I’ve been attending some workshops on Shamanistic Journeying over the last couple of months. I’d been seeking a teacher in this realm for the last few years, so when this opportunity presented itself, as nutbar, whack job as it sounds, I signed up. I condone judgment on this. Understandably, it could seem like airy fairy, hokus pokus, Castenada kind of horseshit to some, but it’s exciting and telling as hell to me. And so I carry on…

A quiet room, a drum, a candle, some sentimental things offered on the sarong/altar laid out in the center…expected objects, I suppose. I lay down, comfortably swaddled in the afghan my mother made me and I go off.

I’m flying through the air with butterfly wings, and I’ve got a few miniature playful fairy companions on either shoulder. I float slowly over a lake, and land barefoot in the muck on the shore. “Still water…always makes me uneasy…” I thought to myself. My feet squish in the wet dirt as I look up to the sun speckled, tree-lined path in the woods. I sort of half skip, half float along with the light-hearted fairies until I come to a clearing on my right. A perfect, patterned, spiraled circle of tall green grass and I meet him there. He teases me about my wings.

We walk in the circular path until we reach the center where there is a giant seed pod. We climb inside together and embrace, crouched up with my legs straddled over top of him. We’re laughing. We float up and suddenly gaining additional perspective and seeing the pod from the outside, I can see that down along the other end of my path, there’s the ocean. A trustworthy, moving body of water.

We float back down, and when it’s time to move on, he tells me he’s staying…not to worry, he’ll always be there…and I reluctantly push on towards the ocean.

*****I conveniently misinterpreted this vision. I have a habit of asking to see things, receiving them as clear as day, then selectively mistrusting the symbols. As much as I purportedly aspire to the Truth, it doesn’t mean I’m necessarily capable of a guaranteed wholehearted embrace of it. He knew what it meant when I told him. We’ve been meeting each other in dreams for a good long while now. We’re well versed in the metaphors of reverie. Cryptic quips embedded in other people’s lyrics. Nothing straight up, straight on. Just the way he likes it.*****

The next journey I went on, I was going down a hole through the ground at the site of a now deceased but cherished cherry tree in the backyard of my family home. I was digging and digging until I reached a lair below and an old woman grabbed my wrists and pulled me down to meet her. She looked like a witch and I was afraid of her and she knew it. She asked why I feared her and I told her it was because we’d never met before and sometimes I’m afraid of things I don’t know anything about. She told me I shouldn’t be.

She took me by the hand, and I expected we’d take off somewhere, but we sat down at a fire and she said we weren’t going anywhere. She told me we would just sit by the fire and learn not to worry. I shouldn’t waste time or energy thinking about all the things I might not be able to accomplish blah, blah, blah, I should just do. “Those kind of thoughts are very, very dangerous,” she warned “Learn to sit, be still and just do.” We sat by the fire a while longer and then when the drum called me back, she helped me climb back up into the yard.

In the third journey during this particular session, I got on the back of a giant house fly. He zoomed me out to the moon. We hung/hovered in space and I looked at the big, beautiful sphere right before my very eyes, and the fly told me, “Time doesn’t work the same way out there as it does here. Every second counts. Everything you do counts and if you don’t use it, you lose it.” Then we were flying over my dead body laid out on a table. “This will happen to you, there is no doubt about this, so don’t waste time.” Then we flew around on his back for a while, shooting through all kinds of jumbles of thoughts and things.

You’d think I was whacked out on peyote or some shit to be seriously relaying this, but I can’t even boast that good fortune.

There is any number of infinite possibilities, seeds if you will, that exist in the clearings on the periphery of our consciousness, most of them with the potential to be joyful and beautiful and worthy of taking root. And everything, absolutely everything you do as you float along in your little pods of potential matters as to whether the thing makes it this time around, or the next.

I see what’s happening on this one.  More painfully, though, I see what’s not. And so I soar along to the ever-changing tides of the sea.

–There is a field out beyond right and wrong. I will meet you there. – Rumi