SEDONA WILDERNESS

October 6, 2004

Sedona Arizona called our number, and we came running. To be more accurate, my brother called from Sedona, and we went driving. It was a treat to be invited to a desert oasis as beautiful as this town.

The drive to Sedona is like none other. Approaching from the East as we did, we drove through hours of desert and Indian Reservations. Hardly an animal was visible for hundreds of miles, then around a bend we’d come upon a herd of dozens of antelope. Their fur is desert-colored, so it would be easy to miss every one of them. I suspect we passed unknowing by more of them than we saw. The music from the Navajo radio stations was pleasant to my ears, rhythmic and harmonious and somewhat hypnotic. Buttes and mesas made a perfect backdrop for the music… or perhaps the music was the perfect soundtrack for the scenery. I loved the massive mesas with smoothly curved rock edges that looked as if gigantic standing people with featureless faces were crowded together to form the pillar on which the flat top rested. I called those mesas the The Ancestors. (I wish I knew how to upload photos to show you what I mean!) The feeling that comes from those rocks is ancient. It’s easy to understand how generations upon generations of people have had mystical experiences at the feet of those mesas.

My favorite formations were the bigger-than-life red rocks, soaring as high as the equivalent of a fifteen-story building, with three-story-tall, two-city-block-long caves in the front. In several places, Navajo businesspeople had set up stores just outside those caves. I have stopped at such places just so I could be near the mouth of the cave, breathing the breath of the Earth that wafts out.

The visit with my brother, and with my mom who flew out to join us, was a satisfying thing. Family connections are good to reinforce, and also good to keep at a distance. Mom and I both talk too much, so it’s good that we’re not near one another. It would wear us out. We enjoyed a few days of eating and sightseeing and eating and gabbing and eating. My brother rightly called our visit The Eating Club.

A highlight was when a friend took us on a hike through the wilderness outside Sedona. David, who runs www.nhne.com, is a living cornucopia of interesting projects, ideas, people and places. We had no idea what our hike would lead to, but knowing it was an adventure was good enough. As David drove us to the trailhead, we shared our recent dreams. Gary had just dreamed about seeing a rattlesnake, which had no rattles and was not dangerous. Our interpretations of that dream were pretty lame, but we tried. Then we arrived at a park trailhead in what appeared to be a plateau surrounded by massive rock formations. We hiked as swiftly as I have ever hiked for maybe an hour through wild terrain far from the regular path system.

As we approached the foot of one of these red-rock cliffs of The Ancestors, I felt the living essence of the rocks in that area. The aura was thick with a sense of centuries of life. You could say it felt like the presence of The Ancestors whose history was absorbed into those rocks. Before walking up to the rock face, I took a respectful moment to align my thoughts and my presence with that of the area.

I would have sworn I heard the words “Come In” whispered in my ear. Nobody was standing near me, and anyway I didn’t see a way to go “in” to a giant rock. So I shuffled carefully along the narrow trail and peeked around the next edge. To my utter shock, there opened up a cavernous ancient cliff dwelling!

We picked our way past walls through the rubble of ceiling-rocks which fall off in sheets periodically. I was trying to identify the nature of the cave painting ahead of me, when I was startled by the sight of a rattlesnake lying on the clay floor. I’d never seen one outside a zoo before, so I yelled “rattlesnake!” and jumped away. The guys came running, with their cameras. Then I remembered Gary’s dream. This snake lay there without moving, without rattling or coiling. David says he’s never heard of a rattler that didn’t coil and rattle as a warning. Its rattles seemed slightly deformed; they were very small and narrow. We marveled over the way Gary’s dream perfectly mirrored reality. It felt good to be able to interact with a snake in a neighborly way, without snake and humans both running in fear.

The petroglyphs were a wonder to see. This cave was so extremely remote that there was nothing to keep us back from the actual ruins and paintings. Of course, we were as careful as could be. It felt as if we were tiptoeing through somebody’s home, only they weren’t home and it had fallen into disrepair. I wondered if the residents might still be living in another dimension of this place, side by side but unable to perceive us. If time is not linear but holographic and simultaneous (as I suspect it is) then that scenario might well be true. That would explain the profound sense of history being alive. I wondered if their shaman might be having a prickly sense of the presence of someone from another dimension walking through his space unseen. He might be tempted to call out for assistance from the benevolent spirits of the future who were visiting him. We sent love and good wishes out into the cave, just in case. If that old shaman had asked us for a vision of what his future would bring, we’d have been hard pressed to think of a positive way to describe it. Maybe I could have told him that it would involve embracing change and joining with other cultures.

An additional leg of the hike took us another half-hour farther back into the wilderness. David led us to an even more remote and high-up cliff dwelling. It had fewer buildings and rock art, but the view was incomparable. We could see over the top of the desert for miles in all directions but one. Lunch in that cave tasted better for all the effort that went into hiking and scaling the cliff.

Heading back, we got lost for a time. It was actually fun to bushwhack through the scrub and thorns to find our way to the trail again. None of the three of us got worried, I’m happy to say. That would have cut down on the fun quotient. My legs received plenty of cac-u-puncture from the long cactus thorns we passed. At one point I felt something funny in my arm and looked to see two long thorns protruding from my wrist and forearm. It didn’t hurt much. Maybe it cured some ailment within me, as acupuncture might have. A butterfly fluttered around us as we searched for our trail, and followed us all the way back to the car. It was a perfect ending for the day’s expedition.

More southwest adventures will be revealed in the next installment of this story. See you back on the blog in another couple of days!
* * * * * *

CELEBRATION OF COMPLETION

I took a warm bath tonight, and drifted into that semi-sleep state. Drifting peacefully between the worlds, I realized I was seeing 3 beings of light in front of me. They were profoundly familiar, but I couldn’t see them too clearly. Their unusual names were from some other time and/or realm.

They said they were there to celebrate with me. “Celebrate what?” I asked. They said that as of today, my journey from the day I was born was complete. All debts were paid, all tasks were accomplished. Interesting! They said we should have a party. I asked if they had chocolate there, and they laughingly said yes, but didn’t offer me any, I’m sorry to say. Instead, they lined up before me and said they had gifts. They all spoke telepathically, with one joint thought speaking into my mind.

The first man held out a box for me. It was a mirrored box with a fluttering white butterfly for a lid! Its wings glowed pure white, and I was struck with its sense of purity. Reaching for the lid, I saw that the butterfly was real and living! It telepathically told me that this gift was also from Nature, thanking me for my work on its behalf. The butterfly said “I give you my children.” The box opened, and inside was a pair of earrings. Each was a tiny glowing white butterfly, living as an earring hanging from the silver hook. I reached through the mist that barely separated my world from theirs, and felt my hand going into a slightly different dimension. I put the earrings in my ears, and was suffused with such a sense of the purity of the shining butterflies that my eyes teared up.The middle one of the beings of light handed me his box. It contained a large, thick, leather-bound book with gemstones on the cover: a big sapphire, a big ruby, emerald and diamond. I felt them, but my vision was too unclear to determine their pattern. He said “This is your Book of Life. It is yours now.” I flipped the edges of the pages to riffle through the whole book, and saw quick colorful images of endless faces, places, thoughts and events. There seemed to be summaries of lessons learned too. I was overwhelmed that I had earned the right to read my Book of Life.

The third man held out a huge bouquet of roses, my favorite flower. I was unable to focus on the entire bouquet at once, it was so expansive. One at a time, I looked at each flower and smelled its fragrance. Every single rose was unique in color, form and fragrance. The being said “These are your students.” The bouquet was, I realized, infinite. He handed it to me, and I held it against my chest. Gradually all the roses sunk into my heart, leaving my hands empty but my heart full.
I was nearly speechless. Some part of me realized I was lying in my tub still, but most of me was invested in this vision. They asked me if I had anything to say, and I joked about being naked in the tub when they called this party, so how could I give a speech. Then I sobered my attitude, in view of what they had just done for me. I thanked them and declared that I wanted to dedicate the rest of my days to inspiring people and increasing the love and light in the world. As a final decree, I told them that I was absolutely refusing to do things the hard way any more. I have paid my dues and then some, so I refuse to be given any more difficult assignments. They smiled and agreed.

They left, and I returned to my awareness of the cold bath water. I pondered the ramifications of this ceremony. Could I be nuts? Was it my subconscious? Could it have been real? Was it “just” a dream? Would anyone else on earth believe me if I told them about it? Gary would, and so would my friends who know me well.

I am choosing to write about this on the blog. No matter how the various readers decide to interpret my experience, I am feeling blissful and serene. My hope is that one person may read this and feel their horizons expand somewhat. Life is huge and hopeful, ever spiraling upward and balancing itself out. If we think we know a lot of facts about how life is, we blind ourselves to the unexpected, that we could never dream up. I KNOW I don’t know much at all about the nature of reality. That may be why I experience so much that is beyond the edges of most peoples’ understanding.

Maybe it was just a pleasant dream, but heck, maybe I’m done! All debts paid, all tasks accomplished.
* * * * * *

CHOICES

September 20, 2004

Talking on the couch with Gary recently, our dilemma resolved into clarity. We were going over our zillion life options, when suddenly we felt visited by wisdom. We began discussing the fact that, if left to our own devices, we knew exactly what we wanted to do. Both of us did. Our problem was that logic and social normalcy didn’t apply to our preferred options. In every other way, the options we would choose fit our skills and choices and tastes perfectly.

We prefer to choose to build a small home on the land in the mountains, and live there half the year. Winter in the mountains isn’t too comfy. The other half of the year we can spend in New Zealand, as our hearts cry to do. There’s no explanation for our obsession with New Zealand, except that we both have it, so why ignore it.

So many pieces fell into place when we realized how deeply we’ve already made our choices. The ways and means seem to be there, to make both happen.

Now the last 6 months makes sense, that we’ve spent combing through every motive and desire in our entire beings. It’s been a necessary time of introspection and sifting. No stone has been left unturned, in our self-analyses. Now it all makes sense. We needed to know our options, and our real priorities. To choose a life of that unusual nature, we had to be crystal clear about what we want to do and why.

I feel brave and clean and clear. I’ve studied everything about myself that I could find, mind, emotions and soul, and can now make decisions based on true self-knowledge. It’s a form of maturity that has developed. Soul maturity, maybe.

So stand back, everybody, and watch us make it happen!
* * * * * *

DIARY OF AN OLYMPIC ATHLETE

I love the Olympic Games. Rippling muscles glisten as human bodies honed to perfection display and defeat the limits of human capacity. My own body starts to feel fit and muscular and ready to burst into perfectly coordinated action, as I watch them.

Somewhere inside me is an athlete, the one that a major childhood injury has kept in embryonic state. I know I have what it takes to be an athlete, except for the physical capability. That one little factor. I can feel it in my psyche. Watching the athletes brings all that longing and drive and enthusiasm to the surface. I’m ready to soar, leap, fly! I’m half Greek, so it should be possible.

While the Olympics are on, I get to imagine the grand, supreme version of me that I might have become, if everything in my life had been totally different. It feels good to try on an athlete’s body, even if only mentally.

I could have been among the Olympians,
if everything had been different.
* * * * * *

LESSONS FROM A SLUG

Who do you think is more deserving of a freshly picked ripe strawberry, right off the vine… me, or a slimy little slug?

If you were me, you’d say “Me”. If you were the Creator, you’d say “There is plenty for everyone, and we all need to eat. Why don’t you share.”

Yeah, yeah, you old omniscient know-it-all.

This dilemma presented itself to me this afternoon. I picked the most delectable red-ripe strawberry, with its little green hat intact, only to see a baby slug burrowed head first into the side of the berry.

At first I was upset. It stole my berry. Then I thought about what that slug must be experiencing at that moment. Buried head-first into the sweetest fruit in existence. Buried in sweet juice up to her waist. If she looks around her, and all she can see is shiny bright red walls of fresh living breathing strawberry. Inhaling fragrant wafts of berried air. I can’t blame a mollusk for that kind of sensual behavior.

I walked away, leaving her to her feast of the senses. Lucky little slug. The next day I went out looking for ripe berries, and noticed that she hadn’t finished that particular strawberry. It was still hanging on the vine. I turned it over, and there she still was, unmoving. It appears that my berry-rival died of delight in the midst of her feast!

Again, my first reaction was one of anger over deprivation. Jeez, if she was going to die, why couldn’t she leave the strawberry for me and go die under a leaf somewhere? Then again, I thought of what it must have been like for her as she expired. Full gorgeous immersion of the senses in ecstasy right up til the last moment. That slug was probably glowing with gratitude and delight and appreciation of all things good.

I can hardly imagine a better way to leave this world, than being immersed in appreciating every beauty it has to offer. I can hardly imagine a better way to live.
* * * * * *

THE HARDEST PART OF LEAVING SOMETHING

The hardest part of leaving something, I believe, is the pulling away.

When we are in the mountains, on the land that we hope to live on, we are happy with everything. All decisions feel right. The road ahead seems clearly defined. Motives are good. Then, as we turn into the driveway of the house we love, doubt and anxiety return. How can we leave this nest we’ve woven and feathered? Neither of us travelers has lived anywhere as long a time as we’ve lived here, since childhood. Our personal life-energies are meshed into the walls.

The hard part is looking around at the home and garden we’ve built, and trying to imagine life without them. Trying to imagine someone else living here is strange. I talk with my clients at my wrought-iron table by the fragrant rose garden. Would new owners make as good use of the extraordinary beauty? Surely nobody could appreciate or care for things the way we have. From the vantage point of standing within our nest, leaving seems unimaginable, like cutting off an arm.

All it takes, though, is to drive away from the magnetic field around the place. As soon as we are beyond its pull, we can breathe freely again. Oh yes. A new home. That is clearly imaginable. A life with fewer anchors. That is what we are aiming for. Freedom to develop our new careers without worrying about how to pay the bills. Barring a sudden infusion of cash, this is the way to reach our goals. Oh yeah.

I feel stretched during this time of pulling away. The original idea had been to become free, not to get stuck in nostalgia. It will be a relief when someone buys the house. We can say a fond farewell to it, then walk away. I’m ready to get on with the next step of this journey.

* * * * * *

BREAKFASTING WITH BIRDS

September 2004

Over the last two long weekends, we shared our al fresco breakfast hour with an assortment of friendly birds.

Some friends of ours, who live in a hand-built solar-powered off-the-grid home on 40 acres way up in the Rocky mountains, have been away. They asked us to house-sit their property, water the plants, and eat the copious crop of organic greens that is just ready to harvest from their circular straw-bale greenhouses.

(They stack straw bales waist high, and fill the center with rich soil. The vegetables planted there receive protection from the cold mountain winds but still get plenty of sun. The thermal mass of the straw radiates heat to the plants throughout the chilly nights. White porous gardening cloth thrown over the top of each circle helps to hold the heat in. It keeps the elks and deer out, too.)

On the deck is a waist-high platform birdfeeder. The morning rooster of the birdfeeder is a large blue Stellar Jay, who squawks until we fill it. Black oil sunflower seeds and millet is on the menu. After Jay jumps around and eats for awhile, the little nuthatches and titmice zoom down in fluttery groupings and squabble over the seed. There is ample room and mounds of seed, but a few of them fight for territory anyway.

When I refill the feeder later in the day, the little black headed flutterers (I’m not entirely sure which variety of bird is which) stand right there on the feeder. They don’t mind my gigantic presence. When Gypsy the dog sticks her wet snuffly nose right into the middle of the bird party, they get upset. It’s funny to hear the birds scolding Gypsy with the loudest peeps they can muster, while she tucks her tail down and sheepishly looks away. Somebody feathery is at the feeder all day long, with various groupings shifting and interweaving and taking turns.

At sundown the birds mysteriously disappear. Deer, elks and foxes begin to emerge silently. Coyotes make their presence known when the moon rises. Their primordial yipping howls wailing through the moonlit darkness, echoing off each hill in turn, invite shivers on my arms and back of my neck. I get the urge to run naked and barefoot through the forest like a wild animal myself, eating berries and hiding in the bushes. Fortunately, the nighttime temperature and the cactus dissuade me from succumbing to the call of the wild.

When we are up in the mountains, with no TV or radio or human neighbors, we are different. We are peaceful, loving people who move gracefully about our duties. At home, we are rushed, harried people who bump into one another on our way to or from the computer or garage or television or kitchen. I like the mountain version of us better. I would swear there is something in the air, down in the towns and cities, that revs up the irritability factor in people. Crowds and traffic and loud music and demanding customers don’t help the serenity factor either. I have read about microwaves from cell phones permeating the atmosphere and vibrating our cells and brains at an uncomfortable frequency. It’s possible, I suppose.

I wonder if our house will sell and we will be able to live farther away from civilization, as we dream. We can make a regular breakfast date with the birds, and schedule a monthly full-moon howl-a-thon with the coyotes. It’s possible, I suppose.
* * * * * *

CHOCOLATE BLUEBERRY LIFE

August 10, 2004

The sun is starting its ascent, up from the darkness of the other side of the earth. A fresh morning is still just a gradual brightening on the horizon. Any minute now, the rays of new light will glance off the remains of an old existence, instantly transforming the vestige into a happy memory behind me.

Our home is being assessed daily, by people looking for their own bright future. Our home will be their holy grail, to transform by their labors into their favorite flavor of dream. Our gift to the eventual buyers is a lovely home to envelop them. Their gift to us will be the freedom to roam and experiment and sample new flavors of dreams until we choose our favorite. I’d like a chocolate home on a blueberry beach with a raspberry mountain behind it, a hot fudge lawn and a big strawberry for a chimney!

The joy is seeping back into me, seeping through the cracks torn in my heart by temporarily losing my sense of security. I don’t want to feel as if it’s the home that anchors and shelters me. Even when I find myself in my own home again, I want to feel anchored on the planet and sheltered by the Creator. There is no loss, no possessiveness, under those conditions. I am always home, always cared for. What a peaceful, secure, wealthy way to live! That sounds like a chocolate blueberry hot fudge life to me.
* * * * * *

A HEART AT PEACE

August 9, 2004

Hi everyone,

For those who became concerned, here is an update. Three days later, I am feeling pretty much fine. I've had a bothersome mitral valve problem since I was young, so this episode was not reallly a surprise. The intensity and duration were the surprise. I attribute that partially to the stress of what we are doing, and the doctor says that my thyroid was contributing to the problem at this point.

The ol' thyroid is now under better control and I'm experimenting with new mindsets and attitudes of perception that will result in greater relaxation during the changes.

All is well. All will continue to be well. Everything is in its right place. For some reason, I am at peace with the perfection of absolutely everything. Perhaps the health crisis created a context within which our personal instability looks like a piece of cake. No matter what the reason, I am grateful for reprieve from anxiety.
* * * * * *

Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.

August 8, 2004

The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.

I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.

An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.

The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.

Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”

Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.

The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.

When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.

I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.

Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *

Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.

August 8, 2004

The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.

I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.

An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.

The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.

Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”

Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.

The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.

When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.

I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.

Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *

Introduction

Hi Everyone!
 
This blog was created to follow our adventures as Gary and I carefully figure out how to radically change our life.  We are tired of the "normal" way of life, wherein we must make large amounts of money in order to pay our mortgage and bills and have lots of posessions.   After years of reading about it and wondering about it, we are now planning and doing it.  What is "it"?  We are simplifying our lifestyle, streamlining our needs, and becoming far more self-sufficient.  We have sold our gallery, are preparing to sell our home, and will emerge debt-free. 

Without all those encumbrances, we will be free.  Free to follow our whims and dreams, free to be blown by the winds of Grace to where we are needed, free to be moved as naturally as the Flow of Life flows. 
 
The plan requires that several crucial decisions be made.  We have recently been to New Zealand (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) , and crave the beautiful clear atmosphere of that country.   There are possibilities within the U.S. that we are considering.  How it will shape up in the long run remains to be seen. 

Stay tuned for our adventures!  I hope to hear from some of you... comments are very much welcomed.  Feedback is a fine thing.  All of us humans need one another, so I welcome your participation in this blog.
 
with love to all,
Wandering Willow

THE PANIC CRASH

Home and security are powerful forces. Disrupt those, and you disrupt the soul, the emotions, the mind, even perception.

Our real estate agent came over to discuss listing our home for sale. We’ve been planning this moment for months, mulling over the idea for years. Now that we’re faced with the moment to make it real…. Panic! Utter panic! Gary went through it one day, and I consoled him. Then I went through it two days later and tried to console myself.

Suddenly our entire rationale for change seems absurd. Our goals seem insane. How could we have ever thought this made sense? We have a beautiful home, full of comfortable places to sit and interesting things to do and a cozy nest to sleep in. The grounds are full of blossoming flowers and fresh salad greens and berries and fruits. My rose garden uplifts my spirits every time I pass by. Our dog loves our pet bunnies, and will miss them when they go to live with some friends. Here we are disrupting the animals lives, the gardens, our own lives and the lives of our friends and neighbors. What are we torturing ourselves for?

…and so on. The panic complaints get pretty far-fetched after awhile.
We keep returning to our plan, with varying levels of gusto. Our brains want to proceed, but our hearts are torn by leaving our home.

The wise real estate agent told us that we needed to say goodbye to our home and garden. She said that, in her experience, if a seller doesn’t actively relinquish the home as their own domain, it won’t sell.

It’s probably true. I have dabbled with saying goodbye. Today I said goodbye to the living room, with its pretty fireplace and mantel with a friend’s sculptures on it. I tried saying goodbye to the mountains outside our window, but the place we intend to move to has a great view of the opposite side of it. No point in saying goodbye to the eastern face, when we’ll still be looking at the western face. I said goodbye to a floral painted vase, that I bought right after my divorce 15 years ago. I think of it as my independence vase, representing my own tastes rather than the ex’s. I experimented with standing in the hallway and looking at the house and picturing it as someone else’s. It was an odd feeling, but I think I can do it.

This evening I was in a friend’s home. My guts ached with a longing for the security they have in their home. They’re not pulling up roots. They get to keep their possessions. Clearly I haven’t said a sincere goodbye yet.

It is strange to be feeling this way! Our adventure has been so important to both of us, but now we’re feeling the entire spectrum of basic human emotions about security. It’s humbling. I realize that I thought I was beyond those feelings. Hah. My self-expectations are high, but my humanity is as vulnerable as everyone's.
* * * * *




© Copyright 2005 bonnie willow.

BIG FAT DECISION #1

Written July 28, 2004

Our largest decision has been made. Though we dearly yearn to return to New Zealand for two or three years, (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) we have decided to stay in the U.S. The turning point came when our little grandson Ethan was born. Ethan’s dad encouraged us to stick to our New Zealand plans, but ohmygod there's a new baby in the family! There's no way we're leaving now.

The next step is to find a way to create the lifestyle that we resonated with in New Zealand. Requirements: a slow pace, a location where wild open spaces outnumber civilized towns, work that helps humanity in some way, a mortgage-free home, garden and greenhouse, a sustainable non-polluting nature-friendly living pattern, and proximity to water. A river, an ocean, a lake, or even a lot of puddles on the ground will do! Our decade of living in a desert during a drought has left us craving water.

Another factor was the offer to spend time on some land in the mountains owned by our friends. They have plenty of room for us to put up some kind of structure and stay until we get blown along by the winds of fate. That got us thinking about putting up a yurt (www.coloradoyurt.com).

Then a different friend told us about the stunning 40-acre plot of land she’s buying in the mountains. She sighed that she wished she knew how to get someone else to live on that land too. She was tired of doing her nature projects by herself. She was overwhelmed by the prospect of putting up her greenhouse and her yurt all alone, and of planning her whole organic garden setup without input from anyone else. Well geez, I know of a solution for her problems! Our plans and needs seem to dovetail perfectly, so we began brainstorming. Presuming that everything falls into perfect place, we three aim to live there in yurts and build a greenhouse and gardens. Real homes can come along later, after we’ve proven to ourselves that this plan will work.

Our current home will have to be sold, in order for us to be available for our new pursuits. As it is profusely gardened – organic, low-water, edible plants fill every corner of our yard, with rock-lined paths winding between – we have to sell it during the summer while everything is in bloom. That gives us…. let’s see…. just about 10 minutes to fix up and clean up our house to put it on the market, if we want to sell it during summer! We have already sprung into action on that front.

It is invigorating to have a plan beginning to form. It is thrilling to feel that our desire to step out of the mainstream and be blown by the winds of Grace is happening! We are willing to risk everything, and we’re counting on Grace to lead us into something meaningful. The trick will be to open our eyes and see the smaller meaningful moments all along the way. The journey can be as rich as the destination.
* * * * *

BABIES

Today my husband kissed a grandmother. Right on the lips. mmmwwwaaaah. (ewww!) And I just stood there smiling.

'Cause it was me!

I've finally figured out how to have a child in my life. Chronically childless, I never succeeded in giving birth. My nieces and nephews have filled the gap to a fine degree, and I am glad. My sister adopted a gorgeous baby girl, and I got to name her the name I would have given a daughter of my own. Rose. (It's her middle name) We are very close, thankfully.I married a man with two children who visited several times a year. That decision led to my eventually having a baby in my life.

My stepson is now a new father to an adorable little boy named Ethan. Ethan has made me a childless grandmother. We're developing the kind of grandmother/grandchild bond that hopefully will develop into a lifetime of love. We already have some special games that we play together, even though he's only 4 months old. I just love carrying him around and feeling his warm baby snuggling and smelling his baby-fragranced head.

Only problem is that now I have to kiss a grandfather. ewww. Right on the lips.
* * * * * *

Voluntary Simplicity Considered

July 21, 2004

There is so much to consider, when a person is thinking of ending their old way of life and embarking on a new one. The thought of selling our home and all our possessions is freeing. There is almost a kind of high that I feel when I imagine being that unencumbered and flexible. It's a Living-In-The-Moment Zen-kind of feeling. Then there are the moments when I'm cooking in my nice kitchen or working at my nice desk and I wonder what got ionto me, to give all this up. Being human means being fallible and emotional, among other things. That's me.

There is something inside me that is determined to leave the rat-maze, no matter what the personal cost. Our current societies are set up to separate people from their families and communities... there is expectation that we MUST go off to work somewhere and make enough money to have the same things that other people have (T.V., CD player, video player, DVD player, new furniture, a car for every adult, etc). The normal routine is to go into debt in order to buy these things. Then the interest keeps a person in debt for far longer than they had planned. And so it goes, on and on.

Gary and I are interested in a lifestyle where we need less, use less, crave less. We are not interested in austerity or poverty. Simplicity is more accurate.

Can we find such a lifestyle? We saw it when we were in New Zealand earlier this year. (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) and were inspired by their examples. The question currently up for discussion is whether to get rid of everything and go to spend a few years in New Zealand, or stay in this country and try to create a non-materialistic lifestyle here.
Is there anyone else here who is interested in such a change? I'd love to hear your viewpoint.
* * * * * *

Near Death Experience - A Beginning

July 18, 2004

Much of my radical transformation began exactly two years ago today. I met death in the night, came away with life, and wondered what to do next.

I had spent a blissful, uplifting day on 700 acres of forest and meadow, high in the Colorado mountains. Good friends doing good work was the theme for our annual Community Festival. My heart rested in the peaceful understanding that plenty of humans were living lives of love and balance, focused on helping rather than hindering all the rest of the inhabitants of our planet. Hope was restored in my bitter recesses.
Returning that night, I drove carefully along the unfamiliar, unlit road snaking among the foothills, glad for my headlights. I sang as I drove, still feeling my heart and soul expanded to twenty times their usual size. Hope was restored, and all was well.

Abruptly, I shifted into another consciousness. I just KNEW that I had a choice, and there was no room for error: if I put my foot on the brake that second, my life would continue. If I didn’t, my life would be finished because I had done everything I’d needed to do and this was my exit door.

Time stood still, as it only does in the face of death.

I felt myself rise up. There was an infinite amount of time and serenity to consider the situation. Firstly, I didn’t know why this dilemma was presented, because I seemed to be the only car on this backwoods road. I saw that my life was completed, and was profoundly grateful that I had met my requirements. This life had been a rough one, I thought, and it would be a relief to be done with it. I was grateful for that opportunity. I saw what path my husband would take, and I knew he would eventually be well and happy. But hope had been restored! I had gained skills to not only cope, but to become a source of inspiration for others sometimes. My life was starting to be used as a beacon, and as a way to help others unburden themselves. This was no time to leave! I could stay and be useful in the service of Light.

As that decision formed, I dropped back into regular awareness and hit the brake hard. No time had passed. The next instant, a car appeared from around a sharp curve over a hill in the darkness. It zoomed past me at top speed, missing me by only one inch. Its thunderous passing shook my car. I was stunned.

There was no point in stopping for long. My car, itself reprieved, seemed to creep along of its own accord for the next few miles. Somehow my brain was at a standstill and in a whirl at the same time. This had happened! Really! I met the end of my life, yet chose to stay. What…? What did that mean? What did that mean about my purpose? What did that mean about my self-definition? My marriage? My gallery? Every topic seemed so small, in comparison to the infinity stretching beyond a completed lifetime.

By the time I reached home, all I knew was that everything was different. How different, why different, what next… all of that was a mystery. I told my husband that this was the day he didn’t become a widower. He seemed moved. Clearly, though, the experience was impossible to convey.

The next year was confusing for me. I wondered if I still belonged in my life. If I hadn’t hit the brakes, my husband would be elsewhere doing different things. Was I now standing in his way, when I should have been gone? He was perplexed by my thoughts, but I had to consider it all. Where did I fit? If my blueprint was fully completed at that ending of my life, I was now beyond the blueprint. No personal guidelines existed, that I could see. General human guidelines, yes, but no plan for me.

I decided that I had to make the most mindful and productive use of my “extra” days and years. Soon thereafter I began to undertake new projects aside from working at my gallery. I brought speakers to the area, to teach on interesting topics, or to give classes. Books on various mystical subjects appealed to me. New discoveries in physics fascinated me. I prayed for clarity and direction. I questioned the meaning of everything to the point of absurdity. So much illusion is built into our society, and I was determined to see beyond it.

Two years swirled by. I no longer feel as if I’m in my husband’s way. I have sold my gallery, in order to pursue my newer career in healing. I’ve studied three styles of energy healing over the last two decades, including Reiki, and now combine them for greater effectiveness. It involves a lot of prayer, and that is perfect for my current focus. I’m finding great satisfaction in walking through life in a state of prayer. Certainly I still pray for direction. A new blueprint might be helpful, and I do need help. Clearly the changes are nowhere near ending.
* * * * * *

The Eye of the Needle

July 2004

Tonight I packed box after box of heirloom china: a teapot from 1750, handpainted plates and salt dishes from my great grandparents, a doily that my grandmother crocheted in Greece as a teen for her hope chest. These are going to storage in my sister's house until such time as we settle down again. I caressed their shiny curves as I packed them. It's hard to say goodbye to these treasures.

Giving up all of my established context in order to dive into The Flow of Grace is a mixed blessing. E-mailing with my favorite blogger Real Live Preacher (see link ) tonight brought some of the issues to the surface. He commented that this kind of life sounds like a dream.
Yeah, it does sound like a dream. One that can be lived, though, if a person has a few qualifications: 1) no young kids at home, 2) the willingness to let go of material and emotional attachments, 3) a lot of courage to face the unknown, and 4) faith that this call to change will be supported by the ability to find a new path. (i.e. that darn Grace had better flow, or we're sunk!) We qualify, so we're going for it.

Whew, is it hard to let go, though! I'm not a bible reader, but one line keeps going through my head as we address the changes coming up: "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven." Suddenly that quote lights up in my mind and makes perfect sense! I'm tempted to abandon the dream of living freely in the Flow, just so I can still have my comfy house and rose garden and all the "stuff" given to me by loved ones. It's hard to part with the hundreds of things I've made or gathered that sit as silent evidence of my existence.

That last line may be the crux of it all. If I get rid of everything, then where is the proof of my accomplishments? Where is my history? What bolsters my ego and public image? What defines me and reminds me of that definition?

Nuthin'.

Life becomes a simple matter of breathing and BEing living proof of all that I've learned. I become the tree from which the fruit falls in evidence of what I am.

with love to all who read this,
~ Wandering Willow ~

SYLPHS and UNICORNS

Written June 24, 2004 – on the road

Sylphs have been on my mind.

As we drove to the east coast, clouds whirled like white lace on blue silk above the highway. Legend says that spirits of the air called Sylphs disguise themselves as wispy clouds as they monitor the Earth’s atmosphere. Sylphs govern the winds, clean the air, create windstorms when needed. They are cousins to the Undines, spirits of water. Both serve as balancers and regulators of the elements, according to those legends. A person might catch a sylph dancing as a cloud, and never know it.

We saw one for sure in Maryland. Gary and I sat on a cliff overlooking the Patuxent River. Swans swerved through the water’s ripples, slower than the lazy sailboats. The sunset turned the river pastel pink and blue, reflecting the cloud patches above. Four white swans wove back and forth across the sparkling gold path linking the beach to the setting sun.

I glanced up. The clouds had formed a perfect swan shape. Pink swan, dark gray beak and wing, dark blue strip beneath to represent the river. We stared, amazed. What perfect coincidence! After fifteen minutes the sunset passed, the cloud dispersed, and we were left in the wake of awe. Was it a sylph?

These legendary creatures really appeal to my desire for a just and innocent world. Unicorns: only the pure in heart can see them. Brownies come into peoples’ homes at night to help with tasks while they sleep. I want to live in a world where Sylphs swirl over the highway cleaning up the fumes from our cars, while Undines scrub the ocean.

As Gary and I recreate ourselves, maybe we should shed our jaded skepticism too. Some cultures view absolutely everything as alive. Why can’t we? This is a good day to look for Unicorns. I’ll leave a job list for the Brownies tonight, and check the sky for Sylphs.

I just hope there are no Undines in my bathtub.




© Copyright 2005 bonnie willow.

Chess Board Ballet

June 22, 2004

There are times when the Hand of the Creator reaches into your innards and rearranges everything. Heart where brain used to be. Courage where chicken used to be. Blank slate where once a vision of the future grew. A ripe Present suddenly feels like an intolerably mouldy Past.
What is s/he thinking, that Creator of ours? My life was lovely, progressing along a comprehensible path with verifiable milestones in an orderly way. Marry wrong man, have adventures and suffer, get divorced. Travel around country, find way-better partner and marry him. Have adventures without suffering. Buy nice home, make it reflection of us, plant big gardens. Buy a gallery in a beautiful paradisical mountain town, make it into a big success, become part of the community, make big batch of friends. Study other things, sell gallery, use profit to start exciting new business.
Then came the confusing part. Start thinking of selling everything?? Dream of having nothing and being free?? Notice that husband is having the same dreams?? Long to travel unencumbered, finding things that call to me and require my attention in unexpected places?? What kind of next step is this??? I'm supposed to be planning sensibly for eventual retirement at this point. *nuh-uh.*
I am longing to give myself over to the Flow of Spirit and Grace. I know the One who made us all loves it when we do that; I've seen it happen in my life and in the lives of others. Somewhere, someone is sitting around with an answer to a question I've been asking. Somewhere else, someone is sitting around wondering about a question that I have an answer for. Or they need something I have. Or I need something they have. I know it because I've lived this way for short periods of time. Magic pervades every hour and every breath, when we allow The Flow of Spirit and Grace to move us like a ballet of chess pieces. I'm really in the mood to pirouette across the chess board, instead of continuing to decorate my own square.
Fortunately, The Flow has seen fit to sweep G. along at the same pace. We are itching to pitch everything overboard and live like Gypsies. Speaking of Gypsies, our dog Gypsy is confused and looking forlorn. We have no idea - yet - how a dog might fit into our future. That's a weighty issue to tackle. Very sadly but very fortuitously, our creaky old beloved cat Puff is descending into her last days. Our hearts are breaking, but we are glad that her life's timing dovetails with the larger changes.
It's raining this week, in our dusty drought-thirsty Rocky Mountain home: moisture to slake the thirst and encourage new growth. It's raining Grace in our lives, as The Flow fills our hearts and souls and encourages new growth. We're sprouting all over the place. Flowing.
With love to all,~ Willow ~

PORN AND CORN

Here is a story I wrote during our cross-country soul-searching drive this spring. It represents the kind of things you think about long and hard, when you're stuck in a car for hours and hours and days and days.

June 2004
In the middle of the U.S., a mystery waits to be unraveled. We noticed this when driving cross-country recently.

Missouri, Kansas and Indiana grow enough corn to feed all the cows on earth and probably on several other planets too. Driving the interstate highway through these areas is boring, due to the unchanging scenery. Corn. Then a dirt road. Then a town with 8 buildings. Then more corn. For days.

The mystery glares from nearly every exit off the interstate. Billboards all across the states announce the proximity and convenience of something I’d never realized existed: “XXX Adult Superstores”. We didn’t see a single “XXX Adult Superstore” in any other state. Maybe we just didn’t look in the right places. No prominent billboards, anyway.

I personally don’t care whether or not these super stores exist. I’m sure they fill a niche. But what’s with the quantity and overblown stature of these places??

We came up with a couple of theories.
1) The farmers are really, really bored. All they can see stretching before them, til the day they draw their last breath, is an eternal parade of identical green shafts, identically spaced, growing identically slowly. Little skinny green soldiers, marching, marching, marching, marching in perfect formation, going nowhere. Marching, marching. With little yellow tassels on their hats. That spectre in my future might drive me to an XXX Superstore myself.
2) Or maybe the residents feel that their states have nothing of sufficient interest to bring in tourist dollars from the interstate traffic. They may have heard from their road-tripping visitors that the monotonous parades of marching, marching, marching corn were driving them mad. Perhaps they dreamed up these Superstores in a desperate attempt to capitalize on the only other up-and-coming industry they could think of. Something dramatic enough to really take a driver’s mind off of corn. Porn.

They just go together, don’tcha think? Corn and porn. One boring, one not. One fills the need to sustain ourselves physically. The other fills the need to see and think about something more interesting than endless identical green stalks. Porn and corn. A match made in heaven. Or not.
* * * * * *

Zen Spider Web

June 27, 2004 - Solomon's Island, Maryland

A spider hangs in an invisible web, draped between shady sycamore branches by the river’s edge. I’m confident, I have faith, that there IS a web, but all I can see is a spider, suspended, encircled by branches. All traces of its methods of arrival, departure and support are obliterated by a trick of the overhanging shadow.

The spider herself weaves and hunts and eats as she always has. What’s required still must be done, no matter what the status of light vs. dark. Surely she can see her web better at some times than at others; regardless, she goes about her business. As in the old Zen saying, “Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.”
Is it myself she’s mirroring, hanging in suspense? I can’t see what supports me, nor can I see where I’m headed. Less and less of my past remains, and none of my future is sure.

Time to chop wood and carry water.

~ Wandering Willow ~

Across The Face of America

Gary and I have just returned from a three week drive across the face of America. You could call it a Vision Quest.

The original impetus was to attend my nephew’s 21st birthday party on the east coast. We expanded it into a driving adventure, stopping to visit relatives and old friends and old places. We wanted to reconnect with significant pieces of our pasts, learn from them, and let go what needed to be let go of. The scope of this endeavor grew out of control, until we weren’t controlling it any longer. A birthday party trip turned into a vehicle to scrutinize and reassess everything we lived for and everything we planned to live for.

Driving turned out to be the key. Hours and hours in the car left room for long meandering conversations and ruminations that we would never find time for in our busy daily lives. We chewed on tough concepts that we could never fully digest before. I’d doze off and awaken with new insights into something we had been discussing. The hypnotic monotony of endless passing cornfields seemed to induce an altered state, to open up new parts of our subconscious for assessment.

Every day or two we stopped at someone else’s home for a visit. Those interactions would spark new insights into the situation, for us to talk about in the car on the way to the next place. Sometimes billboards espousing some current issue would set off explorations into the nature of existence, and right and wrong. In one area, we saw billboards about the importance of being “Pro Life” and holding all human life as sacred. OK, I also think life is sacred. Alongside were billboards about how important gun ownership is, as well as signs celebrating the war. The juxtaposition seemed so odd… the sacredness of human life seemed limited only to those who haven’t been born yet.

Then we’d need a break from all the heavy discussions, and start singing along loudly with the music we brought. I had a fine time singing the old Beatles song “Love Me Do” in the style of Louis Armstrong: “Love, love me do…. yesssss” (I guess you had to be there to appreciate it.) Overall, it was fun as well as deep.

I wrote several stories along the way, inspired or mystified by one situation or another. These will be posted within the next few days.

With an e-hug to everyone.

The Willow, temporarily back from wandering
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