A Beautiful Dream from the Trees – Shamanic Dreaming Workshop (Post 2 of 4)

(continued… click here for post 1)

In early February 2011 I attended a shamanic dreaming workshop led by June BlueSpruce, tree in human form, life coach and shamanic practitioner.  (Click here for June’s website).

As discussed in the last post on this blog, though shamanism has traditionally thrived within a shroud of secrecy, it is also a powerful practice intended to serve the well-being of humanity and the Earth. 

June was kind enough to write down what she saw and learned from one dream from the trees, a dream she also shared verbally during her February workshop:

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Tree Dream #1: Trees Are Part of the Earth’s Nervous System

“The story we need is written on wood, on the trees.  This is not a story we can get from computers.  We must not rush.  We learn to speak tree language to use in healing.  Healing energy enters through lines of text.” – Dream, March 2004

Deep in the silence of my first Medicine Walk, a month after I had this dream, the trees spoke to me. 

In the words of Grandmother White Eagle, a gifted shamanic teacher with whom I have worked for many years, a Medicine Walk is “a sacred adventure.   It could be described as a vision quest on the terrain of the Divine Feminine, a journey into the natural and spiritual realm of the Earth Mother.”  For a period of 36 hours, we opened ourselves in silence to the guidance, support, and wisdom of Spirit, seeking healing, grace, vision, and medicine.  It is not necessary to fast or stay awake outside during a Medicine Walk, as one does during a traditional Vision Quest.  What one gives up can include outgrown notions of oneself, one’s limitations and fears, one’s separation from nature and Spirit.

About five hours into the silence, on our second night among big trees on the Washington coast, I woke to feed the fire in the wood stove.  Trying to go back to sleep, I experienced a rush of adrenaline, a familiar pattern of worries and fears, wakefulness that resulted in part from childhood trauma.  Seeing the moon’s light through the trees, I thought of my mother, born in the sign of Cancer, ruled by the moon.  She had died of metastatic breast cancer over twenty years earlier, days before her sixty-seventh birthday.  In one of my dreams, she had a beautiful round face like the moon.  I called her to me, felt her hands on my heart and mid-back, and began to cry. 

Between the house and the ocean stood a large Sitka spruce around which we had performed a ritual in the afternoon.  The spruce called, “Come outside.”  I got dressed, went out and lay face down on the ground at the base of her trunk.  I knew I was with my mother then – my human ancestor and the Earth herself.  I was – and always had been – held and supported, like a child on her mother’s shoulder.  I never needed to feel alone again.  I prayed to let go of my fear.

My roots extended deep into the soil of the sandy bank, like the trees.  I felt all of our roots forming a network, a vast nervous system, of which I was a small part.  My fear could be released, transformed, along these connected roots.  I was accepted into that web and knew I could draw on it for knowledge, healing and inspiration. .......

(for more, see next post)

Shhh! I Can’t Tell You Anything - Shamanic Dreaming Workshop (Post 1 of 4)

In early February 2011 I attended a shamanic dreaming workshop led by June BlueSpruce, tree in human form, life coach and shamanic practitioner.  (We’ll get to the tree in human form part next post!)

I too am a shamanic practitioner.  Nonetheless, I found the workshop to be very exciting as it helped me to hone one of the essential skills of shamanic practice – the art of dreaming.

What is a shaman?  In general terms, a shaman or medicine person is a healer who works directly with nature spirits to bring about change in the world of humans. 

There is some truth in the statement that “we are all shamans.”  The ability to connect deeply with nature - deeply enough to talk with nature and have it talk back - is a natural human trait. Other truths are that many in our modern world are out of touch with this ability, others use it to harm rather than help, and not everyone is called to the life path of the shaman as it is one of life-long learning, commitment and discipline.  In this way, shamanism is also a responsibility.  

To this workshop June BlueSpruce brought a sense of integrity and a willingness to protect the safety and security of the group.  She also brought a high level of skill in helping others discover the gift of dreaming within them. 

What then is the art of dreaming? 

As June teaches it, it is the know-how to request a dream on a particular subject and get it – whether through a shamanic journey or the nightly act of sleeping.  It is also the ability to remember the dream, figure out what it means and act on it. 

While shamanism may be an inherent human ability, dreaming skills do not feel intuitive for most living in the modern world.  Therefore, learning and practicing the art of dreaming reveals a new horizon - the sense that dreams are alive, that they are intelligent messengers guiding us in the right direction.  Practiced in this way, 

dreaming becomes a lifestyle, a path June summed up in the phrase, “living by your dreams.”

There is another peculiarity about shamans that should be noted here – we can be secretive or hard to understand. This is because the spirit world can defy description and, traditionally, a strong sense of privacy has been seen as protecting both the shaman’s power and the purity of teachings.  

So, what actually happened in this workshop? 

Being the good shaman that I am, I cannot say… except to note that it was a true adventure, a weekend of guided travels into the mysteries of the self and the spirit world.  I and my fellow workshop travelers rode on the backs of heretofore mythical animals, we were chewed up, spit out, and altered forever by the same (otherwise known as shamanic initiation), we confronted and just as often skirted our truths; in the process, we built community.  There were tears and laughter, fear and trembling, affirmation and transcendence.  We worked really hard.  It was a workshop that altered my life and practice for the better. 

Oh, but wait, … so as not to leave you hanging there are a couple of things I can share.....

(for more, see next post)

Messages from Angels – Angels for Breakfast: Nourishment at Whole Foods - Post 4 of 4

Note: One of my favorite parts of my spiritual job description is when I am asked to be a messenger for benevolent angelic forces. I often receive messages for people whose angels or spiritual guardians ask me to communicate when it is a matter of urgency or they are having a hard time getting through to their human counterparts. Many of these people are strangers to me and our interactions last only moments. These messages can be warnings of illness or accident.  They can also be intended to clarify or give direction. Whatever they are, I play my role as messenger faithfully.

(continued… click here for post 1, post 2, post 3)

“No!” I said, nearly hollering.  As I spoke, I surprised myself with my own intensity.  I smacked my hand down emphatically on the counter near him.  The angels were moving through me.  I knew then that all of the scurrying and confusion around pie, eggs and gift cards was a prelude to this moment.  I knew then that I had a message to deliver and that I was going to have to be honest.  “Okay,” I said, “I need to tell you something.  I have kind of a strange job description.”  Pause.  “I listen to angels.”

At my words, he turned his face toward the counter and  put his ear closer to me as if to make sure he heard what came next.

“Thirty dollars is not too much.  That’s what you need to know.  It does not matter what has happened in your life.  You still deserve support.  You still deserve to have enough to eat, even though it’s hard right now.  This is what they want you to know.  You need to understand this!”  As I spoke my voice quivered, thick with emotion and conviction.

He nodded his head.

“So this is for you,” I said, handing him the card.  “You can use it to eat, at least for a little while.” 

He took the card.

When delivering messages, the act of acknowledging and touching into the suffering of another dissolves social boundaries.  This way of connecting unites hearts and gives permission to feel and express love where normally there would be none.  I bent forward slightly and put my arms around his shoulders , suspecting that my impulse to do so was the Divine’s way of hugging him through me.

He hugged me back and then held out his hand.  “What’s your name?”

I shook his hand.  “I’m Ahnday,” I said, embarrassed once again.  While wrestling with time, pie and the commands of Angels, I had forgotten that one easy way to start a conversation would have been to introduce myself. 

“I’m John,” he said.

“John.  Nice to meet you,” I said.  Then the words of the angels came through me again, “John.  It means ‘God is Gracious,’ right?”

“Right,” he nodded thoughtfully.

With this, I walked away, allowing myself to be pulled by an invisible hand away from John, out of the store and into the parking lot.  There was no goodbye.  With that simple acknowledgment, the interlude ended. 

I made it to the workshop with 10 minutes to spare.  Before going in I sat in the car and ate some of the berry pie.  I thought about how sometimes just the willingness to survive is a demonstration of faith.  Although I had been sure that there was nothing for me in that store, I was glad I had heeded the call, I was glad I had eaten breakfast.

Messages from Angels – Angels for Breakfast: Nourishment at Whole Foods (Post 3 of 4)

(continued … click here for post 1, post 2)

I wanted to tell him that there were angels and that while I was happy to get him breakfast there was more at play than me and my apparently guilty conscience.  “If I tell him that I hear spirits, he’ll think I’m crazy!”  I thought.  Instead I said, “I think I should.”  Another awkward pause and then, “Can we do this?”  It was all I could get out!

He nodded his head in consent.

“Okay.  So, get your plate,” I said, relieved and suddenly able to speak, “I have to be somewhere at ten o’clock so we’ll have to be quick.  Does that work?”

He nodded and walked off toward the eggs.

I turned and headed back to the pie and then immediately back to him.  I was getting the sense that the eggs were not going to be enough.  “Do you like pie?” I asked.

His voice perked up.  “Yes. I like pie.”

“What kind?  Berry, apple?”

“Berry is good.”

Berry! Suddenly, I knew that that was what I wanted too!  I walked back and grabbed two mini berry pies.  I arrived back at the eggs just as he was lifting a piece of bacon onto his plate.  His serving of eggs and bacon was dainty at best.  We walked toward the cash register.  “Do you want a drink or a sandwich or a breakfast burrito or an energy bar?” I asked, surveying the merchandise around us, “They might be good to keep in your back pack.”

“No,” he said, “someone else bought me something.”

At the cash register, I paid for the food.  “This is for you,” I said, handing him one of the pies. 

“Thank you.”  His eyes brightened and he walked away with his food.  He sat down a few feet away at the counter by the window that looked out onto the parking lot.  He began to eat.

The Angels conveyed that even the eggs, bacon and pie were not going to be enough.  For the second time that morning, the picture of a gift card flashed in my mind.  “Do you sell gift cards?” I asked the clerk. “Yes,” she said.

“Are they activated so you could just use them … like he could just get food with it," I asked pointing to the man for whom I had just bought breakfast.  I did not want the man to have to worry about finding an Internet connection to activate the card before he could use it, something that could be challenging if he were homeless.

She nodded. 

“Do you know him?” I asked.  

“No. I don’t usually work in the morning.”

Again, I hesitated.  What if he used it for alcohol?  I remembered also that I am unemployed.

“Buy it,” The voice said, calmly this time, “Thirty dollars.”

I purchased the gift card and walked over to the man.  “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m stalking you,” I began.

“No. Thank you,” he said, “Really, thank you.”  There was sincerity and gratitude in this voice. 

I held out the card.  “This is for you.  There’s thirty dollars on it.”

“No, I can’t.  It’s too much,” he said.  The stools at the counter were tall; his feet did not reach the floor and instead rested on the stool’s metal rungs.  Due to the height of the stool we were able to see nearly eye to eye.  He did not lift his hand to take the card.

(for more, see next post)

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Messages from Angels – Angels for Breakfast: Nourishment at Whole Foods

Note: One of my favorite parts of my spiritual job description is when I am asked to be a messenger for benevolent angelic forces. 

I often receive messages for people whose angels or spiritual guardians ask me to communicate when it is a matter of urgency or they are having a hard time getting through to their human counterparts. Many of these people are strangers to me and our interactions last only moments. These messages can be warnings of illness or accident.  They can also be intended to clarify or give direction. Whatever they are, I play my role as messenger faithfully

 (story is continued from previous post … click here for post 1)

Yeah,” the man with the crutch replied politely when I asked him if he was looking for breakfast, “I was going to get some but they don’t have any sausage.”  His eyes were clear.  I had half-expected his breath to smell like alcohol but it too was clean. 

I glanced at the steaming trays of breakfast food.  They had large metal spoons or plastic tongs sticking out of them and were shielded partially behind plexi-glass.  There was no sausage.  “Oh, okay,” I said awkwardly. At a loss for words, I walked away.

I returned to the pie section feeling ridiculous.  I needed clearer instructions.  I searched among the berry, strawberry-rhubarb and apple pies in hopes of finding peach. 

The voice came again, more strongly.  “Go talk to him and buy him breakfast!”

I turned back to look at the man.  I glimpsed his yellow jacket bobbing through the silver lines of the buffet.  He had moved on from the eggs and was now wandering near the trays of breakfast burritos, macaroni & cheese, turkey pot pie and other comfort food.  Once again, I heeded the voice of Angels.  I walked toward him, only to stop short on the other side of the buffet.  I felt self-conscious, and even presumptuous.  Social graces caution against pointing out someone’s suffering – as if we are somehow required to save face while remaining unassisted, unhealed and untouched.

I turned and walked back to the pie.  There was no peach to be found.  In the smaller, personal pies I had two options – a mini apple or berry pie – for $4.99 each.

“Go talk to him and buy him breakfast!”  The angelic voice came again, sounding clear and definitive.  I could see the words forming over my head and settling down on my back like a hand guiding me in the right direction.

I turned around again to look at the man.  He was still wandering near the turkey pot pie.  I hesitated.  It hurt me to look at him there, hungry and with so much restraint – after all, he did not steal, or pilfer bits of food from the trays.  I turned back to the pie I wasn’t even sure I wanted.  The next option was half a strawberry-rhubarb pie for $7.99.  I didn’t need that much pie!

The voice came again.  This time it shouted.  “Talk to him and buy him breakfast!”  The words came in golden capital letters with several exclamations points following.  They boomed out of the air above me and cascaded down around my head, reverberating loudly like cymbals.  The command blocked out all other sounds.  It cancelled out all other considerations.  I cringed and ducked slightly.  Experience has taught me that when Angels get this vociferous it is better not to argue!

I knew I had to overcome my resistance and approach that down-on-his-luck man.  “What if he says, ‘no,’” I fretted, “I am under orders to buy him breakfast!”

I walked over to the man.  “I’m sorry to bother you again,” I said.  I paused and then blurted out, “I think I need to buy you breakfast!”  I wanted to say more.  I wanted to explain....

(for more, see next post)