|A spirit journey
||[Dec. 28th, 2006|08:43 pm]
After the cut is a description of a recent spirit journey.|
It's *not* a story - it's a straightforward report. I don't think I could make it into a good story, because it has the disadvantage of having happened, kinda-sorta.
If anyone thinks I should set up a specialized filter for this, let me know. Me, I'm figuring on just doing a cut tag.
My first shaman teacher, March Rogers started each journey from the World Tree, so that's how I started mine. I saw the polar bear, and recognized that she was my guide for this journey, but I stopped and spoke my gratitude to Raven. Before the journey, I made two side trips: the first to the Well of Life, and I drank deeply, and then to my place of power, where I picked up 'treats' for the spirit guides. I left them at the World Tree and stood before Polar Bear. She hugged me, and then we rushed forward to the arctic. I had to go through snow, so I conjured some snowshoes, until I came to a patch of ice, including a hole, surrounded by rotten ice. I realized the problem was a bubbling up of gas through an injury in the floor of the lake, so I came up to the hole, prepared my body, and dove in. The gas that was bubbling up was pretty foul, and I could see that the injury was a dirty yellow, and I think that was because it was in the yellow chakra.
I closed my eyes, and focused, and found me near myself as a child.
I remembered some times when I'd cried when being teased or bullied, and I realized that the problem was that no one could make things better. And they couldn't... you can't control the cruelty of children. At the same time, I realized that the entirety of the problem was the pain the child, the younger me, was in. If there was no pain, if the other children couldn't hurt him, the problem vanished. That was important... he was a weird little kid, just like I'm weird, not-so-little, adult. But though that made it likely that he would be teased, that was not the problem, not any part of it. The problem was that he was being hurt.
I picked him up - he didn't want to go along at first, but he agreed after a moment. I put him to bed - he felt safer in bed - and tried to comfort him. He didn't want to be comforted; I remembered how I sometimes pulled away from comfort. I told him that I would wait; I had plenty of time, and there was nothing more important than helping him. He believed me; it was the simple truth after all. I taught him a bit about controlling pain, about dissolving the hard, trembling knot of pain in his center.
And then I realized that he was part of the cure for the bubbling gas that was rotting the ice. Part of me wanted to urge him to come help me heal it, but I realized that was foolish. This couldn't be forced.
So I taught him to fly. He'd always wanted to fly, and now he could.
I had a brief moment of wanting to tell him he didn't need to assume a "superman" pose to fly, and I realized that was ridiculous. Who the hell am I to tell him the right way for him to fly? I also didn't mention the cape that magically appeared, or the costume that formed around him.
We stopped a soon-to-erupt volcano by chopping the hollow top off and collapsing it inside itself, blocking the lava. (Yes, I know, it doesn't really work that way. In the spirit world, that doesn't matter.) I'm not sure who we saved; it wasn't as important as doing something superheroic.
And then it was time for a bit more heroism; we flew to the hole in the ice, and flew through the water. We came to where the gas was bubbling up, and he merged into it, partially healing it.
He's not gone, by the way. He was gone; when I could journey to find him, that meant he was missing from me. Now, he was where he belonged, inside me.
I'll have to return to that hole sometime soon, to make sure it's healing up properly, and see if something else is missing.