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?

UNTIL THE COWS COME HOME

I am humming along these days, things unfolding in beautiful and harmonious ways. I also have this little voice that intrudes, “Are we there yet?”

This past Saturday, I was delighted when I emptied half my clothes closet onto my bed. This spontaneous impulse, formerly stifled, was set free. “Clothes are on the bed; organization’s in the house! Yippee!” I was happy, just BEING, sorting clothes by colors, creating order and space.

In the last phase of organizing, appreciating color coordination, this little voice said, “Yes, but what about Linked In? What about organizing the dresser drawers? What about that call you need to make?”

While it sounded like a dentist drilling inside my mouth, it was not an inner critic but a child’s whine.

I explored deeper. This impulse sabotages my happiness sometimes. She speaks to me of TO DO LISTS. She mistrusts “being in the now”.

I started WORKING early in life, putting out family fires. My poor amygdala! http://drbenkim.com/overcome-chronic-fear-anxiety.html  It’s Horse Sentinel Syndrome, scanning horizons for danger. 

In equine-guided leadership, we teach that horses are herd and prey animals. As a herd they move together, promising greater safety from predators. Often in herd dynamics there is a lead mare who will let the others know when to stay and when to move. 

There is also a horse who stays outside this herd cluster. This sentinel is in the role of scanning the horizons, noting if things are safe. It's the sentinel's job to also notice if a coyote is on a hill. The sentinel then communicates this danger with the lead mare and the other horses so that the herd can move to safety.

On a recent walk, I interviewed my inner child using a Psychosynthesis educational model that helps one have detachment to view various concerns and conflicts. http://www.aliharrison.com/psychosynthesis/Subpersonalities.html Turns out, this aspect of my identity needs my help to STOP working all the time! She’s perpetually on duty. She needs to trust “the moment, this now.” And know that it’s okay to be happy.

As I contact her, cows come into view.

From afar, one cow looks deeply into my eyes. I look back into hers. My heart quiets; my breath slows down. She is showing me what BEING looks like. This cow contentedly is, well, chewing on her cud. I hear her message.

“Do you understand? What I’m doing is as important as you working with animal stewards, or cleaning out your desk. I’m lying down, chewing. I’m fulfilling my destiny.”

I listen. I walk slowly toward her. I feel this inner child soothed and grow quiet. Two cows further out walk over to the fence. I meet them. I don’t need to hand them grass or do anything. I just “be”. Curious, four other cows join us at the fence line. I am reminded of Carolyn Resnick’s blog about SHARING TERRITORY.  http://www.carolynresnickblog.com/good-vibrations-sharing-territory™/ It’s about being present, connected, not doing, Zen-like, "letting come".  http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/03/wu-wei.html

In inaction, I’m connected.  Another cow looks earnestly into my eyes. We stand close. I look into her large brown eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen a cow. A veil drops; karla/soul meets cow/soul. I experience a profound peace. We are standing together in a field of love.

Later, I tell a friend about my Saturday interruption and what the cows just shared with me.

No slouch to inner development, Beth responds: “Karla, I believe all of us, as women, have these eternal lists that keep us from nurturing ourselves. We’re compulsive and keep working, scanning for others’ unmet needs. Our lists don’t let us rest. It’s why we don’t easily take care of what we need. Or take time to just be.”

Well, I’m no longer waiting until the cows come home. This moment, this blog, sharing territory with you and the cows is enough.

Do you have a never-ending list, Reader, or are you content to just be?

                                 

FOUR ELEMENTS: THE FIRST ELEMENT IS AIR

Of all the elements, air or wind is the most mysterious. It is what gives life to all creatures on this earth.  And when it is done, each of us has breathed our last.

                                                    ~Karla

Now Wind asked Ababinili if she could have the humans as her children, but again, Ababinili said, "No, they can't be your children, but they can be your grandchildren so you can remove the unclean air and all kinds of diseases.” 

                                                                           ~A Chickasaw Legend

http://www.littlewolfrun.net/ChickasawLegends.html

I AM THE WIND…

I am the wind who rages fiercely during a storm, who bows tree limbs over in pain, yanking branches and ripping leaves from their source. I am the wind who produces funnel clouds, destroying homes, pulling up the roots of trees and relationships held dear. I am the wind who whines low moans through the trees on an eerie dark night. I am spooky, for I scream a voiceless music, sending piercing chills up and down spines.

I am the wind who barks icy winds into winter, my biting breath seeking warmth beneath protective coats, whipping stabbing coldness into unwary backs. I am the wind who annoyingly blows precious papers from groping hands, sending them rolling, turning, and twisting.

Like a teenager bolting through the door, almost stepping on the dog, not noticing her grandmother sitting in a rocker in the living room...I am the wind.

I, too, am the summer breeze who sings sweet lullabies through the trees and over green grasses. I am the wind who gracefully pushes the sails of floating rafts. I am the hearty breeze who gives a reassuring voice to questing uplifted faces, sending a fresh air of heroic calm to surge within them. I am the wind who bears the seeds of tomorrow’s life, dispersing them over this vast earth.

I am the gusty breeze who blows through trees, swishing and dancing their leaves that tilt and sway in sheer ecstasy.  I am the quieting breeze who comes in comfort, wafting into musty corners, consoling children, dogs, and elders, as they lie weak and afraid. I am the autumn breeze who mournfully, yet resignedly, tugs at the leaves of yesterday’s life and sends them silently to the grounds of death. I am the gentle breeze who dries tears from red-eyed faces. I am the wind who gives seasons their life, dutifully answering the calls of my command.

I am in Nami and her gentle surprise of nosing my hand after the hike, saying, “Thank-you for taking the time.”

If I frighten you, is that not simply your response to me? I am not here to frighten you. I can be extreme: I can hurt, destroy, and give ghostly chills of doubt. And yet, I give comfort, strength, tranquility, grace and life. I can do only as my nature wills. My demands are great. I cannot choose to be only the soothing breezes. Would you rather that I end my breath, with nature fading out because there is no one left to blow the breath of life into her creation? Or will you accept me—my rasping and turbulent winds as well as my sweet and tranquil breezes—all my airs enunciating my offering to life?