A Wake Up Call

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Shamaness

When Raphael first came into my life he was still an adolescent; curious, full of energy and a little distressed about being separated from the rest of the chooks.  Raphael had escaped the machete and kept his head – a feat which both of his buddies had failed to accomplish.  Their fate had led them straight into the soup pot, but that’s another story for another day.

One night I was up late, energized by the bright moonlight beaming through the open house when a terrible squawking erupted outside and I looked out the window to see Raphael leaping, not quite flying yet, across the lawn at full speed with a huge wild pig in hot pursuit.  They tore into the bushes, screeching, grunting and crashing through thick branches and I was sure that the pig would make his kill.  But in the morning there was Raphael, scratching and pecking at the grass peacefully as if nothing had happened.  There was no doubt about it – Raphael was a survivor!

He soon became a regular part of the household; running out to greet me when I came home from work, climbing into the Gramichami tree to roost in the evenings and sitting under the house, feathers fluffed up, making soft chook chook noises.  Then of course, one day it just happened. Suddenly, without warning I was woken up in the darkness before dawn to an unmistakable, impossibly loud crowing right outside my bedroom.  Raphael was all grown up and he was telling the whole world.

The crowing continued on into the day (Raphael was pretty proud of his new voice) and he enthusiastically hopped up onto the outdoor furniture as he experimented with height and vocal projection. As I watched his antics I started to wonder about our instinctual nature. I considered our behaviour – some of which is learned, but a great deal is instinctual and arises spontaneously from within. There is a primal intelligence encoded in our DNA, I remembered, a complex set of instructions for our growth and development. One day we are content with sitting on the warm earth going chook chook chook, the next day we are leaping from chair to table waking up the entire neighbourhood. It seems that our own evolution sometimes takes us by surprise.

An artist came to me for a tarot reading at the markets one Sunday and shared an inspiring story.  She was feeling tired one afternoon and lay down for a nap.  She saw a figure walk into the room, say to her “its time to wake up” and calmly walk out.  When she awoke she began to write.  Already painting as a hobby, she expected her story to evolve into something expressed on canvas, but she continued to write.  The day that I met her she had written three entire books which were on their way to publishing along with the cover art.

There are certain times in our lives when evolution kicks in.  Maybe we meet someone who inspires us to get started on a project we have only been talking about.  Perhaps we encounter the shock of illness or the death of someone close to us and it causes us to reassess our priorities.  Occasionally a ‘misfortune’ like losing your job or partner sets you off in a new direction.  Sometimes, if we are lucky, someone walks into the room and says, its time to wake up.

Raphael strutted up and down, stopping only long enough to find his balance before emitting another raucous crow. His body was tense with the effort, neck arched back, beak stretched wide and he drew the sound from somewhere deep within his feathered bony frame. As I watched his energetic dance, geometric spirals snaked into my vision. Twisting ladders led me down into a crystalline matrix and the crowing grew fainter, softer, farther away. I drifted through an intricate array of cellular constructs; floating spheres filled with coloured lights, angular structures which replicated themselves bigger and then smaller again.  As I traveled I felt all of my concerns and worries and stresses fall away.  It had been a busy year, heck, several busy years of working hard and striving to accomplish my own personal goals.  I felt like lifetimes were being stripped off me, layers of experience, perspective, existence, floating, drifting, flying……and then it stopped.  There was silence. Stillness. Presence. Nothing else.

I waited. In the void there is no time. Nothing happening.  Nothing at all.  Just peace.  The steady rhythm of breath.  It was clear – everything originates from here.  Every action begins in stillness, every thought arises from emptiness.  When we strip the canvas bare we discover a whole world of new possibilities waiting to be expressed – a new beginning, the chance for a fresh start. I sat there for a long time in perfect stillness, just being. The sky darkened and I felt the air grow cooler.  In my vision I saw a single point of light emerging from the darkness and it was then that I heard a familiar call from far far away. A wave of recognition washed over me. It was the raw sound of a rooster’s crow.

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The Hand of Intuition

Posted on December 27, 2011 by Shamaness

I decided that home-mixed Chai would make good Christmas presents this year and found some quiet time last week to make up a batch.  The last time I made Chai I had figured out that it worked best to start by layering the whole spices first and then adding the black tea to the top. 

So I began with a handful of whole black peppercorns which made a cheerful ringing sound as they landed in the glass jar.  Pepper was swiftfully followed by a layer of rich dark cloves and fragrant cardamon pods nestled on a bed of star anise. Cinnamon was next on the agenda and I had picked out a couple of whole sticks to crumble onto the spicy pile when a feeling of déjà vu came over me.  I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes.  The scent of frangipani floated into my awareness and then I remembered.

I was standing in the kitchen of a large troppo house in Darwin back in about ’95.  The spirtual life was pretty new to me then and I had just returned from a meditation circle held in a bamboo tipi in a backyard in Nightcliff.  There had been a lot of talk about following your intuition, feeling what was “right” for you and the magical synchronicities that occurred when you had made such a profound discovery.  I had nodded silently as if in complete agreement, drank some rather unpleasant herbal tea and eventually left after the obligatory group hug.

The moon was full as I cycled home and my belly was rumbling.  The only thing my intuition seemed to be telling me that night was that I was hungry and since it was nearly 9pm and I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime that didn’t seem like such a profound revelation. I arrived home to a quiet house and went straight into the kitchen. I had all the makings of a new Moroccan stew I wanted to try from a recipe book my housemate had found in the second hand store.  It was an interesting account of middle eastern cooking which was not as spicy as I had expected but rather relied heavily on cinnamon, cumin and ground coriander.  The recipe was simple enough and it wouldn’t take long to cook.

Garlic and onions went into hot oil, followed by some salted chicken pieces dusted in ground spices. Celery, carrots and diced tomatoes turned it into a stew with sprinkled black pepper to give it a bit of heat.  The pot was simmering and I started cleaning up, picked up the recipe book and discovered that the cinnamon sticks I had bought especially were hidden underneath. “Damn!” I thought, then shrugged, “better late than never”. I checked the book for quantity and found the recipe to be vague.  “Whole cinnamon” it said.  “Yes but how much?” I wondered. I pondered for a while…..too much could be too sweet, but not enough and the taste would be lost in the stronger flavours of the stew. 

I held a whole cinnamon stick in both hands, trying to decide whether to break it in half or not. I was stuck. It seemed like I stood there forever, completely unable to make a simple decision.  The recipe was new to me, the flavours an unusual combination.  I had never used cinnamon in a savoury dish before, what if I used too much? What if it completely ruined the stew?  I decided to break the cinnamon stick, then stopped.  I decided to use the whole thing, then hesitated. 

My hands were suspended over the pot, clutching the solitary cinnamon stick like my life depended on it when suddenly someone shoved me from behind.  I physically felt a hand in the small of my back give me a solid shove and I lurched forward, startled and dropped the whole cinnamon into the simmering pot.  I watched, mesmerized as it slowly sank beneath the juicy surface.  There was no going back now.  We were changed, that cinnamon and I.  Slowly my heart regained its normal rhythm and I settled back on my heels, eventually daring to look behind me although I knew that there was nothing there except the cat on the sofa giving me a strange look from across the room. “Yep,” I thought.  Intuition, huh?

By some magical synchronicity the stew turned out to be fabulous, and intuition never shoved me quite so hard again.  I slowly learned how to listen to the quiet promptings within, to follow my feeling and at worst, to take a risk on being wrong.  I had a good story to tell the next time I was sitting in that tipi and the nods and murmers of approval from around the circle didn’t seem so bad after all.  I was starting to become a believer, not to mention, an adventurous cook.

I closed the lid tightly on the last jar of chai, sticking down a circle of Christmas paper on the top and finishing it with a twirl of ribbon.  As I left the house I glanced over at the bamboo tipi and noticed that the grass was getting long inside. “Might need to mow that later, ” Intuition said quietly, “some friends might be coming over…”

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September 11

Posted on September 11, 2011 by Shamaness

I was watching TV last night as the Pisces full moon rose like a huge golden ball above the distant line of trees. The news on every channel (well ok, on the three channels that I get) was full of September 11 stories. There were interviews with survivors, the families of those who lost their lives, fireman who attended the scene and even a couple of reporters got to tell their tale between the repeated footage of the Twin Towers crashing to the ground like a huge stack of dusty bricks. On the tenth anniversary of this unexpected tragedy, the question on everyone’s lips seems to be; where were you on September 11?

I cycled through the crowded streets of the Red Light District, dodging drunks, dealers and tight clusters of stoned tourists who paraded through intersections completely unaware of traffic.  Their bodies moved forward but their heads twisted frantically from left to right as their eyes fixated on the scantily clad girls in the lace trimmed windows who smiled and beckoned enticingly  I made a right turn and instantly regretted it.  I was stuck behind a big mob of weekend revellers standing outside the doorway to a small theatre.  The weathered signage out the front boasted “3 Live Sex Shows for 50 guilden”.  A bargain surely, I thought, as I dismounted and pushed my bike through the stubborn crowd.

It was a girlfriend’s birthday and she had organised a suprise show for the guests which included me doing a little aerial acrobatics outside her second floor window.  I had gone to her place once already to rig up my gear and after climbing the long winding stairs to the very top floor, I crawled warily through the junk in her attic to reach the tiny triangular window which overlooked the canal.  It took a couple of hearty thumps to push it open and a gust of cool air rushed in to join me in the dusty room.

I leaned out and surveyed the hook which protruded out about a metre from the brickwork.  Dutch folk used these ancient hooks to haul furniture up into their apartments via the windows, since the stairs accommodated very little.  Even grande pianos were known to make their way into their new homes in this fashion, so I figured that the hook would probably hold a single girl like me.  I looped a climbing strap over the hook, attached my performance Silks (7 metres of flowing fabric which I was going to climb on later) and let the fabric fall, watching as it unfurled in the afternoon breeze.  So far, so good.  I looked down.  Crap.  The fabric wasn’t even close to the ground and it needed to touch the street by at least half a metre.  I was going to need a lot more gear.

So there I was, trying to get across town and back by sunset, pushing my way through the busiest part of the centrum to reach the ferry across to the north side and my rehearsal studios where I kept all of my equipment. It was an hour and a half’s ride at least and that was without this human traffic jam.  Where did all these people come from? A headache had grown on me thoughout the day. I was tired, getting hungry and increasingly upset as I jostled through the chaotic streets.  I felt a tension grow thoughout my body as I persevered on my mission and I started wondering if it was worth the trouble.  The world seemed to be working against me that day with one thing going wrong after another and here yet here I was, still pushing my way through this unyielding crowd.

Suddenly there was a scuffle and I was shoved roughly to the side, my feet tangled in the bike pedals and I hit the street, falling hard on the uneven cobblestones.  I started to cry.  I didn’t even get up, I just kicked my bike to the side and crawled up to the wall, leant my back against the bricks and covered my face with my hands.  I’d had enough.  I didn’t even care anymore what was going on around me.  I just needed to retreat.  I decided then that I would cancel my show, tell my friend that it was too hard to organise and just go and enjoy the party.

As soon as I made that decision I felt the tension release and I immediately started feeling better.  I wiped my eyes and got to my feet. I felt lighter, my headache had eased and miraculously the street had cleared.  It was bizarre, like there had never even been a crowd there. I looked around. A few tourists wandered by and the bouncer a few doors down was giving me a funny look, so I dusted myself off, picked up my bike and took off.

As I reached the waterfront I was feeling positive again and I paused at the ferry – home to get dressed for the party, or to the studios to get more gear?  I had promised my friend that I would do something for her, and I didn’t want to let her down.  The chaotic struggle in the street seemed like a distant memory, almost like a dream……..fkk it why not? I turned towards the theatre precinct and pushed my bike hard against the oncoming wind.

That night I misjudged a move and hit the cobblestones for a second time, falling about 3 metres and landing hard on my right hip.  An ice-pack and a couple of glasses of wine and I was alright, but I was lucky.  That fall could have been a head injury, or worse.  In the morning we all watched in horror as the news revealed the first images of the World Trade Centre going down in pieces.

I performed for another 10 years and never had another fall. I learned to never dismiss what the energy is trying to tell me.  If you feel like you are pushing against the flow, you are probably going in the wrong direction, and you never know what might be around the corner.  So when people ask me where I was on September 11, I tell them that I was just hanging around, learning a very valuable lesson.

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One Seed Is Enough

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Shamaness

I got home from the festival feeling dry, dusty and ready for a decent feed.  A solid stare into the fridge revealed  – not much. Hmmmm.  I swung the door closed with a sigh.  It had been a long drive and I hadn’t felt like stopping at Woolies on the way home.  I lifted the lid on one of my grocery containers – big plastic melomy (mouse) proof tubs, to reveal some tuna and a can of beans.  Uh-huh.  The beans won.  I wandered over to the neighbour’s who had some veges for sale out the front and came home with a good sized pumpkin.  With a couple of cloves of garlic and an onion I would be feasting like a king, or at least I wouldn’t be hungry anymore.

I sliced through the pumpkin’s tough skin and felt the tip of the knife pierce it’s soft centre. A crescent moon slice fell away revealing a core of moist seeds.  They glistened in the soft afternoon light and slipped away from my fingers as I scooped them towards the compost.  I paused for a moment, looking closer.  One seed stuck to the palm of my hand, unwilling to follow its siblings into the tub of vegetable scraps destined for the garden.  It clung there, a pale yellow disc coated in slippery orange flesh, steadfastedly refusing to be banished from my grasp.  I smiled through my tiredness, “Do you have a message for me?” I asked.  I listened……nothing.  Well I wasn’t really expecting it to talk.  I closed my eyes and turned my attention inwards, and there she was.

She was a figure from a healing which I had performed earlier in the week.  She was angry, resentful and generally difficult to deal with.  She had been creating a lot of resistance, a lot of “don’t want to”. Refusing to participate in life, she had folded her arms across her chest and turned her back, pretending not to listen.  Her pain was palpable.  It had taken some careful negotiating to get her onside.  Eventually she had agreed it was time for change, time to move on and make room for something new to grow in the psyche.  She left me with a parting gift pressed firmly into my palm.  Her eyes met mine. “Remember,” she said,”one seed is enough.”  I looked down at my hand still cupping one solitary pumpkin seed, looked up and she was gone.

I stood still for a while, considering her message.  She was right of course. One tiny seed contains all the potential to create a vine, a plant or an enormous tree.  So too one small idea can become a worldwide success or take our lives in totally new directions.    We often talk about things we would like to do, changes we would like to make in our lives and then forget about it, going on with our busy lives unaware that our thoughts are planting seeds in the fertile ground of our psyches.  Then when we suddenly lose our job or get kicked out of our apartment we complain about the unfairness of life, forgetting how we wished for a new opportunity, a new house, a change, a fresh start.

Some thoughts grow weeds, they take up valuable space and choke the life out of our beloved creations.  Those thoughts go something like “It will never work”, “Its too hard”, “I don’t have the time/talent/energy/money/etc”.  Other thoughts are like sprinkes of sunshine that spring up row upon row of daisies “What an ingenious idea!”, “I love learning new things”.  And then there are those thoughts which are like magic beans, shooting up towering beanstalks that take us to the stars and beyond, “I wonder how I can do this better?”, “What else is possible?”, “Show me the way forward now”.

We often think that we need to have it all figured out, make sure that all our bases are covered, make sure that we have a backup plan.  We are taught to be sensible, responsible, cautious.  Valuable qualities indeed.  But we often forget that nature knows how to grow.  That seed needs sunlight, rich earth, water, yes, but it knows how to grow.  All the information that it will ever need is contained within, and the same can be said for ourselves.  We innately know how to grow, how to develop, blossom, age and eventually pass from this world.  We don’t need a backup plan, we need to be ourselves, follow our instincts and we need one more essential thing. We need to trust the process of life.

We don’t make very good farmers if we dig up our seeds to check on them every day.  We need to trust in the unseen growth that is happening beneath the surface.  We need to know that change is happening even when we can’t see the visible results yet, and we need to allow things to grow in their own time.  One of my beloved teachers who spent valuable time with Lakota people, used to talk about the healing that was known as “growing corn”.  In the work of soul healing, soul growth, in the sacred work of life there is no instant fix.  However if you plant a seed and add water, give a little attention, have a little patience, wondrous things can grow.

In the rich garden of your life, what seeds are you currently cultivating?  In the dark fertile ground of your soul, what is growing silently beneath the surface?

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