South Dakota International Black Hills Survival Gathering

Vicki and I were going to the South Dakota International Black Hills Survival Gathering  At the end of our ten day Buddhist meditation retreat, we knew we had to go. In Buddhism, the fourth noble truth shows us how to end individual and global suffering. Buddha taught that ignorance, greed, attachment and hatred are torments of the minds. These poisons were at cause in the Lakota people being denied safe water. 

The Black Hills Alliance and Lakota people of Pine Ridge Reservation discovered cancers, spontaneous abortions, and birth defects in 1980. In the WARN report (Women of All Red Nations) a biochemist documented that radioactive materials were in the water.

Those born into our western culture are conditioned to be at war with nature. Not accustomed to "sharing territory" we fight over it. As scarcity thinkers, we feel that we lack stuff: money, land, yachts, villas, glamor, being good enough. We feel empty, believing we need external reality to fill us with stuff. It keeps us at war. We feel inadequate. Without the time or ability to care for our resources...or our stuff. 

Vicki and I were ripe with this knowing. Flying commercially at this point made no sense. Neither did driving 1,374 miles. We returned to work and met early a few days later at a small-craft Oakland airport. We had a tent, sleeping bags and essentials. Our plan: hitchhike with pilots seeking company.

After six declines, we flew to Bakersfield, CA. We loved the blue sky so close to us and the pilot loved our company. After a long wait in searing summer heat, we hopped a ride to Tucson, Arizona. The pilot flew in close to the mountains. (Wow.)

From Tucson, we caught a flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico. For the next three hours, we hiked the long dusty road with 110 degree temperatures burning down our necks. With frayed nerves, we rested in the shade at the next airport, waiting for a plane to land for refueling. 

At twilight, we walked to Albuquerque International Sunport to ride standby. No luck: I slumped in a chair to sleep. Vicki stretched out under the chairs. At 5:00 am, security woke us. Grumpy, we hiked back to the small-craft airport. A small Leer jet was just landing. With my heart in my throat, I asked his destination: "South Dakota near the Black Hills." (Wow.)

"Can we catch a ride?" 

South Dakota International Black Hills Survival Gathering John Trudel opened the Gathering saying: "I would like to talk tonight in honor of all of us in the struggle who have lost our relations to the Spirit world." Later, Vicki and I hiked into the foothills to meditate with Mother Earth. We felt renewed by the mountains for the days ahead. 

When disconnected, we forget to love ourselves and each other. When our cups are full, we share territory. Within each of us lies an ability to connect with ENOUGH stuff: LOVE and NOURISHMENT. By letting go of baggage (our scarcity beliefs), we can open into abundance. We are nourished there. Refreshed, we will want everyone to eat, have shelter and good water.  

We can release poverty consciousness. We can let go of our conditioned ways. 

This past weekend I joined my family to empower my niece to pursue her dreams, moving to a new life and home, letting go of fears. 

Affirm: "I am enough. I am good enough. I succeed in my endeavors. I am grateful for Father Sun, Sister Moon, the stars, and water. I am satisfied. I am full." 

Reader, are you ready to embrace prosperity and release the old ways? Are you ready to embrace Gaia?

FIREDANCE

As I looked into the fire I was mesmerized by what seemed to be an apparition in full Native American regalia, dancing in the fiery cinders. He danced into a circle of flames, twirling and turning as if in ceremony. Others followed; he led them through a blaze of joy, wending this way and then that.

It was as if the flames knew him. They swayed in unison with his movement. Glowing red fire responded as if he was Spirit, Wind whispering through.

High steps of pale-colored moccasins rising and falling as he danced to a beat I could not hear. Fringed buckskin pants kissed crimson embers. His rattle danced high above his head. Amidst sizzling ruby red embers, I sensed droning sounds. Lively dancers chanted with heads bobbing and bodies flowing.

Others in our camp group had retired hours ago. Serita and I sat watch, tending the flames for a long time. The big logs we put on the fire flamed intensely. Embers then emerged, birthing new life as the thick fiery flames simmered. The burning coals produced a portal.

As I write, I smell the clean air and see the night sky hanging low with the thick red fire bowl beckoning. I am still enchanted by her charms. I hear a loud whoop catching in my vocal chords. I see the spiral dance. I see painted faces as they dance, move and whirl, rattles shaking the sky.

It is not now, but then.

I was careful not to disturb the fiery spirits. I was careful not to speak. My friend, Serita, kept a steady gaze into the flames and ember haze. The golden moon hung low in the sky. Stars twinkled. The night air was fresh, calm, and clear. Fragrances of throaty Chaparral and smoky sage merged with oak and pinon logs. I inhaled deeper, eyes fixed on the moving troupe’s fire dance.

It is past midnight when the embers subside. My dancing friends are gone. My throat catches as the last dancer fades. Serita and I pour water on dying embers and say good night. I lie still a long time, watching the stars through my tent flap.

After a long hike the next day, Serita and I offer to get fresh water for our campsite. Serita is the first to ask. “Did you see a young buck inside the fire bowl last night dancing?”

Why did I let myself write this after years of silence? My last two days were perfect days. Today had twists and turns. I got jarred. Others seeking respite hovered around me. I did not belong in stores amidst mundane chatter. I came home.

My inner voice soothed me: Stop. NOURISH YOURSELF.

I took small walks, sat in the sun, and prepared dinner early. No blog.

My inner knowing took me by surprise. “Write about the time when you were deeply nourished. Write about the fire dance.”

So, dear Reader, what captivating enchantment fed your soul that can now set your restless spirit free?

HOW TO BECOME A LEADER

As a child, I felt called to the Southwest. As a teen, I was selected to attend the Sangre de Cristo Mountains Girl Scout Roundup.

I was privileged to visit Bandelier Mountain beauty, Puye Cliff and Mesa Dwellings, the Santa Clara Pueblo, known as the Kha’p’oo Owinge of the Santa Clara people. In the first days, my heart heals.

We climb among ruins, mesas and kivas. Every pore of my being is satisfied. My eyes wide with vistas, mountain friendship, and ancestral whispers. It is the highlight of my journey.

Our time of beauty goes quickly; thick red rock colors enter my soul. I keep a pottery fragment on my Puja table. I carry a shard in my medicine pouch.

On the last night of our gathering, Girl Scout Executive officers arrive. That day we’re divided into groups of four, with little instruction, to trek the mountain and then return to base camp, sharing our leadership experience.

Nancy and I emerge as group leaders. We watch each other out of the corners of our eyes. Later, we whisper: “Do you know where we’re going?” “Nope, not a clue.” The other girls follow us, oblivious.

Nancy and I provide confidence through humor and encouragement. Five hours later, it’s clear we’re lost. Nancy sees a paved road. We laugh as we hop the fence to reach our destination. Until I spy the bull.

A shrill gasp catches the bull’s attention. Head down, he moves fast. We help each other over the barbed wired fencing, mere seconds from being gored.

In “never say never” leadership, Nancy and I wipe away sweat and blood and stick out our thumbs. We need directions. Ignored, we form a human chain across the road.

Instead of looping back to camp, we discover we’ve missed our trailhead. We came down on the wrong side of the mountain, miles from camp. It’s too late to double back. We ride in our rescuer’s truck bed, heaped with unmentionables. It’s another reason I became vegetarian. http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/confessions-of-vegetarian-day-i-heard.html

We arrive at camp, bloodied and hungry, our blouses ripped. Worried adults meet us. Realizing we’re not seriously injured, terse voices inform us we have fifteen minutes to put on clean dress attire. Adult leaders cast meaningful glances to Executive Officers; they glower at us.

Dauntless, we hatch a plan. In a huddle, we commit to the outrageous, hoping to not be kicked out. We quickly gather props and costumes. I pull my scout cap over my eyes. My shirt hangs out. Cindy wears her badge sash backwards over pajamas. We pull pockets inside out. We hold bug spray. Girls move away from us as we sit down for vespers.

After witnessing other girls’ somber portrayals, our foursome stands, heads held high, bumbling our way to the head of the campfire. With perfect authority, we parody our story, mocking our leadership. Nancy throws a shoe at a bug. Linda sits, arms crossed, back turned from the audience, refusing to move. We spray her with bug spray, yanking her up. We misquote Girl Scout slogans.

“A Girl Scout never prepares. She makes stuff up as she goes.”

Transformed as actors, we command amusement from girls and officials alike. Nancy and I act out our sham, leading the way, as more laughter erupts. With the “bull” onstage, we push and shove one another, climbing over imaginary barbed wire fencing. We bring the house down.

It’s my best leadership lesson: Situations pending disaster can shift through humor, honesty and engagement. I’m reminded of my last Equine Lesson, only days ago: There are no mistakes. Only learning.

So, Reader, what experience led you to greater authenticity and connection?

THIS IS THE BIGGEST ONE ON RECORD, FOLKS

Girl Scouts woke up early one morning in the Sangre De Cristo Mountains, giggling. We peeked out from collapsed tents, swept together in a heap from the flash flood. Rain drenched and breathless with laughter, we crawled out into thick mud.

On our travels to the Rio Grande, college friends and I encounter lightning ripping open the sky. Thunder crashed...lightshow and rumblings.

Later, we wended our way around a mountain bend in Mexico as donkeys grazed, our eyes meeting massive red rock vistas; until the snow came, stopping us in our tracks. We hovered outside, with no plan, just laughter. Later, someone says it was the first snow in 100 years!

In Gila, New Mexico, a flash flood pounded the road. We forded the stream. A gentleman later sits with us drinking coffee. “This is the worst storm we’ve had in fifty years. Glad you got across. You could have sunk, hydroplaned or blown out your carburetors. All the roads are down. Stay put!” Laughing, we found an abandoned shack. We holed up for about a week, hiking in between showers, waiting on the road to be dug out.

Stormy weather warnings came as we neared Death Valley. We’re treated, instead, to the first wildflowers in over 100 years.

Before I boarded my plane for Phoenix days ago, I drew angel cards: Creativity, Willingness, Play and Humor. Hmmm, good ones.

But I did not wake up laughing this past Monday at 3:00 am.

Thunder exploded. Lightning snatched my dreams. Puppy dog is plastered against my leg. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, doggers,” I say to the dogs outside my bedroom door. But my thoughts aren’t quiet.

They said the storms are quick. Something isn’t right. Any doors blown open? How are the dogs? Horses? Friends? I can’t let the dogs out; the roof is metal. Might get struck by lightning.

I sat in my friends’ home, quieting my mind. Electric sky kept falling, thunder cracked. Sitting in their Great Room behind a solid wall of glass with no separation between the outside and inside. Nature invited herself in and she planned to stay.  

My thoughts return to horses. I can’t see them from here. I consider dashing to the barn. But what if I fall, or lightning strikes. Or the lights go out? What good am I, then?

I calm the dogs. I sense the horses are okay. I say mantrams and send love to each horse. I send love to the dogs. I send love to the storm, to Arizona, to all animals and people. I send love to my friends who are fast asleep, hearing only ocean waves as they drift. I let myself feel successful, having kept everyone safe.

I calm down. With lightning flashing and thunder bursting, I meditate and send out more love.

I confirm my intuition: flash flood warning in effect all day. I cuddle the dogs, sending out more love. I send love to the horse handlers, family and friends. Please keep everyone safe. In a momentary storm lull, I let the dogs out and visit the horses.

I remember what a mentor said about recent earthquakes and storms:

“If more people don't do the loving shift within themselves, the earth will move even more.

I visit the horses again, send love, give dog cookies and soon, I’m inundated with phone calls, emails, texts and Facebook messages.

Roads are down. Can you feed the horses? Special blends. Drat the phone went dead. Which bin?

Muddy dog walks, horsey visits, communications, a friend stops over. I finally breathe easy about 4:00 pm.

I had it right earlier: LAUGH. Let the tents fall; stay stuck in Gila. EVERYONE IS SAFE AND FED. Happy, I take all three dogs to swim and chase each other around the pool. Later, we do dog walks and a few more visits to the horses.

Good ol’ Southwest, never lets me down.

So, Reader, what adventure helped you weather the storms? And what loving shifts will you make for the good of all?

CAMEL RIDE-“I’d Walk A Mile For A Camel”

Adam (aka Poncho later): Photo courtesy of Deb Mc Murray, Photographer

If you want to keep camels, have a big enough door. 

                                                       Afghan Proverb

The camel and his driver -- each has his own plan. 

                                                        African Proverb

I think compassion is all important. I carry a piece of rose quartz in my pocket 

that reminds me to take in everything, and give out everything, with compassion.

                                                     Tamara Nesbit

Destiny was calling. Namaste Global Vision’s mission is to enable animal stewards through our leadership coaching. I was off course in considering our non-profit directly assisting in an animal rescue. I called our other two founding members so we could consider the request.

“Here I am standing in the community kitchen,” I tell Art and Myron, “and one of the women asks if I will find Adam a home. I think about it. And then right after meditation, an ‘Aha’ comes. I do know someone to ask for help if we decide to take this on!”

Adam was in a midlife crisis during an economic slump. One of his humps was sagging. His current health and home were unstable. He used to be a photo celebrity; humans drove by singing, others sent wishes. Some offered connection and carrots at the fence. Eventually, even his goat friends could not cheer him.

After receiving the green light, I swallow hard. I call Adam’s owner and we talk for a very long time. Tentatively, I call Charley.

What happens next is camel magic, and phone calls that go flying.

“Mystic Moon passed away,” Charley tells me. “Many people wanted his stall. But I hung up a cross and prayed on it many times. I kept leaving it open for someone. I now know who! Thanks for calling.”

Charley knows about gentling. Gentling isn’t just for camels and horses; it’s for people too. Falling on hard times is hard. It’s not easy to let go of family, regardless of what wisdom says.

I’m reminded of “Heartland”, a thoughtful television show. “Second Chances” tells the story about Mr. Hanley’s neglecting his horses as he falls on hard times. Because of Amy’s dedication to helping the horses she ends up helping Mr. Hanley too. (http://www.amazon.com/Second-Chances/dp/B00F91RV0C)

Like with Mr. Hanley's horses, Adam's ranch life was precarious. His people were trying to make ends meet for hearth and ranch life. Sometimes, there were not enough resources for the animal's care. Adam was underweight. The authorities were coming around and that did not bode well for Adam. Negative thinking and despair don’t help. Destabilization invites a delicate situation. When breakdowns happen, it’s time for a change. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/02/crying-uncle-wayto-breakthrough-things.html) 

A delicate situation it was: “Yes, Adam can go. No, he can’t. Take the goats, too. No, it can’t work. Well, let’s try. Need more time.”

Charley, Myron and I chose peaceful negotiations and positive communication. Luckily, we had help. Adam received affection, support, treats and mantrams from a local spiritual community. Well-wishers had watched his growth from childhood, on. Deb, a photographer, sang to Adam every day on her way to work. We had all that good energy going for us.

Hours and hours of phone calls later, loading day came. Today was Adam’s turn for a camel ride. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/camel-ride-part-one.html) And Myron and Scotty will tell you they walked more than a mile for their camel as they loaded him into the trailer. Adam and his owners said a teary goodbye. Adam then rode off, away from northern California, down south to his new home.

Adam arrived at dawn on Charley’s birthday. Charley’s brother surprised everyone with a three-man Mariachi band who followed the trailer. Adam’s regal head nodded approval as the band played on. In that moment, Adam became Poncho as his resolution to mid-life crisis was underway.

I hope you enjoyed the ride. He did. And, reader, what’s your transformational story that saved a life?

By the by: Everyone likes a happy ending. Here’s Poncho’s happy ending with his forever family. http://charleymayer.me/my-furry-family/#contentBox  

Poncho( aka Adam earlier) with his new friend, Corona; Photo by Charley Mayer;

https://www.facebook.com/PonchoTheCamel/photos_stream

                             "He's Doing Better Than Ever" Photo by Cassandra Ogier

  

CAMEL RIDE-GIZA AGAIN

We started our journey in Giza. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/camel-ride-part-one.html)  We ended in Giza, as well. Sandwiched in-between were layers of Egyptian mystery that we peeled back. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-temple-of-karnack.html.)

As I re-enter Giza to say goodbye to its land, people, camels and customs, I feel an inner calm.  I carry with me mysterious adventures come to life.  Entering the King’s Tomb on my knees remains with me as does seeing “Sechmet,” daughter of Ra, The Sun God.

I walk deep across desert sands toward looming pyramids. I walk away from noisy vendor stands, arrayed with colorful Kurtas, perfume and food.  Choosing my spot, I sit down to meditate in the heat of the desert sun. I clasp my hands, thumbs touching. I sit cross-legged on the golden sand.

I close my eyes. Slowly, I am aware of my breath. I sit still for a long while. Slowly, I sense a strange, reverberating force pulsating toward me from afar.

Trained in Vipassana mindfulness meditation, I keep my eyes closed. As the Palm Desert bell ringer, I learned not to flinch, open my eyes, or react to flies buzzing around me. The practice: breathe in and out, noticing and allowing.

Today is no different. Time is silent; am I halfway through my meditation? My eyes remain closed, noticing. Breathing in and breathing out.

The sand is alive, bringing grumbling, rolling thunder into my ears. Breathing in and breathing out. Watching the phenomenon rise and fall. The hammering from high above eventually penetrates my calm.

Breathing in and breathing out.

The rumbling commotion comes closer and closer. The distance thins. Then suddenly, sandstorms are upon me. I hear shouts. The uproar and pounding hooves are unrelenting. I remain, breathing in and out.

With hoofed feet wrapped in whispering sands, the cacophony engages me. I sit, unmoving. The pounding hooves stop abruptly --- within seconds of my skin. Men high above shriek words which are strange to my ears.

I sit, spine erect, breathing in and breathing out.

 Am I being threatened?

My eyes are closed.

The demanding energy roars above me.

Breathing in and breathing out.

As I sit in stillness, a strange thing happens. As powerful as the vocalizations had been, there is now a pervasive quiet.

To my surprise, camel feet encircle me completely. Several camels lean down, putting their face close to me as I sit. Camel breath comes near mine.

As camels and I share breath, the men are also quiet. The camels communicate a rapturous tranquility. I am enclosed in reverence. Astonished, my breath grows shallow. I am encircled in a community of prayers.  

I am breathing in and out … just like the camels … just like the men.

I fill with gratitude and unshed tears.

Breathing in and breathing out.

We remain like this for a long time.  

Breathing in and breathing out.

Prayerfully, the camels one by one, with their men, move silently from the circle. And they slowly begin their pilgrimage back from where they came.

Later, I open my eyes, the dust nearly gone from hoof storms far away.

While Vipassana meditations usually involve an insight garnered, this one transitioned from reality to dreamlike…and then gently slid me into an alternate, elevated reality. Such is the transformational power of the desert.

THE TEMPLE OF KARNAK

Thirty spokes are made one by holes in a hub, 

by vacancies joining them for a wheel's use.

                                                            Lao Tzu

Avidya and the other spokes in the wheel tell the story 

of  how we came to forget that this life is not all there is.

                                                                             Eknath Easwaran

Inside Karnak Temple, I secreted myself away from my five close compatriots. I found myself moving into a cell-like chamber. Inside, I meditated standing up. After quieting myself, I felt a stillness urging me to move further into the inset of the wall chamber.

There, I felt the ancient, humid, cool/warm and dank space enfolding me. I was alone for the first time on my Egyptian trip. I breathed in the deep sense of antiquity. I was transported to some other time and place where prayers were said and words were chanted. There was a truth known and spoken amongst the people and their temple priests. I felt a trembling in my body.

I shut out the chatter going on a few feet away. More silence descended. A force held me firm. Depths of the sacred lived in these ruins. I felt heat emerge from the pyramid walls, contacting my skin, lungs and breath. There was a bodily connection that made its way into the core of my being. Time stopped. I felt a tingling sensation embrace me.

I experienced my body being warmed and blanketed by earth’s waves. The stone itself seemed to be pulsing radiation, releasing purified oxygen that flowed into me.

My brain felt suddenly elastic. I was shown a repeating childhood dream. I was sitting on a very large bicycle. I was transparent; a hand could be put through my body. I was there, and yet, not there. In my dream, I was always pedaling in the air, into exquisite, dark starry sky. This massive back wheel kept turning, spinning and moving out and out into space.

Still inside the pyramid chamber, something in me whispered, reminding me of words from the dream:  “She sits on the cycle. Who is this she? She sits inside another She. Who’s that She? What is the “S” for anyway?

My dream was then lifted up and out of me. It came to life in this Temple. I was faintly aware of my dream being a coded message. Hieroglyphs written across the universe whose meaning we’re privileged to receive...when it’s time.

Triangles were created from the wheel spokes. They were hauled out in distinct movements by a seemingly invisible force. These triangular units were flung out endlessly, freed from captivity. Triangular vaults suddenly whirled and spun further out into the sky. Strange trajectories released from their negative space. They had lives of their own. Then they vanished. The emptiness that housed the spokes was also a hieroglyph.

Some positive force set negative space free. My childhood dream and I were both message and messenger. I was sent here long ago. Karnak and its mysteries had these words for me: You belong to a deeper conversation not of the ordinary world.

How about you, Reader?  What dream came to life and led you to new revelation?

CAMEL RIDE-GIZA

I traveled to honor the harmonic convergence in Giza, Egypt. We arrived early and would end our trip around 1-11-1987. Before we moved into the heart of collective “caravan” travels, we were introduced to Giza. This is where we began and ended our journey.

Colorfully clad Bedouin camel handlers gently led the giants of the desert, equally adorned, near the circle where we stood. All our eyes were watchful of the camels, while occasional wandering eyes ogled the Great Pyramid. I was spellbound...in rapture. I was about to sit upon one of God’s mightiest and most mysterious creatures.

The camel dutifully knelt with knees on the ground as I was hoisted up onto its back. No time for ceremony, camel kisses or sweet breaths; only the ride was in view. I felt a lump in my stomach as we rose up into the heavens. Clearly, the camel had done this before.

With that one movement of the camel rising, there was a merging of me into camel and the wide sweep of desert. Camel, Bedouin camel handler, Great Pyramid, sand, desert ways, hills, rising...and I swooped and swirled into singing sands, wind, dust, and the massive presence of antiquity. I remained astounded. Once up and settled, the view was eternal.

It was only a moment, but the moment captured something deep, known and unknown, in my bones. It was my Taos desert trip and my travels with four friends across Texas, Arizona, New Mexico and California. It was Vipassana meditation in the desert, Joshua Tree hiking in California. It was photography, salad, and numerous trips into Death Valley. It was an ancient song, “The Shifting Whispering Sands”, of my childhood that called me first to the mysterious sands of the deserts. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgAvHo6vpe4

One would think the sand was resting, but you'll find this is not so. 
It is whisp'ringsoftly whisp'ring, as it slowly moves along…
Yes, it always whispers to you about  the days of long ago.  

                                            V.C. Gilbert and Mary M. Hadler 

There was something of my father’s longing in that song. Some yearning never satisfied. If there was a link between us it would be found in that song. While Roy Rogers captured my heart about western deserts and its ways, this song that my father played revealed his vulnerable side, whether he realized it or not.

One late rainy afternoon, I made my bedroom into a tented affair, while I explored inner riches. Home from work, my father stormed into my bedroom, red faced and demanding.  When his hand yanked open the tent flap, there was only the radio quietly playing, “The Shifting Whispering Sands.” Twice blessed, I did not laugh when he realized his error. Desert storms are like that. They rise up in fury, and lie down in whispering lamentations, moving quietly across vast terrains.

The camel ride up the hilly plain was quiet and lulling. Tips were included in our touring fees and granted to the Bedouin Company. But the Bedouins did not quite see it that way.  When no favorable response came, the dust storm of camel hooves pounded into the desert floor as they raced for the highest hills. Sitting atop this escapade was riveting. Only after more sweeping gestures by our guides, and our hands pulling out empty pockets, did they turn the camels around.

What did I learn in the heart of the deep Egyptian desert? I learned that a camel was a new friend. I learned that the ways of the desert and its customs are unique and compelling. I learned that while we had yet to rendezvous with the pyramids, everything I came for, I had already found in that ride.

What about you, dear reader? When did you go on a journey born out of the wishes and connections that came before?