What’s Mine to Do?

*“…how do you discern what’s yours to do and what’s not yours to do?”*

Do you ever notice the stories that can ramble through your head day or night? Or am I the only one who has the occasional monologue that comments, criticizes or fears? It, my mind, has its’ stories and sometimes those stories get mistaken for The Truth. I”m not the only one that does that because right now there are wars and inhumane acts on a grand scale happening because some folks in power have mistaken their stories for The Truth. Speaking of truth, this is a good time to develop a strong internal Bullshit detector. I’d say keep that sucker on 24/7 now. Internally and externally.

Back to what’s mine to do…in a time when there are S.O.S. calls from the earth, Gaza/West Bank, people in the United States being dehumanized, marginalized and abducted and countless other calls that others hear…how do you discern what’s yours and what’s not yours to do? I’m in that inquiry and per usual I’m sharing this blog with whoever cares to read it…to expand the inquiry. Maybe there are other inquiring heart/minds out there!

Sometimes old B.S. can stand in the way of what there is for me to do. One thing for sure, look for what brings light to my eyes and expands my heart. Not to mistake that with always feeling like showing up, that five year old version of me (you) may not always want to show up for anything other than ice cream, a puppy and a nap. At times the old B.S. (belief system) isn’t even mine. I may need to look way back in the ancestral tree to see what is driving how I be. Some of it is mine now, for sure. They inter are, this internal wiring of the human machine. Part of it is out there, and part of it is in here.

“*Of course she was a writer and an artist and a healer.”*

“I couldn’t possibly support myself doing what I love….just look, I’ve tried.” Now that belief may not get said out loud in the light of day, that would be embarrassing. But somewhere it’s lurking in the background. “Look at all of those times you tried and failed…save your money honey…don’t become a bag lady. Just stay practical!” My mom wanted to be a writer all of her life. Of course she was a writer and an artist and a healer. She just didn’t get published. She worked three part time jobs teaching English as a second language to people who loved and adored her. She did that so she would have time to write. Versus a full time job. It’s interesting. When I dive deeper there is a little girl standing in the corner wailing, “But I can’t do it!” Maybe she is five. That’s my little girl by the way, not my mom. But the “I can’t” probably belongs to both of our generations and who knows how many more. This is where the internal bullshit detector comes in handy.

I think it is a critical skill set to be able to call BS on your very own self. OR my very own self. I can take that little five year old wailing ‘I can’t’ by the hand and walk her over to the mirror. “We are in this together and together we can…” Be sure and smile to that little kiddo, no shaming, no blaming. She or He is just working on an old outdated program. The program that so many humanoids are running inside of that says they need to stay safe and secure. ‘So don’t try again, it’s better to be half dead,’ that program will tell you.

To come home to what’s mine to do, I’ve got to go pretty deep into the inner wiring of beliefs to see what has blocked it in the past. Not to make some kind of drama about it, just bring curiosity to it. Shine light. I can re-frame it, rename it and suddenly change it. Instead of ‘blocked’ maybe it was just not ripe yet. Maybe, just maybe it was still in gestation. We are the story tellers, the dream weavers, the healers, so how to be mindful of making stories that empower me or we?

The White Wolf is asking you to feed it stories of courage, love and beauty. It wants to feel the goodness of humanity. Then there is the news. You know the news…if it bleeds it leads. There is a lot of bleeding right now and I”m not making light of that. I’m just reminding myself to feed that little kiddo stories of love, compassion and courage. So I don’t get lost in war and dehumanization. The war outside or the war inside. There would not be war outside if there was not war inside.

Right now I would say what’s mine to do is to accept the world as it is in this moment (doesn’t mean I have to like it all). At the same time, taking an audacious stand for harmony between all species and for future generations to thrive on a planet that they hold sacred and care for. I’d say play big. No more of this do I have enough money for the water bill this month. I mean, I do have to pay the water bill. Oh dang, I have to pay the rent too…let’s not get side tracked.

I have implanted in my brain the time I was sitting on the stairs with my 23 year old house mate, Munteha. We were in a deep conversation. I was a coach in landmark education programs helping people live lives they love, she was taking landmark training and was a Portland State student in International Relations. We were talking about ways of being. Actually, role playing ways of being is more like it. “You are ignorant and I must teach you!” She scolded me with an icy glare. “Don’t you know about the Japanese internment camps?” she pressed. (I actually didn’t then even though I was older than her.) “Trish-they are bulldozing people’s homes in Palestine! Imagine, it’s your home, then it’s rubble. Where does your family go?” My friend and then housemate is Arab American. She had already experienced discrimination in school. I on the other hand was white and clueless. Okay, so this is called her….Self Righteous Indignation mode. Do we all have that one? (I do!) Like WTF is wrong with you? Munteha was also the one who inspired me to go from absolutely clueless and disinterested to a person who participated on two separate Compassionate Listening Delegations bearing witness in Israel and Palestine with both Israelis and Palestinians; listening to their heart stories. That’s 25 years ago.

*“When I see that **Self Righteous Indignation** is creeping in, stay humble.”*

Stay humble my dear. There was a time when I didn’t know and didn’t care much about Israel and Palestine and had a full life outside all of that. When I see that Self Righteous Indignation is creeping in, stay humble. Back to what is mine to do? Play with the transformation of human consciousness in ways that bring more harmony between people, animals, plants and the earth herself. The rage that comes through from Self Righteous Indignation usually is covering up pain, grief, helplessness, desperation and urgency. You could also call that love. Whether it is about climate change, or war, or you name it. These are intense times, softening my gaze and coming with an open heart takes diligence. I see the discrimination within me towards the species that has caused so much harm to so many others, including millions of children. Disheartening isn’t a strong enough word. But mulching that manure and sprinkling it on flower beds is the practice. The old program belief, “People really suck,” is not likely to make me a whole lot of friends. Not human ones, anyways.

Not going to be very effective in the transformation game if I”m coming at it from Self Righteous Indignation or People Suck mode. Bottom line we all want the same things. We want to love and be loved, we want to be happy and healthy and yes we want to be safe. By the way part of transforming consciousness is having more than just me playing this game of looking for old B.S. and being willing to let it go for something that is more life giving.

Think about snake. People have stories about snake that they are evil or the enemy but my story about snake is they know how to shed their skin all at once. It is effortless and natural because it no longer serves them. They outgrow the old skin and slide out of it. We could all learn from snake right now. Shadow work is coming back inside to see those hidden beliefs that it is time to shed. Then being willing to do do.

“*Shadow work is coming back inside to see those hidden beliefs it is time to shed.”*

Sieze the day/night your very own self and grab a piece of paper, a pen and go within. What are your long held…maybe even cherished beliefs that you intuitively know don’t serve you any more? Write them down. It doesn’t mandate that you let them go, but just shining a light on the old programming will shift it. Who knows, maybe you will effortlessly shed those old beliefs.

Makatai Very Much!

*“Our guide had not yet met us, but he told us that “Maketai” means ‘thank you,’.”…*

The two most important words for me to remember right now in life are, “Thank you!” Not just the polite, going through the motions ‘thank you.’ No, no, no, that won’t do at all. I am talking about that heart bursting open, how the hell did I get so lucky, “Thank You!!” Now you’re talking! ‘Thank you,’ are the first two words that Chumpi taught my small Amazon adventure women in a Whatsapp chat. Our guide had not yet met us, but he told us that “Maketai” means ‘thank you,’ in his language and we should learn it before landing in Achuar territory. That is landing in our five seat plane onto what looks like a soccer field in his homeland.

Looking back now after being state side for over two months, I am still saying, “Maketai, very much!” Sometimes you see more clearly what was astoundingly precious after some distance. Some things registered right then as in the moment magic like the tiny plane ride in. Now other things are popping up to be named for what they are…a once in a lifetime opportunity. Like the opportunity to be in a place that has no cars and no roads…no televisions and no grocery stores. No drive through fast food, no Starbucks, no people walking around head down glued to their cell phones (except at times the gringos.). Let me circle back to No Cars and No Roads. Now that makes me smile and inhale a very deep belly breath. Halleluja! There are still such places. Let us protect them.

*“Some things registered right then as in the moment magic like the tiny plane ride in.”*

Being unplugged from the drug of news and entertainment for 12 consecutive days has made me a hard core believer in the importance of doing an electronics fast regularly. Now that was super easy in the middle of the Amazon jungle after I told family and loved ones, “I will not be in touch until I get back.” But in the US it is a little more challenging pulling off of electronics for much time and I like so many others am too attached to my phone. But Maketai very much for inspiring me to try again to do a media/electronics fast for my own well being. I noticed that the world did not stop turning because of my being off line for a while, yet I came back refreshed in a deep way and see now with new eyes.

Imagine a village where almost everyone is off line all of the time and they are tuned into different sources of information and energy; like the earth, the sky, the sun, the moon and each other. But it doesn’t stop there; the river, the waterfalls, the rain, the animals, the birds, the insects and Grandmother tree. Early every morning everyone gathers in their family of smaller communities and has a dream sharing circle. If there was some conflict between people, they get up even earlier…like 3 am and hash it out before the dream sharing circle begins. Then after dream sharing, they joke or tell stories or share a song. How many hundreds of years have the Achuar lived like this? I’m not sure, but it was so beautiful to be able to participate with them for some of their rituals. And it took courage.

As an international group of white gringo women, the first part of being included in this ritual was getting up before 4 am. Then walking together under the stars through the forest with our guide to a local family who offered to host us. We were welcomed into their home…an open structure with no walls and a thatched roof. There were hammocks in the back and a cooking area in the far left corner. The host, an Achaur elder sat facing us, his face painted in fine black stripes and wearing a pink and blue striped skirt. He was barefoot, as most folks were, relaxed and at ease. Sitting with him made me also feel at ease.

We waited patiently together on a bench as we heard the instructions for drinking the Wayusa. Wayusa is an herbal leaf drink that is a cleansing ritual done every morning before the dream sharing. “Drink about five bowls in a row quickly or until you feel like vomiting, then go out into the forest…” Chumpi translated. The biggest draw to this trip for myself was that the Achuar are a dream culture. They are guided by their dreams as a community and individually. I was not shy or afraid of gulping down the Wayusa. But none of us really looked forward to drinking and throwing up and one gal had a particular fear of sticking her finger down her throat to induce vomiting.

The Wayusa was presented to us in oblong ceramic bowls and we all drank at different paces. I was all in. His wife came back time after time to refill my bowl. I drank quickly as they had instructed. It was still dark when we each wandered outside the house crawling around on all fours finding our right spot to barf. I put my finger down my throat and some liquid Ayusa came out. Enough came out. Since coming home, I do this once a week on my own, it is much easier now. One gal just could not bring herself to try, others threw up a tiny bit. This is the reality of stepping into a different culture…it’s foreign. The most important ingredient is willingness. This is a daily purification ritual that is part of their mornings and everyone gets up about the same time to do it. It’s been handed down one generation to the next. I trusted it and still do.

We were not staying with the local community and I understand why. It is an Eco Resort. When I had pictured this trip I had pictured sitting with a local circle inside their village and them sharing their dreams together with us. I had forgotten that “hosting us” was part of protecting their lands and their way of life, rather than us doing something like home stays. No, it’s not that. They were sharing their rituals with us and for us a ways from the rest of the tribe. After each person had shared a dream, we received some feedback or dream interpretation.

Then our host brought out a violin and played us a song. His instrument was carved out of a single piece of wood and he made it as a child. He said his father was a shaman and that he used his violin often. He had carved his own when his father was traveling. When his father returned from traveling he was angry at his son for taking his violin without asking permission. “He didn’t know that I had made my own instrument all by myself.” Once his father realized he had made an instrument just like his, he was happy and proud. I listened amazed some one could hand craft that as a kiddo or even adult from one wood chunk.

I decided to offer a song called, “When I Rise,” as a gratitude song to our host. It is a call and response song and I invited the three other gals to repeat after my lead. I sang the call and they sang the response after me. I was proud of myself for swinging out and offering a song. That is until I heard what Chumpi translated from our host. He said, “I just blew my best energy into you and you sing this sad song…” Chagrined, I felt embarrassed and thought the heavy Gaza energy had followed me. Because When I Rise, is an uplifting song, but our host didn’t know English so he just read my energy. Which apparently was not uplifting but sad. That was a potent lesson in generating singing, sing to match the energy of the song. Lesson learned.

I shall not give up! I chose another song, “Standing like a Tree” which is a kids’ song and was sure to move my energy into a higher vibe. I even led body movements that are fun and playful. He liked that one better, and the three other gals sang that with me too. I thought it was a fun success and was happy that all four of us were able to offer a gift back. By the time the songs, violin, chanting story, puking and dream sharing had ended, it was daylight. We went out like everyone else in the community to start the rest of our day together. Someone blowing a conch shell summoned us to our first meal of the day. Who knew dining in the heart of the Amazon basin could be so delightful.

*“Who knew that dining in the heart of the Amazon basin could be so delightful.”*

The next morning when I came out of our shared dormitory I found my other three traveling companions in hammocks chatting away. I asked about the dream sharing ritual. There was an awkward little bubble of silence before hearing from the German traveler, Stephi, that she didn’t enjoy singing at all. Not at all, at all. Here we were, the gringos, doing our own form of ‘hash it out’ in the morning to keep the harmony. I was kind of aghast. “But…,” I stammered. She interjected, “I didn’t feel like a child at that moment and I don’t enjoy singing.” Lesson number two learned. There were countless lessons on this trip to be sure. I so thought it was a win to sing together. That was just my little world. “It was a way to thank him, an offering,” I lamented. Then the others chimed in, “No, I didn’t really like it either.” Well, I didn’t like being asked to do Internal Family Systems as soon as coming into Ecuador either, my Ego murmured. (Humph!) But no, this was the time to sing, or speak…Culpa mia, Desculpa. “It’s my mistake, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” When Chumpi came to pick us up for our next adventure we had finished our own ‘work it out,’ morning ritual. Makes me laugh to look back at it all of now.

When we were taken on a hike to Grandmother tree later in the day, I was in my sweet spot. Only a few times in my life have I been with a community who truly is tapped in and respectful of other life forms. Maketai very much for that! Chumpi made sure we saw the leaf cutter ants all marching along doing their jobs carrying bright green chunks of leaf they had chewed off. “Don’t step on them!” he warned. Got it! Then we heard all about the jungle plants as we walked.

*“This plant will stop you from snoring if you stick the end in your nose.”*

Instead of CVS pharmacy our guides told us where everything was in the jungle. “This plant will stop you from snoring if you stick it in your nose.” “When mothers are not producing enough milk for their babies they rub these leaves on their breasts to produce more milk.” “If someone gets hurt or bitten out here you take this club and keep hitting this stump that makes a very loud echo, it is our emergency response signal for someone to come help you.” He shared other ways to live that are so much lighter footprint and in harmony with the earth. The Achuar weave a beautiful web of their community with nature. They take the role of guardians from a place of loving and honoring all life.

“This is grandmother tree, you need to be very respectful approaching her…” Looking at the pictures now of Grandmother tree I humbly realize she is many times older than my country of origin. Many times wiser too.

*“I humbly realize she is many times older than my country of origin..*“

After inhaling tobacco water for the first time, we were all invited to ‘take a solemn moment,’ and find our own spot to be with Grandmother tree. I found a hidden nook to melt into the base of her mammoth trunk. My jaw lax, my hands open and my head tilted back against her bark like a baby with her head resting in her mother’s arms…I basked in connection. My whole abdomen is brimming with energy right now just pulling the image up in my mind. She taught me many things in a short period of time. But in places like this there is no time. Like when I am with my tree at home, I did not want to leave her. I wanted to stay planted right next to her, my butt in the soil, my hands open, my eyes closed, deeply receiving her gifts. Everyone waited for me as they had finished their ‘solemn moment’, so I eventually pried myself away . She came home with me, on the inside. No excess luggage. Maketai very much Grandmother tree, I love you so very, very much!

Before we had gone to our individual spots, Chumpi shared with us that this spot where we were standing is where the Jaguar comes to rest, where the great Ananconda comes, and only in this kind of tree do the Harpy eagle make their nests. “This is the perfect place to come and sleep overnight. If you need help with something. To stay a few nights alone at the base of the tree.” He reminisced about a previous group where a guy asked him to come out to stay there with tree. They also had tobacco and in the evening Chumpi stayed with them overnight. He received a dream from Grandmother tree and was gifted a chant. He was instructed to sing the chant to the tree every time he came, which he shared with us earlier. These stories to me are the very heart of the trip. To see with new eyes, to feel the heart of the jungle through the heart of one raised in this jungle. To feel her power and love, the jungle is the heartbeat of earth.

The day after visiting Grandmother tree we headed up the river to find the sacred waterfall. But that will be another post for another day. These Amazon fruits are to be savored one at a time. They show up to be plucked when they are ripe enough to share. In the meantime, I am still integrating all of the magic into my being. So much to share, and so much time to share it.

Dream Time and ‘Real’ Time

*“…can you imagine a more beautiful reality…”*

In my dream time this morning there was a very thin White Wolf laying on it’s side sleeping. White Wolf to me is the power of feeding the dream that I want to weave into reality. The one that is an expression of love, gratitude, health and joy. We have the collective dream and I have my individual dream and the two dance together.

The old question, “Which wolf will you feed?” comes from the legend of two wolves fighting each other, one being white and the other darker. A little girl watching the battle asks her grandma who will win. I will speak this in terms of heavy versus lighter energy rather than good versus evil. We have enough depictions of white being the ‘only good’. One wolf representing lighter energy and the other denser energies like anger or despair were battling. The grandmother says, ‘The one you feed will win.‘

Waking up from White Wolf sleeping dream, I saw I have been very aware of Palestinian children systematically being starved in Gaza right now. Very aware of thousands of people being pushed from one end of the Gaza strip to the other all the while under bombardment. Aware that the bombs killing civilians come from the U.S. The lean white wolf who was sleeping may be Spirit reminding me to wake up and do what I know in my heart wisdom to do. Which is to continue to radiate light, see them in their safety, strength, resilience and power. And to come back home to myself. Never pity people (myself included) because it is a heavy, dis-empowering energy. Can you imagine a more beautiful reality even in the midst of this ugly one?

I come back now into my own heart. Clean house there first. It is a good place to begin feeding the White Wolf. After thanking White Wolf for visiting, I went for a walk this morning. Spider wisdom was everywhere. Spider is such a reminder to me that we are the web weavers. The threads to my web are made of my thoughts, words, feelings, and vibrations. They are as invisible as Spider Web often is invisible, but they are there. And just like Spider Web originates from the belly of the spider, my web also comes from within.

The magic today was seeing at least a hundred webs glistening in the morning dew. At first I would see just one, then as I moved closer saw it is attached by barely visible threads to so many more. Some people go to Sci Fi movies or books to see multi-dimensional reality but I go to nature. She is the greatest teacher of mystery for me.

When I approached the trees I saw a mass of webs in some of the branches that at first just looked like chaos; disorder, a mish mash of dead bugs and spider strands. Coming closer I saw it was actually a community of intermingled webs. One behind another, one beside another, all different sized webs in a multi layered web field. Infinite layers of connection and endless glistening spider strands spread out in all directions. Then a hawk silently flew out of the branches of this tree. I didn’t even know she was there, but she saw me. So many layers of life…right here, right now. Can you see them?

*“…all different sized webs in a multi-layered web field.”*

As my eyes perceive more deeply, a whole different universe manifests before me. White Wolf is calling me back to focus on weaving my own dream with fine light fibers like Spider weaves her web. Time for me to nourish awareness of what is beautiful in the visible and invisible realms. Discernment today in the massive collective cacophony is available by simply stepping out into nature. Quiet the mind and enter the heart. White Wolf called me back to feed her, and spider told me there are many, many countless webs happening right now at the same time. Keep weaving mine from a place of love and courage.

Different Ways to Live

“*We were a curiosity to some of the local children…”*

I’m not entirely sure why I was called to the Amazon rain forest at this particular time but I am sure that going creates a pivot moment now. I had seen the rain forest in a dream, over a decade ago. Seeing it from an aerial view it looked just like my dream. In my dream I was flying over the land, but not in the five seat airplane that I now saw all the dense vegetation with the river snaking through the green land below me. I had never been in such a tiny airplane but felt completely tranquil with my guide and fellow adventurers as we flew from the town of Shell into the Achuar territory. The landing strip could be mistaken for a big soccer field and on days that are not receiving planes (which is most days)…the soccer games rule. Getting out of the plane, encountering a scattered group of locals I felt curios eyes and a bit of wariness coming from them. A young woman in turqouise clothes piled our bags in a wheel barrel and pushed it up to the Eco Lodge where we were staying. A beautiful canopy of trees lined the serene walk way as we went single file up the hill. We were a curiosity to some of the local children.

Even before arriving in the Amazon we had been met by our Achuar guide, Chumpi, at a Hacienda before heading together to Shell. That first evening the stories already began. We heard how difficult Covid was for the tribe, that they lost some elders who died during Covid and how many moved into the forest out of fear. We heard recently some people were selling Balsa trees for a single dollar per tree without permission because everyone needed money. How they gathered together as a community to raise the price to sell just a few Balsa trees. How tourism had fallen off because people had become afraid of traveling in Ecuador. I had just been focused on getting there, so I had no clue about tourists being scared to travel because of Ecuadorian drug gangs. I had just put one foot in front of the other to get there. No internal or external noise was going to stop me from getting there. Chumpi was the one who told me that first night that I was in the Amazon because I heard the call of the forest.

“*Seeing it from an aeriel view it looked just like my dream.”*

I didn’t think of myself as a tourist, but tourism is how the Achuar are able to protect their lands from Oil development and other threats. So, I was a tourist. Chumpi told us that years ago the elders were very wary of bringing tourism onto their lands. Eventually, the elders agreed this was the best way to protect the land and their way of life. The Achuar were the first ones to build an Eco Lodge (Kapawi Lodge) in the heart of the Amazon. The Achuar people are the dream tribe of the Amazon. I learned of them through a workshop with visionaries Lyn Twist and John Perkins in 2012 in California. Lyn told us how the Achuar had called them to their lands through dreams. That the shaman and elders had seen the future threats coming to their lands from oil companies and instead of hiding from it they moved towards it by sending out a call. The call to the West for partners was answered by Lyn Twist, her husband Bill and John Perkins. At that time, they didn’t know exactly what they were in for but the result was creation of the non profit Pachamama Alliance in 1996, which was followed by building Kapawi Lodge. I have now heard this story both from Lyn Twist directly, and from my Achuar guide. What Lyn had shared way back in 2012 had stuck with me, “If you are here to save us, go home,” the Achuar had said, “but if you are here because you see our futures are intertwined, let us work together.” As my guide said several times, there would be no Pachamama Alliance without the Achuar people. Now Pachamama Alliance works with many different tribes and has continued it’s work in the U.S of “Waking the Dreamer, and Changing the Dream.” That is to change the collective dream from one of consumption and greed to one of care-taking each other and the natural world for future generations of all life.

Like most stories, it depends on who is telling it how it unfolds. I know for myself, ‘The River of Dreams’ journey through Pachamama Alliance was my personal call to connect the dots between a night time dream all of those years ago with an actual trip to the Ecuadorian Amazon. I wanted to learn from a tribe that gets it’s guidance from dreams, that has not lost it’s connection to the earth and sacred waters. These people live close to the land, know they are dependent on animals and water for their sustenance. I definitely felt an urgency to follow the call to Ecuador. During our visit to the Amazon we would stay first with the Sharamentsa community and later we would travel by boat to stay at the Kapawi Eco Lodge. There were several Achuar communities spread out over this territory but their numbers are small.

We were four women, two German women, one Iraqi American and myself. Our guide told us we were the first all women group he has ever led in thirty years. It is easy to forget what I take for granted in the United States. That a woman can do anything; that I don’t need someone’s permission to travel. On the van ride to Shell, we had stopped to get a cleansing from a Quechua medicine woman and I found myself taking the role of translator. In a small dark room we sat in a circle on the dirt floor after all of us had disrobed. We each waited patiently for an individual cleansing ritual. As she did not speak English I found myself spontaneously translating with ease from Spanish to English. “This bundle is made up of 26 different local plants…” she said. “It will help protect you and take away bad energy.” “I also make my own Agua de Flor (flower water) from 52 different plants,” she explained setting some bottles out. During the cleansing she spit the Flower water out onto us. It was hard not to laugh when that spray surprised each of us. “This sucks bad energy out,” she said rolling a chicken egg over different body parts. There was a different bundle of plants for each of us and a fresh chicken egg for each of us as well. An altar was sitting on a box upon the earth with Kuyas (stones) spread out. “These stones connect to different mountain spirits and come from different mountains,” she said referring to the altar on the earth. I had placed my stones on her altar while we were there. We had been together one day and were already disrobing in front of each other for this cleansing ritual. I was completely tapped into the medicine woman and translated with ease not because I know Spanish so well but because I was tapped into her message.

Her husband had shared a story (in Spanish) before we went in of sending his son to a school to learn English so he could help translate for the tourists for their family livelihood. He kept talking with me like I am fluent and I found I could understand. The couple only know Spanish and Quechua. The son worked one year as a translator for his father and then went to the United States and never came back to live. It is a challenge to have the younger generation have an interest in the traditional ways and want to keep them alive. This humble couple still live in the old ways and they treated us to a beautiful traditional lunch after the cleansing ritual. We enjoyed the beautiful view from their home and heard stories that made us laugh. They run a hostel. Their son has settled for good in the United States now, his father shrugged with a smile. I realized as we traveled in our van how many people here depend on tourism for their livelihoods.

As this father allowed his expectations to fall away when his son picked a different path, I also saw my own expectations evaporate as I realized the pictures I had in my head of this trip did not match the reality unfolding. I had pictures of seeing children playing in the river with their families and witnessing animals that are only found in the Amazon. Seeing pet monkeys sitting on a child’s shoulder and being able to easily take great pictures of wild animals. I couldn’t even figure out my newish camera that had been purchased in a rush for this trip. Sometimes I don’t even know I have expectations until they meet the reality unfolding. Fortunately, shedding my expectations happened easily and quickly like a snake shedding its’ skin.

Upon exiting the tiny plane on the wide open airstrip it became evident really quickly that I was a tourist. Some local women and children had come out to greet the plane and were very quiet. Some kids hid behind the legs of their moms. We walked single file through a canopy of towering trees with all kinds of insects and birds singing. It was cool and moist. We first visited the community of the Sharamentsa people and the men wore colorful skirts with pinks and purples woven in. They had western dress shirts underneath strands of beads crossing their chests and their long black hair was pulled back. They were very respectful and quiet in our first meeting. “We are very grateful you are here…” Edwin said while introducing himself as the leader of the community within our guest lodge. He also introduced the younger man named Isaias as our local guide. Both men were very soft spoken. So now we had two guides, one twenty-two year old man from Sharamentsa and Chumpi from the Kapawi community. Chumpi was not just a guide, he was an elder and keeper of many stories. He studied English in the US and lived in San Francisco for a bit. It took a little while before I saw the playful, joking side of these younger men bantering in their own language and laughing with each other.

*“Amazingly beautiful butterflies greeted me that first afternoon.”*

In Sharamentsa there were bathrooms for both men and women and electricity was available during certain hours for the guests. I had no interest in it, but internet was also available if you wanted to go to a certain spot. Amazingly beautiful butterflies greeted me that first afternoon. Purple, violet, red, yellow, all kinds of different patterns on the butterflies down by the river. We put our rubber boots upside down on wood sticks outside the hut and explored our simple room. We had arrived! The first night the evening was full of strange sounds of the Amazon all of the way through the night. We found ourselves being served amazing food by a few local ‘waiters’ in a dining hut not far from where the tribe lives. We were quickly becoming a family. Every meal was a lovely offering from the kitchen and it was us four women and two guides eating together. One of the most important things to me on this trip was to unplug, not just a little bit, but to completely unplug from electronics. It was very easy to do there. What a relief. I only charged my camera batteries, that was enough.

“*I could feel she was a caretaker to all forms of life in the forest.”*

Each of the four women were there for different reasons. I was there for the nature, for the Achuar dream tribe, and for whatever mystery awaited me through sacred rituals and ceremony. Different things resonated differently with each of us, including our connection with each other. But it was very easy to travel together, and for the most part there was harmony and ease between us as a small group of gringo women.

Every morning the Achuar people rise at 4 am, they also go to bed before 8 pm. Who knows how many hundreds of years that it has been like this. No Netflix binging for the Achuar! A part of their daily ritual is to dream share in the early morning. But before sharing dreams they drink Wayusa by the bowl full until they puke it back out. It is a daily cleansing of the body before sharing the dreams. The dream sharing is done with the family, or sometimes with the leaders of the community especially when there’s a need for guidance. Understandably, my fellow adventurers were a bit hesitant to drink the Wayusa. But I was all in for it. Drinking five bowls in a row before it triggered the desired effect of throwing it back up. I crawled around on all fours finding a place to puke in the early morning dark. I didn’t come all of this way to be half-hearted in their dream practice. Dream sharing was part of the draw, although I had wanted to sit in on local dream sharing versus us gringo women. One of the elders in the community hosted us in his open air home with his wife. He showed us a beautiful violin-like instrument after our sharing that he had made himself as a boy. He played it and sang us a song. He also shared the story of how he wooed his wife through chanting and music. It was a beautiful morning. I also shared a song and asked my fellow adventurers to sing along. I thought it went great as an offering to the man who hosted us. Later I would discover none of the other women had wanted to sing with me. The things we learn in the Amazon jungle!

“*…the guide was out front hacking dangling plants with a machette.”*

Where I felt most at home was in the wilder areas. Sitting at the base of Grandmother tree, being moved to tears by her massive presence, love and generosity. I could feel she was a caretaker to all of the forms of life in the forest. We had walked in our rubber boots through several inches of water, the guide was out front hacking dangling plants with a machette. He carried a ceramic bowl with tabacco water lightly in one hand, as he hacked at vines with the other hand. On this first walk out to the tree Chumpi had warned that we may not be able to get to the sacred waterfall after because the water was so high. He hadn’t seen it this high. I knew we would get there and I was determined we would. This was why I was there and this also was where I felt most at home.

It’s just water. The other women were not as comfortable and that was obvious. Fortunately, our guide found ways to make it easy by putting poles into thick, wet mud that the women could grab while crossing deeper areas. We did make it to where the river meets the waterfall and found a way to cross when the young guide hacked little foot holds into a fallen log with his machette to make a bridge. Like me, he could sense the fear coming from others and commented in Spanish to me. He made it look very easy to create safer passage. I had fear of other things, like people…but the river and the waterfall were calling. I found a place to soak my stones in the Amazon river and that is where my stones started planting themselves in this country one by one.

What had started with a warning that we may not make it, but we ended in triumph where this river meets the beautiful waterfall. We had already sat by the tree, slogged through the mud, balanced on logs and I bounced into the river with complete trust. I love rivers, not like my dream from so many years ago, I trust the river. I felt no fear, just joy and adventure. The current was very strong, the water frothy and white. I respected the water, but I did not fear it. I was the first one in, we coaxed others in one by one. Chumpi stretching his hand out to each person, he made sure everyone felt safe. I made sure to find a way to scamper across the rocks to where I could have slid in behind the waterfall wall. Chumpi yelled a warning and I didn’t want to seem disrespectful so let go of slipping behind the pummelling water wall. I didn’t want to get out of the river. Then it started to pour down rain. It’s all just water. There was much more lightness with the women walking back after the river. We had just started by getting our feet wet. The guide literally stopping to pour the water out of his rubber boot. One day of adventure in the Amazon was already enough to shift life a bit. More days would come and more shifts as well. Like getting ready for this journey, I find writing about it needs to happen a little at a time. The people of the Amazon live a life that has such a light footprint, it showed me what I have forgotten. I live in a culture that praises individuality, this community is alive still because of the love and the power of community. I had much to learn.

*“…where this river meets a beautiful waterfall.”*

I’ll Meet You in the Field

I am reminded by my Deer friend, to meet myself and others out in the field. The field beyond thoughts of right and wrong, thoughts of how it should be, beyond my mind. The mystery waits patiently there. In the field of infinite possibilities that are far from the rutted grooves of old habits and expectations. There was a time when a good number of humans thought the earth was flat. This belief obviously limited any desire to travel far and wide. No one wanted to fall off the edge of the earth. It could seem ridiculous to present day humans to hear that limiting belief but what are the limiting beliefs of the day that are invisible to me now?

Deer friend was being his beautiful self, feeding in the field when we surprised each other on my walk. He wasn’t looking at his Deer watch tapping his Deer hoof wondering when the world would be less of a mess. Wondering when humanoids would become enlightened en mass. No, Deer friend was being his beautiful self. Furry little antlers and all. And in the field we met, a connection of grace and ease for a few moments in time. Enough for a down load.

The field of possibilities are not on CNN. They are not even in my day planner. Where then? Me thinks you need to look for yourself with that question in heart. As I look for myself, as well. Nature is my most potent medicine. So I rely on Mother Earth to guide me in so many ways. Including teaching me about death of one form being a transition into another form. When I get caught in just seeing from separation, I suffer more. Even to remember that the earth is billions of years old and that she has held so many different civilizations over time, makes me smile. Makes me breathe a little deeper. Makes my steps a little lighter. We are just one box car in the train of humanity here for a nano second.

To envision new possibilities means taking my eyes off of the collective trance field. I have to challenge my hard wired belief that if I don’t know ‘what is going on’; I am not being a responsible citizen. Can I ask you to lift up the hood and look at your own hard wired beliefs? Which ones are serving you and which ones need to be rewired?

Right now I am getting ready to travel to Ecuador to sit with a tribe that has not forgotten that our own destinies are intertwined not only with each other, but every species is intertwined with the well being of the earth or Pachamama. The heart beat of the earth, is my heart beat. The waters of the earth, keep me and every other living thing alive. There has been some collective amnesia in Western culture about all that. But where I am going for a while, there is no amnesia and no internet.

Back to Deer friend who helped me know, I find the field of possibilities in the present moment. No other moment would I have met Deer friend. Many would have walked right by him or scared him off. If I was lost in thought, I would not have seen him hidden in that tall grass. He saw me see him and that is where the magic happens. How many billions of species other than humans exist? How many invisible beings, guides, guardians and teachers who have transformed into a cloud are cheering us on? I am never alone, neither are you.

When I was a little kiddo, I was an empath. But I didn’t know that. I know I’m an empath now. I have awareness to be able to discern what is mine and what is not mine energetically. Now, I have tools to compost collective and individual dense energies. When I was a little kiddo, I did what all humans do. I made up stories in my head. You know that ever present narrator that lives in your head interpreting every little and big thing that happens to you and around you? On one particular family vacation on a cruise ship (would never do that as the big girl whose in charge now) I saw a little boy wearing what looked like girls shoes to me. In my head, I immediately made up that he was sad that his parents had made him wear girls shoes and ‘Voila!’ that story became ‘the truth.’ Then, I did what some empaths do instantaneously and unconsciously, I picked up his sadness and wore it like it was mine. Or maybe it was reverse, I picked up the sadness then made the story.

Either way, as adult me looking back on that little girl with the eyes of compassion, first I would gently challenge that story. Maybe…just maybe this little boy is from a different culture and the style of shoes they wear in that different country are different. Maybe his parents didn’t make him wear those. Maybe his shoes have nothing to do with him being sad. Here’s a big one, maybe he’s not sad. Our projections go out so fast we are not even aware of them. I was sad on that trip, I was often puking (seasick) and miserable. Maybe the boy was sad, maybe not…who knows? Only Goddess knows. The point is to pay attention to the stories I make up in my head and then label as ‘the truth.’ That little girl thinking other people are suffering so she should carry their suffering needs to be grown up with gentle loving kindness. That is automatic programming that is false based on a false belief. How many different stories can we make up about the same experience?

Suffering can be compounded by a story. Suffering can be transformed by a story. Freedom can be unleashed by a story. Choose. I am writing the story. We are writing the story together. Is it possible that Israelis and Palestinians can live in a just peace? If you go to the past, the answer would be no. If you go to the field of possibilities, all things are possible. Is it possible I thrive while writing at home, walking in nature and playing with groups of people to help us all wake up? If I look to my personal past I could say no, if I go to the field of possibilities…Hell Yeah! Is it possible that the earth is round? Uhmm, get my point?

Coming back to my breath, coming back to this step, I also come back to the present moment. The field of possibility is in the here and now. I am too.

Got Forgiveness?

The magic of nature’s beauty is the ever present moment. The flowers are not beating themselves up for not blooming faster. The golden fields of grass are not lamenting last month when they were not golden but green. All of that extra helping of suffering is unique to human beings. It’s funny, I have had self forgiveness ritual on my ‘to do’ list for weeks. Maybe longer? Am I too busy to forgive? If I’m putting off forgiving myself, who else am I putting off forgiving?

Smiling to ‘all of it’ is a practice for these times. It doesn’t mean I have to like all of it, all that is playing out on the world stage, but that I can breathe and smile. Breathing in, I know I am alive, breathing out…I give thanks. Breathing in I am allowing myself to meet myself, breathing out… let go. Forgiveness is a letting go. Letting go that it shouldn’t be how it is, or they shouldn’t be or I shouldn’t be how I am. A letting go of the past so I can be present.

I have boatloads of journals. I’ve been keeping them since being a little kid. It runs in the family from a mom who kept notebooks of private scribblings forever too. I have emptied half the boat, and with every notebook that’s gone into recycling I feel a bit more space. There were sacred nuggets worth hanging onto as well. It’s like panning for gold in a river…peering through the water into the prospectors pan and deciding what to do with what’s in there. Is this gold or is this silt? I’ve found some dark stuff in there, where I am enraged and saying to the lines of the notebook what I could not say aloud. Where I use the notebook to tell it like it is so I am not burning the bridge of connection with a father decades ago. That sheet got pulled out to put into the sacred forgiveness ritual. The one I keep putting off.

Self forgiveness and forgiveness of others, I think it’s the front and back of the same hand. So for those of you brave souls who wish to do this with me, ritual is a party game that actually gives perks. Honoring all of it can come from naming it. So with pen and paper I am going to (no really write now!) write down any places of self disappointment or recrimination. Even if they are old, stale, and moldy. I do ritual when I want to compost energy. It is so easy, so quick and it works. I have a black pot that I use for these sacred rituals. I call in my guides and ancestors and let fire take what I have written and consume it. Sprinkle sage in there for good measure and give thanks. Thank you for helping me name and release this…making space for something fresh.

A small fire ritual with a few scraps of paper I’ve emptied my heart into is a proactive step in lightening up. If you choose to try this find a quiet place with paper and pen and ask what there is to forgive or let go of and let your hand keep going uncensored until your heart is empty. This is a private ritual tonight, but fire ritual can also be a collective ceremony.

Ritual helps keep the energy moving and not get constipated so to speak. Accepting what is allows me to be more fresh. It is a constant invitation to ask spirit to help me transmute heavy energies and let go of old ways of thinking. Fire is the great alchemist, burning is also purification. No judgement needed. I don’t think I am the only one feeling the intensity of these times. So maybe sharing simple tools can help you too. If you are curious enough to try it, I am cheering you on. Fire ritual is not a once off for me, it is a tool I use just like I use the vacuum cleaner to suck up dirt from the carpet. I don’t vacuum once a year. I do it regularly to keep a clean house. Ritual helps me keep a cleaner energetic house. There are so many different possibilities and follow your intuition and your heart when creating a ritual for transmutation in your own life. I have burned what I wrote while I paused writing this post, I have burned the ripped out sheet from the old journal too. I feel lighter. Through self acceptance just bee-ing can bee enough! However, human that I am, I will enjoy checking off ‘self forgiveness ritual’!

*“Through self acceptance, just bee-ing can bee enough!”*

Can You See Me?

“*When the grass is this tall, it is easy for them to hide their chicks.”*

Part of the crew out where I walk are wild turkeys. Not that they seem all that wild. There is also the gang of townie turkeys, but this is not a story about them. When the grass is this tall, it is easy for them to hide their chicks. I can’t see the youngins’, but I know they are there. I’ve caught glimpses here and there of them trailing behind mom when she comes out on the trail. I’ve learned their sound, which is like a clicking, not quite a clucking. I’ve also learned that wild turkey gets bright red in back of the neck when stressed. I give her some space and we have seen each other often…no bright red neck. Yay. Looking at her in a field, you may not guess that she likes trees. It’s like the tree of safety and even the youngins can swoop up into trees to get away from perceived danger. Nature is fascinating. It would be easy not to see her. Except when they are gobbling in a gang, I find turkeys to be the quiet type. But it would be easy to not see all manner of magic outside, if not really paying attention.

“*But now you know, wild turkeys find safe refuge hanging out in trees…”*

Maybe my next upgrade in tech skills could be learning how to embed the sounds of all the creatures that I encounter in my day to day adventures. That would be pretty cool. Then you could learn their languages and behavior along with me. But now you know, wild turkeys find safe refuge hanging out in trees…where no coyote or bob cat or me can get to them. Unless I feel like climbing a tree. And it is the season for their spring batch of babes to follow them around in that tall grass. I have long ago learned to track Turkey who has a huge footprint for a bird, and then there are all these tiny scratches around mamma print in the sand. It’s fun to know who is in your hood.

Hummer always makes an appearance but when she is quiet it is up to me to find her. When she is not zipping about and making her sounds. It is rare when she is quiet, but she was quiet tonight. I did notice, that is my job after all; to connect with magic and share it. She is magic so I share her often, even on a quiet night.

Then there are the beings that I hear long before I am lucky enough to really see, much less photograph them. First I hear their song, if I think the song is beautiful then I am really wanting to see the singer. Sometimes they are just not interested in meeting me. But at least I get to enjoy the song. With some persistence I can connect the song to the songbird and with enough time out on the land we inevitably meet. I always say thank you for the song. Often I find after first connecting solidly, it is easier to connect more frequently on future walks with a new species of bird friends.

“…*with enough time out on the land we inevitably meet.”*

Then there are the ones who track me down and escort me through out the walk. Recently that has been raven and/or crow. Maybe not birds that lull me to sleep with their melody, but they have their own charm and mystery. Like, ‘Why are you following me?’ mystery. Without Raven I would not have found the magic meadow and made friends with my Tree so many years ago. So, patience. Tonight there were like six raven in a tree. They wanted me to know they were there, but also not in clear view.

“*You might not think there is a bird in that there hole, but there is.”*

But after seeing blue birds dining together, raven, and ones whose names I know not…it was a little swallow that caught my eye. Little birds require more patience. They are quick and often don’t stay in one place for very long. You may not think there is a bird in that there hole, but there is. And that makes me smile from ear to ear. Are they feeding babies in there? Or just ducking in and out of the cave to dine? Wondering minds long to know! But alas I’ll just go with the smile and let the mysteries unfold in their own good mysterious time.

“*let the mysteries unfold in their own good mysterious time.”*

Do you Know my Song?

*“Their songs are all different so it takes some practice to recognize birdsong.”*

Today I can’t walk my land because there is construction blocking the path, so the next best thing is to connect with some of my friends through photos from previous walks. I see this morning that maybe I do take for granted that I live next to a National Park that is five minutes drive from my door. Everything around me is changing. I’m getting lost on my way driving home. There are so many road blocks now in my neighborhood from a large construction project expanding the road. I’ve done my best to stay neutral about it after doing prayers for all of the trees they cut down about a year ago. I wrote about that then in a previous blog. I wrote about asking the guy with the chain saw to say a prayer before cutting. I told him the trees are who let us be able to breathe. We talked in Spanish for many minutes, he was open and heard my heart. It’s a year later and I become numb to all the missing trees, orange cones and detour signs. What trees, were there trees here? The seed of wondering if I still want to keep living here is no longer dormant.

Back to my friends. Do you notice that when you first meet someone you may not know much about them? It may take some curiosity from your end and some generosity from theirs to learn about them? I find that with the feathered ones too. I absolutely love hearing the feathered ones! Not always a bird person, now every walk is an adventure to see what new little being I can get acquainted with. Just like with people, I find it often happens slowly over time. Like with the Spotted Towee, the bird pictured above. First I learned how they roll. I would see this one on the ground a lot and hidden on my walks. I learn through my walks, I learn by paying attention to the sound coming from them. At first Spotted Towee was elusive but sometimes he’s quite generous in letting me see him. Their songs are all different so it takes some practice to recognize bird song. Even within the same species they are not the same, so this is something I recently learned listening to two Towees talking with each other.

I wish I could infuse my whole species with a big ole dose of curiosity. But like everything, me thinks it begins with me. So, can I learn to be curious not just about birdies but peeps that are around me every day? Maybe start paying attention to what their song is? Maybe. What would it be like if fear were replaced by curiosity? It is through curiosity I often noticed crows, like the Crow force (airforce) chasing hawk through the sky. Hawk remains unperturbed, calm, indifferent. I love both hawks and crows. Ravens too who have been around me A LOT.

*“Hawk remains unperturbed, calm, indifferent.”*

Learning where the different birds hang out is pretty easy. It can change like all things change; but I find the hummer near the same area, the blue bird who visits often around the same area. Learning the land and learning the beings of the land is just a natural thing. I gravitate to walking the same trails and when I go other places I’m not sure who lives there. Relationships begin with interest or curiosity which gives rise to connection, connection can deepen into understanding. I think the underbelly of the whole thing for me is love.

I know the call of the hummer and she finds me almost every walk. Sometimes birds are really generous when I am practicing with my camera. Sometimes not so much. I find as the connection goes deeper that some birds are happy to hang out in one spot for longer periods of time. They know me, like I know them. It is mutual curiosity and friendship. So then we can go a little bit deeper. Like, when we go to dinner, what would you like to eat? Some human friends who know me don’t know I’m vegetarian, but if the relationship deepens they may discover that. Like I may discover they have kiddos in college, or even grand kiddos.

The camera is just a tool that I do not know that well. The connection with various creatures is what matters most. Maybe like learning about the birds themselves, learning about the camera will get a bit easier over time. What I see is they feel the connection whether I have the camera or not. Bluebird invited me over for dinner the other afternoon. I had to decline, dragonfly is my friend too. I would not want to eat a dragonfly…as appetizing as blue bird tried to make it seem. Time to find a different walk now, with new friends and a new adventure begins.

*“Bluebird invited me over for dinner the other afternoon.”*

Do You Want to Come Play?

When Buddhist Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh showed up in a dream one night, he was very light and relaxed. He asked, “Do you want to come play with us in Vietnam?” That was it. One scene of him simply inviting me to come. How could I resist? Well, I couldn’t. Even though going to Vietnam was not on my radar before that. Going for a vacation or a visit…I had no interest. But when I heard there were going to be Grand Requiem Ceremonies in Vietnam to help heal the wounds of war…well, I’m all in.

For those who don’t know who Thich Nhat Hanh is, he is a Vietnamese monk who traveled to the United States to try and get our government to stop bombing Vietnam in the sixties. That is a very long time ago. While he was in the United States he was exiled by the Vietnamese government for not taking sides in that conflict. He worked with Martin Luther King and thought of Martin Luther King as a brother. At that time, I was in diapers. Later, as a young woman that war seemed kind of irrelevant to me. It was not my friends who were being drafted, there were not protests at my college, it was not my family who lost loved ones who were soldiers that fought in that war. Yet, when my path crossed with this humble monk, my life and my awareness of war and peace changed forever. That awareness is still unfolding.

It was 2007 when the Plum Village community traveled back to Vietnam with Thich Nhat Hanh and about a hundred of his monks and nuns. I was one of 90-120 lay people (the term for practitioners who are not monastics) accompanying this pilgrimage. A few of his monks had been working diligently for a year to get permission from the Communist Vietnamese government to do open ceremonies in Vietnam to help heal the wounds of war. A few months ago, after an especially early meditation…I got up from my cushion and did a double fist pump in the air. A ‘let’s have a great day’ fist pump. Then I proceeded to fall knee first into the little wooden box covered by a cloth. It was dark and I tripped into this box sending my meditation bell flying. This had been my little morning meditation space for over a decade. Through the lid went my knee like a karate chop breaking it open. What a wake up call! I peered into the box, closed for years and in it I found all the notebooks from my time in Plum Village, and the notebooks from the Grand Requiem Ceremonies. What a gift. It’s only right, to share the gift.

“*Through the lid went my knee like a karate chop breaking it open”*

After decades separated from his beloved homeland Thay, as he is affectionately called by his students, was allowed to return in 2005 and then again in 2007. There was a lot of preparation for these ceremonies. Communities of monks and nuns from different traditions were coming together and the local people in Vietnam showed up in throngs. Instruments that had been in hiding for decades came out into the open and civilian chanting musicians prepared for months in advance for the ceremonies. There were three ceremonies, the first and biggest was in southern Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh city, what was called Saigon during the war. Then central Vietnam was a smaller more intimate ceremony in Hue, and last was the northern ceremony in Hanoi. Each done in the style of that part of the country. The public were invited to participate to support the energy of the Ceremonies and Thay gave Dharma talks (teachings) through out in various locations.

Everyone practiced wholeheartedly. People were invited to write the names of loved ones they wish to be prayed for and to make an altar for them at home to tend for the three days of the ceremonies. All of those names were also in the ceremony chambers displayed on sheets of paper. Thay gave everyone homework during the Dharma talks, “During these three days don’t blame or criticize. We practice speaking words of forgiveness and compassion. Manifest loving, accepting and kind gestures. Practice dana (donations). Keep mind and heart pure. That’s enough.”

“This time I have permission from the government to have a ceremony for all the souls. We invite the spirits of all of those who have passed away.” There were monks carrying an 8 foot long white cloth to various locations to call the spirits in who had died to come back to the ceremony. The cloth represented a bridge from hell to the pure land. “We invited the dead from the river, the mountains and the cemetery”. He told us that the cloth became so heavy that it took 6 brothers to carry it. This is symbolic of the pain and suffering endured.

A few of us were invited to volunteer to be representatives of different countries within the first Grand Requiem Chanting ceremony. I volunteered, even though I didn’t really know what I was volunteering for. On the first day we were in one of the chambers with the monastics, supporting them. The energy was so dense, I almost felt like vomiting. It was hot and stuffy and I felt light headed. This was the landing spot for all the spirits that they had just invited in on day one. We were not in there that long but it made me wonder if I could hang with whatever I had signed up for.

One of Thay’s Dharma talks was on Beginning Anew. It takes courage to admit mistakes, like actions or thoughts filled with anger, reproach or a wish to punish. Thich Nhat Hanh doesn’t really use the word sin, “unskillfulness is lighter. Unskillfulness comes from ignorance, greed and anger. We have made mistakes.” With the volatile times we are in now within the United States, it is a healing balm to re read Thay’s teachings.

To Begin Anew is not just a confession…it’s a public acknowledgement and determination. ‘I will not do like I have done before. All mistakes begin with the mind. Purify the mind.’ So in the ceremonies we are practicing for all of those who have died, but we are also practicing for ourselves, our ancestors and descendants. We practice for everyone.

For example walking meditation was a part of every ceremony. With the mantra of “I have arrived, I am home…in the here and in the now.” Thay said “In order to help the souls I come back to the present moment and come back to my breath and my step. I can help my people transform. I have arrived for 6 million people. I am home for 6 million people.” He is speaking of the 6 million killed throughout the war.

“A few minutes later I say, I have arrived for 80 million people still alive. I am home for 80 million people who are still alive.” To watch him take a step is a teaching in itself. It brought tears to my eyes to receive this transmission. For Vietnamese to see Western people practicing was new to many of them. They see Westerners and think of war or business or tourism. Everyone was included in the practice, military veterans, people from the North and South, and people from countries who had sent soldiers like France and the United States.

On the third night of the Grand Requiem Ceremony to untie the knots of great injustice…there was a procession leading into the chanting chambers. The volunteers were to be in that procession. Even though, there had been some disagreement between different lineages of monastics about that. Thay is progressive, he wanted monks and nuns side by side in the procession. He wanted some lay practitioners there. But not everyone wanted that. Anyways, one Vietnamese monk who heard me ask where to go for the procession signaled I should just go eat dinner. He kept shoveling an air fork towards his mouth directing me to eat food, forget the procession.

But being the rebel that I can be, I joined with another person who had volunteered and we started picking our way through the crowds. My room mate on this adventure tagged behind me. Eventually we caught up with the monks and nuns getting ready to walk towards the chanting chambers. Even the security opened up at the back to let us in. This was an act of pure faith, I felt very strong in my heart I was aligned with Thay and fortunately he was the first voice I could hear coming from the Chanting chambers. That gave me a nano second of confidence. However Thay did not stay in the chamber and when we got in there, it was really clear we did not know exactly what to do. But by then there were five of us.

This was the biggest night of chanting, the last night. We were there learning to dance by stepping on each other’s feet. But eventually we found our corner and the music and hypnotic rhythm of the chanting moved into my body. I intuitively knew when they needed more energy and when to rise up to my feet. It was like a collective trance or dance. Not always comfortable, kneeling on hard concrete. Early on I saw the same football player built monk who had told me to go eat. I had thought there was a good chance I’d be kicked out, but I also felt a clean and clear heart. I was in the right place.

The Plum Village monastics were in there and many other monastics. The Head of Ceremonies was from Tibetan trained lineage. People were in various colored robes, the musicians in blue satin shirts and the misfits in gray robes. All of the differences just kind of melted away. This was the ceremony of non discrimination after all. At some point about midway through our six hour ceremony I saw one of the ‘patrolling’ monks come over and put a long piece of paper on my head. He did it a little forcefully, then grabbed my hands and told me to hold it there. Then he left. Okay, now I was busted. That was my very first thought.

I didn’t really know what to do. There I was holding this piece of paper on my head feeling like the kid in the corner with the dunce cap on. I guessed I’d broken some rule and I was a bit confused and ashamed. Then I got tired of holding the damn piece of paper on my head and I set it down next to me. A Vietnamese lady sitting behind me gently picked it up and placed it back on my head. Her energy felt kind and gentle.

I began to sit very still and I just left it on my head and didn’t hold it there. It just balanced there. Then I made up it must be to make me sit still. The mind will go in a thousand directions. Eventually another man who speaks English came over and took the paper from my head and told me to follow him out. “Okay, I’m getting kicked out,” my mind told me. So I grabbed my things and followed them. When we were outside the man who spoke English said, “You stood up and bowed three times.” While he was saying that the other monk, the football monk who told me to go eat, was burning the piece of paper that had been on my head.

I was okay with being kicked out but I didn’t want to harm the ceremonies. He kept saying, “You stood up and bowed three times!” emphatically. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Did I make a mistake? I don’t understand.” Finally I started to get that it was not a punishment, it was an acknowledgement. “You’re the one! You’re number one in there” he said pointing his finger to the section I was sitting. Big sigh of relief, mixed with confusion. This is cross cultural learning at its finest. I didn’t understand then what made that interaction happen and I don’t know now either. I am just grateful I was not kicked out.

There was another few hours left. During the ceremony I saw lots and lots of black slime in the beginning. Images were coming through of pulling people out of that black slime, almost like oil. As the evening went on the images of cascading water purifying and dispersing the sludge came through. In one case I saw an American G.I. covered in slime and we got it cleaned off completely down to clean green fatigues. I also saw children. Many children. I told them not to be afraid any more. They could begin anew, there was no danger for them now.

We prayed for everyone. Soldiers, civilians, children, mothers and fathers…anyone who had suffered during the war. It was like a cascading of water and light. Over the course of the ceremony the sludge was getting cleared off like with a pressure washer which was the chanting and prayers. I could feel the joy rising. By the end, I could feel the celebration of freedom for these spirits from all of that heaviness and pain. Thousands and thousands of Vietnamese were in the streets praying. Ten thousand participated in that first ceremony. When we all spilled back out onto the streets from the chanting chambers at the completion of the ceremony an elderly Vietnamese woman came up to me and grabbed my hands in her gnarled hands. “I am so happy!” she smiled at me. I looked her in the eyes, tears coming down, “I am so happy too!”

When I’m Getting Shouldy

I don’t know about ya’ all…but I definitely have more than one personality within me. Maybe too many to count. But the gift (or curse) depending how you see it…is that I have a wee bit of witness presence on occasion. It doesn’t mean I can suppress Jeckel from coming out. But I can see it from up above in the ether, a gal eating popcorn looking down saying, “Wow, look how surly she got in one nanno second!” Then ordering a diet coke and eating more popcorn. The witness is present and neutral like watching a movie and yawning.

The Jeckel, as in Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde, is not that present and also not that pleasant. When I get a case of the Shouldies, watch out! Funny thing happened on the way to my walking trail, I was being followed by a police car. So I did what we do, or I do. Make sure I”m not speeding, come to a full stop, all that. It kept following me. Then, it turned it’s lights on. I was already not in a great mood; the walking puts me in a great mood. As I rolled the window down a lady cop walked up and asked for all of my stuff. “The reason I pulled you over today is your window tint is too dark and your sticker on your plate is obstructed.”

“My window tint is too dark? Really?!” the irritation rising as I spoke. She explained that yes indeed, my driver’s side and passenger windows were an illegally dark tint. While this chat was going on I was shoveling through my glove compartment sifting through old insurance cards and looking for my registration. Which took forever to find. A second police vehicle pulled up behind the first. “Do you really need two police cars for window tint?” I inquired. Because I am known to have an inquiring mind. “Yes they are my partners, they’re here to support me.” This was a campus officer, I have to drive through campus to get to the trail head.

“Okay, well I bought this car last year in California and it came with this window tint from the dealer. Is it illegal for them to sell it to me like this?” The Shouldies were in full throttle now. ‘You are bored and that’s why you pulled me over. You Should not have pulled me over. I Should not be getting a ticket for this. The dealership Should not have sold me a car with illegal tint. This is stupid.’ That was the inner monologue of five year old me having a micro tantrum. As the officer happily wrote up my ticket, the second police car sped off sirens blaring for a real criminal. (Maybe a jaywalker.) Now, the witness me was clear that the other me would probably regret my tone and behavior. But she didn’t judge. I was too busy being the judge to have room for more judginess.

I had looked at the news before going to the trail to walk. Maybe giving up news for the rest of the year, or the rest of my life could be an option. There was a story about an 18 year old black boy that ran away after being stopped by police and was shot dead. The boy had a gun, but it was not pointed in the direction of police. His father, upset and in rage/grief later ran his car into and killed a different officer. This is what makes news. It seemed such a senseless loss, both deaths. That story disturbed me. My vibe was already charged. Did that play a part in getting pulled over? Who knows. But my experience as a fifty something white woman with police would likely be different than others. Curiosity settled in to wonder how police stops would unfold if I were black or an immigrant. But curiosity did not rise until after my walk.

“You will need to have this tint removed, go to the police station to have it signed off and then go to the court house. You’ll receive the ticket in a few weeks. It’s a fix it ticket. Any questions?” The cop was ready to be done and so was I. By the end of it, I knew this was not that big of deal. What is happening in Gaza, that is big deal. This window tint stuff, it really-really is not a big deal. Walking meditation after helped calm my mind and body. It helped me connect with the earth and notice my friends like hummingbird who bring instant joy.

“…*notice my friends like hummingbird who bring instant joy.”*

It’s important to see that feeling powerless about bigger things, like seeing my government be largely silent for two months about two million people being purposely starved with all aid blocked…can have a ripple effect. This leads me to connect the thread of the Bigger Shouldies to the smaller Shouldies. I Should Not get a ticket for dark window tint. Human beings Should Not purposely starve and bomb other human beings. Especially children. Nor Should they rape and murder people. Duh! There’s a saying, “You’re never really mad about what you think you are mad about.” The tint tango was just a muse.

I have a Palestinian friend who lives close. Twenty six people in her family are stuck in Gaza which is their home. She raised money to pay all the fees and got the necessary paperwork for all 26 to apply to come to the United States the beginning of last year. But the applications just sat in a pile on a Congressman’s desk. Rolla Alaydi’s brother had his family home bombed and destroyed, the whole family have been shoved and herded from one end of the Gaza strip to the other and right now…they are not finding enough to eat. Noticing the picture of her nephew on her phone I could see he is malnourished. I also have Israeli friends, and many Jewish American friends. I hear different perspectives from different people. I know Jewish people who have lost loved ones from October 7 and my Palestinian friend has had several family members killed, displaced and maimed. None of her nieces or nephews can go to school. None of them have a home to live in. They are in tents without electricity and without safety, often without water. When people can grieve senseless violence without building walls around their hearts, when parents of one culture can see children of the other culture as sacred too…there may be peace. Some people have already gotten there. I don’t need to Should Upon Them. Jewish people, Palestinians, Americans…many people of all traditions are standing for a just peace and end to the decades long cycle of bloodshed. But they are not heard very much. They don’t make the news cycle here often.

I am a hypocrite if I think everyone Should care about what is happening to Palestinians and Israelis because there certainly was a time when I did not care. Because I did not know. It was a friend who burst thru my bubble. She is Arab American and she was studying International Studies. “People’s homes are being bulldozed!!” She told me in despair. “Just imagine your whole family is living there and then your home is just gone. This Should Not be happening!” I didn’t even know what a Palestinian was. I was into marathon running and coaching people on living their dream life not politics or human rights. We sat on the stairs in the house together and were talking about ways of being and ways of seeing.

“You are ignorant and I must teach you!” That is a way of being called self righteous indignation. It comes with a sword and usually a person riding a white horse. It’s coated with rage. But if you are still and quiet you will hear the anguish and grief underneath. My friend is an old soul, at 21 she was schooling me on Japanese internment camps, Palestinian house demolitions and fun stuff like that. That was over 25 years ago. The holocaust was taught to me in school not the stairs, I actually did know about that one.

My friend invited me to participate with her on a Compassionate Listening Citizen delegation to Israel and Palestine to learn by being there. At the time I knew nothing. I do mean nothing. It was a blessing to know nothing, because when it comes to that region of the world, people often passionately mistake opinions with the all encompassing Truth. Being ignorant also allowed me to be neutral. I didn’t have strong feelings and I am not Jewish or Arab, it was more an exploratioin for my book writing. It is not easy to listen to someone that I disagree with. But for sure telling them they are an idiot (even in my head) is not super likely to change their mind about anything. Sometimes I forget that. We were trained before the delegation in a way of listening from a space that is just listening to listen. To have the person feel heard. To reach beyond agree/disagree…believe/not believe..approve/disapprove. It is quite different than the auto patterns of listening that I have inherited. The stronger the reaction I have to what I hear, the harder it can be to continue to listen to what is said and thus have someone feel heard. Another barrier to listening is thinking I already know.

The founder of Compassionate Listening is Gene Knudson Hoffman who was a Quaker from Santa Barbara, California and a life long peace maker. She said, “An enemy is one whose story we have not yet heard.” Yet, listening to another person’s story is impossible when listening to my own story about how it ‘should be’ or how it really is. Sometimes stories about how it should be are about the government, sometimes about my job, the human species or just lil ole me. Yes, I Should upon myself as well. Maybe all of the time.

On those delegations we went to people’s homes and listened to their stories. There was not a full on blockade in Gaza back then. Leah Green was the Director and founder of Mideast Citizens Diplomacy and Gene Hoffman was her mentor. The trips with Leah leading enabled citizens like myself from the U.S. and other countries to come witness first hand what so many in the U.S have not witnessed. I listened to people that are Palestinian, people that are Israeli, people that are settlers and military. Leah is an American Jewish woman with deep roots in the area and she had curated this trip with all kinds of different voices for us to hear. She cultivated trust with Palestinian and Israeli people over a long time. It was through the Compassionate Listening training manual that I met the poetry of Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh. His poem, “Please Call Me by My True Names,” was the fertilizer for our listening training and a call to awaken beyond duality. Just like Gene Knudson’s, “An enemy is one whose story we have not yet heard,” is intended to soften our hearts against Othering.

There came a time when even Palestinians could not move from the West Bank to Gaza to see their family members. But when I was there we were able to get to Gaza and we sat with families who lived in Jabalya refugee camp, which has been bombed repeatedly since the Israeli latest incursion into Gaza. But my first lesson from the delegation was actually on the airplane flying into Ben Gurion airport in 1999. I sat next to a sweet Israeli lady who was very chatty and extroverted. “The United States is kind of boring,” she confided to me. “Where I live, it’s like the Wild West.” I didn’t quite know what she meant at the time. Now I think I do. She told me she was on her way home from a fundraising trip.

“*But no matter what you say or who you say it to, you could piss someone off.*“

When she got to asking me who I was visiting, I told her I was on a Citizens Compassionate Listening Delegation. Long awkward silence followed. “Who are you listening to?” she demanded. “Listening to people’s stories…Israelis and Palestinians,” I replied tentatively. “WHY?” “To understand what is going on,” I replied. I actually didn’t know why, my real answer would have been I follow my intuition and it told me to come when my house mate invited me. The Shouldies rose up in her full force. “Look at what you did to the Native Americans, what business do you have here?!!” I heard this answer come out of my mouth…”Two wrongs don’t make a right. Besides the U.S. gives a ton of money to Israel.” Defensive me, responding to shouldy Jeckel next to me. There was a stony silence for the rest of the flight and I learned, be careful what you say. But no matter what you say or who you say it to, you could piss someone off. Lesson learned.

Fortunately, I was not on those delegations to talk. I was there to learn, listen and absorb the facts on the ground that so many Americans have never seen. We were there to help hear people share their stories and feel heard. I was there to look for stories of light to share further. One of the persons I was most inspired by was Israeli Zionist Yitzahk Frankenthal. Instead of taking vengeance after his soldier son Arik was kidnapped and killed by Hamas in July, 1994 he became curious of the conditions in Gaza. As a way to come to terms with his loss he reached out to other grieving parents, both Palestinian and Israeli who had lost children to violence. He invited many to come together to share their mutual grief and this grew into Parent’s Circle Family Forum in 1995. For a brief period they were able to even include families from Gaza until a blockade and renewed violence made it impossible. He was excommunicated at the time from his religious community because he did not do what they thought he ‘should do’ after his son was killed. Even after the brutal Hamas attacks of October 7 and after the killing of over 50,000 Palestinians in Gaza and decimation of so much infrastructure, Family Circle organization still lives on. The younger generation have taken over the mantle and even during these dangerous times family members who have lost loved ones to bloodshed including some family members of hostages have chosen to share their grief in a way that includes sowing the seeds a new possible future together built on shared humanity and justice.

Another man that I was privileged to sit with on both delegations was Dr. Eyad al-Sarraj who was a Palestinian human rights defender and psychiatrist. A charismatic man in his fifties when I met him, Dr. al-Sarraj was the founder of the Gaza Community Health Programme. He told us way back then, in 1999 that there was a mental health crisis in the children of Gaza. They had experienced so much trauma. He had been able to get out as a young man because of his determination and brilliance to get an education abroad. But when we sat with him he laughed and said, “What am I going to stay in London and work for Palestinian human rights? No, I am going to come home to Gaza.” Ironically Dr. Sarraj had been imprisoned both by the Israeli government and Palestinians within the Palestinian Authority at different times for speaking up about human rights. One of the haunting stories he shared was of hearing a Palestinian prison guard get agitated with a fellow Palestinian prisoner and start screaming at him in Hebrew. The ripple of trauma causes more trauma which will continue to unfold.

When I want to get on my high horse and think I know how it Should be, it’s a good time to take a breath and fly higher. It is heart breaking what humans are doing to other humans in this moment. But it is also inspiring how humans can come together across differences and hold each other with love through the darkest of times. That’s what we need now. Courage to help transform the biggest wounds into light and volition to shine it bright. After coming home from my second MidEast Citizens delegation to the United States I heard the story in my car about how U.S military knowingly gifted Indigenous people blankets infected with small pox. I had never known that before. Thinking of the lady sitting next to me on the flight to Israel I know there is only to come home to humility. I turn towards patience and growing my heart’s capacity to face these times.. Who would know a story about my car window tint fix it ticket would reveal so much tapestry about Shoulding in the world versus Shining in the world.