Breaking Hearts

I stood at my altar last night and poured out the ineloquent contents of my emotive soul to my ancestors and the Unseen guides that walk with me. I said plainly what I was feeling, thinking, hoping, regretting, mourning, loving, adoring. I sobbed and sobbed as I thought about this beautiful, gorgeous and tragic planet and my love for it. I could feel my heart split open even more, making more room for the love that overflows from this gracious mother if only we willingly open to her. I thought, My heart breaks open, and I let it. The pain rushes in, and I let it. As it opens and the pain swells into the willingness, into the surrender, the true grace and beauty and love is revealed. Like a mother’s body bursting open to birth her baby, filling her with pain and joy, this is how the heart expands-with pain and joy.

If you are searching for that missing joy, look into your own heart. Ask it to show you. Let it split open. Let it bleed through you. It will fill you with an incredible food. But you must let it. You must surrender to the pain, and to the joy. Drink it in, for it is the food of our souls.

Hallowe’en Journey

Just returned from the Unseen. It took me a long time to see Eagle and Komodo, and I had to “summon” them through the Huginn & Muninn exercise; a method where I envision my Huginn coming out of the left side of my head (as it comes from the energy of Urd’s well, which for me lies beneath my right foot), and my Muninn comes out of the right side of my head (as it comes from the energy of Mimir’s well which lies beneath my left foot) and they emerged heavily onto my shoulders. I then rode Komodo as Eagle was at times flying above us or sitting on my shoulder as we journeyed through the vast desert that I always seem to see when I ride or become Komodo. My intention was this (and comes from Christina Pratt’s podcast Why Shamanism Now): “how would it feel if I were to align the full powers of my heart with my action to the degree needed to live my soul’s purpose?” I was then deposited in a lake in the middle of the night with no clothes on. My guides were nowhere to be seen, and I swam and swam and swam in the black lake and I did not feel afraid. I saw a great, glowing moon above me, and the dark silhouettes of trees all around. I was then on a sandy beach lighting a lovely fire that crackled with life and heat and warmed me as I dried my wet body. I looked around the beach and saw no one, and was not afraid. I then saw a tent with a welcoming light inside. I climbed into the tent which had a warm bed and all that I would need for the night, and I sat inside the opening to the tent enjoying the fire, and I was not afraid. Then I walked along a path covered in autumn leaves and I started to feel my heart beat furiously with fear and excitement, and a massive grizzly bear came up the path. I thought it might attack me, but instead it sat down on a large, downed tree beside me as if it were human, and we seemed to commune, though I have no recollection of what was imparted to me. After awhile, I could hear crunching noises and the scene turned to snow and I was crunching along in the snow in very heavy, furry boots and thick leather and fur clothing. I seemed to be hunting. I saw blackberries, and my ego mind thought it strange since it was a snowy landscape, but my journeying mind paid no mind to this detail and I continued hunting for berries. I thought of the book “Blueberries for Sal” from my childhood that my grampa used to read to us. It was like I could see the whole scenescape from the story in my journey, though very briefly. I then seemed to get lost in the drum beat and the visions left me. I then heard banging and had to go check on Hubby. He was alright, just brewing beer and making noises. I realized it was after 9pm so I decided to just come back to this world so I can sleep properly.


I wrote these poems:

sister tree dirt dance
she flounces in the
nighttime October winds
naked but bathed in
and silky black kisses
of lake water
the place where cosmos
lands abruptly against earth
sinking deeply into

moonbeams land quietly
on soft grasses
bare feet
walk in wetness
dew of the passionate
nighttime wanderlust
slide like erotic
droplets into the pores
of soul skins
merging, heavy with
wont, lustily
making its mark
with ecstatic release
and exhaustion

a perfect autumn day
sunny and clouds
gusty winds
the smell of decaying leaves
on the crisp air
the entrails of a rabbit
cruelly plucked of life
from some predator
in flight
or a hound
looking for an easy
the trees sing their praises
to summer as she departs
their leaves falling
like tears to say their
yearly goodbyes
sap sinks to earth
preparing for winter’s
frozen embrace
where all life ends
and begins again


Parts to Make a Whole

As I so often do, I have been considering this idea of “wholeness” and “completion” upon death. When I read back on my posts of feeling so broken, and the repair stitching the self back together to be held fast but not ever again what it once was, it would seem that through our incarnate selves we are stripped down to the component parts and fashioned together again into functional, or semi-functional, beings again. Kind of smashing together but not being smooth, or seamless, or even completely complete because we will always be re-shaped in our lives. Just the simple process of aging tells us that we are not the same one day to the next, always evolving. And so it is that I have come to believe that maybe once we die, we join our missing place seamlessly into the cosmic weave. That somehow we needed to experience the breaking, the tearing down, the dis-assemblage in order to bring new information to the cosmic home of our spark, and that in itself creates more wholeness. Sort of like we are sent here to find loads of missing eggs in order to return them all to the great hive we all are driven by: the life force. That force that governs us all. Whatever that is, whatever you want to call it, or perceive of it, or deny its mystery. Or maybe we are never quite whole, maybe we evolve into eternity and constancy is something that we seem to ever wish for but can never really have.

I am coming to realize just how afraid I am to share my inner self, to expose my true self, to the world. Even just sharing this blog, I’ve only ever given the address out to one person that I trust with this part of myself. I mean, people I don’t know reading doesn’t bother me half so much as those I know reading it. First, I have this suspicion that most people don’t give two fracks about my spiritual thoughts and leanings, especially since I know so many people who seem to identify as atheist. Why would they even bother reading about my otherwordly and innerwordly and unseen woo when they deny the existence and meaning of the great mysteries? I mean, I don’t really care that they believe in another paradigm, not at all, but it would be like someone not interested in a subject forcing themselves to read about it, sighing in annoyance all the while. But there is this silent, nagging part of me that is telling me to share it so that those who want to read it, can read it. And there is a strong resistance inside my guts that I suspect has more to do about fear of this reveal rather than actually telling me not to share. I also continue to receive strong prompts from the Unseen to write my story, though every time I’ve sat down to start, I stare at the screen with a giant, invisible question mark on my forehead.

There’s also this conundrum: when is it sharing, and when is it showing off? This is something I’ve been thinking about a great deal because it seems in our media thick world that so many things are shared to shock people, to make them look, to get attention. That is not where I want to be with this stuff, and especially not since I am sharing things here that I am superstitious about sharing. These are profoundly personal, intense, magical, mystical things, and it can feel a bit like blasphemy to share it openly. It’s like, what part of a personal journal do you want to publish, right? Mostly the reason I prefer to blog is that I type faster than I write, and it’s easier to read back what I have written to examine and learn from my past experiences. I’ve got loads of dream journals, and I really wish I had typed them into a blog because it’s impossible to find anything quickly. I started marking significant dreams with post-it notes, but now the tops of my pages are loaded with post-it notes that must be sifted through. But again, there is a constant inner whispering that I hear prompting me: “share yourself, share the healing, share the mystery because this worlds needs to open to the other worlds again, it needs to unfold” and that is why I share things here, also. So that somehow it IS out in the world, and if needed, I can direct people here. But it’s not enough…the voice tells me that keeping my writings private is not enough.


I have been going through some tough times during recovery of my hysterectomy. Something about being in the hospital changed me, really effected me at a cellular level. There was something so vulnerable about it, so mortal about it. There were some very unfortunate people on my unit, and combined with my own feeling of utter dependence on busy nurses that are trying their best but everyone having such high needs…I don’t know. It made me think about illness, old age, living with severe limitations and death in ways I had not before (and I think about death in just about every way that can possibly be thought of.) It made me afraid for my family in ways I have not let myself consider, it made me pitiful for all who are facing such things but on a very visceral level. Even more than when I had my neck tumor out and spent the night in the hospital with some very sick and fragile people dealing with severe disfigurements from cancer and their own final days and weeks in the process of cancer. Maybe this time felt more scary because I am older, maybe it was simply because of the nature of the care I needed while in the hospital. I don’t know. But it carved some marks in my psyche.

Last week was brutal for many reasons. I could feel the fingers of severe depression beginning to tighten their grip on me, and the physical component of healing and having such wild ups and downs was something I did not anticipate. I thought I was doing pretty well physically, but then I started feeling very nauseous and feverish, though I kept checking my temperature and had no fever. My GI symptoms seem to change with the direction of the wind. Headaches have crept into the picture now. I was awake a lot during the nights with fits of pain and mental stress, anxiety and fear. I had vivid, strange dreams that seemed so unlike my normal dreams because of the meds they have me on. I can feel my organs shifting around inside and it is a most unnerving feeling and difficult to get comfortable. Thankfully, my wonderful Hubby and my mom have been there through the thick of it. My mom came over almost every day to keep me company, working on a puzzle and watching movies to keep me from getting too far consumed by depressive thoughts and patterns. And I do not use the term “depression” lightly. I have been diagnosed with this condition by a professional, and my experience with it is often fraught with suicidal thoughts. It is very difficult to overcome when the train gets rolling, and I often think back to my worst days in dealing with it and wonder how in the hell I am still standing here today. But, like always, I weathered it, and by Friday things seemed to lift and I feel refreshed mentally now that some of the physical symptoms have eased. I am now able to think about things that I enjoy, I am speaking normally again (I felt like I just had nothing to say and was very quiet since the surgery), thinking about the future and what I want to do this season once I am healed enough to explore again.

The significance of this whole process of transformation on a physical level is definitely not lost on me. I have been thinking quite a bit about how this physical re-shaping is part of how a human being is re-molded and is part of the spiritual process of growth, renewal, metamorphosis. It is part of unfoldment of a new being, like a caterpillar who unfurls its wings as it bursts forth the cocoon into a butterfly. It is the same soul, but never the same as it was, still alive and vibrant, but having undergone a powerful (and undoubtedly painful) process of transformation. This is the essence of being alive. Constant change, constant discomfort, constant evolution.

White Buffalo

Our recent stav journey with my monthly group was incredibly intense for me. As Kari led us through a journey to assist with the halt of the Dakota pipeline, to protect the waters and scared lands (which is all land, really) and to reveal the folly of those who seem not to see it, we awakened inner eyes and I began to see many jötun giantesses riding on the backs of giant wolves across their barren lands in fierce temper as we chanted, and mythological figures from many pantheons, most of whom I did not recognize, appeared suddenly in a dry and dusty landscape that quickly changed from jötenheim into Dakota land. They all gathered around the people who continually protect the waterways and are standing firm against the construction. Suddenly, my whole body became inflamed and I could feel my hands begin to seize and harden, and my body shaking with fierce power, and the image of an enormous white buffalo appeared in the center of the whole group. It stood, unyielding, on top of the waters and the land, and I bowed low to it and begged it in utter humility in Norwegian, “Jeg ber deg, jeg ber deg, jeg ber deg” to assist in this matter, and the enormous, pure white buffalo stood, looking straight at me, and it imparted to me that it would not move. I wept as this image flooded me, at how incredible this inner vision was to witness, and at my paradoxical feeling of smallness and at once powerful beyond anything on this planet. I allowed the heat to “cook” me, or as I call it, “work on me” like I would let a fever cook away bacteria that tries to work on my immune system. As we left the worlds and the trance, Kari had to assist me in coming back and massage my feet as I tried to pry my hands from my stav, then wrapped them around my cold beer on the table to cool them down. I shook and shook and shook. Kari fixed me a little tray of snacks to help ground me back into this realm, and I shook and shook and shook. It took a long time to “come back”. She then poured a horn and we each blew our blessings into it to be poured into her garden Vé. I could not get myself to speak, but I thought of all I’d seen, and I offered my blessings along with the blessings I’d received from the Divine into the horn, and I spent a long breath over the foam.