Today I went for a hike through the Black Hills, instead of descending into Jewel Cave with my husband Victor & first grader Evan. I like crystals—but something about being underground is aversive for me. Plus it’s cooler down there and I’m already chilled from sleeping out in a tent. We have been cold and damp for all the days we’ve been here. If it were the full on heat of summer I might find it more appealing.
I set off on the Canyon trail loop. It switch backed down to the canyon floor. I was the only human soul in sight. There were bluebells & harebell & and a white, six petal star-shaped flower with yellow fireworks launching from her middle. Strawberries and wild rose plants, not yet blooming, also lined the pathway. And the biggest, healthiest, lushest stand of shepherd’s purse I’ve ever seen grows right at the bottom of the switchbacks.
Here a service road becomes the path. Being solitary in the middle of nature washes over me here. My psychological defenses dissolve. I become more porous, absorbing the vitality of the natural landscape while diffusing my tightness and neurotic thinking-ness into the ocean of nature. On one side of the canyon the rocks are a kaleidoscope of orange hues. Wild plum trees sweeten the air and each breath sweetens me.
Now the canyon opens up in front of me into a wider canyon with a meadow bottom. This area had been burned in the forest fire 8 years ago. Blackened trees stand watch, while others tumbled together on the re-newing soil. As I follow the service road which has been my path, a moment of panic suddenly hits me. Am I safe alone? Are there predators or bears nearby? Why did I suddenly get adrenalized? I stop and breathe in the clean air. I ask if this is intuition of danger. “NO” is the answer. Maybe I’d responded to the opening up of the landscape. I feel more vulnerable outside of the forested blanketing, more visible from a distance. I notice I’m taking the stance of prey rather than predator. Or maybe I sense the vestiges of animal fear from the fire that swept through here. When I stop and breathe, the panic inside left and I dissolve again into nature.
Here there is stand after stand of wild irises regally opening their lavender crowns. Evening primrose plants enjoy the moist meadow too. A pair of blue butterflies outlined in white play together near a yellow blossom. I walk on and on, drinking in my solitude and aliveness. Only once a jogger comes upon me and says, ”Nice time for wild flowers!” She smiles as she passes.
As the pathway curved back and forth through the winding canyon, the wind finds me at different angles. I pull on my windbreaker, only to curve back into a warmer corner and end up tying it back around my waist. At one turn the walls of rock amaze . One side was white with some red, while the other is black with some red. I wished for a camera. I wanted to capture the color of my hand against each of the stone colors and textures. Words can’t.
Entering into a more wooded area again, wild violets were popping up along the path. I bent to pick one for a taste of the canyon spring. Mmmm, sweet biting flavor and coolness.
Continuing along I wonder why I haven’t gotten back to the Visitors Center yet. Victor’s watch on my wrist says it’s past the time I’d estimated to be there. A doe leaps across my pathway, just as I see that the service road doesn’t lead me back to Jewel Cave. It goes to the highway, where the gate is locked. Should I backtrack to find where I failed to turn? Or go to the highway? I look to the deer- and she decidedly points towards the highway. So I stretch the barbed wire to duck beneath it. My day pack is grazed by the unfriendly barbs. Now which way? Right seems the way. And yes, a conveniently placed road sign say, “Jewel Cave - 1 mile”. Another sign nearby says, “Hell Canyon Trailhead.” Was that where I’d been?
By now I’m sweating in the heat of my hiking, even though the wind still blows cool. My legs are tired and walking the side of the road isn’t as pleasing as the canyon bottom.
Campers and RV’s rush past me as I secretly wish one would rescue me. Another mile seems like forever at this point, plus it was past our rendezvous time. Even the small stands of lavender irises along the roadway have a hard time breaking through my embarrassment at my misdirection. “I’m not lost, just took a detour. I’m just behind schedule.”
Each speeding vehicle seems to taunt my plodding pedestrian pace. I have to switch sides of the road to have enough shoulder to stay safely out of the way of wandering RV’s. Thinking like prey again. This is the longest of the 4 or 5 miles I’ve ended up hiking.
The twisting mountain road finally reaches the Jewel Cave turnoff. When we’d arrived in our car I hadn’t noticed how far it was from the highway to the Visitors Center. Another mile it seems. At least it is all downhill and there are fewer more subdued vehicles.
Is Victor worried? Had they started searching for me? I’m 40 minutes late. No one rushes up to me, happy that I’ve gotten back safely, when I able into the parking area. No one is at the picnic table where we’d had our snack. No Victor & Evan in the Visitors Center. I go back outside, pondering where to look for them next, when Evan yells, “I found her.” Victor comes over to hug me. My little adventure becomes part of our conversation as they tell me about what was under the ground that I’d been wandering over.
30 June 2008
23 June 2008
My adventures with plants- Cronewort
Green eyes. When did my eyes turn green? Maybe after I bonded with the plants, entering into their slow and generous world.
That day in Ann Drucker's herb class was the taproot. We spent the day on the plains, in the WishGarden Herbs garden. It was an unusually misty, wet day for Colorado. On my way there I'd wondered if I'd end up going home early -- I hate cold wetness to my bone. Yet as we entered into the plant world by singing and opening our awareness, the water and cloudy coolness became nurturing respite from the usual burning Colorado sun.
The plant species each had their own personality. At first I chose Motherwort, wanting some mother wisdom about my children. I sat down next to her. Burying next to her a bit of herb from my garden as an offering. Asking her if I might receive a teaching from her.
As I listened inwardly, she squawked at me like a tired mother, bothered yet again by a thoughtless child. "You don't belong with me. Go to Cronewort with your questions. Leave me alone."
Taken aback, she was true to her prickley seed pods, setting her limits with a bit of a poke. "OK, I hear you. Sorry I bothered you."
I crawled a few yards through the muddy paths around the plants until I found Cronewort. Some know her as Mugwort. She was truly regal. Almost as tall as I was when I stand on my feet. But I kneeled in front of her, offering my herb and my song.
"Sacred Cronewort, hear my song. Make my way sacred, fill me with wisdom.
Sacred Cronewort, hear my song. Make my way sacred, fill me with beauty.
Fill me with wisdom, that I may bring others wisdom.
Fill me with beauty, that I may bring others beauty."
I asked to partake of her leaves and her wisdom. She nodded her head in the moist wind. I beheld her physical form, jagged leaves shadowed with silvery green, watching for the leaves that were offering themselves to me. When I saw them, I gently removed them from her branch and clutched them to my heart in thanks. Then I took them into my mouth, chewing slowly, tasting her leaf juices mingled with my juices. I sat still in the misty rain.
As I sat the rain would change her song, falling with a deeper tone with larger drops, then more staccato, then leaving a misty space of quiet rest between.
The essence of cronewort juice rose to my head. I felt that regal sense agian, now inside of me, and knew yet another name for her-- Crownwort. I felt she had crowned me with the beginning of my cronehood, the sensation of a royal crown on my head. I felt my shushumna, the energetic spine, fill and glow and my crown chakra awaken by her powers, just as I had felt it happen before by chanting sacred words or being in the presence of saints. I sat still in the misty rain.
The honor and peace of Cronewort's initiation of me smoothed my way into my menopausal years.
That day in Ann Drucker's herb class was the taproot. We spent the day on the plains, in the WishGarden Herbs garden. It was an unusually misty, wet day for Colorado. On my way there I'd wondered if I'd end up going home early -- I hate cold wetness to my bone. Yet as we entered into the plant world by singing and opening our awareness, the water and cloudy coolness became nurturing respite from the usual burning Colorado sun.
The plant species each had their own personality. At first I chose Motherwort, wanting some mother wisdom about my children. I sat down next to her. Burying next to her a bit of herb from my garden as an offering. Asking her if I might receive a teaching from her.
As I listened inwardly, she squawked at me like a tired mother, bothered yet again by a thoughtless child. "You don't belong with me. Go to Cronewort with your questions. Leave me alone."
Taken aback, she was true to her prickley seed pods, setting her limits with a bit of a poke. "OK, I hear you. Sorry I bothered you."
I crawled a few yards through the muddy paths around the plants until I found Cronewort. Some know her as Mugwort. She was truly regal. Almost as tall as I was when I stand on my feet. But I kneeled in front of her, offering my herb and my song.
"Sacred Cronewort, hear my song. Make my way sacred, fill me with wisdom.
Sacred Cronewort, hear my song. Make my way sacred, fill me with beauty.
Fill me with wisdom, that I may bring others wisdom.
Fill me with beauty, that I may bring others beauty."
I asked to partake of her leaves and her wisdom. She nodded her head in the moist wind. I beheld her physical form, jagged leaves shadowed with silvery green, watching for the leaves that were offering themselves to me. When I saw them, I gently removed them from her branch and clutched them to my heart in thanks. Then I took them into my mouth, chewing slowly, tasting her leaf juices mingled with my juices. I sat still in the misty rain.
As I sat the rain would change her song, falling with a deeper tone with larger drops, then more staccato, then leaving a misty space of quiet rest between.
The essence of cronewort juice rose to my head. I felt that regal sense agian, now inside of me, and knew yet another name for her-- Crownwort. I felt she had crowned me with the beginning of my cronehood, the sensation of a royal crown on my head. I felt my shushumna, the energetic spine, fill and glow and my crown chakra awaken by her powers, just as I had felt it happen before by chanting sacred words or being in the presence of saints. I sat still in the misty rain.
The honor and peace of Cronewort's initiation of me smoothed my way into my menopausal years.
16 June 2008
Time - an excerpt from Giving Birth to Ourselves
TIME
Within a week two women gave birth . One was having her first child - it took almost 30 hours. The other was having her fifth baby - it took her three hours. Her four previous births were only an hour long. And so, to both women , their labors were long.
Life experience does not necessarily fit into linear, logical measures. Births are a gift to us in reminding us of that.
The time it takes for us to realize our goals, whether inner or outer is just as relative, and requires just the kind of willingness to persevere as birthing does.
Contemplations--
· Do I choose realistic time frames for getting where I want to go?
· Do I accept that I am not always in control of what happens on the way?
· Am I willing to allow time to be elastic in reality and bounce on it like a trampoline rather than smothering in it like a rubber mask?
Activities--
Do a visualization back into the womb to re experience womb time.
Being in labor or at a labor or with a child or in love are all experiences that can produce an altered sense of time. Talking about it with each other may help us reclaim the time without clocks which is usually disallowed in this culture, even to children.
Meditations to alter time: Sit still, moving just your arm as slowly as possible. Walk as slowly as possible. Go for a walk to explore outside with a 2-year old. Sit next to a loudly rushing stream. Put your watch aside and enjoy it.
Giving Birth to Ourselves - Contemplations for midwives & other birth companions is available at www.lulu.com
Within a week two women gave birth . One was having her first child - it took almost 30 hours. The other was having her fifth baby - it took her three hours. Her four previous births were only an hour long. And so, to both women , their labors were long.
Life experience does not necessarily fit into linear, logical measures. Births are a gift to us in reminding us of that.
The time it takes for us to realize our goals, whether inner or outer is just as relative, and requires just the kind of willingness to persevere as birthing does.
Contemplations--
· Do I choose realistic time frames for getting where I want to go?
· Do I accept that I am not always in control of what happens on the way?
· Am I willing to allow time to be elastic in reality and bounce on it like a trampoline rather than smothering in it like a rubber mask?
Activities--
Do a visualization back into the womb to re experience womb time.
Being in labor or at a labor or with a child or in love are all experiences that can produce an altered sense of time. Talking about it with each other may help us reclaim the time without clocks which is usually disallowed in this culture, even to children.
Meditations to alter time: Sit still, moving just your arm as slowly as possible. Walk as slowly as possible. Go for a walk to explore outside with a 2-year old. Sit next to a loudly rushing stream. Put your watch aside and enjoy it.
Giving Birth to Ourselves - Contemplations for midwives & other birth companions is available at www.lulu.com
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