shrank.
Having let the fire burn down, I retreated to my sleeping bag. Warmed by the fire, comfortable with the night, I hoped to sleep well. I fell into a restless sleep and dreamt I had fallen into a fire that consumed me. My screams awoke me. As I lay awake I wailed out my grief for my mother and father. Arising, I took charcoal from my firepit and rubbed my face, hands, and arms with it not knowing why but knowing its importance.
Saturday had the feel of fall with cool breezes and a cloudy sky. During my vigil this night, Susan directed me to build a bigger fire and eat the fire. I was to awaken my passions, the dream I’ve always had. In her morning note to me, Susan wrote: “Begin your vigil tonight. Remember Fire is the first shaman. To participate with fire is to allow the alchemy of turning lead into gold, gross physical density into vibrancy of love and joy. Tomorrow, come to your cairn at 10:00. Do not take down your circle until after. I have questions I must ask you. I am invisible to you. You are invisible to me until I speak to you. Bring your tingchas.”
I found this note abrupt and disconcerting. Why did I need to take my tingchas to the cairn? Did Susan disapprove of my ringing the tingchas for an extended period of time? Was I going to be admonished for not using them in a respectful way? How could Susan assume I wasn’t using the tingchas respectfully? What kind of questions did Susan have for me?
Irritated, I gathered wood in preparation for the vigil. Childhood memories of my brothers and me bringing in wood for the stove came to me, reminding me of a simpler and joyful time. Not sure of how much wood I would need, I kept gathering wood throughout the day hoping I would have enough to last through the night. For the first time I came across fresh bear scat as I foraged for wood. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was more preoccupied with what was it I would ask of the fire.
The day passed slowly. Having put my watch away at the start of my quest, I developed a sense of time by marking the sun’s journey across the sky. On this day, restlessness and impatience came into my being. I wanted to go home, I wanted this to be over.
Susan had told us that we were to enter and exit our vision quest circles from the East. Understanding that when so doing, we were to announce our entering and exiting the circle, I tried to follow this practice faithfully. Although self conscious in telling the circle, I needed to exit because I had to relieve myself, I started to give more thought to what I sought when returning to the circle. I initially sought sanctuary, then healing, and then a reawakening. As I returned to the circle with the wood, I sought to know my wisdom and purpose.
Wanting to respect the boundaries of the quest circle, I piled the wood on either side of side my expanded fire site. Needing to minimize the risk of burning my sleeping bag and air mattress, I piled them against the tree that marked the west boundary of my circle. Impatient for nightfall, I lit my fire before it became dark. I wanted this to be over. I got the fire going with two matches.
I do not come easily to prayer; I feel self conscious and disconnected. This night, as the fire burned I prayed: “Burn fire burn, burn brightly and intensely for I eat you fire, I devour you. I consume your red hot coals. And in the core of my being those coals burn to ashes and dust all that weighs me down, all that is gross and drech. Those coals burn to ashes and dust my bitterness, my resentments, my regrets and sorrows. They melt my frozen heart so that it fills with love, joy and passion. My spirit soars free and I live my life with passion and purpose. Burn fire burn on this wondrous night of transformation.” Feeling foolish saying these words, I wanted to embrace the experience as much as possible and part of me wanted to believe in magic. Initially I said the lines quietly, then in the interests of dramatic effect and staying awake, my voice grew in strength, volume and resonance.
I had not found it to be a hardship to be without food for three days and nights. Even when I thought about what I might like to eat when the quest was over, nothing appealed to me. If this lack of interest in food continued into my everyday life I would be willing to consider this whole experience worthwhile. However, as I kept vigil that night I experienced heartburn with an intensity that I had never experienced before. My gut was on fire. My rationale mind wondered why I would experience heartburn when I hadn’t eaten anything for three days, without acknowledging that I was eating fire that night.
The wind picked up and swirled in all directions. The night turned cold and miserable. Realizing I had piled the wood too close to the fire pit, and the unpredictability of the direction of the wind I feared I would lose control of the fire. I felt like a juggler in keeping a raging fire going and ensuring I didn’t set the wood piles on fire. Staring into the flames, I saw the logs burn into to shape of a bear, and a cougar. And then a piece of wood burnt into the shape of a heart. Although struck by the length of time it took this heart to burn to ashes, I failed to make the connection to my prayer that my frozen heart melt.
The moon moved across the sky with glacial speed despite my efforts to will it to go faster. My impatience and determination to make time go faster were as useless as a fly trying to change the course of a stampeding buffalo herd.
I watched the last logs burn down as dawn arrived with a sense of disappointment and failure. Exhausted, I lay down on my mattress glad that this would soon be over. While I had hoped for a larger than life vision, I could only identify small shifts. I realized I no longer felt traumatized by my first encounter with the cave and could go back to the cave if I wanted to. My inability to make the moon cross the sky faster paralleled my inability to influence Stephen to stop using marijuana and have a direction in his life. I have met many fine young men that I wished Stephen were like, but he is not. He has to find his way and know that I love him. My bones told me I needed to let go.
Thinking about my experience in the sweat lodge in saying no to Susan, I sensed that I had reclaimed a forgotten power. There were stirrings in my sexual and creative energies. At the time I saw these shifts as miniscule and questioned the gain for pain equation. Part of me wanted to criticize Susan, what she could have done better, how she could have been more approachable and inviting. I resisted, telling myself I had given her my trust, and I would reserve judgment until this was completely over.
In preparation for the meeting with Susan that morning I dug out the tingchas ready to defend my use of them. Upon meeting Susan at the cairn, she asked that I sit by my cairn and ring the tingchas so that she could take my picture. How could this intent so mistakenly have given rise to all my irritation and apprehension? When Susan asked me what my dream is, I cringed inwardly. My eyes looked to the upper right as my brain sorted through my memory bank of abandoned dreams. Susan insisted that I look at her, and in so doing it came to me. I wanted to travel and write. Susan asked what did I want to write – I knew immediately that I wanted to write the stories of the people.
Relief swept through me upon hearing that my quest was over. The test was over, and I didn’t care if I passed or not. I hurriedly packed up my belongings and carried them across the stream. As we were leaving, Susan told me to look back at my site and give thanks for the quest. At that point I was just thankful to be leaving.
Susan took Maggie, Debra and me back to base camp. The others would end their quest by 5:00 p.m. All I needed, wanted, or hoped for was a hot cup of tea and a hot shower. What luxury, to hold a hot cup in my hands sipping something warm. I reveled in the sensual delight of standing in a shower and letting the hot water wash over me.
As Maggie, Debra and I basked in the afternoon sun at the base camp, joy seeped into my being. The lowing of the cows in the distance prompted Debra to say how soothing she found that sound. We then fantasized about making a CD with cows mooing which could be used by massage therapists and other healers. Our laughter filled the air. I felt myself come alive. My inner light that had operated on 10 volts had been recharged to 110,000 volts. I realized the grayness that had veiled my eyes had vanished. My senses awoke to the wonder of my surroundings. I radiated exuberance.
Trying to honour Susan’s direction that we not talk about our quest experience until that evening we refrained from telling our stories. I said to Debra and Maggie that Susan is a mystery with her Heckle and Jyde personas – meaning to say, Jeckle and Hyde given her compassionate gentleness and her aggressive provocations. Perhaps I was right the first time, Susan did heckle people to get them to let go of their egos. None the less, I started to better appreciate all that Susan had done for us.
Tasked with the responsibility for preparing dinner that evening I welcomed the opportunity to have a creative outlet. I felt like a child at play combining the colors, textures and flavors of the fruits, vegetables and grains for our meal. I wanted my joyfulness and love of the sensual to permeate our dinner.
That night at the Hogan, Susan asked us to identify who had returned. I identified myself as Sunshine, feeling like a ray of sunshine – bright, warm and nurturing.
Because Kirk had to leave a day early, he was not able to be with us that night. Susan shared his story which entailed claiming his manhood. On the night of his vigil Kirk fell asleep. A bear came into his circle and awoke him. Kirk had to hold his space and scare off the bear in which he succeeded. As a way of marking his transition to being a man, Kirk made a skin offering, carving a serpent eating its tail on his arm. I am so proud of Kirk. In the time I spent with him, I saw in him a compassionate, caring and sensitive young man. I believe he claimed that man for himself. I wonder if the bear Kirk scared off was the one that came into my territory leaving the scat. Fortunately I did not need the teaching of the bear in my quest.
The next morning in the Hogan, Peter described us as 7 souls who had come together. That image stays with me.
As I took my belongings from the base camp across the stream to pack up for my trip home, I used the rotten, unstable bridge that I had been warned about. I discovered the centre of the bridge to be stable and solid. Another life lesson, take the centre path.
On my way home I felt like a blessed child of the universe. Although a police officer caught me speeding I did not get a ticket. When I stopped at a gas station to clean my windshield, a passenger from the car at another gas pump offered to clean my windshield, even though the driver of his car grumbled about their windshield needing cleaning. Driving east on the Trans Canada highway just before dusk, a coyote crossed the highway right in front of me. When I got home at midnight the howling of coyotes serenaded me as I unpacked the trunk. My senses opened to all the ways of knowing.
As the initial exuberance of the quest dissipated I wished I had a physical marking of my experience. Days after I came home I savored the wasp bite on my finger that I got on my last day of the Quest as a visceral reminder of my Quest. Tattoo parlors are starting to call out to me.
I have much to be thankful for. I continue to marvel at my good fortune of having connected with Susan and undertaking the Quest. I feel my life has been renewed and that I am connected with the energies of the earth. I stand in wonder of the mysteries around me. My heart is open, I am joyful.